CHAPTER XXVII

Frozen meat—Again at Gracemere—Australian scenery—In a carriole—Hunting the dugong—Cosmopolitan quarters for the night—Cure for nervous diseases—Poisonous rabbits—Marry only a person with good teeth—Bush girls—Mount Morgan.

After a voyage of a few days I arrived in safety at Gracemere. On the journey from Herbert river down the coast you pass two establishments for freezing meat for export, viz. Bowen and Rockhampton. This comparatively new industry in Australia has recently been largely developed, and is no doubt destined to become of great importance to the country, which will in this manner be able to dispose of its great surplus of meat. The largest amount is exported from New Zealand.

Gracemere was now in its winter dress. How poor Central Queensland looks to a person coming from the charming tropics of Northern Queensland! But here in the south the genuine Australian landscape is found, the characteristic feature of which is the fantastical and the gloomy; solemn gum-trees, which lose their white bark in winter just as European trees shed their leaves, stiff grass-trees, solemn-looking acacias, can hardly give any charm to a landscape. And yet I have seen beautiful landscapes outside Northern Queensland, as for instance the fern-tree gully in Victoria, where the most splendid tree-ferns grow at the feet of the highest trees in the world. The views from the heights in the rear of the capital of South Australia across the wide Adelaide plains are very imposing, as are also those obtained on a journey across the Blue Mountains in New South Wales, especially where the windings of the Paramatta river are seen in the distance.

Though I enjoyed in a high degree the pleasure attendant upon a return to the comforts of civilisation, I soon began to make expeditions northward along the coast.

On one occasion I was invited to take part in hunting the dugong (_Halicore dugong_). I set out in the latter part of August in a carriole (_karjol_) which the Archers many years ago had imported from Norway, and which probably is the only one of the kind in all Australia. A carriole requires a good road, for it easily upsets, on account of the short distance between the two wheels, but in the open woodlands of Australia it is possible to drive almost anywhere, if there are no fences, brooks, or other obstacles.

After a journey of four days I arrived at Torilla, where preparations were at once made for the hunt. The first need was a boat. My host had only a small sailing boat given to him by some French Communists who had escaped from their confinement in New Caledonia and landed on his premises. One of these fugitives had been employed on the farm, and was an excellent carpenter. He undertook to repair the old rotten hulk, which had been lying on the bank of the river for a long time exposed to the sun and rain. It was a well-built boat with new sails and good masts, but in other respects it had seen its best days. The Frenchman went to work industriously, encouraged by the lady of the house, who promised him that he should be permitted to take part in the hunt, which in her mind was a guarantee that he would repair the boat properly. And after he had spent eight days in calking, rigging, and pitching the craft, he declared her seaworthy, and we at length put to sea. The crew consisted of my host, my English friend the squatter, the Frenchman, and myself. We were to take turns in baling.

After a pleasant sail we reached an island late in the evening, and there we made our camp on the shore. We had taken drinking water with us. The old mangrove stems made an excellent fire, and the soft sand a pleasant bed. We also set fire to some tall grass, in order to give the signal to some blacks who had agreed to join us here.

Early the next morning two natives, who were to assist us in hunting, came rowing in a canoe from the mainland. One of them paddled the canoe, while the other one kept baling out water with a large shell.

The canoe of the natives here is made of three pieces of bark, one forming the bottom and two the sides. The pieces are sewed together with wood fibres, and there is nothing, by way of ribs, to keep the pieces of bark together; simply a small cross-piece to support the sides, nor are there rowlocks or rudder. There is only room for two, and as the water continually pours in, one man is occupied in baling, while the other paddles on the two sides alternately with a stick about two yards long.

We took both the blacks and their canoe on board and started with full sail for Saltwater Bay. The difference between ebb and flood was here about twenty-eight feet. In Broad Sound, which lies a little farther to the north, the difference is said to be greater than anywhere else in the world—that is, about thirty-three feet.

Saltwater Bay is very shallow, and the large fields of mud that become visible at ebb-tide are covered with submarine Algæ. Here the dugong, the strange Australian seacow, seeks its food when the tide rises. In the innermost part of the bay we found a place for a camp; we rose early the next morning, and as soon as the water was deep enough rowed out. The blacks brought the implements to be used. The harpoon consists of two parts, the handle and spear, of which I give an illustration below. The point or spear is a piece of wire about eleven inches long, sharpened at one end, the other being enclosed in grass and wood fibre, forming a sort of knot which fits exactly into a hole in the handle so as to be held firmly in its place. To this knot a line is fastened. When the harpoon is thrown the point enters the animal, and at the same time the handle is set free and floats about on the water. This handle is a heavy wooden rod about three yards long.

Although the point is without barbs, still it sticks fast in the dugong’s thick skin, as if the latter were made of gutta-percha. The point of the harpoon is bent into a hook the moment the animal starts away, and when, from tugging at the canoe, it has become sufficiently exhausted, it is finally towed up to the boat and its nostrils adroitly closed with wooden plugs, and thus it is choked. Before the natives in this part of Australia had come in contact with Europeans and had learned the value of iron, they used barbed harpoon points made of wood. The manner in which the natives catch the dugong shows more thought and reflection than we would expect from savages so low in the scale of development as the Australian aborigines. The fact that the black man, lazy as he is by nature, will submit to all the toil necessary to capture the animal is proof of the great value he puts upon its flesh and fat.

As we sailed across the bay before a light breeze our natives did not fail to discover a large amount of loose grass floating on the water, positive evidence that the dugong was not far away. Nor did many moments pass before the man keeping watch in the stern of the boat called out: _Parábela, parábela!_—that is, Dugong, dugong! We sent the blacks out in their own canoe. One of them seized the baling-shell, while the other put his long spear and his lines in order, and so they rowed softly out among the animals, which kept coming nearer and nearer. We remained as quiet as possible in the distance and witnessed the scene before us with the deepest interest.

More than fifty dugongs were approaching, and one or two came within a few yards of our boat. They frequently raised their heads above the water to get breath; making a heavy loud expiration, and then, with a quick inspiration, they again disappeared in the deep.

The blacks kept rowing among them in order to select a suitable victim. At length the spear leaves the unerring hand of the black hunter. A great splash in the water shows that the harpoon has not missed its aim. The animal is pierced by a second harpoon and starts off with two lines. After half an hour it is so exhausted that it can be brought up to the canoe, where its nostrils are plugged.

By uniting our efforts we at length succeeded in bringing the animal into our boat. Although it was a mere calf, it was no easy matter to get it on board.

We took the blacks into our boat and set sail so as to reach our camp at the head of the bay before the water became too shallow. It was a touching sight to see the mother of the slain animal following us for a long time, swimming to and fro near the boat for half an hour and then going away.

We brought our game safe ashore, and at once began to skin it. In the meantime the blacks were cooking a gray mullet (_Mugil_), which has an excellent flavour. They fried it in fat from the dugong, and this, accompanied by a glass of whisky, formed an excellent meal. The successful hunt put us in the best of spirits. The squatter jokingly proposed that we, like the blacks, should anoint our bodies with dugong oil and dance a korroboree all night through. The Frenchman, our cook, was as happy as a lark, and was quite in his element when some of the most tender parts of the dugong were placed over the coals to roast.

The meat had an exceedingly delicate flavour, and tasted like something midway between veal and pork, but far better than either. The squatter imagined himself in Paris, and was reminded of the Hôtel du Louvre, where he had spent many a day of his earlier life.

My host and myself were busy preparing the skin. The blacks were in the best of spirits. They fried and ate as much of the meat as they pleased, and thereupon an unlimited supply of tobacco was placed at their disposal. When night set in, our camp presented a most picturesque appearance. Three large camp fires blazed among the gum-trees, the columns of smoke ascended in the calm evening, and the stars glittered over a company as wide apart in tastes and interests as in nationality, but all gay and happy: one Englishman, a white Australian, a Frenchman, a Norseman, and two Australian blacks.

The dugong has become widely known on account of its fat, which even several years ago was found to be an excellent remedy for consumption and nervous prostration. A physician in Brisbane found it difficult to procure cod-liver oil from Europe for his patients, and so he determined to try the fat of the dugong. He boiled it into an oil, of which the medicinal qualities were found to be most remarkable. Near Brisbane a dugong-fishing establishment was started and a number of black harpoonists were employed. Dugong oil fetched a high price, but unfortunately it soon became adulterated with shark-liver oil and similar fats. Its reputation fell, and the market was destroyed. There was also a large demand for skeletons to supply all the museums of the world.

The fat used for medicinal purposes is taken from the sides, and the oil, which is almost as clear as water, is absolutely tasteless. As the animals have become very scarce, and as they, moreover, are very shy, the oil is naturally very expensive. This fact is greatly to be deplored, for its nourishing and nerve-invigorating qualities can scarcely be over-estimated. There are most remarkable instances on record of its having cured nervousness, and according to the report of Dr. Hobbs it must be credited with being in all respects superior to cod-liver oil. I am familiar by experience with the excellent effect of both on the nervous system, and although I greatly prefer the dugong oil, still, as we have in cod-liver oil so good a substitute for it, I cannot but regret that the value of this kind of food is not appreciated more than it is. Is it not possible that we here have a cure for the overworked nerves of our time? Unfortunately most people have a dislike to cod-liver oil, which is in part attributable to the poor preparation of former times and in part to the fact that it is rarely obtained fresh. Nowadays conscientious manufacturers produce an article having, when in good condition, the flavour of fresh cod-liver oil, which by the majority of people is looked upon as a delicacy. It now only remains to find some way of preserving that flavour of the oil.

At present there are two dugong-fishing establishments in Queensland, both on the east coast, but they are not managed with sufficient energy, and the result is that cod-liver oil is used more extensively than dugong oil. The fact that the animals move from one place to another, and have to be followed by the fishermen, makes the capture of the dugong very difficult. The fishing is carried on mainly by very strong nets, in which the animals are caught when they return, with the ebb-tide, from their pasture grounds on the shoals to deep water. The dugong is not found south of Moreton Bay, but is plentiful everywhere north of it, particularly in the Gulf of Carpentaria. It is also found in the Mozambique Channel and in the Indian Ocean, and the Malayans are said to be skilful in harpooning it. Besides the oil, the skin of the dugong, which is an inch thick, is also very valuable, as it is made into a gelatine or into strong leather. The bones, which are very heavy, may be used as a substitute for ivory.

It is said that the dugong mother constantly holds fast to her young with her pectorals, and in ancient times this gave rise to the traditions about sirens or mermaids. The Dutchman called the dugong _baardmannetje_, _i.e._ the little bearded man.

The next morning, while I was putting the finishing touches to the preparation of my skin, I heard the squatter cry out, “Here! the boat is sinking!” We all ran to see what was the matter, and we discovered our boat on the point of being swallowed by the waves, and my two bottles of alcohol floating in the water. There was no actual danger of the boat being lost, for the water was shallow, but the tide was now rising with the force of a river, so that it was not long before only the masts of our boat were visible. As there were traces of crocodiles to be seen everywhere on the strand, one of us took a rifle in order to keep guard, while the rest tried to save the boat, which after wading in mud up to our waists, we finally succeeded in doing.

It was impossible to secure a full-grown dugong, for our lines were not strong enough, and we therefore started on our journey home again. The next night we made our camp on an island, and the squatter at once went out to shoot rabbits with his rifle. The rabbits had been placed on this island a few years previously, and although there was no fresh water excepting when it rained, still they throve very well, and had greatly increased in numbers. Strange to say, these rabbits are said to be poisonous, doubtless on account of the food on which they are obliged to subsist. The squatter informed me that a year ago he had visited this island and shot some of these animals, which were roasted and eaten, but had made both him and his companions ill.

A large number of Australian plum-trees were found on this island. We shot a mound-builder and several pigeons. The next morning the blacks left us, and we continued our sail home. On the coast we saw large numbers of rock-oysters. It happened to be ebb-tide and there were three large peninsulas, like a yellow-brown mass, entirely covered with these fine-flavoured shell-fish.

I remained a few days longer with my most amiable hosts at Torilla. The lady of the house was a very intelligent woman. Her parents had taught her Greek and Hebrew in order to enable her to read both the Old and the New Testament in the original tongue. Though she was well versed in both languages, she was no blue-stocking, but a very practical woman. She gave her daughter the very prudent advice, “Never you marry a bad breakfast-man.” The first thing she noticed in a man was his teeth. If these were sound, the rest of the body was sure to be right—a sound mind in a healthy body. Like the majority of Australian ladies, the daughter was natural and free from affectation. She took a deep interest in zoology, and was an industrious collector of specimens. On her solitary excursions she did not hesitate to climb trees after birds’ eggs, and she complained bitterly that the men were too lazy to help her. The ladies who are brought up in the Australian bush have, upon the whole, a peculiar frankness and independence, for from their very childhood they have to rely on themselves. Another “bush girl” of my acquaintance rode thirty miles to try on a dress.

The whole family at Torilla were excellent riders, and had the reputation of being the best in Queensland. An unmanageable horse at the station had thrown both his master and mistress, nearly killing them, but they nevertheless continued to care for the animal with the greatest tenderness, a proof of the great sympathy an Australian feels for his horse.

On my way back to Gracemere I saw a large number of wading birds in the lagoons. I took special notice of the splendid Australian jabiru (_Mycteria australis_), and I had the good fortune to shoot on the wing a specimen of this beautiful variety of the stork family with swan shot at a distance of no less than 127 paces.

I passed the oldest gold mine in Queensland, called Canoona Diggings, but the place was now almost entirely abandoned. Here I met a Dane, who was very kind to me. He had been in the gold mines since their discovery, about thirty years ago, and in spite of the fact that both he and his family had to work hard for a living, they looked healthy and contented.

It is a great mistake to suppose that digging gold is easy work. As everybody knows, “nuggets of gold” are scarce. Most of the gold is found as fine grains, and requires great labour to separate it from the gravel, which in this case had to be hauled a great distance to the only place where water was to be found in the whole region. Here the water was pumped up from a deep well by horse power. This is the so-called alluvial gold. Gold in quartz has to be worked by mining and by costly crushing machines, in the construction of which a fortune must be spent before any pure ore can be secured. Most of the gold is now produced in the latter manner in Australia.

I watered my horse at the pump of the gold digger, said good-bye to the kind people, and continued my journey down along Fitzroy river.

The country along the lower part of this river is very rich in gold. Farther east, near Rockhampton, a whole gold-bearing mountain was discovered in 1884—Mount Morgan, which at present is the richest gold bed in the whole world, and has made Queensland the first gold-producing colony of Australia. It is also a remarkable fact that the gold here appears in an entirely new form. Mount Morgan, which is about 300 feet high, has been produced in the tertiary period by a hot spring, which may have resembled the geysers of Iceland or the hot springs of Yellowstone Park. It is formed of siliceous sinter, with some limonite and clayey substances, and the gold is distributed throughout the rocky mass. This discovery has made the owners immensely rich; the value of some of the original shares exceeding one and a half million pounds. One of my friends who bought a share for £1000 has now made out of this an income of more than £2000 a year. By boring it has been demonstrated that the gold increases in quantity with the depth, so that there seems to be no end of this fabulous wealth. No wonder that it has attracted the attention of speculators in every part of the world.

At the present time the weekly output of ore is 1500 tons. The average yield is 6 ounces per ton, and accordingly £36,000 of pure gold is produced per week.

This great find of gold is interesting, both from a theoretical and from a practical point of view. It shows that gold-bearing siliceous sinter can be the result of volcanic agencies, and that there is a hope that gold may yet be found in formations that have hitherto been regarded as worthless.