SYDNEY TO HOBART TOWN
[Sidenote: 1850. Sydney, Feb. 7.]
We ran up the beautiful harbour of Port Jackson with the first of the
sea-breeze and came to in Farm Cove, close to the hill on which stands
Government House.
I can well understand how it was that Captain Cook in the first
instance overlooked the entrance and stood on to the exposed shallow
harbour of Botany Bay: now crowded with sharks, affording sport for gun
or spear.
There is a fine dock forming on Cockatoo Island, the advantage of which
will be incalculable.
We found the _Rattlesnake_, Captain Owen Stanley.
Here I was in the midst of friends--Sir Charles Fitzroy, the Governor,
with Lady Mary--his daughter, “little Mary,” now grown into the tall
and handsome Hon. Mrs. Keith Stewart, mother of a charming family;
also Captain Augustus Fitzroy, A.D.C., and George, Private Secretary;
another brother, Arthur, was at sea.
To the long and kind nursing of this family I owe my life, but from the
way I was received it would appear that the debt of gratitude was due
from them!
[Illustration: Mæander _at Sydney._]
Of that family there are none alive; the father and sons died in
distant parts of the world, far from one another, as will hereafter
appear. I was near each one of them at the end.
While at luncheon some one remarked on the extraordinary noise caused
by the ringing of a bell, near, or on board the _Mæander_.
I exclaimed, I hoped not, as that meant fire.
Looking from the window we saw dense masses of smoke issuing from the
position of the after magazine. A youngster was running to inform me.
The _Rattlesnake_ had slipped her cables to be out of the way.
On board I found a scuttle cut through the gun-room deck into the
bread-room to pour water, just big enough for me. I was nearly
suffocated.
We really had a narrow escape. The fire was subdued. The powder had
been smartly removed, but the wood framing had, as in the case of the
_Magicienne_, been burnt down to the copper-lining.
[Sidenote: March.]
During our refit we discovered the head of our mizen-mast to be rotten,
and as there was a spar of same dimension in the _Anson_, convict ship
at Hobart Town, which was originally made for the _Southampton_, I sent
my trusty “First” to apply to the Governor of Van Dieman’s Land for
permission to appropriate it.
Sir Charles Fitzroy, who was going to make a short tour into the
interior, not only kindly took me with him, but mounted me from his
first-rate stable.
As His Excellency rode some six stone more than I could boast of, I
never knew what it was to ride a tired horse.
While we rode, a light van conveyed our commissariat and luggage:
certainly the most agreeable mode of seeing any country.
While we were absent on this tour, a little more than a fortnight after
our first arrival, the Naval Service sustained a sad loss by the sudden
death of Captain Owen Stanley; it was necessary to despatch a messenger
for my recall, as his papers could not be opened nor his body buried in
the absence of the senior officer.
We had for many years been acquainted, and I cannot help expressing
here deep regret and sympathy with the many to whom he was so justly
dear.
Previous to the death of my friend Owen Stanley, I had made the
acquaintance of the distinguished artist who had been cruising with
him, Mr. Oswald Brierly, who had arrived in Australia in 1842, in the
yacht _Wanderer_, the property of Mr. Benjamin Boyd, a man of means,
and of an adventurous turn.
[Illustration: _Brierly._]
Brierly was already a student of naval architecture, with a love of the
sea--in fact he began by studying for the service itself.
Mr. Boyd’s schemes were many, one of them a whaling establishment at
Twofold Bay, which he placed under Brierly’s control. Boyd then betook
himself to the Eastern Archipelago, to collect pearls and pearl-shells,
diamonds, etc., and while exhibiting these on board his yacht to a
respectable-looking pirate his head fell between his legs, and the
yacht disappeared from the scene.
Brierly had made friends in Sydney and might have done well, but his
heart was on the sea, and he could not resist the offer of a cabin in
the _Rattlesnake_.
On Owen Stanley’s death he accepted a similar offer from me, until I
could land him in England.
[Sidenote: Mar. 20.]
Sailed from Port Jackson on March 20.
It being the time of the recess, a very agreeable party were enabled to
accompany us to Tasmania.
Among my guests were Captain Fitzroy, A.D.C., with his brother George,
Private Secretary, master of a scratch pack of hounds, also Mr. Deas
Thompson, whom my friend Colonel Mundy describes as the “Prince of
Colonial Secretaries,” and, judging from the directions I received from
the Governor as to the care and attention to be shown him, he was not
less appreciated at headquarters.
[Sidenote: Mar. 25.]
Pleased as we were with the appearance of everything about Sydney, we
were still more so with that of Hobart Town, where we arrived March 25.
[Illustration: Mæander _at Hobart Town_.]
As we entered the harbour it was difficult to imagine ourselves in the
Antipodes. English fruits and vegetables exposed for sale. Grapes,
peaches, and nectarines, in the open air, were breaking the trees down.
As soon as we anchored Bowyear came on board to report. Owing to deaths
and invalids we had many vacancies.
“What chance of men?” I asked. Pointing to a ship lying near, he said,
“The whole crew have volunteered.”
It was a female convict ship.
The doctor who had come out in her told me the most moral were the
Irish, the Scotch the least so.
In the streets the public carriages, as well as horses, reminded one
of the good old coaching days; indeed the road from Hobart Town to
Launceston is little inferior to that from London to Birmingham.
[Sidenote: Tasmania, March.]
The country we passed through, the quickset hedges, turnpikes,
farmhouses, stacks of corn and hay; the roadside inns, at which the
coach changed horses or stopped a few minutes to dine; the good roast
leg of mutton, potatoes _and_ onions, hot and ready; the “coming”
waiter, with bad brandy and worse cigars, all reminded us of home. The
arrival of the _Mæander_ was scarcely known in the country.
It was the hunting season. The Governor, Sir William Denison, who was
a lover of the sport, kindly mounted me, he himself an invalid and
confined to his bed. My first meet was at Oatlands.
I was carefully got up in leathers and boots, my pink rather stained
below the pockets.
Quickset hedges had not reached far into the interior; their
substitutes were the upper branches of large trees, with bark off,
supposed to be impossible for cattle, but not for kangaroo.
When I arrived, the hounds had gone; horns were blowing. On nearing the
hunters, my inexperienced eye saw an opening which I considered big
enough.
The tip of a stiff snag caught the Governor’s mare on the shoulder; we
came a stunning fall into the next field, where we lay for, I suppose,
a minute. I was first up, patted, and spoke kindly to the mare; she
then got up. I told her, seeing nothing else, we must go back the same
way we came. She understood. We walked a few yards back for room,
and then turned. She landed safely among the hunting men. Never was
a more sincere and hearty cheer raised. Striking the pipeclay out of
his leathers with his fist, the master, whose name was Long, roared
out, “By Jove! That fellow ought to be King of England.” I soon made
acquaintance with as nice a set as I ever met.
Rode quietly to the Governor’s stables, mounted my hack, and from
my room wrote the kind Governor the sad news that I had lamed his
favourite mare!
Besides hounds, there were in the neighbourhood a first-rate pack of
beagles.
Just before we sailed from Hobart Town, I received a letter which I
much prized--from Mr. William Allison, one of the young men with whom I
had crossed the country.
His father was a squatter, who had been an officer in the Navy, and had
served his country throughout the eventful period of the late war--one
of the finest specimens I ever saw of an old mariner.
His son had the management of 40,000 acres, with a flock of 20,000
sheep, and was deeply interested in the welfare of the colony.
Speaking of sport, in which he knew I should be interested, he says:
“We had the most glorious run on Saturday I ever saw, or perhaps shall
ever see, with my brother’s beagles. After a run of 12 miles, the
kangaroo, a forester, jumped dead, 10 yards in front of the hounds. We
had no check, and during the last 4 miles we frequently viewed him.
There were only Nat, myself, a younger brother, and a Mr. Difrose in
at the death. Had you been with us, as we have often wished, you would
have been there too. Mrs. Lord sent you the kangaroo, which we hope
reached safely.”
The Hobart Town races came off during our stay, and afforded good
sport. There was a Governor’s cup to be run for.
[Sidenote: Apr. 18.]
The 99th Regiment, whose acquaintance I made in Mauritius days,--the
“Neuf Neufs,” as the French called them,--and ourselves amused the
inhabitants of Hobart Town by a sham fight.
The soldiers were to occupy some Government ground called “The
Paddocks,” and oppose an invasion.
As soon as the 99th had taken up their position in a wood to the
rear, the invading force effected a landing, and were driving in the
enemy’s pickets, when they were suddenly outnumbered, and obliged to
retire on their boats, making a gallant stand at the end to cover the
re-embarkation of their artillery.
Much ammunition was expended, and we were told so large a concourse of
people had never before been seen in Hobart Town.
[Illustration: _The Sham Fight._]
[Sidenote: Apr. 20.]
Before taking our departure, I had the gratification of receiving Sir
William Denison on board. Saluted him, and made sail down the river as
far as the “Iron Pot,” Derwent River, and then worked back again. Hove
to off the anchorage, and landed His Excellency; and having collected
our Sydney contingent, sailed for that port.
[Illustration: Mæander _between Sydney Heads_.]