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SYDNEY
TO
CROYDON.
(NORTHERN QUEENSLAND.)
An Interesting Account of a Journey to the
Gulf Country with a Member of Parliament.
BY “SALTBUSH.”
PRICE ... ONE SHILLING.
Sydney:
“CAXTON” PRINTING WORKS, 247 GEORGE STREET.
1889.
FROM SYDNEY TO CROYDON.
BY “SALTBUSH.”
Having received letters and telegrams from an old mate of mine who has
been on the Croydon goldfield for some considerable time--in all of
which communications he strongly advised me to pay a visit to the field
in order that I might judge for myself as to its richness and permanency
and its suitability for investment--it being in his opinion the grandest
goldfield ever discovered in Northern Queensland. I finally decided to
make the trip, and in company with a friend of mine, who with myself,
had on a former occasion visited Normanton and the Gulf-country before
Croydon was ever thought of, we started from Sydney on Monday, the 25th
July, and as the incidents of our journey may prove interesting to many
others who may visit the locality in the near future, I have ventured to
jot down a few experiences and impressions picked up during the journey.
We waited upon Messrs. Burns Philp and Co. in Sydney and made all
arrangements as to return passage from Brisbane to Normanton, having
decided to proceed overland from the capital of New South Wales to the
capital of Queensland, my friend, who had never travelled that route,
being particularly anxious to have a good look at the New England and
Darling Downs country, more especially as I was pretty well acquainted
with it, and could furnish him with some information concerning it that
might be eventually both useful and profitable. Having packed our
travelling trunks and various necessaries for the voyage, and confining
ourselves to such articles as were absolutely indispensable, in order to
make our “impedimenta” as light as possible--knowing from experience
that too much luggage is a terrible handicap on a long journey--the
first step was to secure berths on the Hunter River Steamship Company’s
fine boat, “the Namoi,” which left the wharf at half-past eleven, for
Newcastle. With the assistance of “Alick,” the well-known and genial
bedroom steward, we secured a very comfortable cabin to ourselves on the
upper deck, and a more obliging and attentive steward than the same
Alick I never wish to drop across in my travels, as nothing seemed any
trouble to him and he relieved us of all anxiety concerning our luggage
by looking carefully after it whilst in transit on the steamer, and
then, on our arrival at the coaly city, by conveying it on board the
Northern train advertised to leave at a quarter-past seven, a.m., on the
morning of the 26th.
As we had half-an-hour to spare before its departure we stepped across
the street from the Railway Station to the Terminus Hotel, where we
interviewed a very old friend of mine in the person of Walter Sidney,
and imbibed a refresher in the shape of a first-class glass of whiskey
and milk, which proved very refreshing in the sharp morning air, when we
strolled into the main street; passing the Post and Telegraph Office and
turning to the right, we climbed the hill at the back of the town, from
which point of advantage we had a most glorious view of the city and its
surroundings--the Pacific Ocean spreading away to the horizon on the
right; Nobby’s, with its light-house lying in front of us, Carrington,
late Bullock Island, to the left, and the city and its environs at our
feet, altogether formed a most delightful panorama, viewed as it was
under favorable circumstances, the morning being beautifully fine and
clear with a crisp, sharp feeling in the air, which rendered our stroll
truly refreshing and enjoyable.
Returning to the Station we found the train on the point of starting, so
securing our seats and a supply of literature, in which the “Town and
Country,” “Sydney Mail,” “Evening News,” “Echo,” and “Bulletin” figured
prominently, we made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would
permit, having for fellow passengers, Mr. and Mrs. Blunt--the former the
contractor for one of the sections of the Homebush and Waratah railway
extension--who were on their way to Muswellbrook to spend a few weeks at
home and enjoy a well-earned rest.
Leaving Newcastle we steamed along past Honeysuckle Point, then onwards
through Hamilton, Waratah, Sandgate and Hexham, where we commence to
traverse the famous swamps, rendered memorable as the breeding-grounds
of the well-known and duly appreciated “Hexham Greys,” those noted
mosquitoes, which beyond all question, are able to climb the trees and
_bark_, whilst it is also an equally well-known fact that many of them
weigh a pound, but as this is not the real mosquito season we escape any
very pressing attentions on their part, and running along through this
flat swampy country with the Hunter River shining brightly in the
morning sun on our right, we gradually strike into better country, and
by the time East Maitland is reached the land looks about as good and as
fertile as they make it in this part of the world.
Passing the gaol on our right, where no doubt many an unfortunate is
bitterly regretting the hour in which he strayed from the paths of
rectitude, we shortly afterwards pull up at East Maitland, where the
guard and porters inform us that passengers for Morpeth change here, and
after a few minutes delay we again proceed on our journey, calling at
High Street (West Maitland) where the inevitable newsboy supplies us
with the “Maitland Mercury,” one of the best country papers in New South
Wales--conveying, as it does, an enormous amount of information on every
conceivable subject to its numerous readers--and a journal of which the
proprietary may feel justly proud. On, past Farley, formerly known as
the Wollombi Road, where most of the fat cattle are unloaded for the
Maitland market, past Lochinvar, Allandale, Greta, with its noted
colliery, Branxton, famous for the excellence of its wines, Belford and
Whittingham platforms, and we emerge on to the famous Patricks Plains,
passing through the valuable estates of Messrs. Dangar--Baroona lying to
the left of the line situate on a commanding site, overlooking a most
charming and extensive view of the surrounding country, Neotsfield being
hidden away to the right, whilst the paddocks with their wealth of
pasture are thickly dotted with groups of cattle in splendid condition,
who seem highly content with their comfortable quarters. Past Dalcalmah,
the beautiful residence of the late D. F. Mackay, who I remember years
ago as the proprietor of “Bullamon” and “Nindygully” Stations on the
Moonie, in the colony of Queensland--before the Messrs. Fisher became
the purchasers--and where he passed many years in the pursuit of his
occupation as a squatter, roughing it with his men through fair weather
and foul, and where, no doubt, he contracted the seeds of the disease
that eventually terminated his life; past the magnificent Beebeah
Vineyard, the property of Mr. A. Munro, whose vines have won a
deservedly high reputation for purity and flavor, and we pull up at
Singleton, 49 miles from Newcastle, about half-past nine, quite ready
for the breakfast which awaits us, and which we have been anxiously
looking forward to for the last half-hour.
Several old friends greet me on the platform, amongst them being Harry
York, formerly a well-known host at Jerry’s Plains, and Joe M‘Alpin, who
is now the boniface of the old Caledonian Hotel, and who looks as though
the life agreed with him down to the ground.
Breakfast over, we get under way again, and pass over the bridge across
the Hunter, where a former member of the New South Wales Legislative
Assembly now does duty as gatekeeper; and that reminds me of a racy
story told at his expense, as follows:--During his Parliamentary career
he on one occasion received an invitation to dinner at Government House,
which, of course, was duly accepted; and at length, arrayed in full
evening costume, he had the pleasure of stretching his legs underneath
the Governor’s mahogany. Waiting at table was at that time reduced to a
science in the “uppah succles,” and our worthy M.L.A., who felt rather
at sea in such high and dignified company, awoke some compassion in the
bosom of his right-hand neighbour, who, to relieve his embarrassment and
to make him feel at home, engaged him in conversation on the various
topics of the day. Soup was duly served, when a remark from his
right-hand neighbour caused our friend to lay down his soup spoon and
turn his head to reply. In a twinkling his plate disappeared, to our
friend’s utter astonishment; but a supply of fresh fish brought peace to
his soul for the time being, when “A glass of wine with you, sir,” from
his friend caused him to relinquish his hold upon his fish-knife and
fork, turn his head to reply, when, lo and behold! the balance of his
fish, plate and all, disappeared like a flash. Turning round to continue
his meal, our friend discovered his loss, and coming to the conclusion
that some practical joke was being played upon him, he determined to
keep a sharp watch during the remainder of the repast. Everything
progressed to his satisfaction until the joint was served, when the same
performance was likely to be repeated; but our worthy legislator was
equal to the occasion, and, seizing his knife, he wheeled suddenly round
as he saw the waiter’s hand stretched forth to grasp his plate, and in
low but impressive tones said to the astonished waiter: “By Jove! if you
remove _that_ plate until I have finished with it I will chop your
blooming hand off.” Tableau. Still onwards, passing through some lovely
country, both agricultural and pastoral, of which the famous Ravensworth
Estate forms no inconsiderable portion, noted in years gone by for the
excellent breed of horses raised there by Captain Russell, we at length
arrive at Muswellbrook, the great store cattle market of the colony,
where thousands of horned stock from distant parts of New South Wales
and Queensland are annually brought under the hammer and disposed of to
various buyers, a great number of them finding their way into the grand
fattening paddocks of the Hunter River valley, there to be topped up for
the metropolitan market.
There is a sale advertised to take place on the day we pass through; and
away on the hillside, at the south-eastern corner of the town, we
observe the saleyards filled with cattle, whilst drovers and stockmen
are hurrying hither and thither, giving life and animation to the scene;
whilst buyers are congregating from different parts of the district in
order to supply their requirements.
Mr. and Mrs. Blunt leave us here; and away we go past Aberdeen, pulling
up at the bridge which here spans the Hunter, to replenish the water
tanks of our engine. On past Turanville, of which a splendid view is
obtained away to the left; and Scone, where thousands of pounds have
been spent in the extermination of that terrible pest, the prickly pear.
On through the fertile and beautiful valley of the Upper Hunter, past
Wingen, with its famous burning mountain, and into the valley of the
Page, tributary of the Hunter, eventually pulling up at Murrurundi,
nearly 120 miles from Newcastle, about a quarter to one, and where we
are allowed ten minutes to stretch ourselves and refresh the inner man
if we feel so inclined.
We change engines here; in fact, we obtain two for one, it being
absolutely necessary to attach an additional locomotive in order to
climb the Liverpool Range at the head of the valley, and which I have
many a time climbed on foot in the coaching days of King Cobb, when
Murrurundi was the terminus of the Great Northern line, it being more
than even their noted good teams of horses could do to drag a heavy load
of passengers and mails to the summit.
Onwards and upwards we go, winding around spurs and alongside steep
ranges, obtaining some magnificent views of the town and valley below,
the prospect in some places being most lovely and enchanting, with its
background of noble-looking hills; and at length we plunge into the
tunnel and intense darkness, from which we emerge into the far famed
Doughboy Hollow, a famous camping ground in the olden days, where the
teamsters who had surmounted the difficulties of the range were glad to
rest themselves and their tired cattle before tackling the black soil
plains of Breeza, and where they would gather round the camp fires at
night relating their various adventures by flood and field, backing
“Doughboy” and “Damper” against “Bally” and “Brindle,” and swapping lies
generally, until it was time to go to roost. On past the Willow Tree,
Braefield platform, Quirindi--a thriving little inland town, situate in
the midst of some splendid agricultural country--the whole of which,
from here to Tamworth, must in the course of time come under the
operation of the plough, and find employment and food for thousands of
people--we at length pull up at Werris Creek, at half-past two, 156
miles from Newcastle, where, in exchange for half a-crown, we are
allowed to discuss an ample repast in one of the largest and best
refreshment-rooms in the colony, twenty-five minutes being allowed for
the operation; and as a lavatory is attached to the establishment, we
find a good wash very acceptable and refreshing before proceeding to
dinner.
Here part of our train is detached, it being the junction of the
North-Western line, and with its complement of passengers proceeds
onwards, via Breeza, Gunnedah, and Boggabri, to Narrabri, the present
terminus of that portion of the line; although it will be a good day for
the colony when the extension is carried out via Moree to Queensland
border, the country in that direction being some of the finest grazing
land in the whole of the colonies, which must eventually become
populated, as means of communication are provided for the people; the
roads, so called, being simply impassable in wet weather, and many a
time and oft have the inhabitants of that part of the colony been
threatened with famine in consequence of their supplies being detained
for weeks and months at a stretch in transit from Narrabri to their
destination.
However, I suppose all that will come to an end when the colony is
blessed with a progressive Government, and in the meantime we will
proceed on our journey, via Currabubula and Duri, to Tamworth. We pass
through beautiful open forest and plain country, every acre of which
seems fit for cultivation, and is dotted here and there with
comfortable-looking homesteads and smiling farms, and shortly pull up
for a few minutes at West Tamworth, where I greet a very old friend on
the platform in the person of Mr. David Brown, of Menedebri Station, who
is beginning to look “like a flour bag” now, although still as smart and
active looking as I remember him in years gone by, when he was bossing
the Millie South run on the Galathera Plains, then the property of his
father, and where a traveller was always secure of a real Australian
welcome. He was riding, as usual, a splendid-looking specimen of a
hackney, being always reckoned a good judge of a horse; but as the train
waits for no one, except perhaps a Minister for Works or a Railway
Commissioner, we bid each other good-bye and steam away for Tamworth
proper, crossing the valley of the Peel and the river itself by a long
viaduct and bridge, and curving away to the right, shortly afterwards
pull up at the station, where on the platform I espy another old and
esteemed friend, Mr, Frank Wyndham, who formerly owned the Boronga
Station on the Macintyre River, but after many years of hard work and
anxiety finally had to succumb to the combined forces of droughts, bad
markets, and excessive rentals; but being one of the old sort, who never
say die, he has established himself in business in Tamworth as a stock
and station agent, and I was very pleased to learn he has succeeded very
well in his undertaking, and is doing much better than he did in his
squatting ventures. He deserves all the good fortune that time may have
in store for him, for he is a “real white man,” whichever way you take
him.
The town of Tamworth is pleasantly situated at the foot of a bold chain
of mountains and on the Peel River. The soil on the flats is very rich,
and has been occupied and under cultivation for years; and on the border
of the town is situate the famous Little Paradise garden, a most lovely
and charming resort during the summer months, which is duly appreciated
by the citizens and those visitors who may be staying in the town for a
few weeks’ change.
Skirting the foot of the ranges, with the river flats on the right cut
up into farms and paddocks of every size, and tending eastward and
northward, with signs of cultivation and occupation on every hand, we at
length reach the Moonbies, and commence in earnest our climb to the
tablelands of New England.
Onwards and upwards, following the course of a romantic-looking stream,
containing some beautiful pools of clear, sparkling water, at one of
which, where an overshot dam had been constructed, we pull up for a few
minutes to replenish our water supply. Then, still onwards and upwards,
we at length reach the summit, the first station on the tableland being
the Macdonald River, 208 miles from Newcastle, a splendid stream of
water, cool and clear-looking, and enough to make a dweller in the back
blocks suffering from drought turn green with envy.
As it is now nearly six o’clock and darkness is setting down over the
land, my powers of observation are for the time restricted, and can
merely discern that we are passing through rocky granite country of poor
character, although where patches have been cleared and ring-barked, it
shows decided improvement, on past Walcha Road, Kentucky and Uralla. At
7.40 p.m., we alight cold and hungry at Armidale, 260 miles, where tea
is provided, and for a cold, cheerless, uncomfortable meal, the tea at
Armidale “takes the cake.” As the air is piercingly cold no fire is
visible in the dining-room, whilst the viands are neither tempting nor
appetising, but the fifteen minutes allowed soon expire and away we go
again, and still rising we cross Ben Lomond--the highest point of
elevation on any railway in New South Wales, it being 4471 feet above
the sea level--302 miles from Newcastle, about a quarter to ten. Coiled
up in a corner of the carriage with my rug wrapped round me I make
myself as comfortable as possible, fall fast asleep, and do not awake
until we reach our destination at Tenterfield, the present terminus of
the line, at five minutes past one in the morning, and bitterly cold we
find it on stepping out of the carriage and making our way to the coach
in waiting to convey us to Browne’s Hotel, where fortunately a good fire
and a warm welcome await us, but we are not long before turning in,
being anxious to obtain a few hours rest in a comfortable bed before
resuming the journey. At 5 o’clock Wednesday morning we are roused up by
a knock at the door and a voice saying, “Breakfast will be ready in a
few minutes,” and shortly afterwards appear in the breakfast-room where
a well cooked and appetising repast is quickly placed upon the table, to
which we do ample justice, and a few minutes past six take our seats on
the box of Cobb & Co.’s coach with luggage aboard, to compass the 13 or
14 miles of road between Tenterfield and Wallangarra on the border and
the terminus of the Queensland line.
Our driver is “Old Larry,” a well known whip on the Northern roads, and
quite a character in his way, so that we have a remarkably pleasant
drive in the crisp mountain air, and being well wrapped up we defy the
cold, for it is cold without a doubt, many of the little pools by the
wayside being coated with ice, whilst the frost in the valleys is thick
and heavy, and the air ten degrees colder than on the summit of the
hills, where the beams of the rising sun are dispersing the mists and
warming the atmosphere. The steam rises from the horses in the frosty
air, but they are staunch and good, and about eight o’clock we cross the
border, and shortly afterwards transfer ourselves and luggage from the
coach to the train at the township of Wallangarra, on the Queensland
side.
I am afraid this township has not a very bright future before it, the
surrounding country being of remarkably poor quality and evidently
incapable of maintaining anything like a large population, and I should
fancy that the branch of the Royal Bank of Queensland established there
can hardly pay expenses, whilst the hotelkeepers must have all their
work cut out to make both ends meet. However, I wish them all sorts of
good luck--for any man deserves it who would live in such an
out-of-the-way hole.
Our train starts about half-past eight and is not long in running into
Stanthorpe, formerly a very thriving town and the centre of a large and
important tin-mining industry, but judging from what we saw during the
few minutes the train stopped, I should say now that the principal
residents are goats and Chinamen; in fact, the place seems almost handed
over to the Chinkies, and I hear that the Chinese Commissioners on their
overland journey to Brisbane had a high old time of it here with their
countrymen during their short stay, being driven round to the principal
mines in the vicinity, and being made much of generally, to say nothing
of the wine consumed in their honor.
Granite rocks and boulders are the principal features of interest as we
steam along, but a few miles out of Stanthorpe the line follows the
course of a lovely looking valley for some distance, giving us some
charming views of mountain scenery from our coign of vantage, we having
secured a very comfortable compartment right at the rear of the train,
having a platform on which we can stand and view the surroundings and
have a smoke in peace and comfort whilst viewing the line of rails
disappear in our rear. The country shortly afterwards begins to improve,
and as we near Warwick some grand agricultural land dotted here and
there with farms comes into view, the train presently coming to a
standstill at what will shortly be the main station, on the eastern side
of the town. A goods shed has already been completed and the station
buildings now in course of erection will bear favorable comparison with
anything of their kind along the line, being built in a most substantial
manner of a very superior kind of freestone, which I was informed was
obtained at a quarry about twelve miles distant to the eastward, where
there is an inexhaustible supply. After a few minutes’ delay we steam
slowly across the Condamine River over a substantial bridge, and
following a bend of the river to the westward, pull up at the present
main station where twenty minutes is allowed for dinner, and a right
good meal is served about half-past twelve, to which we do full justice,
our five o’clock breakfast at Tenterfield having vanished into the mists
of the past by this time--the viands being plentiful, the cookery
excellent, and the country girl who waits upon us very attentive, the
charge also being moderate--two shillings--and for the life of me I
cannot understand the difference in the tariff on the overland journey
between Melbourne and Brisbane. At Seymour, in Victoria, they give you a
splendid tea for eighteen-pence, but for one early breakfast at Albury,
and for any other meal on the New South Wales lines nothing less than
half-a-crown is charged, so that protected Victoria will certainly
compare favorably with freetrade New South Wales in that respect, whilst
Queensland strikes a balance between the two, and gives you as good a
meal as either of them for two shillings. However, the bell rings and
again we take our scats shortly to commence our journey over the
far-famed Darling Downs, as soon after leaving Warwick the panorama
opens out and some magnificent stretches of country meet the eye on
every side, the view being enchanting in the extreme, more especially as
we are favoured with exceptionally fine weather, whilst the temperature
is becoming decidedly warmer, making travelling far more pleasant than
it was during the cold hours of the night and early morning coming
through New England. Grand agricultural country this, as well as
pastoral, farms being thickly dotted over the landscape, whilst splendid
stacks of hay, visible at various stations, speaks well for the
forethought of those who, having doubtless learnt a few severe lessons
during our seasons of drought, have made preparations for the future.
Passing Allora, a thickly populated farming district, with signs of
cultivation visible on every hand, we pass over some splendid rolling
downs divided into paddocks, and evidently forming a portion of the
famous Clifton Estate, in which we discern some grand specimens of pure
Devon and grade cattle, whose condition speaks volumes for the richness
of the pasture, the water supply evidently being obtained from wells,
with pumps worked by means of windmills of the solid-wheel type, numbers
of which can be seen at work as we pass along, with cattle grouped
around the troughs and tanks in their vicinity, whilst the prospect
extends almost as far as the eye can reach.
A splendid hare is handed to the guard at one of the Clifton crossings,
and we shortly afterwards pull up at Clifton Station, where the passing
of the train appears to be the event of the day in the eyes of a few
bushmen congregated under the verandah of the Clifton Arms; whilst the
horses hitched here and there show that the arrival of the mail is
evidently of some importance to the settlers resident in the vicinity.
The country continues of the same splendid description past King’s Creek
and Cambooya, where the south-western traffic, via Leyburn, Inglewood,
and Goondiwindi, joins the railway line, and where a splendid reserve is
available for the carriers on that road. Still on, through grand farming
country, passing under the road leading to Toowoomba through Drayton,
past one or two small platforms and we pull up for a few minutes at
Gowrie Junction to refresh our engine. Here the main western line from
Mitchell, Roma, Yeulba, and Dalby, junctions with the Warwick and
Stanthorpe line; and another eight miles, through farms, orchards, and
gardens, with soil of the real Toowoomba color, brings us to the capital
of the Darling Downs. We run out on a substantial trestle-bridge, and by
means of a triangular section of railway back into the station, so that
we have a clear run outwards when resuming our journey to Brisbane.
With a quarter of an hour allowed for refreshments, we step out and
stretch our legs, have a cup of tea, obtain a couple of good havanas,
and again resume our seats, and passing outwards towards the crest of
the range obtain a very fair view of the town and its surroundings, the
excellence and fertility of the soil being conspicuous on every hand.
Just as we commence the descent a lovely place is visible to the sight
perched on a plateau at the summit of the range, a splendid orangery
being a conspicuous feature in the surroundings, whilst the view
obtainable therefrom would be hard to surpass in any part of the colony.
Onwards and downwards we go, mile after mile, the views from various
points being magnificent in the extreme and extending for miles,
comparing very favourably with some of the most romantic scenery of our
own far-famed Blue Mountains. On round sharp curves, over
spidery-looking bridges that look almost as though a strong gale would
blow them over; across deep ravines fringed with beautiful shrubs and
trees of every description, plunging through short tunnels built on the
curve to such an extent in some instances that one wonders how on earth
they managed to construct them safely--the whole forming a lasting
monument to the engineering skill that managed to overcome the almost
insurmountable obstacles that stared them in the face in their
endeavours to open up railway communication between the capital of the
colony and the Darling Downs. One particular feature of the journey
struck me as an example worthy of imitation on the various lines
throughout the different colonies. I allude to the numerous peach trees
bordering the line, planted there by the gangs of fettlers employed in
the maintenance of the permanent way between the summit of the range and
Highfields, these trees being a treat to see during the summer months,
and affording an ample supply of beautifully cool, juicy fruit during
that time to the numerous employees on this heavy length of line.
Highfields, where we stay for a few minutes to replenish the water
supply, is a most romantically situated spot, sheltered from the hot
westerly winds that generally prevail on the Downs by a range clothed in
verdure and greenery almost surpassing description, and I have often
wondered why some speculative individual has not taken advantage of the
natural beauties of this most charming retreat amongst the mountains and
erected an hotel, to which the tired denizens of the city could resort
during the hottest months of the year to renew their health and energy,
feeling sure that the speculation would be one of the most profitable of
its kind in the colony if properly carried out; for if our own colony
can support hotels and boarding-houses by the dozen on the Blue
Mountains, surely the colony of Queensland could maintain one of the
kind, at least, in such a lovely spot, with a perpetual spring of pure
water available for every purpose, which would enable anyone to turn the
place into a veritable paradise on earth.
Leaving Highfields, with its sanatorium still in the womb of the future,
we proceed onwards and downwards, passing some magnificent blocks of
freestone of excellent quality stacked along the line, awaiting
conveyance, the quarry from which it is obtained being situate in a
gorge of the mountains immediately below, and with a supply evidently
inexhaustible. Past Murphy’s Creek, at the foot of the range, we shortly
afterwards pull up at Helidon for tea, where the good opinion we have
already formed of the quality of the meals supplied on the Queensland
railways is still further strengthened; the establishment being under
the control of an old friend of mine, with whom I had often spent a
pleasant hour in Brisbane, when he was managing a very large business
venture in that city. Very pleased indeed we were to meet again; but the
iron horse allows of scant delay, so with a hearty grip we part--I to
resume my journey, and he to remain looking after the wants of
travellers like myself; and if they never get into worse hands they will
never take much harm.
Night has now settled down upon us, and shortly after passing
Grandchester, with its beautiful plane trees growing alongside the
station, I drop off to sleep, passing the intervening stations,
including Ipswich, with very faint recollections, and am finally roused
by my travelling companion as the train slows down just outside the
Brisbane terminus for the collection of tickets, about a quarter past
ten at night.
Shortly afterwards, with our belongings stowed away on board a
wagonette, we are on our way to the Metropolitan Hotel, where I renew an
acquaintance extending over many years with its jolly proprietor, Mr. J.
A. Philips, but unfortunately have to interview him in his own private
room, as he was laid up with a severe attack of the gout, and unable to
leave his bed.
However, I find him as jolly as ever, making light of his affliction,
and looking upon it as a matter of course; but he takes good care that
our wants are duly attended to; and shortly afterwards, pretty well
tired out with the long journey, I retire to rest, and sleep the sleep
of the just until roused by the loud tones of the gong calling me to
breakfast in the morning.
Just to give your readers an idea of the time occupied on the overland
journey between Sydney and Brisbane I will summarise it as follows:--
We left Sydney on Monday night at half-past eleven; arrived at Newcastle
early next morning; left there by train at a quarter-past seven a.m. on
Tuesday; travelled all that day, reaching the present terminus at
Tenterfield at a quarter-past one on Wednesday morning; left there at
six a.m. the same morning by Cobb’s coach, and arrived at Wallangarra
about eight o’clock, finishing the journey at Brisbane at a quarter-past
ten the same night.
The steamer for Normanton had been advertised in Sydney to leave
Brisbane on the Thursday, the day after our arrival, but on going to the
office to make inquiries as to her time of departure, we were told that
in consequence of having been delayed by running aground in the Brisbane
River on her way up to the wharf, she could not possibly leave before
Friday afternoon, so that we had a clear day to look around the city and
hunt up our acquaintances. Not having seen Brisbane for a couple of
years I took advantage of the opportunity to ascertain what progress the
city had made since my last visit, and must say that the sight of the
buildings lately erected gave me a very strong idea that the community
must be in a tolerably prosperous state to enable them to erect such
structures in their midst.
The Queensland National Bank, the “Courier” buildings, the offices of
Macdonald-Paterson and Co., Grimes and Pettys, Finney, Isles and Co.,
the Imperial Hotel, and many others, would compare favorably with
anything in the colonies, and would certainly be a credit to any city in
the world. I also paid a visit to Parliament House, and must certainly
admit that the lower chamber is far and away superior to that of Sydney
in every respect, it being arranged much after the style of the Council
Chamber in the latter city, but the accommodation for the public, and
more particularly the gallery set apart for ladies, is perfect in its
way, and offers an example that the older colony might well follow
whenever it is decided to erect something more suitable for the purpose
than the present barn-like structure that passes muster as the
Legislative Hall of New South Wales. With regard to the refreshment
room, Sydney has the advantage; in fact, I think it would be hard to
find a finer dining-room than the one attached to the Legislative
Assembly of the old Colony, but like the railway arrangements for meals,
in this respect also, Queensland bears the palm, the tariff for all
meals to Members of the House being one shilling only, and available
every day, both in session and out, the consequence being that many
Members of the Legislature who appreciate good cookery at a moderate
rate, desert the clubs at meal times and give the preference to the
Parliamentary cuisine.
We fell in with several Members of the Lower House, notably, Mr.
Macdonald-Paterson, Postmaster-General, and Mr. Macrossan, the late
Minister for Works; the former, a fine jovial specimen of humanity who
did his best to make our stay as agreeable as possible, and who
certainly left a most favorable impression on my mind as a courteous and
affable gentleman of whom the colony may well feel proud.
However, it is not my intention to weary your readers with a description
of Brisbane and its surroundings, so will proceed to relate more
particularly the incidents of our voyage northwards, which may prove of
more interest than descriptions of men and cities told many a time and
oft by abler pens than mine.
The s. s. Rockton, 2000 tons, was the vessel destined to convey us to
the port of Kimberley, in the Gulf of Carpentaria, passengers and
luggage being transferred there into the s.s. Dugong for the remainder
of the voyage up the Norman River, it being as yet impossible to get
vessels of the Rockton’s tonnage and draught across the bar at the mouth
of the river, and about a quarter-past five, p.m. on Friday, the 29th
July, we left the wharf in Brisbane and steamed slowly and carefully
down the river, being one day behind at the start through the
before-mentioned accident to the vessel on her inward voyage. The usual
bustle consequent on the departure of a large steamer with a full
complement of passengers took place--many tearful farewells and goodbyes
were uttered, many hearty hand-shakes given, and many a white
handkerchief waved as we cast loose from our moorings, but there was
little or no confusion, Captain Leggett and his officers reducing
everything to apple pie order in a very short space of time, whilst the
passengers began to look about them trying to discover who were their
companions for the voyage and what sort of a prospect was held out for a
pleasant passage, as it depends very much upon the company one happens
to meet whether matters go smoothly or not, and judging from personal
observations, we were evidently in for a sociable and enjoyable trip.
We got safely out of the river just as the night came on, bore across
for the light on Moreton Island, got safely over the outer bar, and the
voyage had fairly commenced, our first port of call being Townsville;
and as by this time it was about a fair thing, I turned in and had a
good night’s rest, the sea being comparatively smooth, whilst the
steamer, with the wind abeam, was going a good twelve knots and giving
every prospect of a rapid passage--a promise fully borne out by results.
On we sped, passing Frazer Island and the Great Sandy Cape on Saturday
morning, very little occurring to break the monotony of the voyage,
except that off the Cape we noticed thousands of sea birds engaged in
fishing--a very interesting performance to those who had not previously
witnessed anything of the kind--and as we were very close to them, in
fact they almost surrounded us, we had a splendid view of the operation.
A bird would rise from sixty to a hundred feet above the surface of the
sea, then turn, and with head down, wings folded closely to its sides,
come down like a stone, disappearing under the water for a few seconds,
when it would emerge--in most instances with its finny prey secured--and
after paddling on the surface for a few yards, disposing of its capture,
it would again take wing, and mingling amongst its fellows again and
again go through the same evolutions with varying success.
We had also some glimpses of lovely islands scattered here and there on
the calm surface of the sea, which, together with the glorious views of
the mainland, combined to form a most exquisite picture, ever changing
and ever enjoyable, more especially to those who had not previously
taken a trip along the lovely northern coast.
We had the usual variety of games by which travellers on shipboard
manage to while away the time--deck quoits, whist, cribbage, penny nap.,
draughts, and chess, and amongst those who affected the latter game was
“Uncle John,”--a perfect character in his way, and a never-failing fund
of amusement to his fellow-passengers,--who was _en route_ to Cooktown
on business connected with the construction of the railway from that
place to Maytown. A jovial old card at all hours and under all
circumstances was “Uncle,” ever on the watch to persuade a friend to
join him in “viewing the alligator,” ever ready to join in a round game
at cards or meet an opponent over the chess board, where his
preternatural look of wisdom and “whuskey,” combined with his witty
remarks on the progress of the game, would afford a regular “go as you
please” entertainment to his delighted auditors, chief amongst whom was
a little four-eyed specimen of the tribe of Israel, whose laugh at
“Uncle’s” sallies was loud and continuous, until it finally became
monotonous, and created a murderous desire in the breasts of those in
the immediate vicinity, more especially when he followed the old man
about with a pressing request that he would again entertain him with the
funny story of “The broken down walls of Jerusalem.” “Vich vas de pest
yarn, sho elp me neffer, dat I efer hear in all mine life, und gome und
dell it to dis shentleman; he was not hea it at all yet,” until we all
had it by heart.
At meal times also “Uncle” was a regular picnic all to himself, and a
chop trying a wrestling match with the “old un” invariably came off
second best, for, seizing it by the shank end, it would disappear down
his capacious maw with a rush, the bone reappearing immediately
afterwards as bare of meat as a black gin’s shin-bone; whilst he would
dive the fork he was using into the dish of spuds and impale one with
unerring aim, to the great “amusement” (?) of his nearest neighbours. As
for the dessert, particularly the oranges and bananas, the way it
disappeared was a caution to boa constrictors. And as Uncle was never
sick or sorry, but always on hand whenever the saddling bell rang, I am
afraid the purser did not get much the best of the deal.
However, the old boy was a jolly good old sort, able to give a joke or
take one with perfect good humour, and the last we saw of him was going
over the side and down the companion ladder into the ship’s boat for
delivery in Cooktown, with the following label secured firmly to his
coat:--“I am out for the night; when full, take me home; address, Uncle
John, Cooktown Gaol.” And one of our passengers who went ashore in the
same boat says the old chap was safely landed, the last words he heard
him utter being, “Stand up, lads; my shout this time!” in the bar of
Poole’s hotel.
We also had on board Mr. B. Cribb, who was on his way to Croydon to act
as P.M. and assist the Warden at that place in getting through the vast
amount of work caused by the large influx of diggers, attracted by the
reports current throughout the colonies of the richness of the field;
together with Messrs. Hassall and Waddell, members of the N.S.W.
Legislature, who were taking advantage of the recess to pay a visit to
the field; and many others, including a brother of Mr. Cribb’s, Charley
Street, a well-known expert telegraph operator, who had been told off to
help the unfortunate post and telegraph master at Croydon (who was
nearly worked to death) pull through the enormous amount of business
which was being done since the opening of the office; Mr. Wilson Le
Couteur, the possessor of a magnificent voice and an extensive
repertoire of songs, with which he whiled away many a pleasant hour, who
had been instructed by the A.U.S.N. Co. to proceed to Normanton and
report upon the best means of doing away with the delay that now exists
in landing and lightering the vast quantities of goods shipped to that
port.
It was high time some decisive steps were taken in reference to this
important matter, affecting, as it does, the future welfare of nearly
the whole of the residents of the Gulf country, who are at present, and
will be for years, mainly dependent upon outside supplies for the
necessaries of life; the country around here which has come under my
observation being totally unfitted for agriculture. And in view of the
immense increase in business which has taken place since the discovery
of the Croydon goldfield, of which the A.U.S.N. Co. are reaping the
direct benefit, it was a good stroke of policy on their part to send a
gentleman of Mr. Le Couteur’s ability, knowledge, and tact to discover
and report upon the best means to be adopted in order to attain the end
in view; and, speaking for myself and many others who have made this
trip more than once, sincerely hope that suggestions made by him to the
company he represents may be carried out in their entirety, and without
any unnecessary delay.
The rest of our passengers were of the usual mixed order found on board
most coasting steamers--a fairly representative collection of the
various trades and professions incidental to colonial life, who
fraternised together in the usual way, and, as a rule, did their best to
entertain each other during the voyage; the number being largely
increased on our arrival at Townsville by an influx of miners, machine
owners, and speculators from Charters Towers, some of them accompanied
by their wives and children, and evidently intent upon settling down at
Croydon and giving the place a fair trial in a thoroughly practical way.
We arrived at Townsville on Monday morning, and cast anchor in the bay
shortly before eleven o’clock, but it was some little time before the
steam tender came off to convey mails and passengers ashore; our
captain, Mr. Cribb, Mr. Le Couteur, and one or two others being
accommodated with a seat in the Customs’ boat, which had come alongside
in the meantime. The usual inconveniences of landing at Townsville were
experienced on this occasion, for, notwithstanding the large sums of
money spent in trying to improve the port by erecting jetties and by
dredging, it is almost as difficult to land now as it was years ago,
when the first rush took place to Charters Towers.
The steam tender took us as far as the bar at the end of the jetty right
enough, but there the trouble commenced as we had to tranship into the
steamer’s boat, which the officer in charge had taken the precaution to
tow behind us, and from that we were transferred or landed on the
northern jetty, climbing up the blocks of stone of which it is composed
as best we might, winding up with a fairly long walk under a glaring sun
over a pretty rough track with a heavy patch of sand to wind up with,
and finally pulling up at the Criterion Hotel for a refresher, where I
met several old and valued friends, including Mr. Fred Johnson, who
looks as well and hearty as when I met him nearly ten years ago, Mr.
Hubert, Tom Coyle, and many others.
As we had about eight hours to spare I utilised the time by having a
look around the city, and found that many improvements had been made
since my last visit, and from all appearances the place has every
prospect of a prosperous future, although just at present matters are as
dull as the proverbial ditch-water; Townsville, like many other places
throughout the colony, having suffered severely from the effects of the
late drought, but signs of improvement are visible in consequence of the
present really good season, and the beef and mutton exhibited in the
shops of Messrs. Castling and Johnson would compare favorably with
anything in Australia.
Townsville has long been noted for the excellence of its hotel
accommodation, and years ago when the Queen’s Hotel was under the
management of Mr. and Mrs. Harry Boulton, now of Pfahlert’s Hotel,
Wynyard Square, Sydney, the name was a household word amongst all
travellers whom business and pleasure took northwards, for the
excellence of its arrangements; and under the present supervision of Mr.
and Mrs. Cran it has lost none of its former prestige, whilst the
“Imperial,” established by Mr. D. Buchanan, and now conducted by Mrs. W.
Eaton, late of the Criterion Hotel, Rockhampton, will compare favorably
with anything of the kind in the colonies.
The news of the good crushings at Croydon had created quite a stir, and
many of the old pioneers of the north were thinking of paying a visit to
the new “El Dorado,” in order to ascertain from personal observation
what the future prospects of the gold-field were likely to be, and their
opinions will doubtless be looked forward to with a great deal of
interest by their immediate circle of friends and acquaintances, as well
as many others who will rely upon it before making a start for this as
yet comparatively unknown country.