A NATIVE ENCAMPMENT AND A CORROBOREE.--RIDING ACROSS-COUNTRY.--AMONG THE
BLACKS.--NATIVE DANCES.--A WEIRD SCENE.--ABORIGINAL MUSIC.--STORIES
ABOUT CORROBOREES.--CURIOUS CUSTOMS.--HOW THE BLACK MEN OBTAIN THEIR
WIVES.--TESTING THE STOICISM OE YOUTHS.--AN ALARM AT NIGHT.--RETURN TO
SYDNEY.--A BRICKFIELDER.--HOT WINDS FROM THE DESERT.--HOW A PICNIC WAS
BROKEN UP.--OVER THE BLUE MOUNTAINS.--RAILWAYS IN NEW SOUTH
WALES.--SALUBRITY OF THE MOUNTAIN CLIMATE.--GOULBURN.--THEATRICAL
GOSSIP.--FIRST THEATRE IN AUSTRALIA.--A CONVICT'S PROLOGUE.--THE DRAMA
UNDER DISADVANTAGES.--THE RIVERINA.--ALBURY AND THE VICTORIAN
FRONTIER.--PROTECTION AND FREE-TRADE.--FISHING IN THE MURRAY
RIVER.--AUSTRALIAN FISHES.--FROM ALBURY TO MELBOURNE.
Before returning to the coast our friends had an opportunity to visit a
native encampment and see a corroboree. The reader naturally asks what a
corroboree is; we will see presently.
Arrangements were made by their host, and early one morning the party
was off for the native encampment, which was nearly thirty miles away. A
tent and provisions had been sent along the previous evening, so that
the travellers had nothing to carry on their horses beyond a lunch,
which they ate in a shepherd's hut at one of the out stations. Early in
the afternoon they reached their tent, which had been pitched on the
bank of a brook about half a mile from the village they intended to
visit.
Taking an early dinner, they set out on foot for the encampment, being
guided by a native who had come to escort them. We will let Frank tell
the story of the entertainment.
"The village was merely a collection of huts of bark, open at one side,
and forming a shelter against the wind, though it would have been hardly
equal to keeping out a severe storm. To construct these huts the bark
had been stripped from several trees in the vicinity. Fires were burning
in front of most of the huts, and care was taken that they did not
extend to the trees, and thus get a start through the forest.
"There was an odor of singed wool and burning meat, but no food was in
sight. The blacks are supposed to live upon kangaroo meat as their
principal viand, but a good many cattle and sheep disappear whenever a
tribe of them is in the neighborhood of the herds and flocks. In
addition to kangaroo, they eat the meat of the wallaby, opossum, wombat,
native bear, and other animals, and are fond of eels and any kind of
fish that come to their hands, or rather to their nets and spears. Emus,
ducks, turkeys--in fact, pretty nearly everything that lives and moves,
including ants and their eggs, grubs, earth-worms, moths, beetles, and
other insects--are welcome additions to the aboriginal larder. All the
fruits of trees and bushes, together with many roots and edible grasses
and other plants, are included in their bill of fare.
"There were twenty or more dirty and repulsive men and women in the
village, some squatted or seated around the fires, and others walking or
standing carelessly in the immediate vicinity. A dozen thin and
vicious-looking dogs growled at us as we approached, but were speedily
silenced by their owners. These dogs were simply the native dingoes,
either born in captivity or caught when very young and domesticated.
They are poorly fed, and the squatters say they can generally
distinguish a wild dog from one belonging to the blacks, by the latter
being thin and the former in good condition.
"More women than men were visible, and it was explained that the men who
were to take part in the corroboree were away making their preparations.
The corroboree is a dance which was formerly quite common among the
tribes, but has latterly gone a good deal out of fashion. At present it
is not often given, except when, as in the present instance, strangers
are willing to pay something in order to see it. Our host had arranged
it for us, and the camping party that preceded us with the pack-horses
had brought the stipulated amount of cloth, sugar, and other things that
were to constitute the payment for the entertainment.
"We tried to make friends with some of the children, but they were
decidedly shy, and we soon gave it up. In a little while the men who
were to dance came out from the forest, and as they did so the women
formed in a semicircle at one side of the cleared space in the middle of
the encampment; and some of the men brought fresh supplies of wood, and
heaped it on the central fire. The women sat on the ground, and each had
an opossum rug stretched tightly across her knees and forming a sort of
drum.
[Illustration: A CORROBOREE.]
"The dancers assembled in the centre near the fire; they wore only their
opossum rugs around the loins, and the exposed parts of their bodies
were streaked with paint in the most fantastic manner imaginable.
Faces and bodies were adorned with white and red paint, and altogether
the aspect was a combination of the ludicrous and the hideous. The
leader, holding a stick in each hand, took his place midway between the
women and the fire, and at a signal from him the women began a chant,
and kept time by beating with their hands upon the opossum-skins.
[Illustration: SOMETHING FOR BREAKFAST.]
"Suddenly the leader struck the two sticks together, and the dancers
formed in line. When the line was completed he struck them again, in
unison with the chant and the time beaten on the drums. The dancers
regulated their movements by the music, throwing themselves into all
sorts of positions, moving to the right or the left, advancing or
retreating, standing straight in line, circling around each other, and
in a general way forming figures not altogether unlike those of
civilized dancers in other lands.
"As the dance went on, the leader quickened the time; the chant and
drumming quickened likewise, and so did the exertions of the performers.
They grew hot, and perspired at every pore; faster and faster went the
music; faster and faster were the movements of the bodies, till it
seemed as though they would drop from exhaustion.
"Suddenly the men, as if by a prearranged plan, jumped higher than ever
into the air, and as they did so each gave a sort of shrill shout. The
drumming and chanting ceased immediately, and the men fled to rest in
the shelter of the bushes. There they remained for perhaps a quarter of
an hour, and then they returned and resumed the dance. The second part
was much like the first, except that some of the figures were different;
the whole performance showed that it was the result of practice, as the
time was well kept and all the movements were based upon a system of no
insignificant character. At the end the leader gave two heavy strokes
with his sticks, the men retreated, the women followed them, and the
dance was at an end.
"We are told that the natives have various dances, and in this
particular they resemble the savage tribes of most other lands. They
have their war-dances before and after fights, dances for the time when
the youths are 'made men'--_i.e._, when they attain their majority, and
are no longer to be classed as boys--dances in which only the women take
part, dances in which the movements of the kangaroo and other animals
are imitated, and a variety of religious and mystical dances to which
Europeans are never admitted. In some dances an entire tribe--men,
women, and children--participate; in others only the men, or only the
women; and there are certain dances in which several tribes may join.
All the people of the tribe are instructed in these dances, and the
rules concerning them must be observed with most scrupulous care.
"Nearly all the dances are performed at night, and quite often by the
light of the moon added to that of the fire. I have heard some amusing
descriptions of dances where there was a mimic battle between white men
and aboriginals, the fictitious white men biting their cartridges and
going through the motions of loading and firing a gun with great
exactness. There was a representation of a herd of cattle feeding, of
some of the animals being speared by the blacks, who then went through
the motions of skinning and cutting up the slaughtered beasts. The
movements of the kangaroo, emu, and other animals were imitated, and so
were those of the pig, the bear, and the opossum.
[Illustration: NEAR THE CAMP.]
"At the end of the dance we went to our camp accompanied by the natives,
who were to receive payment for the performance. After their departure
we sat around the fire for a while listening to corroboree stories, and
then retired to our blankets and to sleep. Our dreams were filled with
pictures of yelling and gyrating natives, and altogether neither Fred
nor myself felt much refreshed when we rose in the morning; but we were
all right in an hour or so, and shall always remember our adventure
among the Australian blacks.
"We heard some curious stories about their customs, particularly of the
way the men get their wives. Marriage as understood among civilized
people is unknown among the Australian blacks. Fathers dispose of their
daughters as they would of sheep or cattle; and if the father be dead,
the right falls to the nearest male relative. A man with a daughter of
marriageable age arranges to dispose of her, and when the price is
agreed upon she is called forward and told that her husband wants her.
She may never have seen him before, or seen him only to detest him; if
she cries and protests, the father exercises his authority by prodding
her with a spear or striking her with a club, and he often winds up by
seizing her by the hair and dragging her to the hut of the man who has
bought her. If she attempts to run away she is clubbed into obedience,
and sometimes her father spears her through the leg or foot, so that she
cannot run.
"Among some of the tribes brothers exchange their sisters with other
men, so that a marriage is generally a double affair. There is no
ceremony, as we understand it, any more than in a horse-trade with us.
[Illustration: AN AUSTRALIAN COURTSHIP.]
"If a man has no sister, he steals a wife from another tribe than his
own; he lies in wait in the neighborhood of the other tribe, and when a
young woman passes near him he rushes out and knocks her down with a
waddy, or club. Then he drags her to his hut and pounds her into
submission. Such a proceeding is perfectly proper, though it almost
invariably leads to a fight between the two tribes, no matter how
friendly they may have been before the occurrence. It is the duty of the
woman's tribe to avenge her abduction, and that of the man's to protect
the newly wedded couple.
"The ceremonies for celebrating the coming of age of a young man vary a
good deal among the tribes, but in none of them is the performance a
pleasing one for the subject thereof. In one tribe he is shut up in a
tent for a whole month, and nearly starved; in another he is shaved,
painted with mud and pigments, and compelled to sit in a pool of dirty
water for a whole day, while the rest of the tribe pelt him with mud; in
another he has two of his front teeth knocked out; and in another the
young beard on his chin is plucked out by the roots. In every case pain
is inflicted, so that the valor of the youth can be tested; and he is
expected to endure everything without flinching.
[Illustration: THE NIGHT ALARM.]
"During the night we had an alarm which roused us from sleep, and for a
few moments it looked as though we were to have serious business. There
was a yell in the forest near us, and as we sprang out of our blankets
and went to the front of the tent, we saw a crowd of natives in
war-paint brandishing their spears and waddies, and acting as though
they intended to attack us. Some of them were hideously painted, and
altogether the spectacle was not a pleasing one. After a few
demonstrations they retired, and our host told us it was a part of our
entertainment, to show how a night attack was made by the aboriginals.
"The mimic attack was quite sufficient for our purposes, and we were
quite willing not to pass through the experience of a real one. We were
told that had the attack been actual, the first warning of it would have
been the hurling of spears. Very often it happens that a camping party
of white men has no knowledge that natives are within many miles of them
until the spears begin dropping in their midst. Our host was once in a
party of this sort; they were eight in all; five of them were killed or
wounded by the spears; but the remaining three with their rifles and
revolvers beat back the assailants, and thus saved their lives."
Our friends returned to the station without further adventure, and a few
days later were once more in Sydney, preparing to leave for Melbourne.
Up to the last moment of their stay they were busily occupied with the
attentions of the numerous acquaintances they had made, so much so that
they had barely time to write up their journals and preserve a record of
what they had seen and heard.
But there was one attention which was as unexpected as it was
interesting, though it could hardly be said to have been bestowed by an
inhabitant of the city. It was a visit from a "brickfielder," and is
thus described by Fred:
"Mention has been made already of the tendency of an Australian to speak
exultingly of the climate of his own city or section, and to disparage
that of other localities. All parts of the country suffer from the hot
winds of the interior, but the inhabitants of each place declare that it
is worse anywhere else than with them. Be that as it may, our first
experience of the hot wind here in Sydney is quite bad enough, and if
Melbourne or Adelaide can surpass it we pity them.
"They call this wind a 'brickfielder,' probably because it brings a vast
quantity of dust such as might be blown from a field where bricks are
made or brick-dust has been thickly strewn; and this was what we saw and
felt:
"There was a period of calm and ominous silence, and we observed that
the sky was changing from blue to a sort of fiery tinge. Puffs of heated
air came now and then, like blasts from a furnace; they grew in force
and frequency, and in an hour or so became a steady wind with increasing
force. It was hot and dry and scorching, and we seemed to be withering
under its effects. 'It's a brickfielder, sure enough,' said a friend,
and he cautioned us to get back to our hotel as soon as we could. We
took his advice, and went there.
[Illustration: RECEPTION OF A BRICKFIELDER.]
"In a little while there was a driving volume of dark clouds like a
London fog; the wind increased almost to a gale, and then came the dust.
It was not a fine, impalpable sand, like that brought to Cairo by the
_khamseen_ in April, but a perceptible and gritty dust that sifted into
every crevice and cranny, blinded our eyes, filled our ears, and made
its way inside our clothing, till we could feel that it was all over our
skins. Nothing is sacred to it, and it invades the most stately mansions
as well as the humblest cottages. The air was filled with dust gathered
up from the streets, in addition to what the wind brought from the
interior; the dustiest and most disagreeable March day of New York was
the perfection of mildness compared to it.
"Windows and doors were closed, and it is the rule to keep them so as
long as a brickfielder lasts. The hot gale will make its way inside if
it can find the least opening, and then the entire house and all its
contents will be thickly sprinkled with dust. The heat was intolerable,
but there was no help for it, as an open door or window would only bring
more heat and the dust in addition. We looked out of the windows, but
the dust-cloud was so thick that we couldn't see across the street. A
few luckless wayfarers were clinging to posts or struggling to keep
their feet, and those who were trying to go against the wind made very
slow progress.
[Illustration: A BRICKFIELDER PUTTING IN ITS WORK.]
"The brickfielder lasted all day and far into the night, and then it
suddenly stopped. With its cessation there was a heavy fall of rain,
which converted the dust into mud and made pedestrianism anything but
comfortable. They tell us that these winds sometimes last two or three
days, or even longer; they are always followed by rain and a cool wind
from the south, and never was cool wind more acceptable than at such a
time. Nobody can predict when the wind will come, whether in a day, a
week, or a month; and when it does come everybody prepares to stay
in-doors, if he can possibly do so, and wait till it is over. Every man,
woman, and child has a dust-cloak or dust-coat to be worn when necessity
compels going out-of-doors in a brickfielder.
"One gentleman says these winds prefer to put in their appearance on
Sunday morning, just as the congregations are assembling in church. The
dates of large picnic parties are also favorite times for their
appearance, and when they come the picnic ceases to be a delight. He
says that some years ago, in one of the Australian cities, arrangements
had been made for a grand banquet out-of-doors, the finest that had ever
been known in the colony. The date had long been fixed and extensive
arrangements made, invited guests came from afar, the best speakers of
the antipodes were present, and all was going finely, when suddenly,
just as the early courses of the banquet had been served, a brickfielder
came, and the scene was as disorderly as a political meeting in one of
the lower wards of New York. The feast came to a sudden end and not a
speaker opened his mouth, lest it might be filled with dust.
"One swallow may not make a summer, but one brickfielder is enough for a
whole year."
Consulting the railway time-table, Doctor Bronson found that the express
train for Melbourne left at 5.15 P.M., and ran through in nineteen
hours, thus making the greater part of its journey in the night. As our
friends wished to see as much of the country as possible during their
tour through Australia, they decided to take a slower train at 9 A.M.,
which would bring them to Goulburn, one hundred and thirty-four miles,
at 4 P.M. Another train at 10.35 the following morning would reach the
frontier at Albury, three hundred and eighty-six miles from Sydney, at
eight o'clock in the evening. In this way they would get a good view of
the country, and be able to say far more about its features than if
whizzed through on an express train at night.
[Illustration: BUILDING A RAILWAY ON THE PLAINS.]
The first railway in the colony of New South Wales was projected in
1846, and within two years the surveys for the line to Goulburn were
completed. Ground was broken in July, 1850, the first turf being turned
by the Hon. Mrs. Keith Stewart, in the presence of her father, Governor
Fitzroy, and a large assemblage of people. The first railway-line in the
colony, from Sydney to Paramatta, was opened in 1855.
The engineering difficulties and the high rate of interest upon loans
retarded the work of railway building, so that in twenty years after the
opening of the first line only four hundred and six miles had been
completed; but in more recent times the enterprise has been rapidly
pushed, the mountains having been passed, and the construction upon the
great plains of the interior being comparatively easy. In September,
1886, no less than 1831 miles of railway were in operation in New South
Wales, and the Colonial Parliament had authorized 1590 miles in
addition, of which a part is now under construction.
The railways of New South Wales are divided into the Southern, Western,
and Northern systems. The Southern stretches from Sydney to Albury, on
the frontier of Victoria, three hundred and eighty-six miles; at Junee
the South-western line branches from the Southern, and runs to Hay, four
hundred and fifty-four miles from Sydney, on the Murrumbidgee River, and
one of the most important towns in the Riverina district. The Western
line runs in the direction indicated by its name, and terminates at
Bourke, on the Darling River, five hundred and three miles from Sydney.
These are the longest railway-lines now in operation in any part of
Australia, though not equal to some that are projected in Queensland and
South Australia. The Northern line extends to the frontier of
Queensland, as already described.
In round figures, Australia has at present about ten thousand miles of
railway in operation, with another ten thousand miles--and perhaps
more--in contemplation. The completed lines have cost not less than two
hundred millions of dollars, and there are about thirty thousand miles
of telegraph in working order.
The up-country journey of our friends, in which they took part in a
kangaroo hunt and witnessed a corroboree, was made over the Western
line. "We have rarely seen finer engineering work on a railway anywhere
else in the world than on this line," said Frank in his journal. "It
reminds us of the Brenner line over the Alps, the Central Pacific in the
Sierra Nevada mountains, and the ride from Colombo to Kandy, in Ceylon.
It was an uninterrupted succession of magnificent views of mountain
scenery, with deep gorges and snowy water-falls at frequent intervals.
We advise those who may follow us to note particularly the Katoomba and
Wentworth Falls and Govett's Leap; and if they have an interest in
engineering, they will be much attracted by the Lapstone Hill and
Lithgow Valley Zigzags, where the railway climbs the steep sides of the
mountains. There is a fine bridge over the Nepean River at Penrith, and
a tunnel, called the Clarence, three thousand seven hundred feet above
sea-level, and five hundred and thirty-eight yards in length."
There is also some fine engineering on the Southern line; and for a
long time, when the railway was first proposed, many doubters predicted
that it would never be able to pass the Blue Mountains to the plains
beyond. The longest tunnel in Australia--five hundred and seventy-two
yards--is near Picton, on the Southern line; and the zigzags, bridges,
cuts, and fillings are well calculated to excite the admiration of the
professional railway man. As for the scenery, it fully justifies the
praises which Australians bestow upon it, and the ride over the Blue
Mountains is one that everybody who visits the country should take in
the daytime.
[Illustration: ZIGZAG RAILWAY IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS.]
The engineers of this line claim to have succeeded in solving a problem
which has been pronounced impossible by many experienced men, and has
been tried elsewhere occasionally, and always with disastrous
results--that of having two trains pass each other on a single-track
railway. It is done in this way: At the end of each zigzag there is a
piece of level track sufficiently long to hold two trains. The engineer
of a descending train sees an ascending one on the zigzag below; he runs
his train out to the end of a level, and there waits until the ascending
one has entered the same level, reversed its course, and gone on its way
upward. One of the railway managers said to Doctor Bronson, "There isn't
any double track here at all, and yet, you see, two trains can pass
each other without the least difficulty. The ends of our zigzags serve
as switches, that's all."
[Illustration: THE BLUE MOUNTAINS.]
"You have no idea what a salubrious region this is," said one of the
passengers to whom they had been introduced by a friend who came to see
them off. "The air is wonderfully bracing, so much so that it is a
common saying, 'Nobody ever dies in the Blue Mountains unless he is
killed by accident or blown away.' Many people live to more than a
hundred years old; there is an authentic account of a man who celebrated
his one hundred and tenth birthday six months before he died, and
another who was cut off by intemperate habits when he was only one
hundred and one. This man used to speak of a neighbor who lived to be
one hundred and eight years old and hadn't an unsound tooth in his head,
when he was killed by the kick of a vicious horse."
The Blue Mountains are a part of the great dividing range already
described in our account of the visit to Queensland. Of late years they
have rapidly grown in favor as a pleasure resort, and thousands of the
inhabitants of Sydney go there to escape the heat of summer. The
mountains increase in height as they approach the boundary between New
South Wales and Victoria, where they are known as the Australian Alps.
The highest peak of all, Mount Kosciusko, is 7308 feet high, and its
summit is covered with snow throughout the year.
[Illustration: ON THE HEAD-WATERS OF THE MURRAY RIVER.]
Frank and Fred were at once seized with a desire to visit Mount
Kosciusko, but were restrained by the Doctor, who did not share their
enthusiasm for mountain-climbing. So the youths contented themselves
with a distant view of the snowy tops of the high peaks of the range,
and allowed Mount Kosciusko to rest undisturbed. The country is wild and
picturesque, but the facilities for travel are not extensive, and only
those travellers who are accustomed to fatigue should undertake the
journey. The starting-point for the excursion is the little town of
Tumberumba, from which the mountains are about forty miles away. A coach
runs between Tumberumba and Calcairn, seventy-four miles, the nearest
point on the railway, and the town is said to be pleasantly situated at
an elevation of two thousand feet above the sea.
The Murray River, which is sometimes called the Hume in the upper part
of its course, takes its rise at the foot of Mount Kosciusko and its
companion mountains. The scenery is quite Alpine in all its
characteristics, and well justifies the name which has been applied to
this part of the great chain. Deep gorges and precipitous cliffs enclose
the head streams of the Murray, and the forest extends far up the sides
of the mountains wherever there is sufficient soil for trees to find a
place to grow. Lower down there are considerable areas of open or
cleared country that have proved well adapted to agriculture. Wheat and
oats are profitably grown in the vicinity of Tumberumba; and in some
parts of the Albury district, in which Tumberumba is situated, tobacco
is an extensive crop. (See _Frontispiece_.)
At Goulburn, where they halted for the night, as previously arranged,
our friends found a well-built city of about eight thousand inhabitants,
and owing its prosperity to the large amount of inland trade which it
controls. Frank and Fred asked for the gold-mines of Goulburn, but asked
in vain; they were told that there were no gold-fields in the immediate
vicinity, and that the city depended upon its commercial position and
the agricultural advantages of the surrounding region. They were invited
to visit some lime-burning establishments, and learned that there were
extensive quarries of limestone in the neighborhood, with promising
indications of silver, copper, and other metals, which as yet are hardly
developed.
In the evening the party witnessed a theatrical performance by a
strolling company, which was making the rounds of the interior towns of
Australia in the same way that American companies go "on the road"
during the dramatic season. The acting was good, and the company
included several players who were not unknown in New York and other
American cities.
The youths had already noted the fact that Australia is a favorite
resort of members of the dramatic profession of England and the United
States; a considerable number of the men and women well known to the
foot-lights of English-speaking countries have at one time or another
appeared on the boards of Melbourne and Sydney. Australians are fond of
the drama, and there are few cities in the world that can be counted on
for a more liberal patronage of good plays and good players, in
proportion to their population, than the principal cities of the great
southern continent.
From one of the books in his possession Frank drew the following
interesting bit of theatrical history:
[Illustration: GALLERY OF A THEATRE DURING A PERFORMANCE.]
"The first theatrical representation ever given in Australia was at
Sydney, in 1796. The play was 'The Ranger,' performed by a company of
amateurs, all of whom were convicts. The manager was also a convict. An
admission fee of one shilling was demanded, and the Governor and his
staff were graciously invited to free seats. Coin being scarce in the
colony, a shilling's worth of flour or rum was accepted in lieu of
money. The convict who played Filch recited the prologue, and was
probably its author. It ran as follows:
"From distant lands, o'er wide-spread seas we come,
But not with much eclat or beat of drum.
True patriots all, for, be it understood,
We left our country for our country's good!
No private views disgraced our generous zeal;
What urged our travels was our country's weal,
And none can doubt but that our emigration
Has proved most useful to the British nation.
He who to midnight ladders is no stranger,
You'll own will make an admirable Ranger;
To seek Macheath we have not far to roam,
And sure in Filch I shall be quite at home.
Here light and easy Columbines are found,
And well-trained Harlequins with us abound;
From durance vile our precious selves to keep
We've often had to make a flying leap;
To a black face have sometimes owed escape,
And Hounslow Heath has proved the worth of crape.
But how, you ask, can we e'er hope to soar
Above these scenes, and rise to tragic lore?
For oft, alas! we've forced th' unwilling tear,
And petrified the heart with real fear.
Macbeth a harvest of applause will reap,
For some of us, I fear, have murdered sleep.
His Lady, too, with grace and ease will talk--
Her blushes hiding 'neath a mine of chalk.
Sometimes, indeed, so various is our art,
An actor may improve and mend his part.
"Give me a horse!" bawls Richard, like a drone;
We'll show a man who'd help himself to one.
Grant us your favors, put us to the test;
To gain your smiles we'll do our very best;
And, without dread of future turnkey Lockits,
Thus, in an honest way, still pick your pockets.'"
The principal theatres of Melbourne, Sydney, and Adelaide will compare
favorably with those of any other city on the globe, and there is hardly
a town of any consequence at all that does not possess a minor theatre
or a hall where entertainments are given occasionally. During the days
of the gold rushes the mining regions proved more remunerative to the
strolling actors who visited them than to the majority of the men who
were digging for the precious metal.
The theatres of those days were often the rudest structures imaginable,
and not infrequently performances were given in tents, and sometimes in
enclosures that were open to the sun and rain. It is said that a
performance of "Hamlet" was once given on an open-air stage in a pouring
rain. Ophelia wore a water-proof cloak, and in the last scene in which
she appeared she carried an umbrella. Polonius, being an old man, was
permitted to wear an India-rubber coat; but Hamlet's youth did not
permit such a protection from the weather, and when the play ended he
bore a close resemblance to the survivor of an inundation of the Ohio
valley, or a man rescued from a shipwreck on the Atlantic coast.
Beyond Goulbourn the railway carried our friends through the district of
Riverina, famous for its pastoral and agricultural attractions. At
Albury they crossed the Murray River and entered the colony of
Victoria; a change of gauge rendered a change of train necessary, and
Fred remarked that it seemed like crossing a frontier in Europe, the
resemblance being increased by the presence of the custom-house
officials, who seek to prevent the admission of foreign goods into
Victoria until they have paid the duties assessed by law.
[Illustration: SCENE IN THE RIVERINA.]
As before stated, Victoria has a protective tariff, while New South
Wales is a free-trade colony. Consequently, Victoria is obliged to guard
her frontier to prevent smuggling, and the work of doing so effectively
is by no means inexpensive. But she derives a large revenue from the
duty on imports, and the statesmen and others who favor a protective
tariff can demonstrate by argument and illustration that it is the
principal cause of the prosperity of the colony. There is, of course, a
goodly number of free-traders in the colony, and the war between
free-traders and protectionists is as vigorous and unrelenting as in the
United States or England.
The federation of all the Australian colonies, and their union under a
single government, on the same general plan as that which was adopted
for the British-American provinces, has been for some time under
discussion; doubtless it might have been accomplished before this had it
not been for the opposition of New South Wales, which holds aloof from
the movement mainly on account of the tariff question. Federation will
probably come before long; many Australians say it will be a step in the
direction of independence, and they argue that a country so far away
from England can hardly be expected to retain its allegiance to the
mother-country forever, in view of its growing power and population, its
diversity of interests, and the perils to which it would be subject in
case of a European war in which England should be concerned.
The railway from Melbourne reached Wodonga, opposite Albury, in 1873,
but the line from Sydney was not completed till 1881. From that time
till 1884 there was a break of three miles which passengers traversed by
coach or on foot; in the year last named the connection was completed by
the construction of an iron bridge over the Murray, and the closing of
the gap with tracks adapted to the gauges of both the colonies. There
are now commodious stations on both sides of the river. The New South
Wales trains cross the river to Wodonga, while those from Victoria cross
it to Albury.
It was evening when the party arrived at the frontier, and as soon as
the formalities of the custom-house were over, the Doctor and his young
companions went to a hotel near the station. The custom-house was not
rigorous, as none of their baggage was opened, the officials being
contented with the declaration that they had nothing dutiable in their
possession. Next morning the youths were up early to have a look at the
great river of Australia; they were somewhat disappointed with the
Murray, their fancies having made the river much larger than it proved
to be. Compared with the Mississippi, the Hudson, the Rhine, or the
Thames, it was insignificant, but it was nevertheless a river navigable
from Albury to the ocean, one thousand eight hundred miles away.
[Illustration: STEAMBOAT ON THE MURRAY RIVER.]
A steamboat lay at the bank of the river a short distance below the
railway-bridge; it was not much of a boat in the way of luxury, but was
well adapted to the work for which it was intended, and had a barge
fastened behind it by a strong tow-rope. Fred learned that there were
several boats engaged in the navigation of the Murray and its
tributaries, but they were unable to run at all seasons of the year. In
ordinary stages of water boats can reach Albury, but there are certain
periods of the year when they cannot do so.
Some boys were sitting on the bank farther down the river, engaged in
fishing with pole and line. Frank and Fred made their acquaintance, and
examined the fish they had taken; the oldest of the boys, evidently much
more intelligent than his companions, enlightened the strangers as to
the piscatorial possessions of Australia.
[Illustration: FISH-HATCHING BOXES ON A SMALL STREAM.]
"That is the 'Murray cod,' or 'cod-perch,'" said he, as he pointed to
one of the results of the morning's work.
"What a splendid fish!" Fred exclaimed.
"What?--that!" said the Australian youth, with an air of contempt.
"That's only a little one, and doesn't weigh more'n two pounds."
"How large do these fish grow?" queried Frank.
"Oh! we catch 'em weighing thirty or forty pounds," was the reply. "We
bait with tree-frogs, and have to use strong lines, or they'd get away
from us."
"They're pretty good eating," he continued, "but not so good as bream
and trout; the trout were brought here from your country, and we're
getting 'em all through the rivers of Australia, so folks tell me. They
sent us the eggs, and the fish were hatched out here; and several kinds
of European and American fishes have been introduced that way. We've a
good many kinds of perch; how many I don't know, but the best is the
golden perch of the Murray and the rivers running into it. We've got a
black-fish, as we call him; he's black outside, but his flesh is white
as snow, and he's splendid for eating.
"If you want to go trout-fishing, you can do so twenty miles from
Melbourne and find all you want; they've been trying to raise salmon in
Australia, but the rivers are too warm for 'em. Sometimes we read in the
newspapers about somebody's catching a salmon, but it never amounts to
much."
Frank presented his informant with a shilling, partly in return for his
information and partly to secure the fish, which he carried to the hotel
and requested that it be cooked for breakfast. It was cooked
accordingly, and when, accompanied by the Doctor, the youths sat down to
their repast, the fish was pronounced a toothsome morsel.
Soon after ten o'clock they were in the railway-train for Melbourne.
They traversed a varied country, passing through a rich pastoral and
agricultural region, through widely extended wheat-fields, and in sight
of numerous flocks of sheep and herds of cattle, through stretches of
forest more or less luxuriant, over plains and among hills, along
winding valleys, and occasionally in sight of the mountains which lie
between the Dividing Range and some portions of the coast. In due time
the crest of the range was passed, and the train descended gently to
Melbourne and deposited the travellers safe and sound at the railway
terminus.
[Illustration: IMMIGRANT'S CAMP IN THE FOOT-HILLS OF THE RANGE.]