of mine in the northern suburb, where, with one exception, I
remained the rest of my time. His wife kept no servant, not so much
on account of the expense as because, as she said, "They are more
bother than they're worth," and indeed this is a universal complaint
in the Colonies. I slept in a small room, and the last night but one
observed in a corner of the ceiling, above the bed, what seemed to
be a large spider. On mentioning this the next morning, I learnt
that it was a tarantula, and was of use in catching insects. "Oh,
but," I said, "doesn't it come down at night?" "Oh, no," said my
friend, "it never comes below _this_," marking a spot about a yard
above my head. This was not very reassuring, as there appeared
nothing to prevent the animal from transgressing the prescribed
limit, should it feel so disposed. It never troubled me however, but
I was afterwards told that it had once come down too far and been
killed. Such animals are unpleasant, and at times dangerous, but
they may be expected in countries where the heat is as great as it
is in Adelaide, which is considered to be one of the hottest places
in the globe inhabited by man. One evening we went to hear the
Bishop preach in the Cathedral. It is a very unpretending edifice,
and in fact is only half built. It is all choir and no nave. In
consequence of the great number of women who attend the services, or
of the politeness of the men, or both, the Bishop has been obliged
to set apart seats for men to protect them against the encroachment
of what Mr. Swinburne calls the "stronger sex." Another evening we
went to see a native dance or "corrobboree" as it is called. There
are not many natives now left in South Australia, and what there are
have become very degraded. The law forbids the sale to them of
intoxicating liquors. Spirits not merely make them drunk, but drive
them mad. As a sort of compensation they come down to Adelaide at
stated times for blankets, which are distributed to them by the
Government. On these occasions they are accustomed to exhibit
themselves in their native antics and dances for a little gain. At
this time was expected a large muster, and in order to accommodate
as many visitors as possible, the Adelaide Cricket Club had induced
the natives to hold their corrobboree on the cricket ground, of
course themselves looking for a large money return. Certainly their
anticipations must have been more than fulfilled, for there was a
crowd at the entrance resembling that outside a London theatre on
boxing night. Instead of 3,000 people, the number expected, there
were nearer 15,000. Seats in the grand stand were 1s., outside the
ring was 6d., but soon all distinction of place was lost. Presently
about 50 natives, hideously decorated, and stained with red to
represent gashes on the head and breast, filed into the enclosure in
a long line. Small bonfires were lighted at intervals, and on these
the performers leapt, one exactly following the steps of another.
Then they imitated the bounds of the Kangaroo when pursued, but of
dancing, or even posturing, in our sense of the word, there was
none. Meantime the "lubras" (native women) seated on the ground in
one mass, kept up a monotonous chant, varying their cadences with
the beat of tom-toms. The night was dark, and the figures were
indistinctly seen. Soon the vast crowd becoming impatient, burst
through the barriers, and scattered the burning brands. A great
scene of confusion ensued, and the performance came abruptly to an
end. One of the blacks remarked, not without reason, "Me tink dis
white fellows' corrobboree." It is a painful thing to see a race so
degenerate as to be willing to show themselves for money before
their supplanters, and to see the former "lords of the soil" begging
a copper from the passer-by. One cannot but desire that their
extinction in these parts, which is certain, may be also speedy. I
cannot easily imagine two more pitiable objects than those I
afterwards saw at Albany in Western Australia: a native man and
woman begging, standing with their shrunken limbs in rags that
barely covered them. The cricket ground is in the "reserve," a part
between the north terrace and the northern suburb, which belongs to
the community and cannot be built on. It is separated from the north
terrace by the river Torrens. Like many Australian rivers, the
Torrens starts up in various places and does not seem to have either
a beginning or an ending. It might be compared to the "sullen mole
that runneth underneath," between Letherhead and Dorking; but these
Australian rivers, when they do appear, are inclined to stagnate.
The municipality of Adelaide, however, have wisely dammed up the
river, and converted it into a lake of about one and a half miles
long, thus improving an eyesore into an ornament. It is spanned by a
handsome bridge. Near the north terrace, too, are the Botanical
Gardens, one of the best in Australia. The Zoological Gardens are
close by, where there is a black cockatoo and a white peacock.
As I said before, Adelaide is the only town of any size. There are
others, however. One day I went with my friend by train to the small
town of Gawler, which is about 25 miles to the north. The train
takes about one and a half hours. There we were met by a gentleman
with a trap, who took us to see an ostrich farm about four miles
from Gawler. It belongs to a company at Adelaide and we had an order
from head quarters to be shown over it. Ostriches have been imported
into South Australia from the Cape of Good Hope, and thrive here
well enough. At length, seeing the risk of a sharp competition in
ostrich feathers, the Cape authorities have laid an embargo of L100
on every ostrich exported, but this is locking the stable door when
the horse has escaped, for there are now in South Australia quite
sufficient birds to keep up the breed. The farm manager was a dry
old Scotchman of much humour, and had made himself accustomed to
their ways. The farm was about 170 acres in extent, and at this time
there were about 100 ostriches upon it, a number having recently
been sent away north to Port Augusta, where is another farm
belonging to the same Company. Some of the birds had committed
suicide on their way to the sea. They will run up against palings or
wire, get their long necks entangled, and sometimes cut their
throats in trying to extricate themselves. I noticed one that had
his throat bandaged up on this account. The birds are kept in
paddocks, three or four together, or more, if young and tame, but
some are very savage. We drove through all the paddocks, but the
manager kept a sharp look-out, lest any should "bounce" at us. An
ostrich, in attacking, kicks forward with his legs, which give
tremendous blows, and then, when he has kicked down his enemy, he
will probably sit upon him, and his weight is about two
hundredweight. An ostrich, therefore, cannot be considered a
generous foe. The old manager had been a good deal knocked about by
them himself. On one occasion a bird had kicked him twice, broken a
rib or two, and got him up fast against the palings. However, he
managed to seize hold of the bird's neck, and calling to some men on
the other side, he handed the neck to them over the palings, to hold
while he made his escape--which his ingenuity certainly deserved. I
asked him what he did when they ran away. "Well," he said, "I sit
down and wait till they stop; you can't catch them." The male takes
turn with the female in sitting on the eggs, and when an ostrich has
young ones she is very dangerous to approach. A good breeding couple
are worth L300. The feathers are not taken off at any particular
time of the year, but as they are ready, nor is cruelty exercised in
taking them. I saw several ovens which had been used for hatching
the eggs, but now they have enough birds to let them be hatched
naturally, which is the safer way. An ostrich at close quarters is
certainly an unpleasant looking beast; his neck, moving rapidly in
all directions, surmounted by a small head, with bright
wicked-looking eyes, reminds one of a snake. He has a fancy for
anything bright, and will make for a button on your coat if it
happens to gleam. I asked the age of ostriches, but could obtain no
information. They look wiry enough to live for ever.
On our return to Gawler we called on the way to see an orange farm.
The oranges were being picked. The trees, laden with fruit, seemed
to have repaid the labour of the cultivator. Oranges require a great
deal of water. This grove was in a sheltered valley, and water was
supplied by a pump worked by wind. The man with us said you could
not tell exactly what sort of oranges would come, because the same
tree sometimes bears different kinds. Whether this is the case I do
not know. Paramatta, near Sydney, is the chief place for oranges in
Australia, but these of Gawler seemed to be as good as any we could
desire, to judge from the taste. At Gawler we had tea at a friend's
house. He said amongst other things--all interesting, but which I
have forgotten--that he always gave tramps a meal (which seems to be
the custom) and usually offered them work, but that none would work
for less than 4_s._ 6_d._ a day. They preferred to do nothing. The
Gawler Museum was close by. It contains native clubs, tom-toms,
skins of fishes, and a valuable book of engravings from Hogarth. The
last two or three days of my visit to South Australia I spent with
an old friend, who has been about six years a Professor at the
University. He lived about 20 miles to the east of Adelaide, beyond
the Mount Lofty range, and the scenery by rail thither, across the
mountains, is very striking. His comfortable house is about a mile
from the station, and here he spends his leisure time with his
family, in sensible pursuits. The University of Adelaide is yet in
its early youth, and only quite lately have any buildings been
erected for it, but the professorships are well endowed, and the
number of students annually increases. From Adelaide I returned by
steamer to Melbourne, and from there in a few days I went to
Tasmania. On my subsequent return to England I spent a day at
Adelaide, but then was in the company of friends the whole time.
V.
Tasmania.
The island of Tasmania is about 200 miles direct South of Victoria.
Up to 1856 its name was Van Diemen's land. Then it was officially
changed to Tasmania, a name which is more euphonious and at the same
time more correct, for the island was discovered by the Dutch
navigator, Tasman, who called it after his father-in-law, Van
Diemen. The change of name does not seem at once to have been
appreciated in England, for it is related of the first Bishop of
Tasmania, Bishop Nixon that, having occasion to call at the Foreign
Office, he left his card "F. R. Tasmania," and received a reply
addressed to F. R. Tasmania, Esq.! This reminds one of the Duke of
Newcastle, who, when Prime Minister, expressed his astonishment that
Cape Breton was an island, and hurried off to tell the King.
Tasmania may be reached direct from England by the Steamers of the
Shaw Savill and Albion Line, which call at Hobart on their way to
New Zealand once a month. The Steamers of the New Zealand Shipping
Co. also call occasionally at Hobart for coal, but they are not to
be relied on for stopping. Tasmania is however usually reached from
Melbourne. Bass's Straits, the sea between Victoria and Tasmania is
usually stormy, and many passengers who have never been seasick all
the way from England have succumbed to Bass's Straits. What is more
remarkable however, is that some for whom Bass's Straits have had no
terrors, have been seasick on the narrow-gauge line from Launceston
to Hobart! There are two ways of going from Melbourne to Hobart, one
by Steamer to Launceston at the north of the Island, and 40 miles up
the river Tamar, which takes about 24 hours, and thence by express
train to Hobart which takes 5-3/4 hours, the other by Steamer all
the way. There are two lines of Steamers, the Tasmanian S.S. Co.,
and the Union S.S. Co., of New Zealand, which calls at Hobart on the
way to New Zealand. The Steamers of the latter Company are built by
Messrs. Denny, of Dumbarton, and are fine, comfortable, and swift.
To travel by one of them is in my opinion far the pleasantest way of
reaching Hobart from Melbourne. Others to whom the shortest sea
passage is preferable, will naturally go by Launceston, and will
have a beautiful ride through the country, though they may be shaken
to pieces.
Tasmania is about half the size of England, but its population is
only 120,000. There are only two towns of any size--Hobart in the
south and Launceston in the north. A great deal of the interior is
marshy, and there are lakes of some considerable size, which in the
winter are sometimes frozen. The north-west coast is very barren and
sparsely inhabited. The doctors and clergy in these parts have often
long journeys to make through the bush. In climate, Tasmania is
preferable to Australia. The temperature is much more equable, and
therefore not so trying to weak constitutions. Formerly, many
Anglo-Indians visited the north-west coast; but this has not been so
much the case latterly. Numbers of tourists come from Australia
during the summer months. Compared to the larger island, Tasmania is
well watered, and the rainfall is very much greater. The climate has
often been compared to that of England, without its damps and fogs,
but the lightness and clearness of the atmosphere rather resemble
that of the South of France or Italy, and supply that gentle
exhilaration to the spirits which can be so seldom known in England.
Mount Wellington, which rises 4,000 feet above Hobart, is often
covered with a wreath of mist, and in the winter with snow. Many
English fruits and trees have been introduced, and flourish well.
The sweet briar was brought in some years ago, and now in many parts
the hedges are of nothing else. The native foliage is, however, the
same as that of Australia. Everywhere the eucalyptus predominates,
and in Tasmania grows to a great height. Some of the finest trees
may be seen in driving from Hobart along the Huon Road.
Up to within the last five and thirty years, the history of Tasmania
was that of a penal settlement. Much has been written of the convict
life, which it is not necessary to repeat here. I have often heard
that Marcus Clarke's powerful but repulsive tale, "His Natural Life"
is strictly true, even in its most horrible details. To the evils
inherent in the system, others seem to have been deliberately added by
the authorities. The convicts were employed as servants, and it was
even permitted to a free woman to marry a convict, and then if he
displeased her, she might have him punished. The buildings of the
settlement at Port Arthur are still standing, but are fast falling
into ruin. On the ceiling of the chapel there are yet to be seen marks
of blood from the floggings there inflicted. The old doors and bolts
of cells are used by the people in their own houses. It was of
frequent occurrence that convicts effected an escape, but they were
usually compelled, through hunger, to give themselves up. In cases
where several escaped, they became bushrangers, and rendered
travelling in the interior unsafe, for, their lives being already
forfeited, they had no motive to abstain from pillage and murder. It
appears that one at least of the Governors of the convict
establishments, took a malicious pleasure in taunting those under his
care. At length he fell a victim to his own conduct. It may be a
question whether it would not have been better to hang a man at once
than to transport him to Van Dieman's Land; but there can be no
question whatever that to class one who had been guilty of some petty
theft, with the abandoned wretches that convicts speedily become, is a
deed of which the wickedness can hardly be exaggerated. The system,
too, had a bad effect upon the free inhabitants. While the convicts
were no better than slaves, in the masters were engendered some of the
autocratic habits of slave-owners. If a convict gave the slightest
offence to his master or mistress, nothing was easier than to send him
with a note to the nearest magistrate, requesting that the bearer
might receive fifty lashes. The spirit of caste would soon be
manifested. The free white population would despise the convicts, or
children of convicts--perhaps also the poor free whites. These
distinctions have long ceased, but the feelings associated with them
are not so easily eradicated. Even now the descendants of convicts are
sometimes secretly looked down upon, and a great many have, on that
account, left the island. Much public work has been done by convict
labour. If a road is particularly well made, it is a sure remark that
it was made by the "Government stroke," but as a monument of human
industry, slave labour does not impress the mind like free labour. One
does not contemplate the pyramids of Egypt with the same satisfaction
as St. Peter's or St. Paul's. An account of the present aborigines of
Tasmania may be given with the same brevity as that of the snakes in
Ireland--there are none. The last was an old woman who died about ten
years ago. They were gradually reduced in numbers, partly by the
invaders, partly by natural causes, and at last the remnant was
deported to one of the neighbouring islands. In 1854 there were only
16 left. In the museum at Hobart are portraits of a good many, with
unpronounceable names. By the Australians, Tasmania is sometimes
called "sleepy hollow," and certainly, compared with their neighbours
across the water, the Tasmanians do appear to be deficient in energy.
The revenue of the country is, indeed, increasing, though slowly.
There are now only about 400,000 acres under cultivation. A great many
sheep are imported from Victoria. The principal manufacture is jam,
but the customs duties of Victoria put difficulties in the way of a
large export. Lately, the tin mines of Mount Bischoff, in the N.W.,
have been exceedingly productive, but there is an immense amount of
mineral wealth in Tasmania not yet tapped. With the exception of
Newfoundland, it is, I believe, the only Colony not represented at the
present Colonial and Indian Exhibition, and this must be matter of
regret to all wellwishers of the island, because it is certainly not
due to want of materials for exhibition. There might be shown the
varieties of the gum tree, the beautiful tree-ferns, the pretty shells
which are made into necklaces, the skin of the black opossum, of which
the finest opossum rugs are made (the black opossum has, however,
become very rare, and brown skins are sometimes dyed black). There is,
too, the Tasmanian devil, a small but formidable animal, something
like a badger, and the ornithorhynchus, or duck-billed platypus, which
figures on some of the postage stamps. This want of energy is a fact,
however it may be accounted for. Probably the emigration to Australia
of some of the convict families, as above mentioned, has withdrawn
some useful members of society. Again, in 1851, the discovery of gold
in Victoria attracted the most adventurous spirits from the other
Colonies, and from Tasmania among the rest. It is true that much of
the dangerous and criminal element in the population may thus have
been removed, but, at the same time, the young blood went with it,
and, as Pericles said, to take the young away from a city is like
taking the spring out of the year, and now many of the young men go to
Australia or elsewhere to seek their fortunes, a fact which may be
considered as much an effect of the present stagnation as a cause of
it. Throughout the island generally the usual proportion of the sexes
is maintained, but in Hobart the female sex appears to have a decided
preponderance. Tasmania, and especially Hobart, has had a reputation
for the beauty of the women; Anthony Trollope and other writers
mention it. Many men from Melbourne have brought their wives from
across the straits. I am bound to say that my own observation scarcely
bore out this tradition, but one must be very insensible not to admire
the fresh and clear complexions both of women and men; they have the
same complexions as we see in England, than which there cannot be
higher commendation. Although the total population of Tasmania is so
small, the machinery of government is large. There is a Governor, a
Legislative Council of 16 members, and a Legislative Assembly of 32
members. Both houses are elective, though not with the same suffrage;
but as even the lower house is not elected by manhood suffrage, the
constitution is not so democratic as that of Victoria. During my visit
the chief political question was the defence of the island against
possible Russian attack. The artillery were daily practising at
Kangaroo Point, which commands the entrance to Hobart. The present
acting Chief Justice had been Premier and Attorney General for five
years previously, and had brought the finances into a satisfactory
state. Each minister has a salary of L700. The High Court of Justice
consists of a Chief Justice and a Puisne Judge. The result of this is
that there is virtually no appeal from the decision of a single judge;
because, if even on appeal the Court should be divided, the previous
judgment must necessarily be confirmed. The only appeal, therefore, is
to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, a proceeding which
would probably be attended with too much expense to be ever resorted
to. The two branches of the legal profession--Barristers and
Solicitors--are amalgamated, but in practice they are usually kept
distinct. A jury consists of seven, of whom a majority of five can
give a verdict.
Education is well endowed in Tasmania. There is as yet no
University, though attempts have been made to found one, but the
Council of Education confers the degree of Associate of Arts, and
every year two scholarships, called the "Tasmanian Scholarships,"
of the value of L200 per annum, each for four years, to be held at
any British university, are awarded if the candidates pass
satisfactorily the required examination. This is indeed a splendid
scholarship. There are various other scholarships for boys and
girls under the age of 12, and others for those under 15, so that
it is possible for a boy to rise "from the gutter to the
University." The recent success of girls has brought forward the
question whether they too should not be allowed to compete for the
Tasmanian Scholarship. Newspapers may be sent post free to Great
Britain or the other colonies, to promote, I presume, knowledge of
the country. The telephone is much more in use than in England, and
is frequently used in place of the telegraph. The cost of it is
only L6 per annum. Nor in railway communication is Tasmania behind.
I mean that there are enough railways to keep up with the
requirements of the country, but new lines are being made, and they
of course will create fresh requirements. The principal line is
that connecting Launceston with Hobart. It belongs to a private
company, but the Government guaranteed 5 per cent. on the cost of
construction up to L650,000. That sum was not sufficient, and
subsequently L100,000 and L50,000 had to be borrowed to complete
the line. The present income is about L70,000--a large amount for
the small population at each end and on the way. Therefore when the
chairman at the recent meeting of shareholders in London
anticipated an income of L150,000, he was rather in the clouds. The
line is 133 miles in length, and has a gauge of 3ft. 6in. It
passes through some beautiful scenery, especially towards the
Hobart end, and the numerous bends of the line give travellers an
excellent opportunity for seeing the country. To one not used to
it, however, the jolting is most unpleasant, and the pace kept up
round the curves is too great for safety. Indeed, there have lately
been some fatal accidents on that very account. Among the stations
are Jerusalem and Jericho, before which the line skirts the Lake of
Tiberias. Not far off is Bagdad--which also has its Caliph. There
is one express train a day each way, which keeps up an average
speed of 23 miles per hour. Launceston has about 15,000
inhabitants, and is a more business-like town than Hobart.
Otherwise it is not particularly interesting. Hobart, which up to
1881 was called Hobart Town, has a most enchanting situation. The
scenery is of that ideal nature which, especially when the
afternoon sun gleams on the water and the hills, reminds the
spectator (if it is not contradictory to say so) of the "Light that
never was on sea or land."
Hobart lies about seven miles from the sea, which here runs up into
the land like a Norwegian fiord, and at the mouth of the river
Derwent. It is built upon sloping ground, between the river and
Mount Wellington, a huge mass that dwarfs every other object. Each
side of this fiord are green hills, from any one of which are
charming views of sea and land. The town much resembles an English
country town. The streets are narrower than those of Australian
towns, and though mostly at right angles are not so painfully
regular. They are mostly named after past Governors, as Macquarie
Street, Davey Street, Collins Street, Franklin Square, etc. Over the
Town Hall a flag flies, with the proud motto "_Sic fortis Hobartia
crevit_," and the arms of the city, supported by a kangaroo and an
emu. Under this same roof is the Public Library, containing about
10,000 volumes. The chief English periodicals are taken here. I
remember reading here Froude's "Carlyle in London," which is a
biography worthy to stand beside Boswell. It is a real biography,
not a mere jumble of undigested letters and diary thrown before the
public, which is too much the modern notion of writing Somebody's
Life. Hobart has none of the cosmopolitanism of Melbourne. Its
habits are essentially provincial--what the Germans call
_Kleinstaedtisch_. There is a small theatre at Hobart, to which
companies sometimes come from Melbourne. I saw the "Ticket-of-Leave
Man" here. The audience, which almost entirely consisted of the pit,
were still in that primitive stage of criticism in which the villain
(who was a good actor) was hooted, and the honest man (an
indifferent actor) vehemently applauded. I remember asking the way
to the theatre of a bearded individual, who turned out to be an
officer of the Salvation Army. "Ah, sir!" he said, "We don't believe
in theatres, we're booked for Heaven"--a most comfortable conviction
to carry through this life, whatever may be the ultimate issue.
Lying as it does in the midst of such beautiful scenery, Hobart is
a good centre from which to make excursions. A favourite place for
picnics is Brown's River, about 10 miles away, the road following
the water edge along "Sandy Bay." An Antipodean picnic is nothing
without tea. In fact the tea-pot is the centre round which
everything revolves. The first thing to be done is to collect wood
for a fire. The "billy" is then filled with water and set to boil.
Meantime those not connected with these preliminaries wander through
the woods or along the shore. At a picnic to Brown's River I saw the
famous cherries with the stones growing outside. It certainly is a
kind of fruit with the stone outside, but bears no resemblance
whatever to the cherry. Near Brown's River is the Blow Hole. This is
an opening at the bottom of a rock, through which at certain states
of the tide the water rushes, I presume, with much noise and
violence, but when I saw it all was quiet. For a two days excursion
from Hobart, none can be better than to take the coach along the
Huon Road to Victoria, at the head of the Huon River, sleep there,
and the next morning take the steamer from Victoria down the small
river, along the D'Entrecasteaux channel between the island of Bruni
and the mainland, and so back to Hobart. I had arranged for this
trip with a friend, and had gone so far as to consult the "Captain
of the Pinafore," (the tiny craft above alluded to), as to the time
of starting from Victoria, for she does not start every day, but an
accident at the last moment prevented us. Subsequently, however, I
had in a drive a good opportunity of seeing the best of the scenery
along the Huon Road. Along the Huon River I am told there are
hermits. At any rate there is one man who has not been seen for nine
years. He brings any fruit he has to sell to a certain spot and
lights a fire. This is seen, and in exchange for his commodities
food is left for him.