Part 4

Having fairly explored the settlement, which certainly is one of the most picturesque and interesting spots on the eastern coast of Australia, and has a resident population of about four hundred souls, embracing, of course, the islands in the vicinity, as well as a floating population of about twelve hundred, comprising whites, blacks, Malays, Lascars, Coolies and Chinese, we signal the boat, in order to return to the ship, and on our way witness a rather novel sight.

A number of fat bullocks had been shipped at Townsville on board the Rockton to the order of the only butcher at Thursday Island, and as the ship was as previously described, lying at some distance from the shore, it proved a matter of some little difficulty and danger to land the stock without running the risk of loss by drowning; so to minimise the risk as far as possible, the following plan was adopted:

A rope with running noose at one end was first placed round the horns of each bullock as they stood in their stalls on deck, when the slings were placed under them, and one at a time they were hoisted into mid-air, and then gradually and gently lowered into the water alongside the ship, where boats were lying in readiness to take them in charge, in order to tow them ashore. The ropes round the horns were grasped and secured to a ring in the stern of the boat, whilst two stout rowers pulled with might and main towards the shallow landing, the butcher, or one of his assistants, being seated in the stern of the boat to steer and watch that the cattle did not come to grief on the journey.

Thus, partly swimming and partly towing, slow progress was made, until eventually the cattle struck the sandy beach--when the fun commenced--as, finding they had foothold and something to charge at, they madly plunged at the boat, necessitating the exercise of considerable skill on the part of the boatmen in keeping out of harm’s way; but what with the confinement on board ship and the resistance offered by the water, the poor animals were soon exhausted, and seeing a few green bushes and some tempting green grass at the edge of the water, they slowly made their way ashore, and under the welcome shade of the trees, stood ruminating, no doubt upon their novel experiences of the last twenty-four hours.

On board again once more, where all is hurry and bustle in order to save the tide, Captain Leggett being anxious to get through the passage that night if possible, and in the meantime we are favoured by numerous visitors from ashore and afloat, if I may use the term, “everybody who is anybody,” making it a point to avail themselves of the hospitality of our worthy skipper whenever he drops his kellick in these waters--to say nothing of the opportunity afforded to these convivial and thirsty souls of “interviewing the alligator” at the, to them, moderate charge of sixpence, when compared to their own island tariff of a “robert.” We had the brave Baron Wilkins, the bold commander of the “Von der Sluyt,” as grand a hulk as ever stored a cargo of coal, accompanied and supported by a true specimen of the British Tar, in the person of Captain Williams, of the equally celebrated clipper “The Star of Peace,” now, alas, also condemned to the ignoble but useful role of storing coal and cargo for the ships of the A.U.S.N. Co.

A SHARK STORY.

Many others came, amongst them being Captain Anderson, an old sheller in the waters of Torres Straits, and the owner of a complete plant and station on Friday Island. He has in his possession a splendid collection of pearls obtained by him in the pursuit of his avocation during the last ten weeks, their value being about £300, one of them weighing 8¼ carats, an egg-shaped pearl of remarkable beauty and lustre, and without a flaw, being valued by him at £150; and as he also collected three tons of shell worth £140 per ton at the same time, his venture was, to my mind, pretty successful. On my making a remark to that effect, he said the life was not all beer and skittles, having its full share of dangers as well as its pleasures; and as an illustration he related to me one of his diving experiences, when he had a fight with a shark. He said “I was working at the time with my boat’s mate and crew, about 15 miles from Captain Hovell’s Shoal, out to the westward from here, and was down in my diving dress, in about twelve fathoms of water. As I was walking along I espied a shark lying on the bottom close to a coral cup or sea fungi, and apparently fast asleep, so walked over towards him, and lifting my foot, shod with the heavy leaden sole which it is necessary to use in connection with the dress, I kicked him fairly in the head. But I made a great mistake that time, for in about three seconds my noble shark came at me like a bulldog. I was carrying a bag with about ten shells in it, which partly hid my right hand; but, unfortunately, my left hand was exposed fairly to view, and the monster descrying it came towards it with a terrific rush, and succeeded in touching it with his nose. Before he had time to turn and seize upon it I managed to wrap the bag around it. I moved backwards and the shark struck me twice with his tail, nearly knocking me over, when it would have been all u. p.; but I managed to keep my feet, and obtaining a little room, kicked him fairly in the teeth with my diving boot, which gave him a start, and to my intense relief he turned tail and cleared at the rate of 40 miles an hour. I can assure you that no one was more pleased than myself at the termination of the encounter, as I was fairly stunned with fright, and was totally unable to draw my dagger, which, in order to keep bright and useful, is inserted in a watertight case, and has to be turned four times in the sheath before it can be withdrawn.”

* * * * *

We weighed anchor on Friday morning, having, after all, been delayed longer than we expected, got safely through the passage in a strong ripping tide, and after an uneventful voyage down the Gulf of Carpentaria, we sighted, about midnight on Saturday, a light that pointed out the anchorage off the mouth of the River Norman.

We steered a course as straight as an arrow for the lightship, shewing that our captain and his officers must have kept a very good reckoning, and I cannot close my remarks upon this part of our journey without bearing ample testimony to the kindness and courtesy of Captain Leggett throughout the voyage, and to the care and attention bestowed upon the passengers by one and all connected with the ship.

We cast anchor off the Norman River bar between twelve and one a.m. on Sunday, and the steam tender “Dugong,” under the command of Captain Campbell, came alongside in the small hours of the morning to convey passengers and luggage up the river to Normanton, so that we had to turn out pretty early in order to save the tide, and partake of a seven o’clock breakfast before starting, the transfer of luggage being rapidly and safely effected in the meantime, after which the whole of the passengers are transhipped without delay, and we bid good-bye to the good ship Rockton, which has carried us so far safely on our journey.

The anchorage at Kimberley is a wild dreary looking waste of water as viewed from the deck of the small steam tender, it being fully fourteen miles off the shore with scarcely anything visible to break the monotony of the scene, the land lying very low and fringed with the mournful looking mangroves so prevalent on the northern coast of Queensland; but steam is up and away we go, shaping our course by means of the buoys laid down to mark the course of the very circuitous channel which we have to follow, bounded on either side by shallow sand banks covered with sea birds of various kinds, who here find a congenial home, the only land in view being on the starboard side and only just discernible above the water’s edge, whilst some few miles off lies a ship which has brought out a cargo of rails for the Gulf railway, but has made the mistake of keeping too far out, she having anchored in five fathoms of water and unbent her sails preparatory to discharging her cargo, but as it was almost impossible for the lighters to lay alongside in such an exposed position, her captain was making preparations to bring her a few miles closer in and nearer to the lightship, in order to enable them to get through the work. We cross the bar safely and shortly afterwards sight the Telegraph Station at Kimberley, and as the Dugong is making fair progress we are not long before entering the mouth of the river, and a blast from the whistle brings off old Bob, the boatman, to receive a few telegrams, conveying the fact of our arrival to the Normanton agents of the Company, who have to make provision for our conveyance from Baffle Group to the town, as the Dugong, drawing six feet of water, is unable to proceed any further than that point in the present state of the tide.

The Telegraph Station is situate on the left hand bank of the river as we enter, and seems a lonely enough spot in all conscience, but I am told the old man in charge has been there for years, and seems fairly contented with his lot; his immediate neighbours consist of a tribe of aboriginals to whom he is very kind, but they all received a terrible fright during the hurricane that almost destroyed Burketown, as it came tearing across here with terrific force sending a wave of water right across the point, reaching half way up the little house with the red door, situate on a sandbank a short distance from the beach, and making the darkies believe their last day was at hand. The river here is a noble looking stream carrying about five fathoms of water, the depth from the bar to the mouth averages about four, and is nearly a mile in width, and taking into consideration that not one pound of public money has been spent in its improvement, it is, in its natural state, one of the finest rivers in the colony; but the bar sadly wants dredging in order to allow ocean-going steamers to enter the river, where they could obtain safe anchorage in all weathers and discharge cargo without risk, damage, or delay. Old Bob comes oft in obedience to the signal whistle, seizes the line thrown to him and hangs on until the telegrams are handed over, when he clears for the shore, off which are lying the old pilot cutter, the new steam launch which has superseded it, and a lighter belonging to the rail ship before mentioned. The bank on the right hand as we steam up being very low and densely covered with the everlasting mangrove, forming a splendid breeding ground for the Gulf mosquito, but the land on the left is of much superior character, consisting of lightly timbered forest country, well grassed, and of fair fattening capacity, and now in the occupation of a small syndicate, who, by means of a butcher stationed at Mrs. Armstrong’s old selection, supply the pilot and Telegraph Stations, together with the various vessels calling at the port, with beef of excellent quality, both horses and cattle keeping in grand condition, more especially after the old grass has been burnt and young green feed springs up, which it does in about a fortnight after the fire has died away.

Here we observe the blackfellow in all his native dirt and ugliness--numbers of both sexes, many of whom are clad in the costume of the Greek slave--standing on the bank watching us as we steam rapidly by, and shortly afterwards we pass Messrs. Burns, Philp and Co.’s steam launch undergoing an overhaul on what Captain Campbell calls his gridiron--a slip invented by himself for the purpose of occasionally having a look at the bottom of the vessel he commands.

About ten miles from Kimberley we pass the Red Bluff, a low-lying red ridge, situate about a mile back from the river, and chiefly remarkable for the agitation that has lately sprung up with regard to the construction of a railway from there to Normanton; but one can hardly recognise as sound economy the idea of running a railway over flooded country, on a course parallel with a navigable river, especially as the surrounding land seems to consist entirely of swamps and salt clay pans, which could never be made available for any useful purpose.

Fifteen miles up we pass the mouth of Walker’s Creek on the left hand, on which there are some good waterholes about twelve miles back from the river, near where the telegraph line to Kimberley crosses it, as well as some very fairly grassed country of decent quality; and some distance further on we pass the mouth of Wells Creek, also coming in from the same side, whilst on either hand we pass numerous mangreve-lined small inlets; in fact, one could almost call them ditches so narrow are they, whilst the country is so level that the windings of the river itself are something to be remembered, our boat’s head being pointed to nearly every quarter of the compass during the passage; and some idea may be formed of its twistings and turnings by the knowledge that it is fully 50 miles from Kimberley to Normanton by the river and only 20 in a direct line by land.

As it is now about mid-day we have the pleasure of interviewing the steerage passengers at dinner, and a fearful and wonderful performance some of them go through in the operation, two or three individuals being exceptionally expert at the Japanese trick of knife swallowing. It was a wonder, as I heard a passenger remark, that they did not cut their blooming throats, whilst the way others would load up, and after disposing of a loaded forkful within their capacious jaws, dive the fork they were using viciously into the nearest dish of potatoes for a fresh supply, was a caution to snakes. Proceeding onwards we pass the barque Florida and schooner Budgeree, both of Sydney, the Scandinavian skipper of the latter having the cheek to ask the Dugong to give him a tow up to Double Island, which reasonable (?) request was, of course, politely refused.

Passing Double Island I was astonished at the enormous number of Spoonbills perched upon the trees; they were literally packed in thousands, this being a favourite breeding ground for them, and some distance higher up the river the Captain gave me the word to look out for an alligator, and sure enough, on arriving at the spot indicated, near one of the beacons erected as a guide, we saw the scaly monster sunning himself on a grassy bank, and succeeded in getting within twenty yards of him before he glided silently into the water, where, with a swish of his tail, he quietly disappeared from view.

He caused a great commotion amongst our passengers, many of whom had never seen such a sight before, and all were on the look-out for another of the tribe whose habitat was a little further on, their curiosity being duly gratified as the saurian was at home, but hearing the steamer approaching he also backed quietly astern, and as we came abreast, his jaws and little twinkling eyes were all that could be discerned for a moment as he plunged silently beneath the wave. Some little distance below the Battle Group we passed the barque Lucy and Adelaide, of Sydney, with her nose in the bank, and evidently aground till a good tide should give her a lift, making it rather difficult for us to pass, but we managed it safely, and shortly after one o’clock we made fast to the primitive landing at the Group, where a string of wagonettes, buggies, &c., were in waiting to convey us to town.

Planks were run ashore, passengers and light baggage landed, the balance being transferred into a lighter for conveyance up the river to the wharf at Normanton, and we take our seats in the conveyances provided for the six miles drive which has to be covered before our journey is ended, and in about an hour we are safely deposited at Hely’s Transcontinental Hotel, where a cordial welcome from the hostess and many old friends greets us on our arrival.

After a good bath and a cup of tea we drive down to the wharf in the hotel trap to secure our luggage which had just arrived in the lighter, a crowd of people being congregated on the same errand; and I witnessed about as good a rough-and-tumble performance in connection with it as I ever wish to see again.

The light packages, portmanteaus and tin travelling trunks, had been bundled down into the bottom of the hold, and the heavy packages thrown promiscuously upon them, bursting open locks and squeezing them out of shape in a manner very annoying to their owners; and many were the curses, not loud but deep, bestowed upon the lighter’s crew in consequence, but fortunately my own came through the ordeal all right, thus saving me from expending a certain amount of profanity, which may prove useful on a future occasion. I meet many old friends at Normanton, among them, Major Colless, Messrs. Heydon and Brodie, Charlie Hely, and others, and we have a long chat over the late race meeting at which Heydon and Brodie’s “The Moor,” secured the lion’s share of the spoil, and to shew the sporting instinct of the residents of this go-ahead town, a sweep of £50 each was duly entered into by four well-known individuals, the conditions being that one and all should keep sober for six months; or, in the event of any of them breaking the pledge before the expiration of the time, his or their deposit should become the property of the one who kept the agreement intact.

Fortunately, they all renounced whiskey until the time expired, when they had an old-time spree just to treat resolution, and then, I believe, handed over the whole of the stakes to some charitable institution. We have to wait in Normanton from Sunday until Tuesday morning, and in the meantime amuse ourselves as best we may, but there is very little in the town or its surroundings to interest the traveller, and time passes listlessly enough to those who have neither business or occupation to while away the time. The town of Normanton itself is very well situated, being built on a hard, red ironstone ridge, which no amount of traffic ever cuts up; the only inconvenience suffered being caused by the clouds of fine red dust that occasionally sweep through the streets, and which clings to one’s clothes with the tenacity of a Bathurst burr. It is also well supplied with banks, the New South, Queensland National, and Royal being well represented, whilst the hotels are also numerous and well kept, Hely’s, O’Shaughnessy’s, Rafferty’s, and Davis’ being amongst the principal ones, but I must not forget to mention the hotel kept by the Meriga family, it being quite an institution in Normanton, and received a very suggestive appellation in the olden days when residents and visitors did not care to walk too far for a “nip,” as in consequence of its being fully a quarter of a mile from the nearest house of entertainment they found that the walk made them so excessively thirsty that it was unanimously christened “the dry stage,” a title it still retains to the present day; and between ourselves, there are many worse ways of passing away an hour than a visit to the above place in the evening, as in the first instance, you have an opportunity of cultivating a thirst that you would not sell to a lushington for less than a “fiver,” and secondly, there are two of the nicest and brightest girls one could wish to meet, ever ready to entertain visitors with a musical treat such as one rarely hears, and certainly never expects, in such an out-of-the-way place.

It was on a Tuesday morning at 4 o’clock when I was woke up to make ready for the journey to Croydon, as Cobb and Co.’s coach starts punctually at 6. An appetising breakfast was placed upon the table shortly after 5, to which we pay strict attention, and, with luggage packed, are at the booking office shortly before the time appointed, where a regular rush ensues for seats, there being ten applicants for the eight places on the coach; but having taken the precaution to wire from Brisbane for a box seat I am all right, having for my mate Mr. B. Cribb, the others managing to stow away somehow, one riding on the footboard, another on top of the coach and six inside, whilst fully half a ton of mails are stowed away on the rack, on top and in the boot, which with passengers’ luggage makes altogether a tidy load for our team of five horses.

Some little delay occurs through the absence of a break-block, it being unsafe to proceed without that very necessary adjunct to our safety, but at length we get properly fixed, and steering for the river are soon safely on the punt and being towed across to the other side, all hands being requested to alight during the operation for fear of an accident.

We get across all right, and stowing ourselves on board get fairly under way for the diggings, and I am pleased to find we are in charge of a very experienced whip in the person of Jack Lennard, a well-known driver in times gone by on the Namoi River, in New South Wales, where he used to tool the coach between Narrabri and Walgett for Bob Nowland, at the time he was running opposition to M‘Namara, Vickery and Co., when passengers were carried 150 miles for £1. We swap yarns about old times, and many are the anxious enquiries Jack makes about old friends, many of whom have gone over to the great majority since he left that part of the country, and his heart fairly warms as I give him the latest news concerning those still left behind.