Our Australian Cousins
Chapter IV

"We leave Somerset—The Australian coast—The "Black fellows"— A wreck—Brisbane—Aspect from the river—Signs of progress— Hotels—Loungers at the bars—The streets—Houses of Parlia­ment—Yiew of the city—Queensland a fine poor man's country.

After leaving Somerset we encountered heavy squalls and almost incessant rain. The decks were sloppy and miserable; a blinding sheet of hissing rain hid the blurred outlines of the coast from view, and we had to anchor each night, it was so thick. "We discharged our Chinese passengers at Cook-town on the 23rd, and were glad to be relieved of their unsavoury pre­sence. A poor digger, who had come all the way from Singapore, died here within a day's sail of his home, and was consigned to his deep-sea grave that morning. Next day the weather was worse than ever, and seemed to affect the spirits of every one on board. Our cap­tain shone out to-day. He growled at everything and everybody, and his very hair seemed stiff.

After passing Bowen, a small seaport some 700 miles from Somerset, we enjoyed a beautiful warm Sunday, passing some of the finest coast scenery we had yet beheld. The coast is bold and rocky; great moun­tains, literally clothed with dark green foliage, rise there from the water's edge; huge boulders and rocky cliffs peer out from their nests of pine and bushy scrub; numerous cascades and torrents leap down from cliff to cliff; islands lie scattered on all sides. A long glistening line of beach, with dark masses of trees behind, and the water rippling among the sand and shells—indeed a vision of beauty. We could make out several natives among the rocks and bush on the shore, and one or two came out in their light bark canoes, and cried out for tobacco and biscuits, some of which we threw to them. They are a repulsive-looking race, perfectly naked, with great ridges of flesh all over their shoulders and ribs. It seemed as if they had gashed themselves, and then, inserting pebbles or other solid substances in the wound, allowed the flesh to grow over and enclose the foreign body, whatever it may have been. I discovered afterwards that these ugly fleshy protuberances are the honourable scars gained in the frequent exercise of the duello. When two of them quarrel, they challenge each other to mortal combat. Grasping each the other, as wrestlers do, they begin by cutting each other with knives, shells, or sharp flints, down the shoulders, ribs, and thighs. Gash for gash is stolidly given and received, and, whoever can cut the deepest, and stand the horrid carving process the longest, is adjudged the victor. These people have no notion of even the. rudest agricultural operation, and live entirely on fish, berries, roots, insects, and wild animals. All along this coast the aborigines are pretty numerous. They are a treacherous and cunning race, never moving out at night, and never sleeping two nights in the same place. Their gunyah or hut is simply a few branches of brushwood thrown together and tied at the top.

On the night of the 25th we stopped near, the wreck of the ill-fated "Singapore," and took off the captain, a fine-looking fellow, who had been on the island, staying by the wreck, since the disaster, which had but a few weeks previously occurred. "We could see distinctly, in the clear moonlight, the masts, spars, and part of the hull of the luckless vessel, as well as the black rock on which she struck. All the crew were saved; the cargo, a valuable shipment of tea, and the vessel her­self, were a total loss, their combined worth being about 100,000l. The ship was only about a mile from the shore where she struck, and was another sad evidence of the crying necessity for a thorough survey of these waters. "We gazed through the night-glasses, and saw our boat pull round the ill-fated wreck. We could not help sympathizing with the poor captain, who only had saved- the clothes he stood in, and seemed quite unmanned when he took farewell of the poor wreck of his gallant vessel, that had borne him so proudly in many a rude conflict with storm and surge.

By the time we entered Moreton Bay, and steamed slowly through its muddy waters in the little tug-boat, I was beginning to feel stronger and better than I had ever thought possible. My American friend and I bade a kindly adieu to the officers, but were not sorry to part with our crusty captain. Brisbane, the growing capital of Queensland, was now our goal.

The bay and river do not look either imposing or picturesque when they first burst on the view. There is a wide semicircular bay, studded with black posts, red beacons, and other channel marks; and the distant low-lying shores are guarded by outlying mud-flats, and fringed with a thick belt of fever-suggesting man­groves. You can make no mistake about the fact that there are mosquitoes. These blood-thirsty insects were a terrible plague.

It was now the month of March, when the most pleasant season of-the year perhaps for Queensland begins, the day's heat being tempered by a bracing wind, and the nights still, balmy, and cool. After we leave the open bay, and enter the Brisbane river, there are all the evidences of an approach to some important centre of commerce. The river winds in and out among richly-wooded slopes, or broad reaches of mangrove-covered swamps. Various small craft spread their tiny sails, and skim lighty over the stream, which, however, nowhere attains any great breadth. River steamers pass and re-pass, with their funnels vomiting huge volumes of smoke; some with the old-fashioned paddle-boxes very high out of the water, others with a huge revolving wheel right astern. Big ships of over 1000 tons burthen lie anchored in mid-stream. A steam-dredger is busy deepening the channel in parts; row-boats flit to and fro; wharves and private landing-stages project into the water from almost every point. Here the tin smelting-works, and there the steam rope-walk, resounding with the clang of machinery, and the busy hum of labour, show us that new enterprises are being rapidly organized; while on the wooded heights there is a strange jumble of half- cleared land, virgin forest, trim gardens gay with flowers, and neat villas and cottages with light verandahs. Here a handsome stone church, and there a paddock of scrubby grass and charred tree-stumps. A strange mixture of rocky cliff and trim terraces— the ruggedness of nature and the ordered works of human industry.

This half-completed aspect of the place at once strikes the stranger fresh to the colonies. In the streets, some wooden shanty, with a few old weather-boards.

roughly nailed together for a "lean-to," roofed with rusty iron, old packing-tin, and tattered tarpaulin, lifts its unkempt head beside the stately erection of hewn stone and painted brick, ornate with sculptured cornices innumerable, vaulted halls, and floors of slate or marble. Brisbane is beautifully situated, and at every turn the work of creation is going on.- Buildings of brick and stone are rapidly taking the place of wooden ones. New wharves are being built; the roads, which as yet are very rough and uneven, are being levelled and metalled. Queen-street, the principal artery of the town, is a wide busy thoroughfare, well-watered, paved, and lighted, with handsome shops and offices, and imposing town-hall, and a roomy post-office.

The servants here, although remarkably well paid, are a great source of anguish to the ladies. As at home, they are the principal domestic grievance. Girls get from ten to twelve shillings a week, men, such as grooms and gardeners, from 21. upwards; but if you say a word of censure or expostulation to them, they consign you to Jehannam, and tell you to suit your­self elsewhere. Of course all are not alike, but the majority are dreadfully independent, and too often very insolent.

Queensland is a fine poor man's country. A la­bourer on the wharves earns his shilling an hour; work­ing men on the roads from six shillings a day; and a tradesman nine to ten shillings, and even more at times. Besides they all want their Saturday and Sunday as holidays, when the consumption of drink is calculated to increase the revenues of the country, to an extent that may certainly gladden the heart of the Treasurer who contemplates a probable deficit, but which sad­dens the true patriot or earnest statesman. Luxuries are dear—eggs two shillings a dozen, butter half-a-crown a pound; groceries and clothes are also expensive; but as some atonement the best butcher's meat can be bought for 2d. to 4d per lb., and vegetables and fruits are cheap and plentiful. A bachelor, boarding out, could live very cheaply here, but a family man, to live in any degree of comfort, needs 500l. a year at least.

The climate from April to August is very fine in­deed. The sun has certainly registered up to 120° in the shade; but such heat is exceptional, and even then is dry, not the moist relaxing heat of many parts of India. February is generally a wet month, whilst westerly winds prevail in September and October, which brings on colds and throat affections; but on the whole the climate is bracing, healthy and pleasant, and infinitely to be preferred to that of Bombay or Calcutta. There is no doubt that the colony is wonder­fully rich in natural products and has a mighty future before it. Capital, energy, and skill abound, though labour is at present a great difficulty. To a con­sideration of this question I shall devote some portion of a future chapter.

Return to Book Index Page