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pp. 65-78.
“I MADE an excursion to the southward [of Ulladulla]. For the first twenty miles we passed over barren heaths near the coast, and then toiling over the spur of a mountain, descended upon the beach; having, from the heights over which we had passed, surveyed the same kind of wild country as is discovered from the top of the Pigeon-House. Our path now lay at the foot of high cliffs, which at high water are washed by the sea; and in some places, when the water is rough, travellers have to wait for the reflux of a wave, and then hasten round a jutting promontory. We passed over a flat bed of rock, and turned off into the country at a place marked by the jaw-bone of a whale that had been cast on the shore. This bed of rock contains very many petrified trees, as perfect as when they were first embedded in it. The knots and the bark are distinct; and it appeared to my unlearned eyes that the trees must have fallen into some soft substance, mud for instance, and mud and trees must have been harfened together.
At Bateman’s Bay we rode in the water, through one of its shallow bends or elbows, piloted by a black; and as we crossed, we were greeted by a number of the Aborigines, who were running about in the shallows, spearing fish, and who carried on their operations amid much noise and laughter. To ride through water disturbed by the wind and fretted by the waves, produces a sensation of giddiness, and one knows not whether one’s horse is advancing or standing still. We now reached the mouth of the river Clyde and hailed a boat kept on the other side. My companion got into it, holding his horse by a long rein, and intending to tow him across. I had some difficulty in thrashing his Bucephalus into the water. It was a gigantic creature, worthy of the rider; and, rearing and plunging, he tried to get into the boat; but my own horse, sensible and sagacious, and as tractable as a child, entered the water readily, and swam gallantly across, blowing like a Grampus, and working his tail round and about, as if fully persuaded that his stern was fitted with an oar, or an Archimedian screw. ‘Dumby’ was as sleek and round as an apple. The blacks used to delight in contemplating his proportions; they would feel him all over with the tips of their fingers, probably longing to eat him; and they testified their approval by clucking, or smacking their lips, saying, ‘Cabon (fine) fellow that Dumby I believe.’ Some horses refuse to swim, but permit themselves to be towed along whilst they lie on their sides groaning, and showing the whites of their eyes, as if at the point of death; the best remedy for this is to duck them, when their motions immediately become exceedingly lively. The scenery of the bay is interesting. There are some rocky islands at its mouth; and at the other extremity the river Clyde makes its appearance from the interior, winding through dark, umrageous, and overhanging woods.
“On a subsequent occasion when I reached the Clyde, I in vain hailed the boat on the other side; but spying a dingy [sic] on the beach, I tied my horse to a tree, and, dragging the little skiff into the water, shoved off and essayed to make a passage. Unfortunately, my own length exceeded that of the dingy [sic], and although I packed myself as best I might, I found that in the position I was obliged to assume I could not row. The rullocks [sic] also were loose, the oars slipped off them, and I was perfectly helpless. If I exerted myself in the least, I nearly upset the crazy little skiff, and sometimes a wave gave it an awkward cant, and made me grin horribly. I was in a fix, like a bear in a washing tub, or a whale in a butter-boat, and at last I resigned myself to my fate, and began to float out with the tide. But a bright thought struck me. I carefully stretched myself in, or rather on the boat at full length, with my head over the bow and my feet over the stern, and I then found that I could row tolerably well, and at last safely achieved the passage. But two days subsequent to my adventure an unfortunate man was drowned in an attempt to cross in the same little boat. His body floated down the tide in an upright position, the head being out of the water, and the features by the force of the waves alternately facing each shore.
After riding through two small tidal rivers [Tomaga River and Candlagan Creek], night brought us to the residence of a settler living in a most excellent brick house, situate on a rising ground and overlooking the river Moruya, which was long, and for some purposes is still, the southern boundary of the colony; for beyond it, there were until lately none but squatters. Our host was surrounded by a little army of ‘Cornstalks.’ This is the name bestowed on whites born in the colony, who are also called ‘the currency,’ and thus the ‘Currency Lass’ is a favourite name for colonial vessels. The term “Native’ is also applied to those born in the colony; whilst Aborigines are always called ‘the Blacks.’ The designation ‘Cornstalk’ is given because the young people run up like the stem of the Indian corn. The second generation is said to conform more to the build of their forefathers, but there has hardly been time to judge of this; yet, I well recollect a fat and comely currency cook, the daughter of a Cornstalk, who, although only eighteen, had all the appearance of an English woman of thirty. There can be no doubt that if the first crop of Cornstalks had been reared in England they would not have reached the altitude they have attained in New South Wales, and the effect of climate is thus curiously illustrated.
“All the sons of our settler rode like jockeys, and swam like ducks. During my visit, little creatures of five or six years of age rode with their father to and from his sheep station, ten miles distant. Their ponies were swimming when they passed the river, and were also off their legs in passing through a lake. One of the boys drove sheep out of the fold while the other counted them as they rushed by him; and I may observe that counting sheep in this manner is rather a difficult business, and apt to produce dizziness and confusion. When bathing, the boys were under the guardian care of a sly Irish tutor, with a sad twist in his vision. At night we found that the young gentlemen had deposited our spurs in our beds, nicely arranged at the feet, and we could hear them in an adjoining room, enjoying the fun. At breakfast they were supplied with mountains of cold meat, and piles of hot beef-stakes and potatoes. The father, although his headquarters were within the boundaries, was a squatter, and annually sent overland many fat cattle (from his stations in the district called Maneroo [Monaro]) to Adelaide in South Australia. O his farm I saw a ‘comet’ bull, and two grandsons of the famous horse ‘Colone,’ who formed part of the stud at Hampton Court, and so admiraby united blood and bone. Another Maneroo [Monaro] squatter has introduced into the district camels and Alpaca sheep. The female camels are inclined to be vicious, and sometimes chase the horses; no doubt they would severely injure them, could they contrive to capture them.
“The rich alluvial flats on the banks of the Moruya, some of which at the period of my visit were let to tenants at the annual rent of thirty shillings an acre. They were planted with potatoes; but some of these small tenants were then absolutely going away, leaving their crops, which were good, in the hands of their landlord. Potatoes brought two pounds per ton in Sydney, where was the only market for them; and freight and other expenses reduced their actual value to less than the amount of rent of the land that produced them. These small tenants lived in wretched huts, and their condition would have been much better had they been day labourers. Except in the immediate neighbourhood of the market, or with ready access to one by means of steam, a small tenant can do nothing, and, if he have any thing to lose, will assuredly lose it. He might do better were his rent reserved in produce, but this would not suit his landlord. Nothing is more common than for men who have saved money as hired servants to throw it away in an attempt to set up for themselves, to which they are impelled by the desire to be their own masters; and they ultimately have to begin again, after having almost broken their hearts by hard work. Laboring men sometimes ‘sit down’ on waste land in the bush, paying no rent whatever; but even this does not answer, and they soon throw up their clearing in disgust. Hence, to encourage a rural populace, markets must be created, and this is, as yet, the work of the flock-masters.
“We journeyed on, and visited a settler who lived to the southward of Moruya, in a kind of debateable land, but on the same footing with a squatter. It cost him twenty pounds to put up his house, which contained three rooms and a kitchen, and was built of slabs, and covered with bark. He had fenced in two or three paddocks; and here he resided with a pleasant wife, one or two children, and a neat good-tempered Irish servant girl. On his ‘run’ (or his portion of the wild land), which consisted of rich flats naturally clear, fed his cattle and horses. He was a stout and sterling Yorkshire man, a chip of the real good old block, and had been a farmer from his childhood. He told me that he had never seen finer land than that on which he was located, but that he had had enough, and too much, of farming in the bush, and then only raised such produce as his own family consumed, Milk and butter were plentiful with him, also geese, fowls, ducks, and potatoes. His roast goose was rich and rare; and one of the party who had not seen such a dish for many a day, earnestly begged, as a particular favour, to be allowed the privilege of carving it. His potatoes were very fine, he said that he could produce them in any quantity; but their sale in Sydney, after deducting freight and such-like expenses, would give him only a few shillings a ton. He also said that, if he grew wheat, it would be at a loss. Whilst I was in the Colony, the price of wheat varied from two shillings and nine-pence, to six shillings a bushel, but was generally about four shillings. I believe that wheat from Valparaiso [Chile] can be delivered in the harbour at Sydney, at or under five shillings a bushel, duty included; and that flour can generally be procured from America at a cheap rate. Hence, were labour abundant and cheap, the farmer would still, - to use a colonial expression, - ‘be put in the hole,’ so far as money-making goes; though in some instances, when the crops have failed generally, and no foreign supply has been procured, the price of wheat has been twenty shillings a bushel.
“Most of the Colonists are, as a matter of course, advocates for free trade, except in wheat. With regard to this, some urge that farmers should have efficient protection, or they will be driven to become squatters whilst others reply, that it would be better for all if they did grow wool instead of wheat.
“I am not aware that any wheat has been imported into London from Sydney; but I find that the average freight from Hobart Town and Launceston, to London is about 1s. 6d. per bushel, with 5 per cent. primage; and from Adelaide, about 2s. Now, if the settler add to the freight so demanded, the expenses he incurs in the Colony, - especially if his wheat is grown at a distance from the port where he ships it, - and if he add to it, again, agency charges in London, I fear he will find that growing wheat for exportation will not pay, excepting famine prices should prevail here.* [Footnote - * Sydney is a free warehousing port. The import duties are - on all Spirits, the produce of the United Kingdom, or of British possessions in the West Indies, or North America (via England) 3s. 6d. per gallon Imperial; on all other Spirits, 6s. per gallon - on all Wine, 15l. for every 100l. value - on all Tea, Sugar, Flour, Meal, Wheat, Rice, and other Grain, and Pulse, 5l. for every 100l, value - on manufactured Tobacco, 1s. 6s. per pound, and on all unmanufactured , and Snuff, 2s. per pound - and on all other Goods, Wares, or Merchandise, not being the produce or manufacture of the United Kingdom, 10l. for every 100l. value.]
“When I left the Colony, the day labourer’s wages were from eighteen to twenty pounds a-year, in addition to a sufficient ration of flour, beef, or mutton, and tea and sugar. Men going into the interior, where their lives would be in danger, of course received more. In a country where cattle are boiled own for tallow, the expense of feeding a man is very trifling. The amount for one man’s keep for twelve months, would run thus: - beef, - say the whole of one small beast - two pounds sterling; fifteen bushels of wheat, three pounds; thirteen pounds of tea, thirty-two shillings and sixpence; fifty-two pounds of sugar, thirteen shillings; making together, 7l. 5s. 6d,; but many masters give larger rations. On most farms, milk is plentiful, quantities of skimmed milk being given to the pigs; and hence the farm-labourer easily secures a supply. His master furnishes him with a hut; fire-wood abounds all around him and he may have, gratis, as much garden ground as he pleases. Many thus contrive to fatten pigs and some are allowed to keep cows, which their wives milk. If the labourer have a large family, still the prices of beef and flour are such that it is no burden to him, and he can save the bulk of his wages. But home, sweet home, and their longing for the old country, prevent some men from appreciating these advantages. ‘What is the good,’ said one of them to me, ‘of having plenty to eat and drink, and twenty pounds a-year, if a man’s mind is not happy ?’ It is evident at what little expense idle men can live in the bush. The expense of keeping a horse is merely that of the maize he consumes, which may be procured for five pounds a-year. Clothes cost little; for a man in the bush has much the cut of ‘a swell out of luck;’ a beau would not be tolerated, and belles are rare. I recollect however being much astonished at seeing, in the bush, a girl in green garters, stepping over a boggy place, with a parasol over her head. Great must have been the perplexity of the blacks; and probably they solved the new problem by agreeing that the parasol was her house.
“On my way to the station I have described, I saw a number of the Aborigines. They were painted with red, yellow and white streaks, especially on the face; and the appearance of some of them was abundantly ghastly and horrible. They said they were going to have a fight. Their fights are generally but sham battles, there being a great deal of noise and clamour, and very little danger; but their duels are more formidable. Each gathers his hair on the top of his head, and ties it round in a bunch, - as a lady her ‘back hair,’ or a farmer his horse’s tail, - so that it acts like a cushion or pad. One then stoops, and receives a blow on the head with a heavy but blunt weapon. Having shaken his ears, and scratched his head, it is now his turn to strike a similar blow; and thus the battle is continued, until it is ascertained which of the two has the thickest skull, and can bear the most heavy blows; when he who first declines to receive another, is declared vanquished; and thus the matter ends. The blacks appear to be almost insensible to ordinary injuries; and wounds, the mere shock of which would assuredly kill a white man, are borne by them with hardly a complaint, and are sometimes a matter of jest.
“From this group of Aborigines, one came running to us saying that he had ‘bailed up,’ or secured, a white fellow in a neighbouring hut, having caught him without a pass. He soon brought out a white man, who looked very much frightened; and, shaking his finger at him, repeated, ‘mind your business, sar; mind your business.’ It turned out that this black imagined he was invested with the office of constable; and, meeting this man, demanded his pass, which he, being a convict, was obliged to have with him. The pass happening to be old and dirty, our sable friend said it was a bad one, and laid hold of the man, saying he should go before a magistrate. We asked him to read the paper, and on this he looked knowingly, and said, ‘I Jagga-Jagga; constable belonging to Bronlee [Broulee]; take up white fellow, ‘pose him got no pass; put him along of lock-up; made constable by ----- Johnny Hawthorn.’ This black could use his fists; and, being once struck by a man whom he was assisting in ploughing, he drubbed him heartily, amid the plaudits of the bystanders. Some of the assemblage recognised my companion, and raced after him, shouting, ‘I say, Woolloomalan ! - (the native name of his place) - where you yan ? (go). Where Charley sit down ? B’leve you got bacca ? Eh ?’
“During this excursion, I had the opportunity of comparing the appearance of the blacks, three parts wild, with those who had ‘come in,’ or become partly civilised. Compare that merry fellow who is twanging ‘Jim Crow’ on a Jew’s harp, with that savage-looking being who is cowering over a small fire. The latter has a hang-dog look, and will not meet your eye, or even glance at you; but then he knows he is in disgrace for killing calves; and some of his party, there is too much reason to fear, have carried off and devoured a little white boy who has been anxiously sought for, and who disappeared on the same day with one of the cannibals who had been lurking about the farmer’s premises [This is an unsubstantiated and false statement, not uncommon at a time when sensationalised rumours were rife].
“I fell in with the half-cast Cingalese who found the shipwrecked Mrs. Frazer among the wild blacks northward. He said he discovered her, in the midst of native women, picking shell-fish on the coast; and that her husband, and the other white men who were killed, were put to death for unwittingly violating one of the native customs. The man was originally sent to the Colony as a convict, but ran away, and lived for many years amongst the Aborigines, by whom he said he was much respected; ‘very much respected indeed.’ He was proud of being the natural son of a lieutenant in the army, and boasted that he had the blood of a gentleman in his veins. In return for saving Mrs. Frazer, and conducting her into the settled parts of the Colony, he had received a free pardon; but he still lived entirely with the blacks, and when I saw him, had just returned from an expedition in search of a wife. After conferring in due form with the sable fathers of the tribe, he had been allowed, as a particular friend and ancient ally, to select one of the most captivating daughters; and I saw the bride, arrayed in a blanket, squatted on the ground which formed their bed, and very bashful and sheepish she appeared. She had large black eyes, and was rather comely. He said that she was a very good wife; but then, as it happened, he was rather old and she was young, and, moreover, grieved at being compelled to leave her old friends. Thus, ultimately, unhappy domestic differences arose, and she dissolved the connexion by running away, leaving him a disconsolate widower, for, I doubt not, the twentieth time at least.
“I visited a surgeon who resided in a bark hut, on the edge of some dreary woods near the sea. He was evidently a superior man, and had left a fair practice to try farming in the forest; and bitterly did he regret the step he had taken. Farming had ruined him, and he resided with his wife - a second Jeanie Deans - in a place which, in England, would be called a hovel. He was surrounded by a tribe of barefooted children, ‘clamorous as nestling birds;’ lived on salt beef and damper; and thought himself fortunate in being able to secure these and a needful supply of tea and sugar. Still, he and his family appeared cheerful; and I could not sufficiently admire the placidity of his careful wife, who had to perform all the household duties, through which she shone like pure gold thrice refined in the furnace of affliction. Far different had been her sphere in her native land, before she left her own kith and kin ! Some mementos of other days she still retained, and she kindly supplied me with music from her then useless collection. I could not but contrast this instance of cheerful endurance with the querulous repinings of some who possess every needful comfort, and yet are neither grateful nor content; and it occurred to me that, if one eye could take in both pictures at on view, how greatly those must suffer, in the estimation of the beholder, who furnish the latter. This lady has lately lost her husband; who, it was said, and I can readily believe it, died of a disease of the heart. To her may be applied, with great propriety, Cowper’s lines on the poor deserted Omai:
‘I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart
And spiritless, as never to regret
Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known.
Methinks I see thee straying on the beach
And asking of the surge that bathes thy foot
If ever it has washed our distant shore.
I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears.
* * * *
But, comes at last the dull and dusky eve,
And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepared
To dream all night of what the day denied
Alas ! expect it not.’ “
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