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p. 80.
“The hospitalities of all settlers in the bush (and, on the coast south of Sydney, I should say, ‘the bush’ commenced at the Shoalhaven) are gladly extended to all comers; who, indeed, receive them, not as a favour, but as a matter of course. If the settler happens to be out, the traveller takes possession; and makes himself as comfortable as he can. I hear that, on one occasion, when Mr. _____ returned home late, he found a stranger, in a red night-cap, in comfortable possession of his bed. The night-cap nodded, and the wearer said, ‘How d’ye do, Mr. I-don’t-know-your-name ? I found you out, so I turned in. Good night.’ The owner of the house thereupon made his bed on the table. The owner of the night-cap was afterwards transported for fifteen years, for shooting a trespasser on his grounds; and perhaps, but for this circumstance, I might not have recollected the incident.”
pp. 84-86.
“Many lamentable casualties have been the consequence of persons losing themselves in the bush. In such circumstances they usually become excited and frightened, and wander nearly in a circle. They generally suffer too much from thirst to regard hunger, if indeed its pangs are felt by them at all. A woman has been found, in the last stage of exhaustion, with a crust of bread in her pocket. Another, however, who was lost in company with her favourite dog, had, when she was found, eaten the whole of the animal, with the exception of the leg, which she still carried with her. To those who can keep their composure, the sun is an unerring guide to the sea; and then, by following the line of coast, a settlement is surely arrived at and many have thus escaped. The course of a stream should, also, be always followed downwards, as there are probably settlements on its banks. It is, of course, the great similitude of one part of the forest to another, and the absence of landmarks, which causes people helplessly to wander. The squatter sometimes travels with a compass; with this he takes the exact bearings of any mountain which marks his course; and he is then in possession of a guide when the woods shut the eminence from his view. It has long been currently reported that a white woman is in captivity amongst the wild blacks in Gipp’s Land, for that the figure of a heart has been found cut in the turf, and on this was placed a New Testament. Very lately it has been stated that the name of this unfortunate creature is Ellen M’Pherson, that she has been in the power of the blacks since 1839, and that her name, together with that of the ship in which she was wrecked on the coast, have been found, cut on the bark of a tree. The Colonial Government has taken steps to rescue her; but the danger is, that the blacks will murder her, on finding that she is the object of pursuit.
“As persons lost in the bush, become weak from exhaustion they stagger to and fro, and frequently fall; and thus they may be tracked, as also from the grass they pluck, and chew for the sake of its moisture.
“Much of the country, at a short distance from the coast, consists of ranges, some clothed with natural grass, whilst others are barren and stony; but all ‘wear the green forest on their hilly head.’ If we consider a ‘main range’ to be a back-bone, and its spurs the ribs, it is evident that a knowledge of these affords an unerring guide through the bush, the bushman always keeping on the crest of a ridge. I believe, however, that a man, long accustomed to the bush, knows, as if by instinct, where his home lies. A certain point in a certain direction is present to the eye of his mind, and he can point to this, but cannot explain how he ascertains it. I am convinced that if a black were carried ten miles into the bush, blindfold, he would, when liberated, strike back in the right direction, without the slightest hesitation; but, if by any means he once lost his presence of mind, he would be more helpless than a white man. A facility for finding their way in the bush is very observable in whites born in the colony, amid its forests, and in this faculty they excel; and I cannot but think that man possesses, in a measure, though circumstances and habit are necessary to develope it, an instinct akin to that which guides a bee to its hive, and the wandering albatross to its home.”
pp. 122-123.
“THE traveller on the coast has some difficulty in finding his way, for there are no roads on the coast-line south of the Shoalhaven. He is also much inconvenienced by the necessity of crossing rivers; the heads of lakes, and innumerable boggy places; and it is essential that his horse should not only be hardy and much enduring, but also a good water-dog, and an experienced bog-trotter. On leaving Ulladulla for the north, it is usual to consult the state of the tide, with the view of crossing, without inconvenience, a small tidal river [Narrawallee Creek]. During my apprenticeship in the bush, I spent many a weary hour on its banks, waiting for the ebb, and that often in darkness at the close of a long day’s journey; but I learnt, at length, to swim my horse across; first, however, taking the precaution to hang my long boots, &c., round my neck, having been taught by frequent experience, that however pleasant a warm slipper bath may be, a bootful of water is anything but agreeable, although, doubtless, hydropathic and healthy.
“By day a man does not so much feel the spell of the wild country through which he is travelling. Perhaps he may hear dogs barking, whips cracking, men shouting; but at night, when the silent stars look down upon him, as he sits solitary near the sea shore, when the whispering winds breathe softly upon his cheek, and he hears the ceaseless murmur and flow of the ocean, as its waves fall with a gentle, sleepy splash upon the sands; and whilst, again, the voice of strange creatures echoes sullenly around, - then indeed he feels, pretty sensibly, that he is far away from Fleet-street. But, even by day, when wandering alone in the woods, a solemn feeling sometimes steals over one, as he reflects that ‘here the seed has fallen, the sapling has arisen, has attained maturity, has become a mighty monarch of the woods, then sunk into decay and crumbled into dust, and others have in like manner supplied its place, and this process has been repeated again and again through the lapse of dim mysterious ages; and no eye has seen it save that of the raoming savage; and now, at length, this new world has been revealed, and he treads its secret haunts.’”
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