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FIVE YEARS UNDER THE
SOUTHERN CROSS
[Illustration: _Rev. F. C. Spurr._]
FIVE YEARS UNDER
THE SOUTHERN CROSS
Experiences and Impressions
By
FREDERIC C. SPURR
Late Minister of First Baptist Church, Melbourne
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
1915
_TO_
_My Children, NORMAN FÉLIX and MADELEINE DOROTHY, who spent their five
“years of awakening” under the Southern Cross, and chiefly to their
Mother, MY WIFE AND COMRADE, who made Australia not only her home but
her workshop, in which she tried, with much success, to do something to
help and bless her sisters._
PREFACE
For five years, during my residence in Australia, I had the privilege
of contributing to the English _Christian World_ a large number
of articles on life in the Commonwealth. These articles excited a
great amount of interest amongst all classes, and brought me a vast
correspondence, which made it abundantly clear that even well-educated
people at home know little about the inner life of Australia. This
book is an attempt to throw some light upon that far-off country,
and to make Australia “live.” Many books have been written about the
Commonwealth, but none quite on the lines of the following pages. In a
series of impressionist sketches various phases of Australian life are
set forth--the life in the midst of which I worked. The editor of the
_Christian World_ has generously permitted me to make free use of the
articles I contributed to that journal. I gratefully acknowledge this
kindness.
FREDERIC C. SPURR.
_Regent’s Park Chapel,
London, N.W._
CONTENTS
PAGE
FOREWORD: AUSTRALIA’S PLACE IN THE EMPIRE 1
CHAPTER
1. GOING TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH 12
2. THE GOLDEN WEST 18
3. AN ACCOMPLISHED MIRACLE AND A PREDICTION 26
4. ADELAIDE, THE QUEEN CITY OF AUSTRALIA 37
5. THE ROMANCE OF MELBOURNE 46
6. THE BEAUTY OF SYDNEY 54
7. AT BOTANY BAY 64
8. BRISBANE, THE QUEEN CITY OF THE NORTH 72
9. QUEENSLAND, THE RICH UNPEOPLED STATE 79
10. THE ROMANCE OF QUEENSLAND SUGAR 87
11. THE AUSTRALIAN WINTER AND SPRING 95
12. BUSH HOLIDAYS 108
13. SOME BUSH YARNS 114
14. A HONEYMOON IN THE BUSH 122
15. THE HIGHWAYMEN OF THE BUSH 130
16. A SQUATTER’S HOME AND DAUGHTER 138
17. THE HARDSHIPS OF THE BUSH 146
18. AMONGST THE ABORIGINES 153
19. THE GOLDEN CITIES 160
20. THE MIRACLE OF THE MALLEE 174
21. THE ANNUAL SHOWS 182
22. AN INTERLUDE: A DUST STORM IN SUMMER 188
23. CHRISTMAS IN AUSTRALIA 192
24. SOCIAL LIFE IN AUSTRALIA 201
25. LABOUR CONDITIONS IN AUSTRALIA 209
26. DEAD FLIES IN THE LABOUR MOVEMENT 218
27. AUSTRALIAN POLITICS 231
28. RELIGION IN AUSTRALIA 238
29. IN VAN DIEMEN’S LAND--AN IMPRESSION 257
30. THE ROMANCE OF TASMANIA 265
31. A PARADISE OF FRUIT 274
32. THE OUTLOOK IN TASMANIA 282
33. REVIEW 289
FIVE YEARS UNDER THE SOUTHERN CROSS
FOREWORD
AUSTRALIA’S PLACE IN THE EMPIRE
The average Englishman and the average Australian have at least one
thing in common: each of them is profoundly ignorant of the inner life
of that country in which his fellow-subjects, separated from him by a
distance of twelve thousand miles, dwell.
The average Australian knows by name the chief cities of Britain;
he knows a little about British exports and imports; he knows as
much of English politics as scanty cables and the letters of special
correspondents inform him. If he is a religious man he knows also the
names of the outstanding preachers of various churches. Beyond this
he has only the haziest ideas of the conditions of life in the Mother
Country. When a cable message informs him that London is enveloped in
a thick fog, or that Britain is frost-bound, he fervently thanks God
that his lot has been cast in a country where “the amount of bright
sunshine” has not to be registered each day in the winter-time. Of
the inner life of the Old Land he knows nothing at all, nor can he
grasp, unless he is particularly well informed, the true meaning of
current political and social movements. For this he is in no way to
be censured; it is the fatality of distance that weighs upon him.
I am speaking of the _average_, untravelled Australian. It is very
different, of course, with those persons who have visited the Homeland,
and who, open-eyed and impressionable, have come to understand what
English life stands for. When such travellers return to Australia
they rarely speak of the Old Country as “having seen its best days.”
While they very properly deplore the overcrowding of English towns
and cities, and in particular are aghast at the alarming development
of slumdom, they also recognise that the energy of Britain is more
than equal to that social regeneration for which the new time calls.
In my judgment, Australians need a much fuller and a much fairer
statement, continually renewed, of the actual condition of things in
the Motherland. It should be possible, for example, to describe the
course of British politics in an impartial manner, leaving Australians
to form their own judgment upon the undoubted facts supplied to them.
At present this is rarely done.
On the other hand, what does the average Englishman know about
Australia? In his mind it is connected with a big export trade in
apples, wool, wheat, meat, rabbits, and butter. He reads of the “Bush”
and of the aborigines, of the kangaroo, and of the laughing jackass.
He knows the names of its chief cities--Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney,
and Brisbane. He has heard also that Australia is the working man’s
paradise; that legislation tends in the direction of Socialism; that in
Parliament there are often some lively scenes, and that in summer the
heat is intense. For the rest, Australia is to him a vast, lone country
situated at the Antipodes, a long, long way off across the seas, and
a place to which, if a man goes, he must suffer the inconvenience of
being cut off from the rest of the world. “Australia? Yes! One of our
colonies under the Southern Cross!” Now it is time that the abysmal
ignorance which prevails concerning this great country should, once
for all, be dissipated. Englishmen ought to realise that Australia, so
far from being a vast, lone land situated in a corner of the world,
difficult of access, is in reality situated _in the very centre of the
British Empire_, and that, because of this situation, it is destined to
play a great part in the coming life of that Empire.
Let me try to make this point abundantly clear.
The British Empire consists of the United Kingdom, India, parts of
Africa, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and a number of small islands,
fortified rocks, coaling stations, and the like. The population of
the whole Empire is well over four hundred millions--representing
one-quarter of the entire population of the world. Great Britain
itself--the Motherland, the centre of government--has less than
one-eighth of the population of the Empire. _The other seven-eighths
are far nearer to Australia than to Great Britain_. That is the great
point to be observed. In other words, Australia is in closer physical
touch with India than is England, while it is quite as near to Africa
(nearer, indeed, to Eastern Africa) and Western Canada as is England.
Let the reader procure a map of the globe and carefully examine the
situation of Australia from this point of view; and if he has never
observed it before, it will probably come home to him with something of
a shock. From Adelaide to Capetown or Durban is a matter of fourteen or
fifteen days’ good steaming. From London to Capetown is no quicker, if
as quick. And that the present average rate of steaming between Durban
and Australia can easily be accelerated is clearly proved by the fact
that the new White Star steamer _Ceramic_ recently accomplished the
journey from Liverpool to Melbourne via the Cape in two days less than
an Orient steamer which left London on the same day and proceeded by
the Suez route. It is all a question of coal, and in time of need the
consumption of coal would not be a primary consideration.
Still follow the map, and observe that the distance between Sydney and
Vancouver is little greater than that between England and Vancouver.
The whole of Western Canada is open to traffic with Australia, and
there is no great stretch of country to cross by rail. Here, again, an
accelerated steamer service would bring Sydney and Vancouver within
fifteen or sixteen days of each other.
Continuing with the map, it will be seen that between Fremantle, in
Western Australia, and Colombo or Bombay there lies the open stretch
of water known as the Indian Ocean. The usual time allowed by the
mail steamers for crossing between these two points is nine to ten
days. The S.S. _Maloja_, in which I travelled to England last year,
accomplished the voyage between Fremantle and Colombo in seven and a
half days, Bombay being two days farther north. That is to say, by an
ordinary mail steamer, Fremantle and Bombay lie within ten days of each
other. This time could easily be reduced by a day or a day and a half.
There are three hundred millions of the subjects of the King in India.
These are ruled from England. Bombay, “the gate of India,” cannot be
reached from England in less than fourteen days, travelling overland
from London to Brindisi, and thence by sea. And there is the narrow
Suez Canal to traverse, a piece of water that an enemy could in an hour
render impossible for traffic. From Australia to India there is one
great piece of open sea; there is no canal liable to be blocked; _and
Bombay is nearer to Australia than to England by four or five days_.
These are simple facts, verifiable by any person who will give himself
a little trouble. And do they not show that Australia, so far from
being in a corner, out of the way--an appendage, as it were, to the
Empire--is in reality situated in the centre of the Empire, within
almost equal distance of India, Africa, and Canada?
But there is something far more important than this. Unfold the map
once more, and it will be clearly seen that Australia is not only in
the centre of our own Empire, it is also in close touch with those
countries whose awakening and rise to importance constitute a new and
grave problem for the lands of the West and for America. Three decades
ago Japan was known as “the hermit nation.” Its people lived in a long,
narrow island, far enough removed from the important countries of the
West to cause _them_ any anxiety. They were a remote people, these
Japanese; close in their habits, clever with their fingers, tinted
with yellow on their skins, and for the rest--“heathen.” But they did
not “reckon” in the councils of the West. And then suddenly there came
a bolt from the blue--this small, remote people went to war with the
biggest nation in Europe, and beat them. That was the surprise. In a
day the prestige of the hermit nation was established. The triumph of
Japan, it is not too much to say, served to disquiet the whole world
of the West and America. A new problem arose. All eyes were fixed upon
the Pacific. What ferment was at work in the distant East? And to what
extent would it spread? From the East all the wisdom of the West had
originally come. But for many centuries the East had been asleep, while
the West marched on. Was a new epoch dawning? Was this victory of Japan
an affair of chance, or did it indicate the appearance of a new era
and a new order? Was time, with its whirligig, bringing things back
to their beginning, and once more thrusting the East into the first
place? Was Bismarck, after all, a true seer when he spoke of the coming
“Yellow peril”?
After Japan came the awakening of China. Wise men from that country,
impressed with the victory of Japan, and well knowing that Japan owed
her position to the knowledge she had gained from Western civilisation,
came over to Britain to study the state of affairs in the West. The
mission bore immediate fruit. China began to turn over in her sleep,
and eventually she awoke. In a day an ancient dynasty was overturned
and a republic set up. The ways of the “foreign devils” were no
longer resisted, they were accepted. Railways were laid down in all
directions; a new army was created; the ancient skirts of the soldiers
were exchanged for British khaki; the pigtail disappeared; Western
education became common. The Pekin of to-day, with its railway stations
and bustling Western life, would astound any person who saw it, say,
ten short years ago. China is awake; she is strong; she is numerous;
within her territory there live one-quarter of the world’s population.
The West has for long enough insulted China. It has contemptuously
spoken of the “heathen Chinee.” The odious opium traffic was forced
upon her--shame to record--by British India. When insulted people turn,
they are apt to become dangerous. If the four hundred millions of
Chinese turn, and bear down upon the West, they can, as Bismarck said,
crush, with the sheer force of millions of massed men, their opponents.
There is a possible “Yellow peril.” It may not take much to make it
actual.
There is a third factor, upon which it may not be advisable to dwell
at length--the disquiet of India. It is a species of madness to
pooh-pooh the outbursts of rebellion, the attempted assassinations, the
inflammatory articles in native papers, and other symptoms of unrest as
being mere local and unmeaning disturbances. The truth is, there is, or
has been until the war, widespread discontent in India. Into the causes
of this it is not proposed to enter here and now. Sufficient for the
present purpose to take note of the fact and to treat it seriously.
Now, these three nations, between them, _contain more than one-half
of the world’s entire population_. They are the nations of the Indian
Ocean and the Pacific. Australia lies within easy touch of them all.
She is much nearer to them than is England, and if trouble broke out
she might be the very first of the British possessions to feel it.
Australia means that Britain is already in the Pacific--upon the spot,
so to speak, where the trouble is gathering.
The creation of a new and a final factor in the situation is due to
the opening of the Panama Canal. This mighty engineering work has now
been completed, and the waters of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans at
last mingle. The canal has primarily, so the majority seem to think,
a mercantile importance. It has brought the eastern coastline of
the United States into direct and rapid communication by water with
Australia, China, the islands of the Pacific, and a rich tropical
zone, the exploiting of which, commercially, will mean much for
American, British, and other markets. For purposes of trade, the canal
is one of the most important water highways ever constructed. A new
centre of shipping activity has been opened up, with consequences the
extent of which at present can hardly be computed.
The canal, however, has a political importance which surpasses all
else. To use the words of an American statesman, “this canal means
infinitely more than the opening of a passage between one sea and
another; _it may yet mean the transference of international interests
from the Mediterranean to the Pacific_.”[A] What part the canal will
play in such an event need not be discussed here. The point is that
a displacement of political power--an entire change of interests--is
by no means improbable; and, indeed, if the East, awakening, comes
into the possession of its proper inheritance, it is more than likely
to happen. What, then, of our relative interests in the North Sea
and in the Indian Ocean? We British are so accustomed to the idea of
government from a centre in a little island called “Britain” that we
should probably scoff at the suggestion that one day, owing to a change
of interests and the presenting of new aspects of powerful Eastern
life, we might find it convenient and necessary to make Australia and
not Britain the governmental centre of the Empire. But the idea may be
worth thinking over for all that. Similar things have happened to other
peoples before, and they may happen again. Putting aside all opinions
and predictions, the simple facts remain that Australia at present
is situated in the very centre of the British Empire, and that it is
within easy touch of those nations which, by every sign, have to be
seriously reckoned with in the near future.
[A] This was written before the Great European War broke out.
Whatever be the issue of this war, the main contention of
the above paragraphs remains true.
Australia is in the possession of the British people. This is a trite
enough remark to make, but the remarkable thing, when we really think
about it, is that the remark can be so easily made. The wonder is
that it is not Dutch or Spanish or French. Explorers from each of
these lands discovered it, and left it unoccupied. When the Dutch were
foraging in Southern waters, they were the finest seamen of their time.
Small as a nation, they were great business people and fine colonists.
Yet they left Australia behind, after a passing acquaintance with
its coast. It was reserved for Captain Cook to claim the hitherto
_terra incognita_ in the name of the people of Britain. To people who
recognise in historical events nothing but the collisions of chance,
the exploit of Captain Cook was a lucky adventure. To those of us who
try to look below the surface of things, the event was a providence.
Let the enemies of Britain say their worst of us--and they can point to
many a discreditable thing in our history--it remains true that British
sentiment, enlightened by Christianity, has more and more tended
towards liberty and justice for all the people who come under her sway.
Under any other flag would Australia, with all its faults, have become
the country that it is?
If Divine destiny, and not blind chance, has reserved for the British
race this immense country of Australia, and the British people
faithfully fulfil their Divine and human mission in the world, then
it is easy to perceive that this new land in the Southern Ocean will
become a centre of healthful influence for the entire Pacific. And
if to British influence in the South there is joined--through the
medium of the Panama Canal--a powerful American influence of the
highest quality, the Pacific may yet lead the world’s future, as the
Mediterranean has for hundreds of years led the past.
CHAPTER I
GOING TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH
To the Australian shores there pass, in ever-increasing numbers,
steamers of every size and of every nationality. They go from America,
from India, from Japan, from China, from France, and from Britain. The
world has discovered Australia to be a fine continent for business.
Year by year the tonnage of steamers grows. It is a far cry from the
little cockle-boat of 300 tons which touched at Sydney Harbour a
century ago to the new majestic liners of 13,000 tons which now ply
between Tilbury and Sydney. The limitations of the Suez Canal seem
to have determined the size of the largest steamers outward bound by
that route. Via the Cape, there are no such restrictions; hence the
White Star Company has been able to place its steamer, the _Ceramic_,
a vessel of 18,000 tons, on the Australian trade, and the limit is not
yet reached. There is no reason why steamers equal to the Atlantic
greyhounds should not yet ply between Britain and Melbourne. The
twin difficulties would be, obviously, fuel and food. The shorter
journeys between England and Canada, England and the States, or England
and the Mediterranean, offer no difficulty in the way of coal or
provisions. But what of a voyage of six or seven weeks? The present
arrangements are marvellous enough. Passengers pass from port to port
without anxiety. Their table is always well spread. There is enough
and to spare. Even at the end of a long voyage English sole and salmon
appear on the menu for dinner. How is it all accomplished? The ease of
working means that behind all there is a perfect organisation, which
for the average passenger, however, remains enveloped in mystery. The
varied menus at table indicate the existence of an immense reserve
somewhere in the ship. I determine, if possible, to fathom the secret
of a ship’s working. The man who knows everything is the purser,
but previous experience makes me shy of pursers--at least, some of
them. I remember the uniform, the haughty manners, the snobbishness,
the air of condescension, the impression that a god had descended
to earth and taken to the career of a purser. Is _our_ purser of
this type? I wonder! I approach him, and find him to be a splendid
fellow--dignified, kind, courteous, and ready to do all in his power to
satisfy my request. He places in my hands a book of romance. In point
of fact, it is a book of quantities and prices, of descriptions and
instructions; page after page deals with edibles of all kinds. To the
purser all this is business; to me it is romance and miracle, for it
represents the arrangements made to feed a little world, cut off from
the rest of men, and launched upon the immense waters of the ocean.
These pages of dry figures, matter-of-fact as they are, simple as
they are, represent years of experience and experiment. There is no
likelihood of passengers ever starving; a generous margin is allowed,
over and above actual needs, for eventualities. Nor is there likelihood
of monotony in menus. The variety of provisions is astounding. These
pages, dealing with the commissariat of the ship, contain a list of
thirty-eight different kinds of soup, nearly 100 varieties of fish,
entrées and sauces galore. The fundamentals of eating and drinking bulk
more largely, of course, than anything else. Thus this ship started
on its voyage with 1,400 lbs. of biscuits, 76 barrels and 216 bags of
flour, 5,000 lbs. of butter, 10,000 eggs, 1,500 lbs. of coffee, and
10,000 lbs. of beef. Sugar is the heaviest item of all, being 12,000
lbs. Then follow hundreds of bottles of preserved fruit, poultry and
game of all kinds, dried fruits of every description, jams, jellies,
and marmalade to repletion, tinned meats and fish, raisins, currants,
salt, milk, bacon, and vegetables of all kinds. Nothing seems missing.
The list is prodigious. Not a taste is left unprovided for. At every
port fresh provisions are taken in. The purser has a list of tradesmen
at every place of call. He knows exactly what can be obtained, where it
can be obtained, when, and at what price. His book informs him that it
is not advisable to procure certain things at certain places. There are
regular providers who undertake to furnish the ship with provisions.
Woe to any of these men if they play tricks with the company; if for
once only they supply inferior food their names are forthwith struck
off the list, and no amount of pleading will succeed in having them
replaced there. It is the unpardonable sin to supply stuff of inferior
quality. I noted a line in the instructions which means much: “The
company pay full price (for articles), and they expect none but the
best quality.”
So this is how the purchasing and storing are done. Everything is
reduced to an exact science. There is no experimenting, no guessing.
The steamers leave the home ports ready for all demands likely to be
made upon them.
The next question is that of storage. How is all the fresh food--meat,
vegetables, poultry, fish, etc.--kept? Even a child to-day would
reply in a word--“cold storage.” But this means much more than it
seems to mean. Cold storage is a fine art, and a still finer art is
that of thawing. It would appear to be a perfectly simple thing to
remove a piece of meat or some poultry from the cold chamber and roast
it for the table. But it is far from simple. Unless the thawing is
properly done, the joint is ruined. Hence, elaborate instructions are
issued both for freezing and for thawing fresh foods. It is really
wonderful, when one comes to think of it, that food can be preserved
from corruption by the application of cold; but the cold must be
scientifically applied. In the refrigerating chamber the temperature
is kept from 20 degrees to 25 degrees--“It snows there.” Stewards who
enter the chamber for business purposes are compelled to dress in
special garments, so as to avoid a sudden chill, with its possible
fatal consequences. The air in the cold chamber is changed three times
a week. And so it is all a miracle of atmosphere, regulated at will.
The practical work of preparing meals for passengers is very
fascinating. The kitchens are models of cleanliness. No slovenliness is
permitted. Most of the food is untouched by hand. Dough is mixed by a
machine. Bread and cakes are cut by a patent knife. Potatoes are peeled
by a huge “peeler,” which removes only the minimum of skin. There are
enormous roasters and steam cookers, which perform their work with
absolute precision. The kitchen of a great liner is a place of wonder,
and the scullery is only second to it. Here labour is saved at every
turn. Knives are cleaned in a new and expeditious manner; plates are
washed by steam and dried in a whirling machine turned by electricity
at a terrific rate of speed. Science operates everywhere. There is no
chance for germs to develop. Every man has his place and his duty.
Galley fires must be lighted at 4 A.M.; cooks must be on duty at a
certain fixed hour. Stewards have their duties clearly defined. Nothing
is left to chance. The discipline of the ship is perfect.
But while we examine this fascinating department of ship life, we
become aware of an increasing throb in the engines. The boat is rolling
heavily. The sea is behaving badly; and we are seized with a desire
to go below and see life in the nethermost regions of the boat. It
has been represented to us as a kind of inferno, in which men work
naked. In company with the “chief” we descend to the engine-room.
Here four powerful engines turn the steel shafts, which in turn move
the propellers. At last we arrive at the ultimate expression of force
in this wonderful ship. All is now left behind, save the thick steel
shafts which run horizontally through the stern of the vessel. Silently
and swiftly they move round, forcing the propellers outside to displace
the waters of the ocean, and so urge forward the steamer. It is a weird
experience to descend to the very bottom of the steamer, into its
uttermost corner, where the boat is narrowest, and to watch the steel
shafts ever turn round. The mighty vessel above us depends in reality
upon these shafts. If they broke, and could not be replaced, the
steamer would lie upon the bosom of the water a helpless mass of iron
and steel. One frail plate of steel between us and destruction! The
idea is chilling.
I dreaded the furnaces--the satanic stokehole, where men suffer in the
presence of broiling heat. But when we pass into this region of the
ship, where is the inferno? To my utter astonishment, the stokehole
is cooler than the engine-room. A pleasant draught of cool air plays
around the stokers, who are _not_ naked nor perspiring. Despite roaring
fires and enormous boilers, the room is pleasantly cool. Thus another
illusion has disappeared. The old order of things has changed. Science
has rendered service more humane. The terrors of life are one by one
departing.