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THE LAND OF THE KANGAROO.

      *      *      *      *      *

TRAVEL ADVENTURE SERIES.

IN WILD AFRICA. The Adventures of Two Youths in the Sahara Desert. By
Thomas W. Knox. 325 pages, with six illustrations by H. Burgess. 12mo.
Cloth. $1.50.

THE LAND OF THE KANGAROO. The Adventures of Two Youths in the Great
Island Continent. By Thomas W. Knox. 350 pages, with five illustrations
by H. Burgess. 12mo. Cloth. $1.50.

Col. Knox's sudden death, ten days after completing "The Land of the
Kangaroo" leaves unfinished this series of travel stories for boys
which he had planned. The publishers announce that the remaining
volumes of this series will be issued, although the work will be
done by another's hand.

Announcement concerning the remaining volumes of this series will be
made later.

      *      *      *      *      *


THE LAND OF THE KANGAROO.

Adventures of Two Youths in a Journey Through
the Great Island Continent.

by

THOMAS W. KNOX.

Author of "In Wild Africa," "The Boy Travelers," (15 Vols.)
"Overland through Asia," Etc., Etc.

Illustrated By H. Burgess.







[Illustration: "WE PASSED A SHIP BECALMED IN THE DOLDRUMS."]



Boston, U. S. A.
W. A. Wilde & Company,
25 Bromfield Street.

Copyright, 1896.
by W. A. Wilde & Co.
All rights reserved.

The Land of the Kangaroo.




PREFACE.

The rapidly increasing prominence of the Australian colonies during the
past ten or twenty years has led to the preparation of the volume of
which this is the preface. Australia has a population numbering close
upon five millions and it had prosperous and populous cities, all of
them presenting abundant indications of collective and individual
wealth. It possesses railways and telegraphs by thousands of miles, and
the productions of its farms, mines, and plantations aggregate an
enormous amount. It has many millions, of cattle and sheep, and their
number is increasing annually at a prodigious rate.

Australia is a land of many wonders, and it is to tell the story of
these wonders and of the growth and development of the colonies of the
antipodes, that this volume has been written.

                                                                T. W. K.



CONTENTS.

     I. WEST COAST OF AFRICA--Adventure in the South Atlantic Ocean
    II. THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE--The Southern Ocean--Australia
   III. A LAND OF CONTRADICTIONS--Transportation to Australia
    IV. STRANGE ADVENTURES--Australian Aboriginals
     V. ACROSS AUSTRALIA--Tallest Trees in the World
    VI. AUSTRALIAN BLACKS--Throwing the Boomerang
   VII. ADELAIDE TO MELBOURNE--The Rabbit Pest--Dangerous Exotics
  VIII. CANNIBAL BLACKS--Melbourne and its Peculiarities
    IX. "THE LAUGHING JACKASS"--Australian Snakes and Snake Stories
     X. THE HARBOR OF MELBOURNE--Convict Hulks and Bushrangers
    XI. GEELONG--Australian Gold Mines--Finding a Big Nugget
   XII. A SOUTHERLY BURSTER--Western Victoria
  XIII. JOURNEY UP COUNTRY--Anecdotes of Bush Life
   XIV. LOST IN THE BUSH--Australian Horses
    XV. EXPERIENCES AT A CATTLE STATION--A Kangaroo Hunt
   XVI. HUNTING THE EMU AND OTHER BIRDS--An Australian Sheep Run
  XVII. FROM MELBOURNE TO SYDNEY--Crossing the Blue Mountains
 XVIII. SIGHTS OF SYDNEY--Botany Bay and Paramatta
   XIX. COAL MINES AT NEWCASTLE--Sugar Plantation in Queensland--The End




ILLUSTRATIONS.
                                                          PAGE.

"We passed a ship becalmed in the doldrums" Frontispiece.    18
"Harry had obtained a map of Australia"                      56
A visit to the Zoological Garden                            147
"There they go!" shouted Mr. Syme                           242





THE LAND OF THE KANGAROO.

CHAPTER I.

WEST COAST OF AFRICA--ADVENTURE IN THE SOUTH ATLANTIC OCEAN.


"We don't want to stay long in this place."

"I don't think we do, sir," was the reply.

"The sooner we leave it, the better."

"That is so," said Harry; "I quite agree with you. I wonder how white
men manage to live here at all."

This conversation occurred at Bonny, a trading station on one of the
mouths of the river Niger in Western Africa. In former times Bonny was a
famous resort for slave traders, and great numbers of slaves were sent
from that place to North and South America. In addition to slave
trading, there was considerable dealing in ivory, palm oils, and other
African products. Trade is not as prosperous at Bonny nowadays as it was
in the slave-dealing times, but there is a fair amount of commerce and
the commissions of the factors and agents are very large. Bonny stands
in a region of swamps, and the climate exhales at all times of the year
pestilential vapors which are not at all suited to the white man. Most
of the white residents live on board old hulks which are moored to the
bank of the river, and they find these hulks less unhealthy than houses
off shore, for the reason that they are less exposed to the vapors of
the ground.

The parties to the conversation just quoted were Dr. Whitney and his
nephews, Ned and Harry; they had just arrived at Bonny, from a visit to
Lake Chad and Timbuctoo, and had made a voyage down the Niger, which has
been described in a volume entitled "In Wild Africa."

One of the residents told Dr. Whitney that all the coast of the Bight of
Benin, into which the Niger empties by its various mouths, was quite as
unhealthy as Bonny. "We don't expect anybody to live more than three or
four years after taking up his residence here," the gentleman remarked,
"and very often one or two years are sufficient to carry him off. The
climate is bad enough, but it isn't the climate that is to blame for all
the mortality, by any means. The great curse of the whole region is the
habit of drinking. Everybody drinks, and drinks like a fish, too. When
you call on anybody, the servants, without waiting for orders, bring a
bottle of brandy, or whiskey, or something of the sort, and place it on
the table between the host and the visitor. You are expected to drink,
and the man who declines to do so is looked upon as a milksop. When one
rises in the morning, his first call is for brandy and soda, and it is
brandy, and whiskey, and champagne, or some other intoxicant, all the
day long. The climate is bad enough without any help, but the drinking
habit of the residents along the Bight of Benin is worse than the
climate, and everybody knows it; but, somehow or other, everybody is
reckless and continues to drink, knowing perfectly well what the result
will be."

Dr. Whitney had already made observations to the same effect, and
remarked that he thought the west coast of Africa would be a good field
of labor for an advocate of total abstinence. His new acquaintance
replied that it might be under ordinary circumstances, but that the
conditions of the region where they were not ordinary. It was
necessary to remember that the men who went to West Africa for purposes
of trade were of a reckless, adventurous sort, having little regard for
the future and determined to make the most of the present. Men of this
class take very naturally to habits of dissipation, and would turn a
deaf ear to any advocate of temperance who might come among them.

Fortunately for our friends, they were detained at Bonny only a single
day. A small steamer which runs between Bonny and Fernando Po took them
to the latter place, which is on an island in the Atlantic Ocean, and
has a mountain peak ten thousand feet high. This peak is wooded to the
summit with fine timber, and altogether the island is a very attractive
spot to the eye, in comparison with Bonny and the swampy region of the
lower Niger.

Port Clarence, the harbor of Fernando Po, is said to be one of the
prettiest places of Western Africa. The town consists of a group of
houses somewhat irregularly placed, and guarded by a fort which could be
knocked down in a few hours by a fleet of modern warships.

Our friends went on shore immediately after their arrival, and found
quarters in what Ned called an apology for a hotel. Fernando Po is the
property of Spain, and the island is one of the State prisons of that
country. Some of the prisoners are kept in hulks in the harbor, while
others are confined in the fort. Not infrequently prisoners escape and
find shelter among the Adyia, the tribe of natives inhabiting the
island. They are a peaceful people, but have a marked hatred for
civilization. They rarely come into the town, and none of them will
consent to live there. Their huts or villages are scattered over the
forests, and when visitors go among them they are kindly treated. The
town of Port Clarence is occupied by a few white men and a considerable
number of negroes from Sierra Leone, Liberia, and other regions along
the coast.

"This will be as good a place to get away from as Bonny," the doctor
remarked to his nephews, as they were strolling about Port Clarence.

"I have observed," said Harry, "that the wind is blowing directly from
the coast, and therefore is bringing with it the malarias of the swampy
region which we have just left."

"That is quite true," the doctor answered, "and the circumstance you
mention makes a long stay here undesirable. Have you noticed that many
of the natives here seem to be suffering from skin diseases of one kind
or another?"

"I observed that," replied Ned, "and was wondering what was the cause of
it."

"I was told by a gentleman at the hotel," said the doctor, "that there
is an ulcer peculiar to this locality which is well-nigh incurable. The
slightest abrasion of the cuticle or even the bite of an insect is
sufficient to cause it. I was told that it sometimes happens that the
bite of a mosquito on the arm or leg will make amputation necessary,
and an instance of this kind occurred within the past three months. On a
first view of the island it looks like a delightful place, but a nearer
acquaintance dispels the illusion."

"I wonder how long we will be obliged to stay here," Harry remarked.

"According to the time-table," replied the doctor, "the mail steamer
will be here to-morrow; and if she comes, you may be sure we will take
passage on her."

The steamer came according to schedule, and when she left she carried
the three travelers away from Fernando Po. She was an English steamer
bound for the Cape of Good Hope. There was hardly any wind blowing when
the great ship started out into the Atlantic and headed away to the
southward, but the movement of the vessel through the water was
sufficient to create a breeze, which our friends greatly enjoyed. They
sat beneath the awnings which covered the entire length and width of the
steamer, studied their fellow-passengers, and now and then cast their
eyes over the wide and desolate sweep of waters to the west and south.

Not a sail was to be seen, a few craft were creeping along the coast,
but they were not numerous enough to add animation to the scene.

We will take from Harry's notebook an incident or two of the voyage.

"We found a mixed lot of passengers on board the steamer. There were a
few Englishmen going to South Africa for the first time,--young fellows
seeking their fortunes, and full of hope and ambition. One of them said
he was going up country on a hunting expedition, not for the sport only,
but for the money that could be made by the sale of hides, ivory, horns,
and other products of the chase. He was quite well informed concerning
the business on which he was bent, and told me that it was the custom
for two or more men, generally not above four, to buy wagons, oxen,
horses, and provisions in one of the towns on the coast or in the
interior, and then strike out into the wild country for an absence of
anywhere from three to six or seven months. Their provisions consisted
of flour, sugar, tea, pepper, salt, and a few other things. For meat
they relied upon what they killed; and he added that a great deal of
meat was needed, as there were from twenty-five to fifty natives
attached to a hunting party and all of them had ferocious appetites.

"They shot anything that came in their way, elephants, buffaloes,
elands, gemsbok, and I don't know what else. It was a hard life and not
without risk, but it was healthy and full of good sport. He told us so
much about his business that Ned and I heartily wished to go with him
and have a share in the experience and fun.

"Another young man was going out as a mining engineer and expected to
find employment in some of the newly opened gold mines in the
Johannesburg district. Another was to become the manager of a large farm
forty or fifty miles from Cape Town, which was owned by his uncle.
Another young man was going out with no particular object in view, and
said he was ready for anything that turned up.

"Then there were Afrikanders who had been on a visit to England for
business, or pleasure, or both combined. One had been there for the
express purpose of finding a bride; he found her, and she was with him
as a passenger on the steamer. She and two others were the only lady
passengers on the ship; men greatly predominated among the passengers,
and we were told that such was always the case on board one of these
steamers. One of the passengers was a resident of Durban, the port of
Natal, and he gave us a cordial invitation to visit his place. 'You will
find Durban a very interesting spot,' said he, 'and the only bad thing
about it is getting ashore. There is a nasty sea breaking there most of
the time, and it is tedious work getting from a ship into a small boat
and then getting safe to land. You must come prepared to be soused with
salt water two or three times before you get your feet fairly planted on
the shore.'

"Ned and I concluded that we would not make any special effort to get to
Durban, although we had received such a cordial invitation to go there.

"We had a good breeze," continued Harry, "until we got to within four
degrees of the Equator; then the wind died out and left the sea as
smooth as glass, without the least motion upon it anywhere. We seemed to
be running through an enormous plate of glass, polished until it shone
like the most perfect mirror ever made. As we looked down from the rail
into the depths of the sea our faces were reflected, and there seemed to
be a counterfeit presentment of ourselves gazing at us from the depths
below, and, oh, wasn't it hot, blistering, burning hot! The sun poured
down so that the heat pierced our awnings as though no awnings had been
there, and the breeze which the ship created by her motion seemed like
the blast from a furnace. The pitch oozed from the seams of the planking
on the deck, and the deck itself became blistering hot to one's feet.
There was not the least stir of the sails and only the faintest motion
of the ship from side to side. Respiration became difficult, and, as I
looked about, I could see the passengers and sailors yawning and gaping
in the effort to draw in their breath. All the metal about the ship
became hot, especially the brass. If you touched it, it almost seemed to
raise a blister, and the spot with which you touched it was painful for
hours.

"We passed a ship becalmed in the doldrums, as this region is called,
and she looked more like a painted ship upon a painted ocean than any
other craft I ever saw. Her sails were all hanging loose, and so were
all the ropes, and lines, and halyards from one end of the ship to the
other. She was as motionless as if she were tied up to a dock in harbor,
and there was very little sign of life about her anywhere. I asked one
of our officers how long that ship had probably been there and how long
she was liable to stay.

"'That's a question, young man,' he replied, 'that I can't answer very
surely. She may have been there a day or two only, and may stay only a
day or so, and then, again, she may have been there a week or a month;
we can't tell without speaking her, and we are not particularly
interested in her, anyhow.'"

Then he went on to explain that ships have been becalmed at the Equator
for two months and more, lying all the time in a dead calm, just like
the one through which we were passing.

"Two weeks," he said, "is a fair time for a ship to stay in the
doldrums, and you can be sure it is quite long enough for passengers and
crew.

"Passengers and crew sometimes die of the heat, and existence under such
circumstances becomes a burden. There are stories about ships that have
been in the doldrums six or eight months at a time, but I am not
inclined to believe them; for a man to stay in this terrific heat for
that length of time would be enough to drive him crazy.

"The steamer was three days in the calm belt of the Equator before we
struck the southeast trades, and had a breeze again. I don't want to
repeat my experiences with the doldrums.

"One day I heard a curious story about an incident on board an American
ship not far from the Cape of Good Hope. She was from Calcutta, and
bound to New York, and her crew consisted of American sailors, with the
exception of two Indian coolies who had been taken on board at Calcutta
because the ship was short-handed. One of these coolies had been put,
one in the starboard and the other in the port watch, and everything had
been quiet and peaceable on board the ship until the incident I am about
to describe.

"One night the ship was sailing quietly along, and some of the men
noticed, or remembered afterwards, that when the watches were changed,
the coolie who had been relieved from duty remained on deck. Shortly
after the change of watch, the two mates of the ship were standing near
the lee rail and talking with each other, when the two coolies came
along and one of them made the remark that he was sick. This remark was
evidently a signal, for instantly one of the coolies drew a knife and
stabbed the first mate to the heart, while simultaneously the other
coolie sprang with a knife at the second officer and gave him several
stabs in the chest.

"The first mate fell dead at the stroke of the knife, but the second
mate had sufficient strength left to crawl to the companionway leading
to the captain's room, where he called out, 'Captain Clark!' 'Captain
Clark!' and then ceased to breathe.

"The captain sprang from his bunk, and rushed on deck in his
night-clothes. At the top of the companion-steps he was violently
stabbed on the head and seized by the throat; he was quite unarmed and
struck out with his fists at the face of his assailant, hoping to blind
him. The coolie continued to stab him, and the captain started back down
the steps until he slipped in the blood that covered them, and fell into
the cabin, with a terrible wound in his side. He then crawled to where
his revolver was, and started up the steps; when half way up, a man
rolled down the steps against him and knocked him over.

"The captain thought it was the coolie, but it proved to be one of the
sailors, who was frightened half to death. All he could say was, to beg
of the captain to save him.

"The captain had his wife and child on board, and his wife was roused by
the tumult. She came to her husband's aid and proceeded to bind up his
wounds. While she was doing this one of the coolies smashed in the
skylight, and would have jumped into the cabin had not the captain fired
at him with his revolver and drove him away.

"The next thing the coolies did was to murder the man at the wheel and
fling his body overboard. Then they murdered the carpenter and a sailor
and disposed of them the same way. Including the two mates, five men
were slain and four others were wounded. The wounded men and the rest of
the crew barricaded themselves in the forecastle for protection, and
there they remained the rest of the night and all through the next day.
The captain and his wife and child stayed in the cabin.

"The two coolies were in full possession of the ship from a little past
midnight until eight o'clock of the following evening. One of them,
venturing near the skylight, was shot in the breast by the captain, and
then the two coolies rushed forward and threw a spar overboard. One of
them jumped into the sea and clung to the spar, while the other dropped
down into the between-decks, where he proceeded to set the ship on fire.
Seeing this, the sailors who had barricaded themselves in the forecastle
broke out, and two of them proceeded to hunt the coolie down with
revolvers. They hunted him out and shot him in the shoulder, and then he
jumped overboard and joined his companion. Shots were fired at the two
men, and soon afterward they sank.

"The fire got such headway that it could not be put out. Finally a boat
was provisioned and lowered; the crew entered it, and after waiting
about the ship during the night in the hope that the flames might bring
assistance, they put up a sail and headed for St. Helena. Thus was a
ship's crew of twenty-three people overawed and rendered helpless by two
slender coolies, whom any one of the Yankee crew could have crushed out
of existence in a very short space of time.

"The steamer passed near Ascension Island, but did not stop there. This
island is entered in the British Navy List as a commissioned ship. It is
nearly three thousand feet high, very rocky and well supplied with fresh
water. Ships often stop there for a supply of water and such fresh
provisions as are obtainable. The climate is said to be very healthy,
and when the crews of British naval vessels are enfeebled by a long stay
on the African coast, they go to Ascension Island to recruit their
strength."

Ned and Harry were very desirous of visiting the island of St. Helena,
which became famous as a prison and for many years the grave of
Napoleon. They were disappointed on ascertaining that the ship would not
stop there, and the officer of whom they made inquiry said there was
nothing to stop there for. "The island is not of much account," he said,
"and the natives have a hard time to make a living. In the days of
sailing ships it was a favorite stopping place and the inhabitants did a
good business. The general introduction of steamships, along with the
digging of the Suez Canal, have knocked their business all to pieces.

"Where they used to have a dozen or twenty ships a month, they get about
half as many in a year. The buildings where Napoleon used to live are
all gone to ruin, and the sight of them does not pay for the journey
one has to make to get there."

When it was announced that the vessel was nearing the Cape of Good Hope,
our young friends strained their eyes in a friendly competition to be
first to make it out. Harry was ahead of Ned in discerning the dim
outline of Table Mountain, which is well described by its name. It is a
flat-topped mountain fronting on the bay on which Cape Town stands. It
is about three thousand five hundred feet in height, and is guarded on
the left by the Lion's Head, and on the right by the Devil's Berg. The
harbor is reached by passing between a small island and the coast, the
island forming a very fair shelter for ships that lie inside of it.

Here the voyage of the steamer came to an end, as she belonged to one of
the lines plying between England and the Cape. It became necessary for
our friends to look around for another ship to carry them to their
destination. They were not in any particular hurry about it, as they
were quite willing to devote a little time to the Cape and its
peculiarities.

A swarm of boats surrounded the ship as soon as her anchor was down, and
everybody was in a hurry to get on shore. As soon as our friends could
obtain a boat, their baggage was passed over the side and they followed
it. The boat was managed by a white man, evidently of Dutch origin, who
spoke a mixture of Dutch, English, and Hottentot, and perhaps two or
three other native languages, in such a confused way that it was
difficult to understand him in any. Four negroes rowed the boat and did
the work while the Dutchman superintended it. The boatman showed a
laudable desire to swindle the travelers, but his intentions were curbed
by the stringent regulations established by the city authorities.

As they neared the landing place, Ned called attention to a swarm of
cabs that seemed to be far in excess of any possible demand for them.
Harry remarked that he didn't think they would have any lack of vehicles
to take them to the hotel, and so it proved. The cab drivers displayed
great eagerness in their efforts to secure passengers, and their prices
were by no means unreasonable.

We will listen to Ned as he tells the story of what he saw on landing in
Cape Town.

"The thing that impressed me most was the varying complexion of the
inhabitants. They are not exactly of the colors of the rainbow, but they
certainly present all the shades of complexion that can be found in the
human face. You see fair-haired Englishmen, and English women, too, and
then you see negroes so black that charcoal 'would make a white mark on
their faces,' as one of my schoolmates used to say. Between these two,
so far as color is concerned, you see several shades of negro
complexion; and you also see Malays, coolies from India, Chinese, and I
don't know what else. The Malays or coolies have drifted here in search
of employment, and the same is the case with the Chinese, who are to be
found, so Dr. Whitney says, in every port of Asia and Africa.

"Most of these exotic people cling to their native costume, especially
the natives of India, and the Malays, though a good deal depends on the
employment in which they engage. Some of the Malays drive cabs, and the
drivers usually adopt European dress or a modification of it. Among the
white inhabitants the Dutch hold a predominating place, and they are
said to outnumber the English; they are the descendants of the original
settlers at the Cape something more than two hundred years ago. They
observe their individuality and have an important voice in the local
affairs of the colony; but whenever the English authorities have their
mind made up to pursue a certain policy, whether it be for the
construction of railways in the interior or the building of docks or
breakwaters in the harbor of Cape Town, they generally do pretty much as
they please.

"I observed that the people on the streets seem to take things easily
and move about with quite a languid air. This was the case with white
and colored people alike; probably the Dutch settlers set the example
years and years ago, and the others have followed it. Harry thinks that
it is the heat of the place which causes everybody to move about slowly.
Some one has remarked that only dogs and strangers walk rapidly; in Cape
Town the only people whom I saw walking fast were some of our
fellow-passengers from the steamer. I actually did see a negro running,
but the fact is, that another negro with a big stick was running after
him. As for the dogs, they seemed just as quiet as their masters.

"We inquired for the best hotel in Cape Town, and were taken to the one
indicated as such. Harry says he thinks the driver made a mistake and
took us to the worst; and Dr. Whitney remarks that if this is the best,
he doesn't want to travel through the street where the worst one
stands. We have made some inquiries since coming to this house, and
find that it is really the best, or perhaps I ought to say the least
bad, in the place. The table is poor, the beds lumpy and musty, and
nearly every window has a broken pane or two, while the drainage is
atrocious.

"We are told that the hotels all through South Africa are of the same
sort, and the only thing about them that is first class is the price
which one pays for accommodation. The hotel is well filled, the greater
part of the passengers from our steamer having come here; but I suppose
the number will dwindle down considerably in the next two or three days,
as the people scatter in the directions whither they are bound. Most
people come to Cape Town in order to leave it.

"And this reminds me that there are several railways branching out from
Cape Town. There is a line twelve hundred miles long to Johannisburg in
the Transvaal Republic, and there are several other lines of lesser
length. The colonial government has been very liberal in making grants
for railways, and thus developing the business of the colony. Every year
sees new lines undertaken, or old ones extended, and it will not be very
long before the iron horse goes pretty nearly everywhere over the length
and breadth of South Africa.

"We have driven along the principal streets of the city, and admired the
public buildings, which are both numerous and handsome. We took a
magnificent drive around the mountain to the rear of the city, where
there are some very picturesque views. In some places the edge of the
road is cut directly into the mountain side, and we looked almost
perpendicularly down for five or six hundred feet, to where the waters
of the Atlantic were washing the base of the rocks. From the mountain
back of Cape Town, there is a fine picture of the city harbor and lying
almost at one's feet; the city, with its rows and clusters of buildings
glistening in the sunlight, and the bright harbor, with its docks,
breakwaters, and forest of masts in full view of the spectator. From
this point we could see better than while in the harbor itself, the
advantages of the new breakwater. It seems that the harbor is exposed to
southeast winds, which are the prevailing ones here. When the wind
freshens into a gale, the position of the ships at anchor in the harbor
is a dangerous one, and the breakwaters have been constructed so as to
obviate this danger. When they are completed, the harbor will be fairly
well landlocked, and ships may anchor in Table Bay, and their masters
feel a sense of security against being driven on shore."




CHAPTER II.

THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE--THE SOUTHERN OCEAN--AUSTRALIA.


"Would you like to visit an ostrich farm?" said Dr. Whitney, while our
friends were at breakfast, on the second morning after their arrival at
Cape Town.

"I would, for one," said Harry; to which Ned replied, "and so would I."

"Very well," continued the doctor. "I have an invitation to visit an
ostrich establishment, and we will start immediately after breakfast.
The railway will take us within about three miles of the farm, and the
gentleman who has given me the invitation, and included you in it, will
accompany us on the train, and his carriage will meet us at the
station."

"That is capital!" exclaimed Harry. "He will be sure to give us a great
deal of information on the subject while we are on the train, so that we
can see the farm more intelligently than would otherwise be the case."

"Yes, that is so," echoed Ned, "and as he is the proprietor of the
establishment, he will certainly know all about the business."

At the appointed time the party assembled at the railway station in Cape
Town, and when the train was ready, our friends, accompanied by their
host, Mr. Shaffner, took their places and were soon whirling away
towards their destination. For a part of the way the train wound among
hills and low mountains, and for another it stretched away across the
level or slightly undulating plain. Mr. Shaffner entered at once upon
the subject of ostriches, and as he began his conversation, Harry asked
him if he had any objections to their taking notes of what he said.

"Not in the least," was the reply; "you are welcome to take all the
notes you like, and if there is any point that I don't explain fully to
your satisfaction, please tell me, and I will be more explicit."

The youths thanked him for his courtesy, and immediately brought out
their notebooks and pencils.

"According to tradition," said Mr. Shaffner, "ostriches were formerly
very abundant, wild ones, I mean, all over this part of the country. In
the early part of this century they were so numerous in the neighborhood
of Cape Town, that a man could hardly walk a quarter of an hour without
seeing one or more of these birds. As late as 1858, a flock of twenty or
thirty were seen among hills about twenty miles from Cape Town, but
after that time they seemed to have disappeared almost entirely. Ostrich
farming is an enterprise of the past twenty years, and before it began,
the only way of procuring ostrich feathers was by hunting down and
killing the wild birds. The practise was cruel, and it was also the
reverse of economical. Thoughtful hunters realized this, and a rumor
went through the colony that ostriches had been domesticated in Algeria,
and were successfully raised for the production of feathers. When this
rumor or report went about, it naturally set some of us thinking, and
our thoughts were, 'Why can't ostriches be raised here, as well as in
Algeria?' Several enterprising men proceeded to make experiments. They
offered to pay a high price for live birds in good health and condition,
and the price they offered induced the natives to set about catching
them.

"Of course we were all in the dark as to the proper method of taking
care of ostriches, as the business was entirely new to all of us. We
made many mistakes and lost a good many birds. The eggs became addled
and worthless, and for the first two or three years it looked as though
the experiments would be a failure. Our greatest difficulty was in
finding proper food for the birds. We tried them with various kinds of
grasses, and we studied as well as we could the habits of the wild bird
at home. We found that they needed a certain quantity of alkalies, and
they subsisted largely upon the sweet grasses, wherever they could find
them. The grass called lucerne seems the best adapted to them, and you
will find it grown on all ostrich farms for the special purpose of
feeding the birds.

"We have got the business down so fine now that we understand all the
various processes of breeding, rearing, herding, feeding, plucking, and
sorting. We buy and sell ostriches just as we do sheep. We fence in our
flocks, stable them, grow crops for them, study their habits, and cut
their feathers as matters of business. We don't send the eggs to market
along with our butter and cheese, as they are altogether too dear for
consumption. It is true that an ostrich egg will make a meal for three
or four persons; but at five dollars an egg, which is the usual price,
the meal would be a dear one.

"In fact, the eggs are so precious," he continued, "that we don't allow
them to be hatched out by the birds. For fear of accidents, as soon as
the eggs have been laid they are taken from the nests and placed in a
patent incubator to be hatched out. The incubator makes fewer mistakes
than the parent ostriches do. That is to say, if you entrust a given
number of eggs to the birds to be hatched out in the natural way, and
place the same number in an incubator, you will get a considerably
larger proportion of chicks from the latter than from the former.

"The business of ostrich farming," Mr. Shaffner went on to say, "is
spread over the colony from the near neighborhood of Cape Town to the
eastern frontier, and from Albany to the Orange River. Ostrich farms
were scattered at no great distances apart, and some of the proprietors
had a high reputation for their success. He said it must not be
understood that ostrich farming was the great industry of the country;
on the contrary, the product of wool was far greater in value than that
of feathers, and the ostriches were to the sheep as one is to a
thousand."

Harry asked if the birds were allowed to run at large, or were kept
constantly in enclosures.

"Both plans are followed," said Mr. Shaffner, "and some of the farmers
allow their flocks to run at large, feeding them once a day on grain,
for which they must come to the home stable. The ostriches know the hour
of feeding as well as if they carried watches, and are promptly on hand
when their dinner time arrives. In this way they are kept under
domestication and accustomed to the presence of men, but occasionally
they stray away and disappear. The safer way is to keep a native boy or
man constantly with each herd of ostriches, and the herder is held
responsible for the loss of any bird.

"Even then the flock may sometimes be frightened and scattered beyond
the ability of the herder to bring the birds together. On my farm, I
have the ground fenced off into fifty-acre lots. I divide my birds into
flocks of twenty-five or thirty, and put them successively in the
different lots of land. I sow the ground with lucerne, and do not turn a
flock into a field or paddock until the grass is in good condition for
the birds to eat.

"You may put it down as a rule on ostrich farms, that plenty of space
and a good fence are essential to success. In every paddock you must
have a good shed, where the birds can take shelter when it rains. You
must also have a kraal or yard in each paddock, where you can drive the
birds whenever you want to select some of them for cutting their
feathers. It is proper to say, however, that a kraal in each paddock is
not necessary, as all that work can be done at the home station, where
you have the buildings for artificial hatching and for gathering the
feathers."

Ned asked what kind of ground was best suited for the ostrich.

"You must have ground where the soil and plants are rich in alkalies,"
replied Mr. Shaffner, "and when this is not the case, care must be taken
to supply the needful element. Before this matter was understood there
was some melancholy failures in the business. A friend of mine started
an ostrich farm on a sandstone ridge. There was no limestone on the
farm, and most of the birds died in a few months, and those that lived
laid no eggs and produced very few feathers. Limestone was carted to the
farm from a considerable distance, and the birds would not touch it.
Bones were then tried and with admirable effect. What the birds required
was phosphate of lime, and the bones gave them that. They rushed at them
with great eagerness, and as soon as they were well supplied with bones
they began to improve in health and to lay eggs. On farms like the one I
mentioned, a quarter of a pound of sulphur and some salt is mixed with
two buckets of pulverized bones, and the birds are allowed to eat as
much of this mixture as they like. Where the rocks, grass, and soil
contain alkaline salts in abundance, the birds require very little, if
any, artificial food, and they thrive, fatten, pair, and lay eggs in the
most satisfactory manner."

"According to the story books," said Harry, "the ostrich will eat
anything. But from what you say, Mr. Shaffner, it does not seem that
that is really the case."

"The ostrich has a very good appetite, I must say," was the reply, "and
so far as green things are concerned, he will eat almost anything;
lucerne, clover, wheat, corn, cabbage leaves, fruit, grain, and garden
vegetables are all welcome, and he eats a certain quantity of crushed
limestone and bones, and generally keeps a few pebbles in his stomach to
assist him in the process of digestion. If he sees a bright sparkling
stone on the ground, he is very apt to swallow it, and that reminds me
of a little incident about two years ago. An English gentleman was
visiting my place, and while he was looking around he came close up to
the fence of a paddock containing a number of ostriches. An ostrich was
on the other side of the fence and close to it. The gentleman had a
large diamond in his shirt front, and while he was looking at the bird,
the latter, with a quick movement of his head, wrenched the stone from
its setting and swallowed it. I see that none of you wear diamonds, and
so it is not necessary for me to repeat the caution which I have ever
since given to my diamond-wearing visitors."

"What became of the diamond?" Harry asked.

"Oh! my visitor bought the bird and had it killed, in order to get the
diamond back again. He found it safe in the creature's stomach, along
with several small stones. It was a particularly valuable gem, and the
gentleman had no idea of allowing the bird to keep it."

Ned wanted to know if ostriches lived in flocks like barnyard fowls, or
divided off into pairs like the majority of forest and field birds.

"That depends a great deal upon the farmer," Mr. Shaffner answered. "The
pairing season is in the month of July, which is equivalent to the
English January. Some farmers, when the pairing time approaches, put a
male and female bird together in a pen; some put two females with a
male, and very often a male bird has five hens in his family. The birds
run in pairs or flocks, as the case may be. In August, the hens begin to
lay, and continue to deposit eggs for a period of six weeks. They do not
lay every day, like domestic fowls, but every second or third day. As I
have already told you, the eggs are taken as soon as laid and hatched
in an incubator. Sixteen birds out of twenty eggs is considered a very
fair proportion, while, if the bird is allowed to sit on the eggs, we
are not likely to get more than twelve out of twenty. There is another
advantage in hatching eggs by the incubator process, and that is, that
when the eggs are taken away the hen proceeds a few weeks later to lay
another batch of eggs, which she does not do if she has a family to care
for."

"What do you do with the young birds when they are hatched?"

"We put them in a warm room," was the reply, "and at night they are put
in a box lined with wool; they are fed with chopped grass suitable to
them, and as soon as they are able to run about they are entrusted to
the care of a small boy, a Kaffir or Hottentot, to whom they get
strongly attached. They grow quite rapidly and begin to feather at eight
months after hatching, but the yield at that time is of very little
value. Eight months later there is another and better crop, and then at
each season the crop improves until the birds are four or five years
old, when it reaches its maximum condition. Exactly how long an ostrich
will live, I don't know. There are some birds here in South Africa that
are twenty years old, and they are strong and healthy yet."

Conversation ran on in various ways until the station was reached where
our friends were to leave the train. The carriage was waiting for them,
and the party drove at once to the farm, where Mr. Shaffner showed them
about the place, and called attention to the flocks of birds straying
about the different paddocks. It so happened that a flock had been
driven up that very morning for the purpose of cutting such of the
feathers as were in proper condition to be removed from the birds.

While the men were driving the birds into the kraal, Mr. Shaffner
explained that there was a difference of opinion among farmers as to
whether the feathers should be plucked or cut. He said that when the
feather is plucked or pulled out at the roots it is apt to make a bad
sore, and at any rate cause a great deal of pain; while the feather that
grows in its place is apt to be twisted or of poor quality, and
occasionally the birds die, as a result of the operation. When a feather
is nipped off with pincers or cut with a knife the bird is quite
insensible to the operation. The stumps that are left in the flesh of
the ostrich fall out in the course of a month or six weeks, or can be
easily drawn out, and then a new and good feather grows in place of the
old one. The reason why plucking still finds advocates is that the
feathers with the entire quill bring a higher price in the market than
those that have been cut or nipped.

Harry and Ned watched with much interest the process of removing
feathers from the birds. Here is the way Harry describes it.

"The men moved around among the ostriches in a perfectly easy way, and
seemed to be on the best of terms with their charges. The foreman
selected a bird and indicated to one of the men that he wanted it
brought forward. Thereupon the man seized the bird by the neck and
pressed its head downward until he could draw a sack like a long and
very large stocking over it.

"When blindfolded in this way the ostrich is perfectly helpless, and
will stand perfectly still. The man pushed and led the bird up to the
fence, and then the foreman, armed with his cutting nippers, selected
the feathers that he wanted and cut them off. When the operation was
ended the sack was removed, and the ostrich resumed his place among his
companions. He did not strike, or kick, or indicate in any way that he
was aware of what had happened to him.

"During their breeding time the male ostriches are decidedly vicious,
and it is dangerous to go near them. Mr. Shaffner told us that several
serious accidents had happened to his men at such times. Occasionally a
bird shows more or less ugliness on being driven into a kraal, and when
this is the case caution must be used in approaching him. The ostrich's
favorite mode of fighting is to strike or kick with one leg, and he can
give a terrible blow in this way.

"I asked Mr. Shaffner," said Harry, "what was the value of a good
ostrich. He replied that the question was one he could not answer in a
single phrase. He said that an egg was worth not less than five dollars,
and an ostrich chick, fresh from the egg, was worth twenty-five dollars.

"After a few months it was double that value, and by the time it was a
year old it was worth two hundred and fifty dollars. Mr. Shaffner said
he would be unwilling to sell a pair of hens and a male ostrich for less
than two thousand dollars, but he explained that a great deal depended
upon the breeding and feather-producing qualities of the birds.

"Then, I asked," continued Harry, "about the yield of feathers, and was
told that the average yield was about fifty dollars annually to a good
bird. The feathers ripen at the time of incubation and are injured by
the process, so that the artificial incubator, by releasing the birds
from duty on the nest, is of special value.

"I remarked," said Harry, "that, considering the increase in the flocks
and the money obtained from the feathers, ostrich farming ought to be
very profitable."

"Well, it is profitable in a general way," replied Mr. Shaffner, "but
that is not by any means the rule. There are farmers who have never made
anything by it, and it has its drawbacks, like everything else. The
birds are subject to diseases of various kinds, and there is a parasitic
worm on some farms that is very destructive. Wild beasts kill the birds,
and I myself have lost three fine ostriches this year in that way. I
know one farm on which eighty-five birds were originally placed. In the
very first year twenty-seven were lost, thirteen by cold and wet, three
by diphtheria, six killed by natives, three by fighting, and two by
falling into holes. Out of sixty eggs, nineteen were destroyed by crows.
These birds would take stones in their claws, fly to a point directly
over the nest, and then let the stones fall on the eggs, thus breaking
them, so that they could get at the contents of the shells. The
remaining eggs were sent to a neighboring farm to be artificially
incubated, but only ten of them hatched out. So, you see," the gentleman
continued, "ostrich farming has its hard times, like everything else."

After inspecting the ostrich farm our friends were entertained at a
substantial dinner in the house of their host, and in the afternoon were
driven to the railway station, whence they returned to Cape Town, having
well enjoyed their first excursion.

That evening Dr. Whitney received an invitation to visit a large sheep
farm about thirty miles from Cape Town, accompanied, as before, by his
two nephews. He accepted the invitation, and the trio took an early
train for their destination. They were met at the station by the owner
of the establishment, and were speedily shown through the entire place.
Sheep farming was less a novelty to our young friends than ostrich
farming, and consequently they had much less interest in seeing the
sights of the establishment. Harry wrote a brief account of their visit,
and we are permitted to copy from it.

"Evidently the place was prosperous," said Harry, in his journal, "as we
found an abundance of substantial buildings, a luxurious house for the
owner, and substantial dwellings for the manager and his assistant. We
sat down to an excellent, though somewhat late breakfast. We had a good
appetite for it, as we had breakfasted very lightly before leaving Cape
Town. On the table we had broiled chickens, broiled ham, and lamb chops,
together with eggs, bread, and the usual concomitants of the morning
meal.

"After breakfast we visited the sheds where the sheep are sheared, and
also the surrounding sheds and yards where the animals are driven up at
shearing time. We were sorry that it was not the time of the annual
shearing, so that we could witness the process. Our host told us that
the shearers travel about the country, and take contracts for shearing
the flocks at so much a head. In addition to their wages, they were
supplied with food, and he added that the shearers were a fastidious
lot, and nothing but the best table would suit them.

"After inspecting the buildings, we were supplied with saddle horses and
rode over the farm. The sheep are divided into flocks of about three
hundred each, and every flock is in charge of two herders or shepherds.
Some of them come into the home stations at night, while others have
separate out stations of their own. The herders are either Hottentots or
Kaffirs; at any rate they are negroes. The two of them start out in the
morning with the flock, and go slowly along, allowing the sheep to feed,
and calculating time and distance so that they will reach a watering
place about noon. There the sheep are watered and then they start back
again towards the station, where they arrive an hour or so before
sunset, and are shut up in a yard for the night.

"The shepherds do their own cooking, and once a week one of them comes
to the head station to be supplied with provisions. Our host explained
to us that one shepherd was sufficient for a flock, but the life was so
lonely that a man would not stick to it, if left alone, and they had to
have two men in order to keep each other company. I can well understand
how wearisome it would be to have nobody to speak to for days at a time,
and one of the last occupations I would wish to engage in is that of
shepherd.

"Wool raising is a very large industry in Cape Colony, and it certainly
has been a very profitable one. Our host told us that if a man could
avoid accidents and misfortunes, he would find the business very
remunerative; but, of course, misfortunes are pretty sure to come. He
told us further, that nearly all the sheep farmers of South Africa had
started into the business as poor men, and, while none of them were
millionaires, there were some that were very near being so. He gave some
statistics of the wool trade, but I have mislaid the sheet of paper
containing them, and so cannot give them to you."

On their return from the excursion to the sheep farm, our friends
learned that a steamer of the Orient line had just arrived, and would
leave at noon the next day for Australia. Dr. Whitney decided to take
passage on this steamer, and the matter was very quickly arranged.

When the great ship left the harbor of Cape Town, our friends stood on
her deck and were deeply interested in the scene about them. As they
steamed out around the breakwater, they had a fine view of Table Bay and
the mountains that surround it. Then they passed a series of cliff-like
mountains, known as the Twelve Apostles, and after them some brightly
colored mountains that had a dazzling appearance in the bright sunlight.
Thirty miles from Cape Town they passed the famous Cape of Good Hope,
which is popularly but erroneously supposed to be the southern end of
the continent; the fact is that the point of Africa nearest to the South
Pole is Cape Agulhas, sixty or seventy miles away from the Cape of Good
Hope.

Down to Cape Agulhas the steamer had followed the coast line. Now it
steered away from the coast, and gradually the mountains of the
southern end of Africa faded and became dim in the distance, and
gradually disappeared altogether from sight. Our friends were now upon
the great Southern Ocean, which sweeps entirely around this part of the
globe.

"We have a long voyage before us now," said Harry to Ned; "we have
sixteen days of steaming, so one of the officers tells me, before we
reach the coast of Australia."

"Well, if that is the case," Ned answered, "we have plenty of time to
become acquainted with the Southern Ocean. I wonder if it will be very
different from the Atlantic."

"As to that," replied Harry, "I don't know, but I have no doubt it has
peculiarities of its own. We will see about that later."

Flocks of birds accompanied the ship as it steamed away from the coast.
Some were familiar sights to our young friends, and some were new to
them, or comparatively so. The next day and the few succeeding days made
them acquainted with several birds that they had never seen, and the
boys were so interested in them that Harry wrote a description, which we
will presently consider. But before doing so, however, we will look at a
note which Ned made concerning the waves of the Southern Ocean.

"The waves of this part of the boundless waste of waters that covers
three fourths of the globe," said Ned, in his journal, "are the largest
we have ever seen. The prevailing winds are westerly, and the captain
tells us that they drive a continuous series of waves right around the
globe. You have heard of the long swell of the Pacific, but it is not,
at least in the Northern Hemisphere, anywhere equal to the immense
swells of the Southern Ocean. I have never seen waves that began to be
as large. The captain says that the crests are often thirty feet high,
and three hundred and ninety feet apart. Sir James Ross, in his
Antartic expedition, measured waves thirty-six feet high, and said that
when two ships were in the hollows of two adjoining waves, their hulls
were completely concealed from each other by the crest of water between
them. This great steamer, measuring nearly five thousand tons, is rolled
and tossed as if it were nothing more than an egg-shell, and such of the
passengers as are liable to seasickness are staying below out of sight.
Fancy what it must be to sail on this ocean in a small craft of one
hundred or two hundred tons! I think I would prefer to be on shore."

And now we come to Harry's account of the birds. He wrote as follows:--

"Dr. Whitney says that I must make a distinction between land birds,
coast birds, and ocean birds. Land birds are only at sea by accident;
coast birds are seen only in the neighborhood of the land, but ocean
birds go far out at sea, and rarely visit the land except during their
breeding season. When you see a land bird out of sight of the shore, you
can know that he has been driven there by the wind; perhaps in a squall
or rain storm. The doctor tells me that we can make a general
distinction between the three kinds of birds, by remembering that the
more the bird lives on the land, the more he flaps his wings, and most
land birds flap their wings constantly. A few, like the eagle, condor,
and other birds of prey, sail about and flap their wings occasionally,
but the true ocean birds, as a rule, flap their wings very little.

"An interesting flyer that we have seen is the frigate bird, also called
the man-of-war bird, which appears to me to be a good deal of a pirate,
as it makes the most of its living by robbing others. When another bird
has caught a fish the frigate bird attacks him, and takes away his
prize, catching it in the air as it falls from the victim's claws. These
birds follow the steamer or fly in the air above it, and they seem to go
along very easily, although the ship is running at full speed. I am told
that, on the previous voyage of this ship, some of the sailors caught
two of these birds and marked them by attaching strips of white cloth to
their feet. Then the birds were set free, and they followed the steamer
four or five days without any apparent fatigue.

"Of course we have seen 'Mother Carey's Chickens.' These tireless little
fellows, that never seem to rest, are found in all parts of the world of
waters. They have been constantly about us, flying around the ship but
never settling upon it, and dipping occasionally into the waters behind
us to gather up crumbs or particles of food. The other birds, which are
all much larger, would like to deprive them of their sustenance, but
they do not have the quickness of the little flyers on the wing. When
anything is thrown overboard, they dart as quick as a flash under the
noses of the larger and more clumsy birds, and pick up a mouthful or
two before the latter can reach them. Then there are whale birds, and
cape pigeons, and also the cape dove, which is somewhat larger than the
pigeon, and is also known as the 'fulmar petrel.'

"But the most interesting as well as the largest of all the ocean birds
is the albatross. There are two or three kinds of this bird; the largest
of them has a spread of wing varying from twelve to fifteen feet, and
one has been caught measuring seventeen feet from tip to tip. With
outspread wings, his body, as he sails about in the air, looks as large
as a barrel, but when stripped of its feathers its size diminishes very
much. We offered to pay a good price to the sailors if they would catch
an albatross for us, but they declined our proposal to catch one, and
when a passenger one day wanted to shoot one which was directly over the
steamer, the sailors objected. We finally induced them to compromise the
matter by catching an albatross and letting it go unharmed.

"They baited a hook with a piece of pork which was attached to a long
line, and then allowed to tow behind the steamer. We were doomed to
disappointment, as the albatross, that was then flying with the ship,
refused to touch the bait, and it was taken up by a frigate bird. It is
said that the albatross is very difficult to catch, as he is exceedingly
wary, and constantly on the lookout for tricks. I am told that a live
albatross standing on the deck of the ship is a very handsome bird. His
back is white, his wings are brown, he has a fine head, carries himself
with great dignity, and has a grand eye and countenance. The bird has a
pink beak and pretty streaks of a rose color on the cheeks. After death
these colors disappear, and are not to be seen in the stuffed specimens
such as are found in museums. A good-sized albatross weighs about twenty
pounds, though, as before stated, he looks very much larger.

"The wonderful thing about this bird is the way he sustains himself in
the air. He sails along above the ship, though she may be steaming
fifteen or sixteen miles an hour, but he does it all with very little
motion. Three or four times in an hour he may give one or two flaps of
his wings, and that is all; the rest is all steady sailing. The
outspread wings sustain the bird, and carry him forward at the same
time. If any man ever invents a successful flying machine, I think he
will do so by studying the movements of the albatross. It is proper to
say that this bird is not at all courageous, and often gives up the fish
that he catches to the piratical frigate bird. It lives mostly on fish,
and is very fond of the carcass of a dead whale, and they tell me that
the longer the whale has been dead, the better does the albatross like
it.

"The superstition of the sailors about its being bad luck to kill an
albatross is not by any means a new one. It is referred to by old
writers, and you will find it mentioned in Coleridge's 'Ancient
Mariner.'

"We have seen a great many flying fish during our voyage, but as we have
seen them before, they are not a great curiosity. The flying motion of
this fish is more fanciful than real. He does not soar in the air like a
bird, but simply leaps from the crest of one wave to the crest of
another. He makes a single dash through the air, and that is all.
Sometimes, when a ship is in the hollow between two waves and the flying
fish is attempting to make his way across, he falls on the deck of the
vessel, but he rarely gets more than fifteen or eighteen feet into the
air, and therefore does not reach the deck of a big steamer like this.

"Flying fish seem to fly when disturbed by big fishes, or, possibly, by
the commotion that a vessel creates in going through the water. There is
a good deal of dispute as to how long the flying fish can stay out of
water, and the longest time I have heard any one give to it is thirty
seconds. Some say that the flying fish can stay in the air only while
its wings are wet, but that is a point on which I do not care to give
any opinion, for the simple reason that I don't know."

Ned and Harry had kept the nautical instruments which they carried over
the deserts of Northern Africa, and they amused themselves by taking
daily observations and calculating the ship's position. Sometimes they
were wrong, and sometimes they were right, Ned naively remarking that
"the wrongs didn't count." The first officer of the ship gave them some
assistance in their nautical observations, and, altogether, they got
along very well.

Our friends made the acquaintance of some of their fellow-passengers and
found them very agreeable. The majority were residents of Australia or
New Zealand, who had been on visits to England and were now returning
home. The youths learned a great deal concerning the country whither
they were bound, and the goodly portion of the information they received
was of practical value to them. They made copious notes of what they
heard, and some of the information that they gleaned will appear later
in these pages.

In due time they sighted the coast of Australia at its western
extremity, known as Cape Leeuwin, but the sight was not especially
picturesque, as the mountains around the cape are of no great height.
After passing Cape Leeuwin, the steamer held her course steadily to the
west, gradually leaving the shore out of sight. She was passing along
the front of what is called the Great Australian Bight, an indentation
in the land twelve hundred miles long, and bounded on the north by a
region of desolation.

"It is a desolate coast," said one of the passengers to Harry, "and is
so destitute of water that no settlements have or can be made upon it.
Mr. Eyre, who was afterwards governor of Jamaica, endeavored to explore
that coast, and had a terrible time of it. He was an entire year making
the journey of twelve hundred miles, and suffered the most terrible
hardships."




CHAPTER III.

A LAND OF CONTRADICTIONS--TRANSPORTATION TO AUSTRALIA.


"How long is it since Mr. Eyre made this journey?" Harry asked.

"It was a good while ago," the gentleman answered, "in the years 1839
and 1840. Mr. Eyre had explored a portion of the western shore of
Spencer Gulf, and while doing so, determined to make the attempt to
travel along the shore of the Great Australian Bight. One of the first
difficulties that opposed him was the scarcity of fresh water. There
were numerous gullies, showing that in times of rain there was plenty of
water, but no rain had fallen for a long time and all these gullies were
dry. A few springs were found, but these were generally brackish and the
water was hardly drinkable.

"Mr. Eyre tried the experiment of sinking a cask in the ground, near the
edge of the sea, in the hope of obtaining fresh water, but his
experiments in this direction were not successful. By the time he had
advanced two hundred miles, he had lost four of his horses. The
reduction in the number of his pack animals made it impossible for him
to carry sufficient provisions for his party, and he therefore sent back
his only white companion and three of his men. Then he continued his
journey with his overseer and three natives, one of the latter being his
personal servant.

"In order to be sure of water, Mr. Eyre explored in advance of the
party, and sometimes was gone four or five days before finding any. One
by one the horses died of thirst, and the only way the men could keep
alive was by gathering the dew, which fell at night, by means of sponges
and rags.

"The natives complained at their hardships, and one night the two men
took possession of the guns, killed the overseer, and ran away, leaving
Mr. Eyre with only his native servant and a very small stock of
provisions. They were then about midway on the journey; that is, they
had still six hundred miles to travel to reach the settled parts of West
Australia. The entire supply of provisions that they had was four
gallons of water, forty pounds of flour, and a portion of a dead horse.
They had to go nearly two hundred miles before finding any more water,
and lived on horse-flesh, with occasional game and fish, and a little
flour paste. Just as they were about to lie down and die in the desert
they saw a sail in the distance.

"They built a fire on the beach as a signal, and, luckily for them, it
was observed. The vessel came in quite near the land and sent a boat to
their assistance. The ship proved to be an American whaler that was
cruising about the Australian Bight in pursuit of whales, and the
captain invited them to stay on board as long as they liked. They
remained there two weeks, and were then put ashore at the same spot
whence they had gone on board. The captain supplied them with all the
provisions and water they could carry. Mr. Eyre was determined to
complete his journey, if possible, and his faithful servant consented to
remain with him. They struggled on for two or three weeks longer, when
they reached the first of the settlements on King George's Sound."

"Has anybody else ever tried to make the same journey?" Harry asked.

"Not under the same circumstances," was the reply. "I believe that a
well-equipped exploring party was sent out some twelve or fifteen years
ago, to travel along the coast and look for gold. Water and provisions
were supplied every few days by a small steamer that kept near the shore
and went in when signaled by the travelers. In this way, suffering from
hunger and thirst was avoided and the animals of the expedition were
well supplied with forage. The enterprise was not a successful one so
far as the finding of gold was concerned, but I have little doubt that
one of these days gold will be discovered there; and if it should be,
some way will be found for softening the asperities of this desolate
coast."

"I have heard," said Harry, "that a great part of Australia is destitute
of water. Is that really the case?"

"Yes," the gentleman answered; "you have been correctly informed.
Australia, is a waterless country, or, at any rate, that is the case
with a great part of it. The interior has never been fully explored for
this reason, and there are thousands, I might say millions, of square
miles of Australian country where no human foot has ever trod. Many
attempts have been made to penetrate this desolate region, but all have
resulted in failure.

"Water, as you know, is an absolute necessity for man and animals, and
there is a limit to the amount which an expedition can carry, just as
there is a limit to the food that one may take on a journey. There are
parts of Australia where rain seems never to fall, or, if it does, the
intervals are so rare and irregular that no reliance can be placed on
them. Explorers cannot stop to dig wells hundreds of feet in depth, and
it is certain that no ordinary amount of digging will procure water. The
atmosphere is dry, terribly dry, as all who have attempted to penetrate
into the interior will tell you.

"Instruments, and cases made of the best seasoned wood--wood that has
been dried for years and years--crack and split and go to pieces in the
dry atmosphere of the interior of Australia. Leather becomes brittle,
and cracks and breaks when the slightest pressure is put upon it. One
exploring expedition was obliged to turn back in consequence of the
drying up and cracking of the wood contained in its instruments and
their cases. The evaporation from one's skin is very rapid under such
circumstances, and produces an agonizing thirst, which is no doubt
intensified by the knowledge of the scarcity of water and the necessity
of using the supply on hand with great care."

"I have heard," said Ned, "that Australia is a land of contradictions as
compared with England and the United States. I read in a book somewhere
that nearly everything in nature was the reverse of what it was in the
countries I mentioned."

"That is true," said the gentleman with whom they were conversing, "and
I will tell you several things to demonstrate the correctness of what
you say. In the first place Australia is on the other side of the world
from England and the United States, and that circumstance ought to
prepare you for the other peculiarities. Most countries are fertile in
their interior; but, as I have told you, the interior of Australia is a
land of desolation, where neither man nor beast can live. I have been
told that birds never fly in the interior of Australia; and certainly if
I were a bird, I would not fly there nor anywhere near it.

"We have very few rivers, and none of them come from far in the
interior. Most of them are low in summer or altogether dried up. There
is only one river, the Murray, that can be relied upon to have any
reasonable depth of water in it throughout the entire year. The other
rivers dwindle almost to nothing, and, as I have said, entirely
disappear. The greater part of the country is absolutely without trees,
and the dense forests which you have in America are practically unknown.
We have summer when you have winter, and we have night when you have
day. When you are in your own country, and I am here, our feet are
nearer together than our heads; that is to say, our feet are pressing
the ground on opposite sides of the earth, and so we may be said to be
standing upon each other."

"That is so," remarked Harry; "I was thinking of that this morning. I
noticed also that the ship's compass pointed to the south, and that the
sun was traveling along the northern heavens. I observed, too, that the
south wind was cold, and the north wind hot."

"You are quite right," said the gentleman; "and if you have been
studying the barometer, you have found that it falls with the northerly
wind and rises with the southerly one. When you travel over the country,
you will find that the valleys are cool and the mountain tops warm. The
bees have no sting, and many of the beautiful flowers have no smell. The
leaves of the trees are nearly always perpendicular instead of
horizontal, as in your country, and consequently one gets very little
shade under an Australian tree."

"I have heard," said Ned, "that the trees shed their bark instead of
their leaves. Is that really so?"

"It is so with most of the trees," was the reply; "in fact, with nearly
all of them. A few shed their leaves every year, and on many of the
trees the leaves remain unchanged, while the bark is thrown off. One
tree is called the stringy bark, on account of the ragged appearance of
its covering at the time it is shed.

"In your part of the world," the gentleman continued, "cherries grow
with the stones inside; but here in Australia we have cherries with the
stones on the outside. We have birds of beautiful plumage and very
little song; the owls are quiet at night, and screech and hoot in the
daytime, which certainly is not a characteristic of the English or
American owl. The geological formation of the country is also peculiar,
and the scientific men who have come here from England and America are a
good deal puzzled at the state of affairs they find in Australia. Would
it not surprise you to learn that we have coal in this country as white
as chalk?"

"That is, indeed, a surprise," one of the youths remarked. "I wonder if
the conditions are continued so that your chalk is black."

"The contrasts do not go quite so far as that," said the gentleman, with
a laugh, "as the chalk of Australia is as white as that of England. I
don't mean to say that all our coal is white, but only the coal of
certain localities. It generally takes the stranger by surprise to see a
grateful of white coal burning brightly, and throwing out smoke at the
same time. I must tell you that this coal is bituminous, and not
anthracite."

"I hope," said Ned, "that men's heads do not grow out of their sides, or
from their breasts, and that they do not walk topsy-turvy, with their
feet in the air."

"No, they are not as bad as that," was the reply; "but you will see some
queer things before you are through with Australia. Bear in mind that
the country contains no antiquities of any kind; it is a new land in
every sense, as it was first settled in 1788, and all these cities are
of modern foundation and growth."

Our young friends thanked the gentleman for the information he had given
them, and said they would specially bear in mind the comparisons and
contrasts which he had indicated in their brief conversation.

The first stopping place of the ship was at Adelaide, in South
Australia, from which place she proceeded around the coast to Melbourne.
Our friends decided to land at Adelaide, and go overland through that
city wherever the railway would take them. They thought that by so doing
they would be able to see a great deal more on their way to Melbourne
than if they continued aboard the ship.

Harry had obtained a map of Australia on the day before their arrival
at Adelaide. He was busily engaged in studying it.

"Just look a moment," said Harry to Ned, as he spread the map out on one
of the tables in the saloon; "here is another contradiction that our
friend didn't include. Look at it."

"Well, what of it?" said Ned. "It is a map of Australia, is it not?"

"Yes, it is, and just look at the provinces or colonies of Australia.
Here is West Australia, as its name indicates, at the western end of the
great island or continent. Here are Queensland, New South Wales, and
Victoria, and here is South Australia, where we are going to land.
Adelaide is its capital."

"Well, what of it?" queried Ned, with an expression of curiosity on his
face.

"Why, don't you see," said Harry, in a tone of impatience, "that South
Australia is not South Australia at all. Here is Victoria, which runs
further south than this colony, and then you see South Australia runs
clear across the continent to the northern side, and almost as far north
as the extreme point of Queensland. They ought to change the name of it,
or else divide it into two colonies, calling this one by its present
name, and the other North Australia."

Ned admitted the force of the argument, and then joined his cousin in
studying the map. Strange to say, the middle section or unexplored
region had a singular fascination for both the youths, and each confided
to the other that he would like to undertake the exploration of that
part of the continent. They wondered whether Dr. Whitney would entertain
their proposal to do so, but finally concluded that the hardships would
be too great, and they would say nothing about their aspirations.

[Illustration: "HARRY HAD OBTAINED A MAP OF AUSTRALIA."]

In due time the steamer came to anchor at Port Adelaide. The harbor of
the capital city is not on the sea, but seven miles away from it, on the
banks of the small river Torrens. The railway connects the port with the
city, and shortly after getting ashore our friends were seated in a
train, which carried them quickly to the capital. One of the passengers
told Ned that the port was formerly quite shallow and difficult to
enter. The entrance at present is between two large shoals of sand,
which are marked by lighthouses. A great deal of money has been expended
in deepening and widening the harbor, so that it is now accessible for
large ships.

A long pier extends into St. Vincent's Gulf, the body of water on which
the port stands, and this pier is quite popular as a promenade for the
people living at the port, and also for those who come down from the
city.

Harry observed that the dock and pier accommodations were excellent.
There were immense sheds, and warehouses for the storage of grain, wool,
and other products of the country while awaiting shipment, and equally
extensive shelters for merchandise arriving at the port on its way to
the city and to other parts of the colony. There were dry docks and
repairing yards, and there were hospitals for sick sailors and others,
together with the usual public buildings of a prosperous seaport.
Immense quantities of wool and frozen meat are shipped from this port
to England, and the trade of the colony with the mother country is said
to be increasing every year.

It was about the middle of the afternoon when our friends landed, and in
less than half an hour after landing they were in the city. One of their
steamer acquaintances had directed them to a hotel, and, in fact,
accompanied them to it, so that they had the advantage of his personal
guidance and introduction. Harry made a memorandum in his notebook that
they found the hotel quite a good one, certainly much better than the
hotel where they stopped at Cape Town.

After settling themselves in the hotel the party went out for a stroll,
but, in consequence of the heat, they were not long in turning their
stroll into a drive. Here is what Ned says of their first day in
Adelaide:--

"This city recalls Chicago more than any other place I can think of. It
is on a level plain, with the exception of the portion to the north
where the ground rises a little, and the streets are laid out at right
angles, as though a chess-board had been taken as a model for the place.
We have wondered why it was called Adelaide instead of Mary Ann, Betsy,
or some other feminine name; Dr. Whitney has just told us that the city
was laid out in 1837 and named in honor of the queen of King William
IV., who was then the ruler of England.

"Having named the place in honor of the queen, the founders of the city
felt that the next thing to do was to call the principal street after
the king. Thus it happens that the great street, the one most built
upon, and where the majority of the shops are concentrated, is King
William Street. It is a broad avenue running from south to north, and
divides the city almost equally. It is certainly a very handsome avenue,
and we greatly enjoyed our drive upon it. Most of the public buildings,
the town hall, post-office, government offices, and the like, are on
King William Street, and they are very handsome structures.

"The people are very proud of these edifices, and well they may be, as
they would be ornaments to any city ten times as old and large as
Adelaide. The principal banks, newspaper offices, and business
structures generally are also on King William Street, and to judge by
the crowds of people that throng the sidewalks, one might conclude that
the population was a busy one. One thing that attracted our attention
was the great number of churches, which certainly gave us the impression
that the population of Adelaide is decidedly religious, and also that
its zeal in religion had led it to contribute freely to the erection of
places of worship. Our driver pointed out the various churches and told
us their denomination. Of course the Church of England was ahead of the
others, as is expected to be the case in a British colony."

"I learned afterwards," said Ned, "that there were nearly one thousand
churches and chapels in the colony of South Australia, together with
nearly five hundred other buildings that are occasionally used for
religious worship. All the churches are supported by voluntary
contributions, there being no State aid to any of them. At the last
census of the colony there were 76,000 adherents of the Church of
England, 43,000 Roman Catholics, and 42,000 Methodists. Then came the
Lutherans, with 20,000; Presbyterians, with 18,000; Baptists, with
14,000; and about 10,000 each of primitive Methodists, Congregationalists,
and Bible Christians. There were several other denominations, but their
numbers were insignificant. We looked for pagodas while driving along
the street, but none of them were to be found, and we learned on inquiry
that the number of Chinese and Moslems in South Australia was hardly
worth mentioning. The colony has never been attractive to the Chinese,
and few of them have endeavored to find homes there.

"We drove to the resident portion of the city and saw a goodly number of
private houses of the better sort. A great deal of taste has been
displayed in the construction of these houses, and we derived the
impression that Adelaide was a decidedly prosperous city. The
wheat-growing industry of South Australia is a very large one. Many of
the great farmers have their residences in Adelaide and spend only a
small portion of their time on their farms, leaving all details to their
managers. A considerable amount of American farming machinery finds its
way to South Australia, where it has attained a well-deserved
popularity."

While our friends were at breakfast the next morning, Harry suggested
that if the others were willing, he would like to see one of the
Australian prisons containing convicts that had been transported from
England.

The doctor smiled,--just a faint smile,--while Ned laughed.

"Oh, you are all wrong, Harry," said Ned. "They gave up that business
long ago. I was under the same impression that you are, but learned
better from one of our fellow-passengers. I meant to tell you about it."

"Well, I will acknowledge my mistake," said Harry. "We are all liable to
make blunders, and that is one of them."

"Quite true," Dr. Whitney remarked. "Every visitor to a country that is
strange to him makes a great many mistakes, and the frank thing is to
acknowledge it."

"The gentleman who corrected my blunder," said Ned, "told me that an
American visitor who was very fond of hunting landed once in Sydney,
fresh from the United States. The hunting fever was strong in him, and
before he was an hour on shore he asked the clerk of the hotel where he
could go to shoot Sydney ducks. He had heard of them, and would like to
bag a few brace."

"What is the point of the joke?" said Harry; "I confess I cannot see
it."

"That is exactly what I said to my informant," replied Ned, "and then he
went on and told me that in former times Australian convicts were spoken
of as Sydney ducks."

"Oh! I see," said Harry, "that is a very good joke when you come to know
all about it. What did the clerk of the hotel say to the inquiring
stranger?"

"I don't know," replied Ned, "but I presume he told him that Sydney
ducks had gone out of fashion, and were not being shot any more.
Probably he let the man down as gently as possible."

"How did the convicts come to have the name of Sydney ducks?" Harry
asked.

"I can't tell you, I am sure," said Ned, "you will have to ask the
doctor about it."

"The name came, no doubt," said Dr. Whitney, "from the circumstance that
the first convicts who were brought to Australia were landed at Sydney,
and for a good many years Sydney was the principal depot of these
involuntary emigrants. The adoption of Australia as the place for
convict settlement was brought about by events in America, a statement
which may surprise you."

"It certainly is surprising," Harry remarked. "How did it happen?"

"It came about in this way," the doctor continued; "when America was
subject to England, offenders of various kinds, whether political or
criminal, were sent to the American colonies, principally to the
Southern States and the West Indies, where they were chiefly employed in
the cultivation of tobacco. The consumption of tobacco in England was
very large, and the revenue derived from it was considerable.
Consequently England was able to kill two birds with one stone; she got
rid of her criminals, at the same time, and made a large profit on their
work.

"When the American colonies revolted in 1775, and gained their
independence eight years later, England found herself deprived of a
place to which she could send her convicts, and she looked around for
another. She tried the coast of Africa, and found it too unhealthy for
her purpose. Captain Cook had recently visited Australia and given a
glowing account of it, and the government officials thought that this
new country would be an excellent one for criminals. Orders were given
for sending out a fleet of ships for that purpose; and, accordingly,
eleven vessels, carrying more than one thousand people, sailed for
Portsmouth in the month of March, 1787, with orders to proceed to
Australia."

"If England had known what was to happen," said Harry, "she need not
have been at the trouble of sending her criminals so far away; she might
have kept on with America with only slight interruptions. She is sending
us her criminals and paupers at present, though she does not designate
them properly when she ships them, and most of the continental nations
are doing the same thing. We are trying to prevent it, but I don't
believe we succeed to a very great extent."

"Did they send a thousand convicts to Australia in this first batch?"
queried Ned.

"There were about one thousand people altogether," said Dr. Whitney,
"including 757 convicts, and among the convicts were 190 women and
eighteen children. They had 160 soldiers to guard the prisoners, with a
sufficient number of officers, and forty of the soldiers were
accompanied by their wives. They had on the ships a goodly quantity of
cattle, sheep, horses, pigs, and goats, and a large quantity of seeds
from various parts of the world was sent out. It was not expected that
the colony would be self-supporting for some time, and so it was
arranged that supply ships laden with flour and other provisions should
be sent from England at regular intervals. A year or two after the
colony was founded one of these ships was wrecked on its way to
Australia, and the colonists suffered greatly for want of food. Among
the supplies taken by each ship there was usually a fresh batch of
convicts, and quite regularly convict ships were despatched from England
to Australia."

Ned remarked that he thought a convict ship would not be a pleasant
craft to travel on. A good many people did not like crossing the
Atlantic on cattle ships, but he thought the cattle ship would be far
preferable to one laden with convicts.

"And so it is," replied the doctor. "According to all accounts, the life
on board a convict ship from England to Australia was terrible. Remember
that in those days prisoners were treated with great harshness; they
were not supposed to have any feelings and were never spoken to kindly,
and in many instances an order was usually accompanied by a kick or a
blow. During the voyage the prisoners were allowed on deck one hour or
possibly two hours of each day, care being taken that only a small
number would be there at any one time.

"For the rest of the twenty-four hours they were shut up in close,
stifling pens or cages, generally with nothing but a little straw to
sleep on, and they were fed with the coarsest and poorest food. Coffee
and tea with hard bread formed their breakfast; dinner was the same,
with sometimes the addition of a piece of heavily salted beef, so hard
that it was no easy matter to cut it into mouthfuls. Supper was the same
as breakfast, and this was kept up with hardly any variation.

"The slightest infraction of the rules was punished with the lash, but
this did not deter the criminals from making trouble. Constantly the
boatswain and his assistants were kept busy in performing the floggings
that were ordered, and sometimes the cat-o'-nine-tails was in steady use
from sunrise to sunset. The more severe his discipline, the more highly
an officer was regarded by his superiors, and if he occasionally hanged
a few men, it rather advanced than retarded his promotion. A good many
died on the voyage from England to Australia, partly in consequence of
their scanty fare and the great heat of the tropics; but, according to
tradition, a very large proportion of the mortality was the result of
brutal treatment and privations.

"The passengers on the convict ship," said Harry, "seem to have been
treated pretty much like those on slave ships."

"You are not far wrong there," the doctor replied; "the sufferings of
convicts on their way to Australia were not altogether unlike those of
the unhappy negroes that were formerly taken from the coast of Africa to
North and South America. The convicts were not crowded quite as densely
into the holds of the ships as the slaves were, and the mortality among
them was not as great; still they were packed very thickly together, and
were treated quite as cruelly as the slave dealers used to treat their
human property. Occasionally it happened that the convicts formed a
conspiracy and endeavored to take possession of the ship. In nearly
every instance they were betrayed by one of their number, and when the
time came for action they were so closely guarded that any resistance
was useless. Then the conspirators were seized, and after a brief trial
were condemned to be hung or shot, generally the former, as it saved
ammunition and did not soil the decks of the ship with blood. When there
was an actual mutiny the mutineers were shot down without mercy, and
those who escaped the bullets were speedily disposed of by hanging at
the yard-arms."

"Terrible times those must have been," remarked Ned; "the wonder is that
anybody survived."

"Yes, indeed," said Harry; "but man has a tough constitution and can
endure a great deal."




CHAPTER IV.

STRANGE ADVENTURES--AUSTRALIAN ABORIGINALS.


One of the youths asked how the convicts were employed after they came
to Australia.

"At first," said the doctor, "they were employed almost entirely on
government works. A city was laid out, and of course it was necessary to
grade the streets, build bridges, and do other things in connection with
putting the place into shape. There were prisons, warehouses, wharves,
and other buildings necessary to a convict establishment to be erected.
Gardens and fields were to be laid out and planted, and altogether there
was no lack of work to be performed. The prisoners were required to work
under guard, and the worst of them were ornamented with ball and chain,
like the occupants of many a prison in different parts of the world.
They were treated just as rigorously as they had been on board the ships
that brought them out. Their lodgings were somewhat more spacious, but
by no stretch of fancy could they be called luxurious. The supply of
food in the colony was not large, and the fare of the prisoners was
scanty.

"Free emigration to Australia began a few years after the convict
emigration, and most of the free emigrants came here with the view to
employ the convicts under contracts with the government. They were
principally men of capital, and the most of them established farms or
factories near Sydney and entered into agreements with the government
to supply them with labor. Where they were close to the city, the
convicts were sent out to their work in the morning and returned to
prison at night; but where the distance from the city was considerable,
other plans had to be followed. Sometimes soldiers were detailed to
guard the convicts at their working places, and in others the employer
himself supplied the guard. The convicts were also made to understand
very clearly that if they ran away they would be caught and severely
punished.

"I should think they would run away in spite of all these threats,
especially where their sentences were for long terms," Harry remarked.

"It was not so easy as it may seem for anybody to escape," said the
doctor. "A man could not stay around the colony more than a day or two,
or a few days at the farthest, without being discovered, and when found
he was sure to be severely flogged, put on bread and water, and shut up
in a dark cell. If he escaped into the bush, he was pretty certain to
starve to death unless found by the natives, in which case he was
generally murdered. Many a convict ran away to the bush and was never
heard of. Others remained there until starvation forced them to come in
and give themselves up."

"Did the free settlers increase as fast as the convicts?"

"Yes, they increased faster as the word went out through the British
Islands that Australia offered great possibilities for emigrants. For
twenty years the military and convicts were more numerous than the free
settlers; but by the end of thirty years the latter were in the
ascendency. In the year 1830, there were twenty-seven thousand convicts
in the colony, and forty-nine thousand others.

"By 'others' I don't mean other settlers, altogether, though I do
mean free people. By that time a good many convicts had served out
their sentences and become free. They were known as 'emancipists,'
and consequently there were three kinds of people in the
colony,--emancipists, convicts, and free settlers. The free settlers
would not associate with the emancipists, and they in turn would not
associate with the convicts. The free settlers wanted the emancipists to
be deprived of all civil rights and kept practically in the same
position as the convicts. The officers of the government used to take
the side of the emancipists, and there were many bitter quarrels between
them and the free settlers in consequence."

Here the doctor paused for a moment, and then asked:--

"Did you ever read about the mutiny of the _Bounty_?"

"Oh, yes," replied Harry; "I read about it two or three years ago. The
crew of the ship _Bounty_ mutinied, and put the captain and others in an
open boat to take care of themselves the best way they could. The
_Bounty_ then cruised about the Pacific for awhile, and finally went to
Pitcairn's Island, where the mutineers landed and destroyed the ship.
Their fate was not known until nearly thirty years afterwards, when an
American ship touched at the island, and found it peopled by the
descendants of the mutineers, who had taken some women from Tahiti to
become their wives. Only one of those concerned in the mutiny was then
alive. The captain and his companions in the open boat made a voyage of
four thousand miles, enduring great hardships, and eventually reached
the Dutch settlements in the island of Timor."

"A very good account for a brief one," said the doctor. "Do you remember
the name of the _Bounty's_ commander?"

"Yes," replied Harry. "I believe it was Bligh; in fact, I am sure of
it."

"Well, that same Captain Bligh was one of the early governors of New
South Wales, as the colony was then called. He caused the mutiny on the
_Bounty_ by want of tact and by undue severity, and the same spirit that
he showed on the deck of his ship caused a rebellion in New South Wales.
Of course, the convicts had no influence or part in the rebellion, but
the free settlers were very active in it, and so were a good many of the
officers. Bligh caused himself to be thoroughly disliked by interfering
with local trade, and also by his very intemperate talk concerning free
settlers and emancipists. He was deposed and sent to England, while a
temporary governor was installed in his place. To a certain extent he
triumphed over his enemies, as the officers who had taken part in the
rebellion were either reprimanded or dismissed. Governor Bligh came back
with the authority to assume the position of governor for just one
hour."

"Not a very long term for a man to be governor," Ned remarked.

"No, not by any means," was the reply; "but there was a technical
advantage in it which was very important. The governor did a great deal
in that one hour. He removed a good many officers and appointed new
ones in their places, and he made several changes in the administration
of the colony which were more or less embarrassing to his successor.

"Governor Bligh was succeeded by Governor Macquarie. The quarrel between
the free settlers and the emancipists continued during Macquarie's
administration. The governor took the side of the emancipists, and at
one time there was a good prospect of another rebellion; but, happily,
the new chief of the colony possessed more tact than his predecessor,
and no rebellion was ever brought about. Governor Macquarie relaxed some
of the severity with which the convicts had been treated, and this,
together with his favoring the emancipists, gave him the title of the
'Prisoners' Friend.'

"As time went on, the number of free settlers in the colony increased,
and so did the number of farms in the vicinity of Sydney. As I have
already told you, the convicts were hired out to work on the farms. Of
course a good many of them ran away, and then some of them got into the
bush, where they remained for various periods, but the majority of them
were caught and brought back within a few days. Dogs were used in
pursuing them, and several kennels of dogs were kept at the prisons for
the purpose of hunting out runaways. Some of the prisoners' beliefs in
regard to the country were very amusing. The idea got into the heads of
many that, by traveling overland for a few days, they would reach China,
and quite a number of them tried to do so. One man wandered for a month
around the bush country, until finally, driven by hunger, he ventured
to approach a house. There he saw a fellow-prisoner whom he knew, and
asked him how long he had been in China. He was very much surprised on
learning that he was not in China at all, but on a farm a few miles from
Sydney. While he was talking with the friend two soldiers happened along
and took him in charge, and then carried him back to the prison, where
he received the customary punishment.

"In 1798 a good many Irishmen who had been concerned in the Irish
rebellion of that year were transported to Australia. They saw in the
mountains back of Sydney a close resemblance to the mountains of
Connaught, in their native country, and fancied that if they could cross
those mountains they would find themselves at home. Quite a number of
them ran away in consequence, but were doomed to disappointment. One man
on the voyage out to Australia had given a good deal of time to studying
the motions of the ship's compass, and he imagined that if he could only
get something of the kind he would be all right and could safely guide
himself through the forests of Australia. He watched his chance and
stole a book on navigation. One leaf of the book had a picture of a
mariner's compass. He tore out this leaf, and, thus equipped, took the
first opportunity of running away.

"Speaking of these Irish rebels reminds me of something I must tell you.
They were convicted of treason, either for taking an active part in the
rebellion or sympathizing with it, and for this crime they were sent as
convicts to the other side of the world. No distinction was made between
political and criminal offenders, and the man who had loved his country
and tried to set her free treated with the same severity as the house
breaker and highwayman.

"A great many men were sent to Australia for the crime of poaching. Many
a man was condemned to seven, ten, and fifteen years' exile at hard
labor because he had taken a trout out of a brook, or snared a
partridge. Offenses that in these times would only result in a fine were
then punished with great severity, and a considerable number of the
convicts sent to Australia in the first thirty years of the prevalence
of the system were men whose offenses had really been very light. It was
for this reason that Governor Macquarie and other high officials took
the position that they did in favor of the emancipists. They contended
that a man whose offense had been of a trivial sort, and who had shown
himself to be honest and industrious, ought to receive a helping hand,
instead of being placed under the ban."

"I quite agree with them," said Harry; "and I wonder that the free
settlers were so severe against them."

"But you must bear in mind," the doctor answered, "that the term
'convict' is always odious, no matter under what circumstances it may
have been obtained. It was not easy at all times for the free settlers
to make a distinction among emancipists, and so they came to a quick
conclusion by denouncing all. However, that state of society has all
passed away; convicts, emancipists, and free settlers of the first
quarter of this century are all dead and gone now, with, possibly, a few
exceptions. Time has healed the breach, and this subject is very little
talked of at the present day."

"How about the descendants of the early colonists?" Ned inquired. "Do
the sins of the fathers descend upon the children, or are they all
forgotten?"

"As to that," said the doctor, "I must give you a little explanation. It
is not considered polite in Australia to ask a man born in the country
who his father was, or how he happened to emigrate from England. That is
a subject that is ignored in polite society, and, in fact, in society of
all kinds. In political life, a man may abuse his opponent as much as he
pleases in all ways, except that should he venture in the anger of
debate to intimate that his opponent's father came to Australia as an
involuntary emigrant, he renders himself liable to heavy damages. I can
tell you of a case in point.

"A prominent official in the government of Victoria is known to be the
son of a man who was transported for catching a pheasant. It is an open
secret; in fact, one could hardly say that it was a secret at all, as
every man who has any knowledge of public life is well aware of it. Once
while this man was running for office, his opponent, in a fierce debate
before a public meeting, mentioned the circumstance, whereupon the other
brought suit, and was awarded damages to the extent of fifty thousand
dollars. It is probable that the unlucky defendant of the suit has been
more careful in the use of his tongue ever since.

"One of the convicts that escaped," continued the doctor, "had a most
remarkable experience. He wandered off into the bush or forests, and
kept traveling until the small amount of provisions he carried was
exhausted. Then for two or three days he lived upon roots and leaves
and on a bird that he killed with a club.

"One day, while he was dragging himself along, he came to a mound of
earth, which had been freshly heaped up. Standing in this mound there
was a stick, and to help himself along he took possession of the stick,
which was like a long walking-cane. He observed, as he took possession
of it, that it seemed to have been used before, but he proceeded on his
way and thought no more about the matter.

"After dragging himself along for half a mile or more, he suddenly came
upon a little encampment of native blacks or aborigines. They raised a
shout as they saw him and made a rush in his direction, brandishing
their spears and other weapons, and showing signs of hostility.

"The poor fellow thought his last hour had come, as he had heard that
the blacks murdered every white man they came across. What was his
surprise when they suddenly lowered their weapons and changed their
demonstrations of hostility to those of respect! They gathered about him
in the most friendly manner imaginable, and tried to talk with him, but
he could not understand a word. They threw up a shelter for him larger
than any other shelter in the encampment, and installed him there, and
they treated him as though he were a princely ambassador. They brought
him food, which he ate ravenously, and they continued to place their
greatest delicacies before him until his appetite was fully satisfied.

"Well, he remained among them for years, and as he was a man of fair
intelligence, he soon learned their language. It did not take him long
to comprehend that he was treated as the chief of the tribe, and had
been regarded as such from the very beginning. And what do you suppose
brought it about?"

"I'm sure I can't tell," said both of the youths in a breath.

"It came about in this way," explained the doctor. "The Australian
blacks believe, or, at any rate, many of the tribes do, that the white
man is nothing more nor less than a resurrected black man. Those of them
who speak English express it in these words: 'Tumble down, black fellow;
jump up, white fellow.'

"It so happened that the tribe which he joined had just buried its
chief, and when they bury one of their dead they heap a mound of earth
above the spot, and upon the top of the mound some implement or weapon
belonging to the deceased. In this case they had stuck the old chief's
walking-staff in the top of the mound, and it was this very staff that
the white man took from the mound where the chief was buried, to help
him along on his way. When the blacks saw the man approaching they
proceeded to kill him after their custom, but as he came near and they
saw that he carried the staff of their chief, they at once concluded
that the chief had come to life again in the shape of the white fellow.
That is why they showed him so many honors and made him chief of their
tribe. It was in their minds a clear case of 'tumble down, black fellow;
jump up, white fellow.'"

"I suppose he was quite contented to stay with them, and not return to
Sydney and its punishments?" remarked one of the youths.

"Yes, indeed he was. For years rumors came to Sydney from time to time,
that there was a white man living in one of the aboriginal tribes as
their chief. Word was sent him several times by means of the blacks,
giving the governor's promise that he would not be molested if he would
come to Sydney and tell his story, but he was suspicious, and for a long
time refused to come. Finally an officer of the government went out, and
with a great deal of difficulty succeeded in having an interview with
him. He received the most solemn assurance that he would not be
interfered with, and finally said that if a full pardon were sent to
him, he would come. A full pardon was accordingly forwarded and he
ventured to Sydney, where he received a good deal of attention. His
story was taken down from his own lips, and afterward published in a
book. After a few months he became dissatisfied with civilization and
returned to his wanderings."

"That is a curious idea of the blacks, that they become white after
their death," Ned remarked.

"Yes, it is curious," said the doctor, "and they carry it out in forming
attachments for the white people who employed them. At a station where
quite a number of blacks were employed, one of the eldest of the women
used to say to the foreman of the place: 'You are my son, I your moder,
and I take care of you. My big boy tumble down, you white boy tumble up.
You my piccanniny.' After a time the man got married and brought his
wife to his home. The next day another woman of the tribe adopted and
laid claim to her as her child. The two women became very fond of each
other, and when, in the course of time, the black woman died, the white
one mourned exceedingly for her."

"We will have an opportunity to see some of the aboriginals while we are
in the country, and then we will learn more about them," continued the
doctor; "but of one thing let me remind you, do not speak of them as
'natives.' In Australia, the term 'native' is applied to a white person
born in this country, while the real natives, as we ourselves would
speak of them, are termed 'blacks' or 'aborigines.'"

The youths promised to bear the advice in mind, and then Harry asked how
the discontinuance of convict emigration was brought about.

"It was brought about," the doctor replied, "through the hostility of
the Australians themselves. They protested repeatedly against receiving
convicts, and their protests were heeded to the extent that for awhile
the emigration ceased; but one day a ship appeared in the harbor of
Sydney with a fresh batch of convicts. Thereupon the local authorities
took vigorous action, and refused to allow the convicts to be landed.
The ship then went to Melbourne, with the same result. The people of
Melbourne would not have the undesirable emigrants, and the captain was
obliged to go around the southern coast to West Australia, where no
opposition was made to the human cargo being put on shore. Convict
emigration to New South Wales and Victoria ceased about 1840, and to
Tasmania in 1853, but it was continued to West Australia until 1858.
Since that time it has been entirely given up by the British government,
and the class of people that used to be sent here is now taken care of
in British prisons at home.

"The old idea about transportation of criminals was, that it rendered
society at home better by removing the criminal class. In practise this
theory was found to be a mistaken one. Thievery and similar crimes were
found to be trades, and as fast as criminals were transported others
came up to take their places, so that, practically, no matter how many
criminals were sent away, their places were soon filled and the business
went on as before. France began the practise about the middle of this
century of transporting criminals to New Caledonia and other islands of
the Pacific; she still keeps it up, but, according to accounts, there is
no diminution of crime in France, nor is there likely to be.

"It is proper to say in this connection that there was a considerable
party in Australia in favor of the transportation system, on account of
the money the government expended here in consequence. This was
particularly the case in Van Dieman's Land, which is now called
Tasmania. That island received a great number of convicts, and the
government expended a very large amount of money for their support and
for the construction of prison establishments. Many of the public works
of Tasmania were built by the convicts. For example, they built an
excellent road one hundred and twenty miles long, running across the
island from Hobart to Launceston. It is said to be the finest wagon and
carriage road in all the country, but is now comparatively little used,
having been superseded by a railway.

"The ruins of a very extensive prison are still to be seen at Port
Arthur, about thirteen miles from Hobart; it stands on a peninsula
which is connected with the mainland by a very narrow neck. Across this
neck of land there were chained a lot of savage dogs, so near each other
that nobody could pass without being within reach of at least one of the
dogs. The water all around the peninsula abounded in sharks, so that if
a man attempted to swim across the bay he was liable to become the prey
of one, or perhaps a dozen, of these sea wolves. And yet a good many
men, first and last, managed to escape from Port Arthur and get into the
bush.

"Generally the runaways were caught before being at large many days, and
when brought back many of them were condemned to death. At one time the
keeper who had charge of the prisons at Hobart complained to the
authorities of the inadequate facilities for putting men to death by
hanging. He said it was impossible to hang conveniently more than
thirteen men at once, and as the hangman had been very busy of late, he
thought that the facilities ought to be increased so that the work could
be performed with greater expedition."

Dr. Whitney reminded his young friends that it was time for them to
start if they wished to employ the forenoon advantageously; accordingly,
a carriage was called and the party went out for a drive. They proceeded
in the direction of the lake, a pretty sheet of water in the northern
part of Adelaide--about two miles long and in some places half a mile
wide. The lake is an artificial one, and is formed by throwing a dam
across the river Torrens and restraining the waters which come down in
times of flood. For the greater part of the year the river is little
more than a dry bed of sand, and one of the inhabitants told Harry that
sprinkling-carts were driven through the bed of the river every morning
and evening to keep down the dust. The city is supplied with water from
this river; it is taken from a stream several miles above Adelaide, and
brought through heavy iron pipes.

Harry wished to know the population of the city, and was told that it
was not far from sixty thousand. There is a considerable suburban
population, and the man from whom Harry obtained his information said he
thought there was fully another sixty thousand people living within a
radius of ten miles from City Hall. He said the whole population of the
colony of South Australia was not far from one hundred and thirty
thousand including about five thousand aboriginals.

When the country was first settled it was thought that the aboriginals
numbered twelve or fourteen thousand, but contact with civilization had
reduced the figures very materially here, as in other parts of the
world. Where white men and aboriginals have come in contact, the latter
have suffered all over Australia; their relations have not changed in
New Zealand and Tasmania, and this is especially the case in the
last-named colony. Not a single aboriginal Tasmanian is now alive, the
last one having died in 1876. When the island was first occupied by the
English, the number of aboriginals was estimated at four or five
thousand. The story goes that when the British landed there the natives
made signs of peace, but the officer who was in charge of the landing
thought the signals were hostile instead of friendly. He ordered the
soldiers to fire upon the blacks, and thus began a war which lasted for
several years, and when it terminated only a few hundreds of the blacks
remained alive. In 1854, there were only fifteen of them left, and the
number gradually diminished, until the last one died as related.




CHAPTER V.

ACROSS AUSTRALIA--TALLEST TREES IN THE WORLD.


Our friends were invited to visit a large wheat farm twenty or thirty
miles north of Adelaide, and accepted the invitation with great
pleasure. Leaving the city early in the morning, the railway train took
them to a station a few miles from the farm, and there the owner met
them in his carriage. After a substantial breakfast at the owner's
residence, they were driven to the field, or, rather, to one of the
fields, where the work of harvesting was going on.

It roused their national pride somewhat to find that American
reaping-machines were in use on the farm, and they also learned that the
plowing was done with American plows. The field stretched out to an
almost limitless extent, and it needed very little play of the
imagination for the youths to believe that they were on one of their own
western prairies instead of being at the antipodes.

The farm seemed to be managed in a most systematic manner, and before
they departed the owner showed them a copy of the rules which the men
were required to sign when they were engaged. Before signing, the rules
were read to them line by line, and sentence by sentence, and each man
acknowledged that he had a full understanding of the documents to which
he affixed his signature.

Perhaps it may interest our readers to know something about these
rules. Sixty men are employed on a farm throughout the whole year, and
in the busy season three times that number are engaged. Here is the
substance of the rules:--

"The bell rings at five o'clock in the morning, and this is the signal
for everybody to get up. Horses are groomed and fed before six o'clock,
and at that hour the men are served with breakfast. At seven o'clock the
teams are harnessed, and teams and men go to the field. At noon one hour
is allowed for rest and dinner, and then work goes on until five o'clock
in winter and six o'clock in summer. Then the teams return to the
stables, and the men get their suppers at seven o'clock. The horses are
fed and watered at eight o'clock, and by ten o'clock everybody must be
in bed."

First-class hands on these farms receive twenty shillings ($5) per week,
and employees of other grades are paid in proportion. One clause in the
rules says that any man in charge of horses who abuses them or neglects
to care for them properly will be discharged at once, and forfeit all
wages that may be due him. Penalties are stated for every sort of
offense, all of them being in the shape of fines or loss of situation,
or both. Every laborer who begins in a low position is promised an
advance in pay and place as a reward of his industry and good conduct.

"There are a good many farms of this sort in South Australia," said Ned
in his journal, "and we are sorry that time prevents our visiting all
those that we have been invited to see; but our regret is modified by
the recollection that one farm is very largely a repetition of another
farm, and so we accept the situation and say nothing more about it.
South Australia is a great wheat-growing country, and ships an immense
quantity of wheat to England. In good years it produces fully fifteen
millions of bushels for export, in addition to the quantity required for
home consumption.

"Next in importance to the wheat crop in South Australia is the crop of
wool. There are nearly seven millions of sheep in the colony, and
between the wool and bread-stuffs, the income to the country is very
considerable. We now understand the uses of the immense sheds, and the
grain elevators that we saw when we landed at Port Adelaide. Large as
they are, the capacities of these places of storage must be taxed to
their utmost in busy times.

"They have given considerable attention to the cultivation of the grape.
Grapes, apricots, peaches, and other fruits grow in great abundance, so
much so that in the fruit season they are retailed in the market of
Adelaide at a penny a pound, and all of them are delicious. Quite an
industry is being developed in canning fruits for exportation, and it
will probably increase gradually as the years go on."

Our friends were invited to make a journey on the line of the Great
Northern Railway, which is ultimately intended to reach the northern
coast of Australia. The distance across Australia, from north to south,
is about seventeen hundred miles; about four hundred miles of the line
are completed, leaving thirteen hundred miles yet to be built. It will
cost a great deal of money to finish the railway, but the people are
ambitious, and will probably accomplish it in the course of time.

They already have a telegraph line, running for the greater part of the
way through a very desolate region. For hundreds of miles there are no
white people, except the operators and repairers at the stations, and in
many places it is unlikely that there will ever be any inhabitants, as
the country is a treeless waste, and, at some of the stations, water has
to be brought from a considerable distance. Artesian wells have been
bored at many of the stations; at some of them successfully, while at
others it was impossible to find water.

The railway official who invited our friends to make the journey, told
them that he was connected with the telegraph company at the time of its
construction, and he gave an interesting account of some of the
difficulties they encountered.

"The desert character of the country," said the gentleman, "caused us a
great deal of inconvenience. We were obliged to haul or carry provisions
and material for long distances. Where it was practicable to use wagons
we used them, but where we could not do so we employed camels. Camels
were introduced into Australia forty or fifty years ago, and they have
been a great deal of use to us in parts of the country where water is
scarce. The conditions of Northern and Central Australia very much
resemble those of the regions of Northern Africa, where the camel had
its origin, or, at all events, where it abounds to-day in greatest
numbers. Had it not been for the 'Ship of the Desert,' it is possible
that we might not have been able to build the telegraph line across
Australia. The camel is so highly appreciated here that the government
has established several breeding stations for those ungainly creatures,
and their number is increasing every year.

"You know already about the scarcity of water in the desert region.
Springs are few and far between, and rain is of rare occurrence. It was
frequently necessary to carry water thirty or forty miles, and on
account of the great heat it was impossible to carry it in skins or in
wooden cases, owing to the rapid evaporation. Cases or cans of
galvanized iron proved to be the best receptacles for water, so far as
evaporation was concerned, but they have the disadvantage of becoming
cracked and leaky in the rough treatment to which they are subjected.

"Poles for the telegraph had to be hauled a long distance for a large
part of the way. Iron poles are generally used, owing to an insect that
destroys wood with great rapidity. I wonder if you have yet seen any of
the ravages of this little creature?"

This last remark was made in the form of an interrogation, to which
Harry responded that he had not yet observed anything of the kind, nor
had his attention been called to it. Ned remarked that he had been told
of the destructiveness of this worm, but had not yet seen anything of
its work.

"If you had seen it you would remember it," said the gentleman. "The
worm abounds more in the country districts than in the city, and it does
not seem to get so much into the city houses as it does into those of
the rural districts. Suppose you settle in South Australia, and build
yourself a house or buy one already built, and proceed to take your
comfort. Some day when you are sitting in your parlor you suddenly feel
a leg of your chair going through the floor, and down you go with a
crash. Somebody runs to your assistance, and the additional strain put
upon the floor causes the break to increase, and, together with the
person who has come to your aid, you go down in a heap through a yawning
chasm in the floor, no matter whether your room is carpeted or not. If
it is the former, the ravages of the worm have been quite concealed by
the carpet; while in the latter case the surface of the wood presents
the same appearance, while the whole interior of the plank or board has
been turned to dust. This sort of thing has happened in many an
Australian house, and will doubtless continue to happen."

Harry asked if there was any way of preventing the ravages of this
destroyer.

His informant replied that there were two or three kinds of wood which
these insects would not touch. Unfortunately, however, they were higher
priced than ordinary wood, and consequently the temptation was to use
the cheaper article. Houses could also be built of cement, brick, or
other substances which defied the wood worm, but these, again, were
expensive and could not be afforded by newly arrived emigrants, whose
capital was generally very limited.

"Returning to the subject of the telegraph," the gentleman continued,
"we found a great deal of trouble with the insects destructive to wood,
and then, too, we had considerable difficulty with the blacks, though
less than we had anticipated. We managed to inspire them with a very
wholesome fear of the mysterious fluid that passed through the wires,
and though they have burned stations, and killed or wounded quite a
number of our people, they have never meddled with the wires."

"How did you manage to inspire them with such fear?" queried Harry.

"We did it in this way," was the reply. "Whenever a native visited us,
we managed to give him a shock of electricity, and if we could shock an
entire group at once it was so much the better. On several occasions we
got two or more of their chiefs at stations hundreds of miles apart, and
then let them talk with each other over the wires. Where they were well
acquainted, they were able to carry on conversations which none but
themselves could understand. Then we would have them meet half way
between the stations and compare notes, and the result was something
that greatly astonished them. Savage people generally attribute to the
devil anything they cannot understand, and they very quickly concluded
that 'His Satanic Majesty' was at the bottom of the whole business and
it would be well for them to let it carefully alone.

"An amusing thing happened one day when we were putting up a portion of
the line. There was a crowd of native blacks watching us, and the
principal man among them walked for an hour or two along the line,
making a critical examination of the posts and wires and pacing the
distance between the posts.

"When he had evidently made up his mind as to the situation he walked up
to the foreman of the working party and said, with an accent of
insolence:--

"'My think white fellow one big fool.'

"When the foreman tried to find out his reason for expressing contempt
in that way, he pointed to the telegraph line and said:--

"'That piece of fence never stop cattle.'

"Before the foreman could explain what the supposed thing was intended
for, he walked off with his nose very much in the air and never came
near the telegraph line again, as far as we know."

After a short laugh over the incident, one of the youths asked how far
apart the stations were.

"The distances vary considerably according to circumstances," said their
informant. "In some places they are within thirty or forty miles of each
other, and there are portions of the line where they are one hundred
miles apart. There are two operators and two repairers at each station.
These are all white men, and some of them have their families with them.
In addition to the white residents at the station, there are all the way
from two or three to eight or ten blacks. The blacks in our service are
generally faithful, and we put a great deal of dependence upon them.
Sometimes they are treacherous, but not often, as treachery is not a
part of their nature.

"I was making a tour of inspection of the line shortly after it was
completed, and happened to be at one of the stations at a time when the
blacks were threatening trouble. One of the operators, Mr. Britton, was
accompanied by his wife. Her husband wanted her to go to a place of
greater safety, but she refused, and said she would stand by his side.
She was a good shot with the revolver, and promised that in case of
trouble she would put her abilities to a practical test.

"The blacks came about the station to beg, and also to ascertain the
strength of the company, and one evening word came that they were going
to have a corroboree in a little patch of forest near the station.
Perhaps you don't know what a corroboree is."

Both of the youths shook their heads and acknowledged their ignorance.

"Well, it is a wild sort of dance, something like the dances among your
American Indians, with local variations to suit the climate and people.
The dancing is done by the men, who get themselves up in the most
fantastic manner imaginable with paint of various colors. They daub
their faces with pigments in streaks and patches, and trace their ribs
with white paint, so that they look more like walking skeletons than
like human beings. Generally at one of these dances they wear strips of
skin around their waists, and ornament their heads with feathers.

"I said that the dancing was done by the men, though this is not
absolutely the rule, as there are certain dances in which the women take
part, though not a very conspicuous one. Generally the dances are by the
people of one tribe, though there are a few in which several tribes take
part. As a usual thing, however, this kind of a dance ends in a fight,
as the dancers work themselves up to a condition of frenzy, and if there
is any ill feeling among them it is sure to crop out.

"The dances in the neighborhood of the telegraph station to which I
referred included men of several tribes, and we knew that mischief
would be likely to come of it. Two of our black fellows went as near to
the scene of the dance as they dared go, and from time to time brought
us particulars of the proceedings.

"We got revolvers and rifles ready, Mrs. Britton taking possession of
one of the revolvers, and loading it very carefully. All along during
the evening we could hear the yelling of the natives at their dance, but
an hour or so before midnight the noise diminished, and one of our black
fellows came in to tell us that they were preparing to attack the
station.

"The principal building of the station was a block house built for
defense against the blacks, and strong enough to resist any of their
weapons; but, of course, they would be able to overpower us by
surrounding the place and starving us out, though we had little fear of
that. The great danger was that they would come upon us in great
numbers, and as we were not sufficiently numerous to defend all parts of
the building at once, they could set it on fire and thus compel us to
come out and be slaughtered.

"The warning brought by our black fellow proved to be correct. The men
who had been engaged in the dance had left the scene of their
jollification and moved in the direction of the station. We could hear
their voices as they approached, and it was much to our advantage that
the moon was of sufficient size to give a fairly good light. The station
was in such a position that no one could approach it without being seen.

"In a little while we saw in the moonlight a mass of dark figures
crossing the open space to the south, and, judging by the ground they
covered, there were at least a hundred of them. They advanced quietly
about half way across the clearing and then broke into a run, while they
filled the air with yells. In a few moments they were all around the
building, and quite a number of them threw their spears at it--a very
foolish procedure, as the weapons could do no harm whatever to the thick
sides of the structure. It was our policy not to take life or even to
shed blood if we could possibly avoid it, as we were anxious to be on
friendly terms with the black people along our line. I had been thinking
the matter over in the evening, and suddenly hit upon a scheme that I
thought would save us from injuring anybody, and at the same time give
our assailants a thorough scare.

"There happened to be in the station a package of rockets, which had
been brought along for signaling purposes during the work of
construction. Just as the crowd of blacks reached the station, I asked
Mr. Britton, the chief operator, to bring me one of the rockets.

"He complied with my request, and I fixed the missile so that it would
go just above the heads of the crowd of yelling blacks. Then I touched a
match to the fuse, and away sailed the rocket through the night air.

"Not one of those aboriginals had ever seen anything of the kind before.
They started not upon the order of their going, but went as though
pursued by wild tigers or guilty consciences. They could not have been
more astonished if the moon had dropped down and exploded among them.
They gave just one yell, and it was five times as loud as any yell they
had previously given.

"In less than two minutes from the time the rocket was fired, there was
not a hostile black man around the station. Our own black fellows had
been trembling with fear, as they knew that, in case of capture, they
would share whatever fate was in store for us, the wild blacks being
greatly prejudiced against any one of their number who takes service
with the whites. The crowd fled in the direction of the scene of their
corroboree, but they did not stop there. We learned the next day that
they ran three or four miles before coming to a halt.

"We saved the station and ourselves without shedding a drop of blood.
The story was told by the blacks far and wide that we 'shot a star at
them.' This gave us a hint on which we acted, and we took pains to
circulate the report that we had power to bring all the heavenly bodies
to our aid whenever we needed them. Several times we offered to chief of
the tribe to bring down the moon, or any of the stars that he might
designate, but for fear that he would take us at our word, we always
said that we would not be responsible for the consequences. In view of
these circumstances, he invariably asked us to leave the denizens of the
heavens alone.

"All the attacks on our stations have not been as bloodless as the one I
have just described," the gentleman continued. "Three or four years
after the line was opened the blacks attacked a station about one
thousand miles north of Adelaide. One of the operators, Mr. Stapleton,
was mortally wounded, and so was one of the line repairers. Both the
other white men at the station were slightly wounded, and one of the
blacks in our service was killed. The attack lasted only a short time,
and the assailants were driven away by the well-directed fire of the
people at the station.

"The mortally wounded operator, Mr. Stapleton, was placed on a couch,
while the other operator was telegraphing the news of the occurrence to
Adelaide. A doctor was called to the telegraph office in the city, and
on learning the nature of the wound he pronounced it mortal. Mr.
Stapleton's wife was a telegraph operator, and was then employed in the
station at Adelaide. A telegraph instrument was placed at the bedside of
the dying man, and connected with the instrument on his wife's desk. The
two exchanged loving messages for a few minutes, and then the husband
with his last efforts telegraphed an eternal good-by to his wife,
dropped the instrument from his hand, and fell back dead. I was in the
office at Adelaide at the time of this occurrence, and was one of those
in the room where Mrs. Stapleton sat. Nearly all of those present were
experienced operators, and could understand the clicking of the
instrument. Every eye was filled with tears, and every heart was full of
sympathy for the woman who had been so tragically widowed. As she
received the final message of farewell she fell from her chair in a dead
faint, from which she did not recover for hours."

As the foregoing story was narrated to our young friends, their eyes,
too, were moist, and so were those of Dr. Whitney, who was sitting close
by them. Silence prevailed for several minutes, and then the
conversation turned to other subjects.

The gentleman explained that the northern terminus of the telegraph
line was at Port Darwin, where connection was made with the telegraph
cable to Singapore, and thence to Europe. "I suppose, in time," said he,
"there will be other telegraph connections, but for the present this is
the only one that Australia has with the rest of the world. Undoubtedly
we shall one day have a cable to the United States, and that will
certainly greatly facilitate commerce. At present, telegrams coming from
your country to this must come by a very roundabout journey."

Harry asked what course a telegram would be obliged to take in coming
from San Francisco to Adelaide.

"Let me see," said the gentleman; "in the first place, it would be
telegraphed overland from San Francisco to New York, and then it would
go under the Atlantic Ocean through one of the transatlantic cables, and
then there would be two or three routes by which it could be sent. It
could go by submarine cable to the Straits of Gibraltar, thence under
the Mediterranean and Red Seas, and the Indian Ocean to Bombay, or it
could cross Europe by one of the land lines, and then go through Russia
and Persia to the north of India, reaching Bombay by the land route.
From Bombay it would be telegraphed across India to Madras, and thence
by submarine cable to Singapore, and from Singapore it would be sent by
cable to Port Darwin, and thence by the Australian overland line to
Adelaide. The message would be repeated six or seven times in the course
of its journey, and the fact that so few mistakes are made in the
numerous repetitions, many of them by people having an imperfect
knowledge of English, speaks volumes in praise of the telegraph system."

Both of our young friends heartily indorsed this remark, and agreed with
their informant that the telegraph certainly performed excellent work.

Our friends made the journey along the line of railway to which they had
been invited. They found it interesting though not altogether free from
monotony, as there was an excessive amount of sameness in the country
through which they traveled. They passed through a range of low
mountains which were not sufficiently broken to be picturesque. They
crossed several dry or slightly moistened beds of rivers, where
indications were clearly visible that in times of heavy rains these dry
beds or insignificant streams were turned to floods. Here and there the
line crossed immense sheep farms and also great wheatfields, but there
were wide stretches of land which seemed to have no occupants whatever.
Most of the country was open and free from trees. Then there were other
parts where the line passed for miles and miles through "scrub," and at
irregular intervals they came upon patches and stretches of Australian
forest.

Harry noted that the forests through which they passed had very little
undergrowth, so that it was easy to ride in any direction among the
trees. Most of the trees that they saw were eucalypti, of which there
are many varieties. The eucalyptus is by far the most common tree of
Australia, and the best known variety is the one that is called "the
blue gum." It is said that fevers do not prevail where the eucalyptus
grows, and this theory seems to be developed into a well-established
fact. Decoctions and other extracts are made from the leaves, bark,
wood, and gum of the eucalyptus and are given to fever patients with
more or less success. The eucalyptus has been taken to foreign
countries, and where the climatic conditions are suitable it has
flourished and established itself. The French government introduced it
into Algeria and planted it at military stations, where the soldiers had
suffered much from malaria. At all those stations the malaria was long
ago driven away by the trees, and places that were once unhealthy are
now renowned for their salubrity.

The youths observed that most of the eucalyptus trees were tall and
slender. The gentleman who accompanied them said that their trunks were
often found with a diameter of ten to twelve feet, and some had been
measured that were sixteen feet in diameter at a distance of ten feet
from the ground. The trees grow very rapidly, and their timber when
green is soft, so that they can be felled, split, and sawed very easily,
but when dry it becomes very hard. It is a very useful wood, as it is
adapted for many purposes. The bark contains a great deal of tannin, and
it has become to some extent an article of commerce.

The leaves of the eucalyptus have a leathery appearance and generally
stand in a vertical position, so that one side receives as much light as
the other. A valuable aromatic oil is extracted from the leaves, and is
used for medicinal and other purposes. It is said to be very
objectionable to mosquitoes, and Harry was told that if he scattered a
few drops of eucalyptus oil on his pillow at night, he would not be
troubled with mosquitoes, even though there might be many of them in the
room. He promised to try the experiment at the first opportunity.

Ned asked what variety of the eucalyptus was the tallest, and how tall
the highest tree of Australia was.

"The giant gum, _Eucalyptus amygdalina_, is said to be the tallest tree
in the world," the gentleman replied. "I am not sure whether it is
really so or not, as you have some very tall trees in the United States,
and there are also some of great height in the valley of the Amazon
River. I have heard of giant gum trees five hundred feet high, but their
location has always been given very vaguely, and nobody knew by whom
they had been measured. There is one giant gum tree on Mount Baw-Baw, in
Gippsland, that has been officially measured by a surveyor and found to
be four hundred and seventy-one feet high. What its diameter is at the
base I am unable to say, but probably it is not less than fifteen or
sixteen feet. New forests and new groups of trees are being discovered
from time to time, and perhaps we will one day find a tree more than
five hundred feet high.

"I will add," said their informant, "that the giant gum is also called
the 'silver stem,' because when it sheds its bark every year the new
surface of the tree, when the old one has come off, is as white as
silver. A group of these trees is a very pretty sight, as the trunks are
perfectly round, and very often the lowest limbs are fully two hundred
feet from the ground."




CHAPTER VI.

AUSTRALIAN BLACKS--THROWING THE BOOMERANG.


"Those giant gums are not easy to climb," Ned remarked, as the gentleman
paused.

"Not by any means," was the reply; "at least, not for a white man, but
the black fellow will climb one of them, or any other tree, with very
little trouble."

"Why, how does he do it?"

"He cuts notches in the trunk of the tree where he can place his feet,
and he goes on cutting notch after notch as he ascends, making a broad
spiral around the tree until he reaches the limbs. Sometimes he passes a
piece of rope, made out of twisted bark, around the body of the tree to
steady himself, but he is just as likely to take no rope along, and
trust entirely to keeping his balance with his feet in the notches."

"Those black fellows are very accomplished in their way," remarked one
of the youths.

"They are, indeed," was the reply; "and they do certain things that no
white man can ever do. For example, a black fellow employed on a cattle
estate will ride at full gallop and follow the track of a runaway cow or
steer without making a single mistake. A white man would be obliged to
go at a walk, or a very little better, and quite frequently would find
it necessary to dismount and examine the ground carefully. The black
fellows are fully equal to your American Indians in following a trail;
they can track men almost as well as bloodhounds can. In parts of
Australia we have a police force of blacks, and they perform splendid
service in hunting highwaymen and others who have committed crimes and
fled into the bush for concealment and safety."

Harry asked if the blacks were honest in their dealings with white
people.

"I regret to say that their reputation is not by any means the best in
the world," was the reply. "Like savages everywhere when brought into
contact with civilization, they seem to adopt its vices and reject its
virtues. They are generally faithful to those by whom they are employed,
and in this respect their characters are commendable. When it comes to
ordinary lying and stealing, they are very skillful. They resemble other
savages in their fondness for intoxicating drinks, and when they get a
little money their desire to go on a spree is very apt to be
uncontrollable. They will leave their work and go to the nearest place
where intoxicants can be bought, and they keep on buying and drinking
until their money is gone. Generally speaking, you cannot keep them in
your employ very long. As soon as one learns his business so that he is
really useful, he either quits or behaves in such a manner that he has
to be sent away."

Just as this last remark was made, the train halted at a station, and as
our young friends looked through the window they saw a group of blacks.
They had seen a few black fellows on the wheat farm that they visited,
and some had come under their observation in the streets of Adelaide.
These, however, were dressed in civilized garments, and the group at the
station was the first they had seen in aboriginal dress.

Harry noted the scantiness of their costume, which consisted chiefly of
a strip of cloth about the waist, and another strip thrown over the
shoulder or disposed of in some fantastic way. Their skins were black,
though not of the inky, coal-like color of the pure-blooded African
negro. Their hair was curly, but did not have a woolly crispness. The
features seemed to be more like those of the Malay than of the Negro
race, and Ned observed that the hair of the women hung down in wavy
plaits, which is not the case with the hair of the negro of the Congo or
the Nile. Every man in the party carried a spear, and Ned wondered why
they were not armed with bows and arrows.

"That is for the very simple reason," said their informant, "that the
Australian aborigines have never used the bow and arrow; their only
weapons are the spear, club, knife, and boomerang. Their principal
weapon for fighting is the waddy or club, and each tribe has a peculiar
shape for its waddies. This weapon is made of hard wood, and is somewhat
suggestive of the night stick of a New York policeman, with the
difference that it has a knob on the end to enable it to be grasped with
greater security. There is a rule in fighting with the waddy, that you
must hit your antagonist on the head. It is not fair to strike him in
any other part of the body with these weapons, and the man who would do
so would not be regarded as a gentleman in aboriginal society. The
difference in the waddies is such that you can very often tell what
tribe a party belongs to by examining one of their clubs.

"They are accustomed to spears from their childhood, and can throw them
very accurately for a distance of thirty or forty yards. I once saw a
considerable number of blacks together, and several white men of us got
up a competition in spear throwing. We chalked out the figure of a man
on the side of a building, and then paced off forty yards from it. We
offered a prize of one shilling to every black who would hit this figure
with the spear three times out of five at the distance indicated. We had
them take turns in succession, and when the competition was over we
found that we were obliged to give a shilling to every one of the
competitors, as all had hit it three times. Half of them did so four
times, and the other half the entire five times."

Ned asked what the spears were made of. He learned, in reply, that
sometimes they were single shafts of wood tipped with stone, bone, or
iron. Others had heads of hard wood, while the shafts consisted of light
reeds which grow on the banks of the rivers and lakes. The spears are
usually from six to ten feet long, at least the fighting spears are.
Some of the tribes living along the rivers have spears fifteen or
eighteen feet long, intended for fishing purposes and not for war.

Harry wanted to know what was the religious belief of the blacks, and
what were their ideas about the creation.

"As to religion," the gentleman answered, "they don't seem to have much,
and the little they do have is of a very mixed character. Like all
savages, they believe in good and bad spirits, and they treat the bad
spirits with much more ceremony than they do the good ones; on the
ground, I presume, that it is necessary to propitiate the bad spirits to
save themselves from injury, while the good ones can be relied upon not
to do any harm. Some of the tribes believe in a Great Spirit or Supreme
Being, while others have no idea of the kind. They have a good many
superstitions, and, though not a people of much imagination, they have
quite a variety of mythical stories that originated a long time ago, and
have been handed down by tradition. It is a curious circumstance that
some of these myths repeat quite closely the story of the creation, the
fall, and the deluge, but where they came from nobody can tell."

"Is there any book where we can find any of these traditions?" Harry
asked.

"Oh, certainly; they have been collected and published, but I can give
you the principal ones from memory."

"The story about the creation is, that one of the spirits that ruled the
world created two men out of the dust of the earth, and gave these two
men a very rich country to live in. Another spirit created two women and
gave one of them to each man. Then he gave spears to each of the men,
and told them to kill kangaroos with their weapons, and gave sticks to
the women, with which to dig roots out of the ground. Thus it came about
that men carry spears and clubs as weapons, while the women perform most
of the menial work. The men and women were commanded to live together,
and in this way the world in time became full of people. They grew so
numerous in the region where they were, that the great spirits caused
storms to arise and high winds to blow in order to scatter the people
over the globe.

"The tradition about the first sin is, that the first man and woman were
ordered by the spirits not to go near a certain tree, as a bat lived
there which must not be disturbed. One of the women went too near the
tree, her curiosity having got the better of her, and the bat became
alarmed and flew away. After that death came into the world, having
before been unknown.

"They have another tradition that at one time all the water in the earth
was contained in the body of an immense frog, where nobody could reach
it. The spirits held an investigation, and ascertained that if the frog
could be made to laugh the water would run out of his mouth when he
opened it, and the drought then prevailing would be broken. All the
animals of the world gathered together and danced and capered before the
frog in order to make him laugh, but all to no purpose. Then they called
up the fishes to see if they could accomplish anything, but the frog
preserved a solemn face until the eel began to wriggle.

"The wriggling of the eel was too much for the frog and he laughed
outright. Immediately the waters flowed from his mouth and the earth was
covered with water. Many people were drowned, and all who could do so
sought the highest land. The pelican undertook to save the black people;
he made a great canoe and went around picking up the people, wherever he
could find them, and thus saved a great many.

"They have a theory about the sun," the gentleman continued, "that is
certainly a very practical one. They say that as it gives out a great
deal of light during the daytime, it needs a supply of fuel, and it goes
at night to a place where it takes in fuel enough for its next day's
work. They say that it used to take in wood exclusively before white
people came to Australia, but since the arrival of the whites, and the
opening of coal mines, they think the sun takes in both coal and wood at
the place where it renews its supply.

"They believe in dragons, great serpents, and other wonders, and if you
are inclined to laugh at them for their beliefs, you must remember that
all the rest of the world shared in them two or three hundred years ago.
The creature in which they have the greatest faith is the bun-yip, which
is supposed to haunt rivers, lakes, and other bodies of water, and
possesses remarkable powers. According to their description, he is like
a dragon; he devours black and white people indiscriminately, and can
cause all sorts of misfortune. Many natives, and also quite a number of
white men, claim to have seen him, and they certainly give some very
graphic accounts of his appearance and actions. Not long ago an account
appeared in one of the Australian newspapers, written by a white man and
certified to by another white man, who claim to have actually seen the
bun-yip in a small lake, and described him very minutely."

"And was the story really true?" Harry asked.

"Well, yes, I suppose it was. That is to say, I believe, as do many
others, that there is an amphibious animal living in some of the
Australian lakes and rivers of which no specimen has yet been taken. The
description of the bun-yip by those who claim to have seen him, and are
not carried away by their imaginations, is very much like that of a
Newfoundland dog or a seal. The seal exists in Australian waters, and I
think that is what the bun-yip will turn out to be if one ever allows
himself to be taken."

At the station at the end of the line of railway there was an encampment
of blacks, about half a mile away, and our young friends were quite
curious to see it.

Their curiosity was soon satisfied, as there was nothing particularly
attractive about the spot. The blacks were civilized enough to live in
tents, or, rather, they accepted the bounty of the government which
supplied them with tents, though it was evident that they did not intend
to give up their old way of living, inasmuch as they had two or three
bark shelters of the old-fashioned sort, in addition to the canvas house
supplied by the government. And we may remark here that the various
colonial governments provide for the support of all the aboriginals
living within their territory. Government officials take care of them,
supply them with food, clothing, and medical comforts, and assign
reservations of land to them, just as the Indian Department of the
United States assigns reservations to the red men. But with all the care
they receive, their number is steadily diminishing, and the day is not
far distant when the last of them will cease to exist.

A man who could speak the language of the aboriginals accompanied our
young friends in their visit to the encampment. At Harry's request, he
arranged with the men to give an exhibition of their skill in throwing
the spear, and after that was over he asked them to throw the boomerang.
While they were getting ready for their performance the interpreter
explained that the boomerang was a great deal of a mystery. He said that
no white man, even after years of practise, had ever been able to throw
this weapon with any degree of accuracy, and that no Australian black
could explain how the weapon was handled. If you ask one of them to
explain about throwing the boomerang, he usually says, "You throw him,
that all"; and that seems to be all there is to it.

Ned and Harry watched the performance with the greatest care, and they
afterwards said that they knew as much about it before they witnessed it
as they did afterwards, with the exception that they had seen with their
own eyes what could be done.

"First, you must understand," said Ned afterwards, "that there are
several kinds of boomerangs, the difference being in size, weight, and
shape. The variations in shape are so slight that they are not readily
perceived by the stranger, though a black would have no difficulty in
determining them. The lightest of the boomerangs weigh from four to five
ounces, while the heaviest are double that weight. Harry happened to
have his spring letter-balance in his pocket, and we weighed one of the
boomerangs that we saw used. Its weight was about six ounces and our
interpreter said that he considered it rather a light one."

"The heaviest boomerangs are used for fighting purposes and for killing
kangaroos, emus, and other large game.

"The boomerang is a queerly shaped weapon. It is made of hard wood and
curved like a bow, the curve from point to point being about a quarter
of a circle. The piece of wood that forms the boomerang is about half an
inch thick, and in the middle it is two and one half inches wide,
narrowing steadily towards the end. I took it in my hand and made a
motion as if to throw it, whereupon the owner laughed, and indicated by
signs that I had seized it by the wrong end.

"When he made ready to throw the weapon, the interpreter told us to
stand perfectly still, lest we might be injured. I asked how it could
happen, and he said that the performer always selected the spot to which
the boomerang returned, and by changing our positions, especially after
the weapon had been thrown, we might be struck by it when it came back.

"Both before and after taking his position the performer carefully
observed the force and direction of the wind, as it has a great deal to
do with the flight of the boomerang. When he was quite ready he flung
the weapon almost straight into the air, where it circled about a few
times, and skimmed along near the ground until it was about three
hundred feet distant; then it turned, made a slight upward motion
through the air, and finally fell within an arm's length of where the
performer stood. The interpreter explained that this weapon was called
the return-boomerang.

"The man repeated several times the performance with the weapon,
bringing it close to his feet on every occasion. Then a coin was placed
in the end of a split stick forty or fifty yards distant, at the
suggestion of the performer, who stipulated that he would knock the coin
out without disturbing the stick, on condition that he should have the
coin, a one-shilling piece, in case he succeeded.

"He balanced the boomerang with great care and then threw it. It made
several gyrations in the air, and when it reached its destination it
knocked the coin from its place as neatly as one could have removed it
with his fingers. All who stood by applauded the performer, and he was
given the opportunity to win several more shillings in the same way.

"I ought to mention that each time when he threw the boomerang he varied
his manner of throwing it. Sometimes he sent the weapon straight into
the air; next he skimmed it along the ground, and next he launched at an
angle of from forty to sixty degrees. Every time he threw it, it came
back to his feet, but when he threw it at the coins in the stick it did
not return.

"The interpreter explained to us that the return-boomerang was more of a
toy than a weapon, as the regular boomerang cannot return when it has
hit something in its course. Wonderful stories have been told of the use
of this weapon in war,--how the black fellow will launch it two or three
hundred yards, and have it kill one or more of his enemies, and then
come back to his feet. A moment's thought will convince any one that the
two things together are impossible. In order to return to the place
whence it started, the boomerang must not encounter or even touch
anything in its way. When it is used for killing men, or wild animals,
it does not come back to the ground of its thrower.

"From all accounts that I am able to obtain, the boomerang as a weapon
in the hands of a good thrower is very dangerous. It can be made to hit
a man concealed behind a tree, rock, or house, where a gun or a spear
could not possibly reach him. As a hunting weapon it is of great
utility, and many a kangaroo has fallen before it. The skillful thrower,
within reaching distance of a kangaroo or an emu, is as sure of his prey
as a white man would be with a Winchester rifle."

Ned and Harry tried to learn from the performer when and by whom the
boomerang was invented, and all they could get from him was, "Long time
ago; who knows?" He threw a little light upon the subject by picking up
a leaf of the gum tree, holding it at arm's length, and then letting it
fall to the ground. It gyrated and changed its course as it descended.
Then he picked it up and threw it straight from him, when it gyrated
again and returned towards him. It is probable that the idea of the
boomerang may have been taken from the motions of a falling leaf, and
especially a leaf of the gum tree. As the weapon is known through all
the tribes of Australian blacks, it is not likely to have been a recent
invention.

"I have read somewhere," said Harry, "that a weapon similar to the
boomerang was known to the ancient Egyptians, and that there is also
something of the same sort in use among a tribe of Indians in Arizona.
If it is true that the Egyptians of old times had this weapon, we may
well repeat the oft-quoted saying, 'There is nothing new under the sun,'
but it seems, at any rate, that the Australian boomerang is greatly
superior to the Arizona one, as it can be projected very much further
and with far more deadly effect."

The performer with the boomerang was evidently very well satisfied with
his morning's work, and he was certainly very liberally paid for his
performances. He invited our friends to take dinner with him, at least,
so the interpreter said, though the youths were suspicious that the
invitation was all a joke. Anyhow, they did not accept it, as they
thought that the meal, with the surroundings which were visible, would
have no temptation either for the eye or the appetite.

Harry heard the following story, which he duly entered in his
notebook:--

"Once a lawyer undertook the defense of a black fellow who had been
arrested for stealing a gold watch. The evidence was wholly
circumstantial, as the stolen property had not been found, and the
lawyer handled the case so well that the alleged thief was acquitted. A
few hours after the trial, the lawyer was seated on the verandah of the
principal hotel in the place, engaged in conversation with the
magistrate before whom the case was tried, when along came the black
fellow.

"'Can I wear the watch now?' said the black, at the same time drawing it
forth from an inner pocket.

"The magistrate burst into a loud and hearty laugh. The lawyer laughed,
too, but his laughter had a very hollow sound, and then he shouted an
emphatic 'No!' to the confiding aboriginal."

Quite a little town had sprung up at the terminus of the railway, and
Dr. Whitney said it reminded him of the towns along the Pacific
railways of the United States during the course of their construction.
The comparison, he said, was favorable to the Australian town, as the
inhabitants seemed far more orderly than did those of the transitory
American settlements. During the time of their stay there was not a
single fight, and the coroner was not called upon to perform his usual
official duties.

The terminus of the railway was in a valley which was dignified with the
name of a creek, but no creek was visible. Water was supplied by an
artesian well, driven to a depth of eight hundred feet. The water was
slightly brackish but quite drinkable, and when it was made into tea or
coffee the brackish flavor disappeared.

Our friends returned to Adelaide by the way they had gone from it, and
after a day or two more in the capital of South Australia, they took the
train for Melbourne. Ned made note of the fact that had been mentioned
to him, that of all the money raised by taxation in South Australia, one
fifth of it is used for educational purposes. He further added that the
same was the case in all the colonies, and he thought it greatly to
their credit. Harry said he did not believe there was a State or city in
the whole American Union where such a large proportion of the public
money was spent for educational matters.

The youths learned, in addition, that the schools throughout the
colonies are, generally speaking, of excellent quality and the
opportunities for higher education in academies, colleges, universities,
medical and scientific institutions, and similar seats of learning, are
of the best class. Ned made the following summary from the Education
Act of South Australia:--

"Schools will be established where there is a certain number of children
of school age, who will pay a moderate fee to the teachers; four pence
for children under seven, and six pence for older children, per child,
per week. In addition to the fees, the teachers will be paid by the
government from seventy-five pounds to two hundred pounds per annum.
Schoolhouses will be provided, and all the necessary educational
material. Four and one half hours constitute the school day. All
children of school age are required to be under instruction until a
certain standard is reached."

Provision is made for the free instruction of children whose parents can
show that they are unable to pay for it, but fees can be enforced in all
cases where inability to pay them has not been proved. Large grants have
been made by the legislature for school buildings, teachers' salaries,
etc., in order to efficiently aid in the development of a thorough and
comprehensive system of education for the young.

South Australia has a goodly number of schools for higher education, and
it also has a university which is well attended. The majority of those
who can afford it send their children to private schools rather than to
the government ones, believing, and no doubt correctly, that the
educational facilities are greater in the private institutions than in
the public ones.




CHAPTER VII.

ADELAIDE TO MELBOURNE--THE RABBIT PEST--DANGEROUS EXOTICS.


The distance from Adelaide to Melbourne is about six hundred miles. Our
friends found that the journey was made very leisurely, the trains
averaging not more then eighteen or twenty miles an hour. For quite a
distance out of Adelaide the train ascends an incline as far as Mount
Lofty station, where the hill or mountain of that name is situated. On
the way up the last of the incline our friends watched with a great deal
of interest the plains stretching out below them, and the city which
they had just left lying at their feet like a section of carpet laid off
into ornamental squares. Beyond Mount Lofty station the route descended
into the valley of the Murray River, whose waters could be seen winding
like a thread through the yellow soil.

"This is the longest river in Australia, is it not?" queried Ned.

"Yes," replied the doctor, "it is the longest and largest river, and, as
you have already learned, it is the only one that remains a real river
throughout the year. Its mouth is not many miles from Adelaide, and a
considerable part of its course is through South Australia."

"I wonder they didn't establish the capital city at the mouth of the
Murray," remarked Harry; "they would have had the advantage of a
navigable stream, which they have not in the present location."

"Yes, that is quite true," Dr. Whitney replied; "and they would have
illustrated the saying of a philosopher, that great rivers nearly always
run past large cities, but there was a practical difficulty in the way,
of which you are not aware."

"What is it?"

"The Murray at its mouth has a bar that is very difficult and dangerous
to cross, and a large area at its entrance consists of shallow water.
The mouth of the river, furthermore, is swept by southerly winds, which
bring in great waves that have their origin in the neighborhood of the
South Pole. Consequently it was concluded that the location of the city
at the place with the largest entrance into the sea would not be
advantageous, and a location on Spencer's Gulf was considered
preferable."

"Very good reasons," said Ned, "and I have no doubt that the founders of
Adelaide acted wisely. They certainly have a very prosperous city where
they are, although their seaport is several miles away."

The train increased its speed as it descended the incline, and the
youths found plenty of occupation and amusement in studying the scenery
on each side of them, and noting the handsome residences of the
merchants and other well-to-do inhabitants of Adelaide. The river was
crossed by means of an iron bridge, a substantial structure which was
evidently built to last. After crossing the Murray, the railway
proceeded for awhile along its valley, and gradually left it to enter a
region of long-continued monotony.

"For hours in succession," said Harry in his journal, "we had little
else but scrub. I imagine that when the surveyors laid out the railway
line, they took their bearings by observation of the moon and stars, and
laid it directly across from one side of the scrub country to the other.
Scrub land is land covered with bushes. There are not many varieties of
bushes, and this fact helps along the monotony. There is one bush that
looks like an umbrella turned bottom upwards, and another that resembles
an umbrella standing upright, as one holds it to keep off the rain. Then
there are bushes and trees, some of them shaped like bottles, others
like sugar loaves, and some like nothing else that I can think of at
this moment. They vary from three or four feet in height up to fifteen
and twenty feet, and sometimes we found them of a height of thirty feet
or more.

"Mile after mile it is the same. I have heard what a terrible thing it
is to be lost in the scrub. I can well understand that it is terrible,
and can also understand how easily such a calamity could be brought
about. One mile of scrub is exactly like another mile, or so very nearly
like it that it is next to impossible to tell the difference. I have
heard that people who stepped only a few yards from the side of the road
have wandered for days before finding their way again, or have been
sought for by many people before they were found. Many a man has lost
his way in the scrub and never been heard of again, or perhaps years
after his bones were discovered bleaching at the foot of a tree, where
he had sat or lain down for his last rest when he could go no further."

A portion of the road from Adelaide to Sydney is called "the
ninety-mile desert," in distinction from the rest of the scrub region.
It was a great relief to any one to get out of this desert country, and
reach the region of farms, and fences, cattle or sheep pastures, and
cultivated fields. In some of the districts through which our travelers
passed they saw great numbers of rabbits, and on calling attention to
them, a gentleman who was in the railway carriage told them something
about the rabbit pest from which the Australian colonies are suffering.

"If you want to make a fortune," said the gentleman, "find some way for
destroying the rabbits in Australia. There is a standing reward of
twenty-five thousand pounds (one hundred and twenty-five thousand
dollars of your money) for any method that proves successful. The reward
is offered by the colony of New South Wales, and the other colonies will
pay as much more."

"Were there rabbits in this country when it was first discovered?" Harry
asked.

"There were no rabbits here," was the reply; "nor any animals like them.
In 1851, a gentleman living near Dunedin, New Zealand, was on a visit to
the old country, and it occurred to him that it would be a nice thing to
have rabbits in New Zealand, so that they could amuse themselves by
chasing the little creatures with dogs. On his return from England he
brought seven rabbits, and they were the progenitors of all the rabbits
in New Zealand, Australia, and Tasmania. For a few years, as fast as
rabbits were obtainable they were distributed throughout the colonies,
but it was not long before the distributors found out their mistake.

"The rabbits increased and multiplied at a terrific rate. How many
there are now in the colonies, nobody can tell, as it is impossible to
take a census of them, but they certainly amount to many millions. They
have destroyed millions of acres of sheep pasturage, so that many farms
which once supported great numbers of sheep have been deserted in
consequence of the rabbits. Let me give you an illustration that I know
about, as I was one of the sufferers by these vermin. Fifteen years ago,
I owned an interest in a sheep run on the bank of the Murray River in
the colony of Victoria. Our holding extended back into the dry and
comparatively worthless country.

"The rabbits got in there, and gradually the sheep were starved out.
Year by year the number diminished, and five years ago I sold my
interest in the run for a very small sum. From two hundred thousand
sheep, the number had diminished to twenty-five hundred, and these were
dying in the paddock for want of food. The rabbits were the cause of the
whole destruction. They had eaten up all the grass and edible bushes,
and it was some consolation to know that they were themselves being
starved out, and were dying by the hundreds daily. When the rabbits
there are all dead the place can be fenced in, so that no new ones can
get there, and it is possible that the grass will grow again, and the
run once more become a place of value.

"The story I have just told you," the gentleman continued, "is the story
of a great many sheep and cattle runs all over Australia and New
Zealand. All sorts of means have been resorted to to get rid of the
pest, and while some have been partially successful, none have been
wholly so. The best plan is the old one, to lock the stable before the
horse is stolen; that is, enclose the place with rabbit-proof fences
before any rabbits have been introduced. The Australian rabbit is a
burrowing animal, and unless the fence is set well into the ground, he
is very apt to dig under it. Thus it has happened that many an estate
has become infested, even though the owners had gone to the expense of
enclosing it.

"Most of the cities of Australia and New Zealand have a rabbit-skin
exchange, just as you have a cotton exchange in New York. At these
exchanges ten or fifteen millions of rabbit skins are sold every year,
or an aggregate perhaps of fifty or sixty millions, and yet the number
does not decrease perceptibly. Factories have been established for
preserving the meat of the rabbits in tin cans, and sending it to market
as an article of food. It was thought that this would certainly reduce
the number of rabbits, but it has not yet succeeded in doing so.

"Various kinds of apparatus have been devised for filling the dens of
the rabbits with noxious gases that kill them, but the process is too
expensive for general introduction; and, besides, it does not work well
in rocky ground. Rewards are given both by the government and by the
owners of land for the destruction of rabbits, and these rewards have
stimulated men, who go about the country with packs of dogs to hunt down
the rabbits for the sake of the bounty. Sometimes the whole population
turns out in a grand rabbit hunt and thousands of rabbits are killed.
Pasteur, the celebrated French chemist, proposed to destroy the rabbit
population by introducing chicken cholera among them; he thought that
by inoculating a few with the disease he could spread it among the
others, so that they would all be killed off. He admitted that the
chicken population would be killed at the same time, but none of us
would object to that if we could get rid of the rabbits, as we could
easily reintroduce domestic fowls."

Ned said that he wondered why the rabbits increased so rapidly in the
Australian colonies and not in the United States or England.

"Here is the reason of it," said the gentleman. "In America there are
plenty of wild animals, like wolves, weasels, foxes, ferrets, and the
like, to keep down the rabbit population, but here there is not a single
animal to interfere with them. They have no natural enemies whatever,
and consequently have things entirely their own way. They breed several
times a year and begin to breed very young, so that a pair of rabbits
let loose in a given locality will in a few years amount to thousands or
even to millions. There, look at that piece of ground and see what you
think of it."

The boys looked where the gentleman indicated, and saw what seemed to be
a field of tall grass or grain waving in the wind. A nearer inspection
showed that the ground was covered with rabbits, and it was the
movements of the animals that caused the illusion just described.

"Rabbits are not the only pests from which the colonies have suffered,"
the gentleman continued; "I will tell you about more of them.

"You must bear in mind," said their informant, "that when Australia was
settled it contained very few of the products, either animal or
vegetable, of other parts of the world. Among the animals there were no
noxious ones except the dingo, or wild dog, which was found in various
parts of the country. His origin has been a matter of conjecture, some
believing that he is descended from dogs which were left here by those
who discovered the continent, while others think he is indigenous to the
soil. All the other animals, and they were not numerous, were harmless
in their character. There are eight kinds of kangaroos, all of them
herbivorous. They are, as you are doubtless aware, marsupials, that is,
they carry their young in a pouch until they are able to run about by
themselves. The dingo lived by feeding on the kangaroos, and thus kept
down the number of those animals.

"Horned cattle, horses, and sheep were introduced and successfully
raised. The wild dogs killed sheep and calves, and therefore the
inhabitants set about killing them. As the dogs decreased in number the
kangaroos increased, and they threatened to drive the sheep to
starvation by eating up all the grass. Many a sheep run was rendered
worthless by the kangaroos, and so it became necessary to establish
methods of reducing the number of the latter. Battues or hunts were
organized, the people gathering from all directions at an appointed time
and place, and driving the kangaroos into pens or yards, where they were
slaughtered by the thousand. You will probably have an opportunity of
seeing a kangaroo hunt before you leave Australia.

"There were very few native fruits, and we introduced the fruits of
England and other parts of the world very successfully. We introduced
garden plants and vegetables in great numbers, and nearly all of them
turned out to our satisfaction, though this was not uniformly the case.

"You know that innocent and very acceptable plant called the watercress,
which is sold in great quantities for table use in London, New York, and
other English and American cities. Well, we brought the watercress to
the Australian colonies, and it grew and thrived wonderfully. It grew
altogether too well and thrived a great deal more than we could have
wished, as it has choked our rivers, and caused freshets and floods
which have devastated farms and fields to a large extent, and on several
occasions have been destructive to human life.

"We introduced the sweet briar, thinking it would form an ornament and
fill the air with its perfume. Instead of being ornamental, it has
become an impenetrable bush, which neither man nor cattle can go
through. It has become a nuisance, spreading over the ground and
destroying pasturage, and we heartily wish that not a twig of it was
ever brought here.

"When we began to grow fruits we found ourselves annoyed by insects of
various kinds, the same sort of insects that are known to fruit growers
everywhere. In order to get rid of them, we brought the English sparrow
here. He is of great use to the fruit grower in the old country, as he
lives principally on insects, or at any rate has the reputation of doing
so, and he does not often attack the fruit.

"Well, we got the sparrow here, and he increased and multiplied until
he became very numerous, and what do you suppose the little wretch did?

"He did not do anything that we wanted him to do. He abandoned his
English practise of eating insects, and lived wholly upon grain and
fruit. In the fruit season he is a perfect terror in the devastation he
makes among our fruit trees. A flock of sparrows will make its
appearance in a cherry garden where there are twenty, fifty, or perhaps
a hundred cherry trees bending beneath a burden of fruit just about ripe
enough to be picked. They save the owner the trouble and expense of
picking his fruit, as they take entire charge of it, and in a few days
the whole crop is ruined. Other fruit suffers in the same way, and the
testimony is the same from all parts of Australia. One of the colonial
governments had an investigation of the subject at one time, and the
testimony was something appalling. The sparrows abound here in countless
millions, all of them descended from fifty birds that were imported
about the year 1860. The owners of vineyards, as well as the fruit
farmers, complain of the ravages of the sparrows, and at the official
investigation that I mentioned one vine grower testified that his crop
of grapes the previous year would have been two tons, but the sparrows
destroyed the entire lot.

"Another bird almost as destructive as the sparrow is the _mina_ or
_mino_, a bird which was brought here from India. It is quite a handsome
bird, and can learn to talk almost as readily as the parrot, and that is
why it was brought here. It lives on fruits and vegetables, and has very
nearly the same habits as the sparrow. The colonial government have
placed a bounty upon the heads and eggs of the sparrow, and also on
those of the mina. A great many boys and men, too, make a fairly good
revenue in killing the birds or plundering their nests. The birds are
trapped, shot, or poisoned, but their number does not seem to diminish.

"Somebody brought a daisy to Australia, as it is a very popular flower
in England, and was expected to remind the English settler of his old
home. It has spread very rapidly, and on thousands upon thousands of
acres it has rooted out the native grasses and taken full possession of
the soil. Another plant has a history which would be ludicrous if it
were not so serious, and that is the thistle."

"You mean the regular thistle, such as is known in England and the
United States?"

"I refer particularly to the Scotch thistle," said the gentleman, "which
is not particularly unlike the other thistles with which we are
familiar. You know that the thistle is the emblem of Scotland, and may
be said to be worshipped by all patriotic Scotchmen. Well, it happened
that a Scotch resident of Melbourne, while visiting the old country,
took it into his head to carry a thistle with him on his return to
Australia. So he placed the plant in a pot and watered it carefully
every day during the voyage from London to Melbourne. When he arrived
his performance was noticed in the newspapers, and a subscription dinner
was arranged in honor of the newly arrived plant. About two hundred
Scotchmen sat down to the dinner, at which the thistle was the
centerpiece and the great object of attraction. Speeches were made, and
the festivities continued to a late hour of the night. The next day the
thistle was planted with a great deal of ceremony, and more speeches in
the public garden at Melbourne, and it was carefully watched and tended
by the gardener, who happened to be a Scotchman.

"Well, the thistle blossomed and everybody rejoiced. You know how the
seeds of that plant are provided with down, that enables them to float
on the wind. The seeds of that thistle were borne on the breezes, and
all over the colony of Victoria they found a lodging in the soil, grew
and prospered, and sent out more seeds. That thistle has been the cause
of ruin to many a sheep and cattle run all over Australia. Thousands,
yes, millions, of acres of grass have been destroyed by that pernicious
weed. Anathemas without number and of the greatest severity have been
showered upon the thick-headed Scotchman who brought the plant to
Australia, and the other thick-headed Scotchmen who placed it in the
public garden.

"While I am on this subject," the gentleman continued, "I may as well
tell you of a very curious circumstance in New Zealand."

"What is that?"

"When the sheep farmers first established their business in the mountain
regions of New Zealand, they observed flocks of parrots occupying the
forest, and living entirely upon fruits and vegetables. They were very
pretty birds and nobody thought that any harm would come from them, in
view of their habits of life. The farmers used to kill some of their
sheep for food purposes, and leave the meat hanging out over night in
the cool air. It was observed that the parrots got in the habit of
coming down to the meat frames and picking off the layers of fat,
particularly those around the kidneys. Their fondness for this kind of
food seemed to increase as time went on, and they finally became such a
nuisance as to compel the herders to give up their practise of leaving
the meat out of doors in the night-time.

"After a while the farmers occasionally found the fattest and best of
their sheep dead or dying of wounds across the smaller part of the back
directly in the region of the kidneys. Nobody could tell how the wounds
were made, but it was evident that the mischief-makers were numerous, as
a good many sheep, always the finest of the flock, were killed. Finally,
one of the men employed about a sheep run ventured to suggest that it
must be done by the parrots. His suggestion was ridiculed so earnestly
that the man was sorry he had made it, but he gave as his reason for it
the fact that he had seen a parrot perched on the back of a sheep and
the bird flew away when he approached.

"Watchers were set over the sheep, and the suggestion of the man proved
to be the correct one. How the birds ever connected the existence of the
fat which they tore from the carcases on the meat frames with the
location of the same fat in the living animal, no one can tell, but
certain it is that they did so. It was found that a parrot bent on
securing a meal, would fasten his claws in the wool of the sheep, and
then with his powerful beak he would tear away the skin and flesh until
he reached the fat of which he was in search around the kidneys of the
struggling animal. It was impossible for the sheep to shake him off;
whether it ran or lay down and writhed in its agony, the bird retained
its hold until its object was accomplished."

"Of course this led to a war of extermination against the parrots, did
it not?"

"Certainly it did. As soon as the fact was well established the colonial
government offered a reward of one shilling for each parrot's head, and
the business of hunting these birds began at once. Formerly they used to
come freely into the presence of man, but now they shun him, and it is
very difficult to find them. They live in the forest, concealing
themselves in the daytime, and only coming out at night. In fact, their
depredations were committed in the night-time, and that is the reason
why their offences continued so long without being discovered."

"Did they cause great destruction among the flocks of sheep?"

"Yes, until they were found out and the war began against them they were
terribly destructive. One man lost two hundred sheep out of three
hundred, another lost nineteen out of twenty, and several others in the
same proportion. Even now, although the number of parrots is diminished
enormously, the flocks in the region where they abound lose at least two
per cent. every year from that cause."

"Is there any way of exterminating them by poison?"

"No way has been discovered as yet, as the birds are very cunning and
cannot be readily induced to take poisoned food. They are more wary in
this respect than rabbits and sparrows, as both of these creatures can
be poisoned, though the danger is that in attempting to poison them the
food is apt to be taken by domestic animals or fowls."

"Speaking of poisoning reminds me of an instance in Queensland some
years ago, where there was a large number of blacks inhabiting the
forest near a sheep station.

"The owner of the station had been greatly annoyed by the blacks, who
had killed many of his sheep, and in several instances had threatened
the shepherds with death, and driven them from their places. He
determined to get even with them, and this is the way he did it. He
loaded a cart with provisions such as flour, sugar, bacon, tea, and
other things, which were distributed to the shepherds once a week. Then
the cart started apparently on its round. Near the place where the
blacks were congregated one of the wheels of the cart came off, and at
the same time the vehicle became stuck in a gully. The driver took his
horses from the shafts and rode back to the station for help, leaving
the cart and its load unguarded.

"Here was a fine opportunity for the blacks to exercise their thieving
propensities, and they did not miss it. In less than an hour the cart
was stripped of everything edible, flour, sugar, and everything else
being carried away. When the driver returned, he found only the empty
vehicle with which to continue his journey.

"That afternoon the blacks had a grand feast over the stolen property.
All the members of the tribe came together and took part in the feast,
about two hundred in all. It so happened that everything edible had been
dosed with strychnine before the cart was loaded, and in a few hours
all who had partaken of the feast were dead. Much as the white people
around there had been annoyed by the blacks, there were few, if any, to
approve of this wholesale poisoning which the sheep owner had undertaken
entirely on his own responsibility."

"I suppose it is due in some measure, at least, to performances of this
sort that the blacks are diminishing in number," Dr. Whitney remarked.

"No doubt that has a good deal to do with the matter," was the reply. "I
don't know of any other instances than this of wholesale poisoning, but
I do know that in a good many instances, black men have been shot down
by whites for the reason that they had speared cattle or committed other
depredations. The blacks have been treated very much the same way as
your American Indians, and generally with as little provocation; but,
beyond all this, it is well known that the number of births among them
every year is considerably less than the number of deaths from natural
causes. Some people believe that the blacks are addicted to infanticide,
and that many of their children are put to death to save the expense of
bringing them up. Understand me, nobody knows positively that this is
the case, but only surmises it."




CHAPTER VIII.

CANNIBAL BLACKS--MELBOURNE AND ITS PECULIARITIES.


"I have heard," said one of the youths, "that Australian blacks are
cannibals. I wonder if that is really so?"

"Perhaps all the tribes in the country are not cannibals, but it is
pretty certain that some of them are. They know that the white man is
prejudiced against eating human flesh, and consequently they conceal
very carefully their performances in this line. In former times they
were not so particular, and there was the most positive proof that they
devoured their enemies killed in battle, and also killed and devoured
some of their own people. They were not such epicures in cannibalism as
the inhabitants of the Feejee Islands formerly were, and did not make as
much ceremony as the Feejeeans over their feasts of human flesh. Some of
the tribes that indulged in the practise have given it up, but the
belief is that those in the interior still adhere to it."

"What do they live upon when they do not eat human flesh?" queried Ned.

"As to that," was the reply, "they live upon pretty nearly everything
they can lay their hands on. They hunt the kangaroo and are fond of its
flesh, and they are also fond of the flesh of cattle and sheep. In fact,
they commit a good many depredations upon the flocks and herds. They
eat snakes, lizards, toads, and, in fact, anything that lives and moves,
and they are not at all particular about the condition of the meat when
they eat it. It is all the same to them whether it is fresh or putrid. A
man would need have a very strong stomach to accept an invitation to
take dinner with a family of uncivilized blacks, or even with one that
had become civilized."

While this conversation was going on the train was speeding on its way,
and Harry observed that the houses were becoming more numerous, and the
country more densely occupied, as they came nearer to Melbourne.
Occasionally they caught sight of a house which looked like a
gentleman's residence rather than like an ordinary farmhouse, and he
called attention to the circumstance.

"We are approaching Melbourne," said their traveling companion, "and
from this point on you will find a good many country seats of gentlemen
who do business in the city. It is cooler here in summer than in
Melbourne, and a great many people have established their summer homes
in this region. It is so much the fashion, that it has become obligatory
for the well-to-do citizen to have a town residence and a country one,
and his establishment is considered incomplete unless he possesses both.
A good many people occupy their country homes for the greater part of
the year, going back and forth by railway according to the requirements
of their business. It is the same in New York, London, and other great
cities all over the world. Melbourne considers itself just as important
as any other city, and I believe it claims to be the tenth city of the
world in point of population."

Ned asked what the population of the city was.

To this the gentleman replied that he did not have the exact figures at
hand, but he believed the last census gave the number of inhabitants as
very nearly half a million. "Including the suburbs," said he, "I think
it is fully that, and if it had not been for the dullness of business
for the last two or three years, caused very largely by the labor
strikes and other disturbances of trade, I think we would now exceed the
half million figure."

While he was saying this, Ned called attention to a large house on a
little eminence about half a mile away, which resembled a palace more
than it did a private dwelling. As Ned pointed towards it and told Harry
to look in that direction, the gentleman said:--

"That house was built ten or twelve years ago by a millionaire merchant
of Melbourne. He spent a great deal of money upon it, being determined
to have the finest house in the country. About the time of its
completion he met with heavy losses in business, and was unable to carry
out his plans concerning the grounds around the building. It was his
original intention to have a park, in which he would enclose specimens
of all the animals of Australia, and an artificial lake, with specimens
of all the fishes of the country. He has never carried out this part of
the scheme, but declares that he will do so whenever his wealth returns
to him."

"A very good scheme, indeed," said one of the youths, "and I hope the
gentleman will be able to carry it out."

"Yes; and I hope so, too," was the reply. "The place would be made
interesting if he should do so, but, after all, you can see the same
thing in the parks of the principal cities of Australia. Each has, I
believe, collections of the animals of the country, together with many
animals of other countries, and any one is at full liberty to go and see
them."

Houses became more numerous, and towns and villages made their
appearance as the train went along. Harry observed that in some of the
towns which they passed through there were imposing buildings, which
seemed rather out of proportion to the number of dwelling-houses.

Their impromptu guide explained that this was the outgrowth of
Australian politics. "Every town in Australia," said he, "is desirous of
having some of the public money spent within its limits. It wants a
courthouse, jail, or some other public edifice, and in order to secure
his election to the legislature, a candidate is compelled to promise
that he will obtain the desired appropriation. These appropriations are
secured by what you call in America 'logrolling.' That is, Smith of one
town makes an arrangement with Brown, Jones, Robinson, and I don't know
how many others of as many other towns that he will vote for their
appropriations, provided they will vote for his. In this way a town of
five hundred inhabitants gets a courthouse and jail large enough for a
population of five thousand, or perhaps twice that number. A great deal
of government money has been wasted in this way, but there is no help
for it as long as human nature remains as it is."

This led to a little talk on Australian politics, in which the youths
learned that the people were divided into parties very much as in
England and the United States, and their quarrels were just as fierce.
The party in power is always bitterly denounced by the party out of
power, and the outs can always demonstrate how much better they could
manage public affairs than the ins are doing it. The great questions
usually before the people are the tariff and public improvements, and
the fiercest fights are usually those concerning the tariff.

Protectionists and free traders are just as skillful and just as earnest
as the same parties in the United States, and each can demonstrate
mathematically how much better its own system is than that of the other
side. The colonies are themselves divided on the subject of tariff, all
of them favoring protection with the exception of New South Wales, where
the free traders are in the majority.

There has been a great deal of talk about a federation of the colonies,
but the stumbling-block in the way of it is the difference in the
colonial tariff. Federation would have been brought about years ago had
it not been for New South Wales and its free trade policy.

Ned and Harry started to take some notes on the subject of the tariff,
but the doctor reminded them that they had better leave the subject
alone, as it was a dangerous one to touch. Consequently they have not
given us the benefit of their notes upon it, and we are unable to say
what conclusion they reached.

At its appointed time the train reached Melbourne, and our friends found
themselves in the spacious station of the railway company.

As soon as they could get their baggage, our friends proceeded to a
hotel which had been recommended to them, and which they found quite
satisfactory. After securing rooms they went out for a stroll, having
been advised to take a promenade along Collins Street. Harry said he was
sure that the street had been named after somebody who was prominent in
the early history of the colony, at least, he felt that such was the
case if Melbourne had followed the example of Adelaide.

"Melbourne was founded before Adelaide was," said Dr. Whitney, "as the
first settlement was made here in 1835, a year before the first
settlement was made in Adelaide; but, all the same, your theory is
correct. Collins Street was named after Colonel Collins, who established
a convict settlement in this vicinity as far back as 1803, but for some
reason he gave it up a year or two later, and transferred his convicts
and their guards to Tasmania."

"The next street parallel to this," said Ned, "is Bourke Street. I
wonder who Bourke was?"

"Bourke was the governor of the colony in 1836," the doctor replied,
"and that is why he was honored with a street."

"We know about Captain Flinders," said Harry, "after whom Flinders
Street was named. He was a daring explorer who accompanied Captain Bass
when the latter discovered Bass's Strait, that separates Australia from
Tasmania. There is also a range of mountains named after him."

"Captain Lonsdale, who was in command of some of the troops at the time
that the city was laid out," said the doctor, "was honored with a
street, and Swanston Street commemorates one of the early settlers. Then
there are King Street, Queen Street, William Street, Elizabeth Street,
which explain themselves, as they indicate the feelings of the early
settlers towards the royal family."

"This street is certainly as attractive to the eye as Broadway or Fifth
Avenue in New York," Ned remarked, as they strolled slowly along Collins
Street. "See these magnificent buildings. You have only to shut your
eyes and imagine yourself on Broadway, and when you open them again the
illusion does not require a great stretch of the imagination. And all
this has grown up since 1835. Just think of it!"

"Yes," replied the doctor; "it was about the middle of 1835 that one
John Batman came here with a small sailing vessel, and made a bargain
with the chief of the tribe of blacks then occupying this neighborhood,
by which he purchased about twelve hundred square miles of ground for a
quantity of goods worth, perhaps, one hundred dollars."

"That beats the purchase of Manhattan Island for twenty-four dollars,"
remarked Harry as the doctor paused.

"Yes, it does," was the reply; "the government afterwards repudiated
Batman's trade, and took possession of the ground he had purchased."

"A pretty mean piece of business, wasn't it?" queried Harry.

"As to that," said the doctor, "there are arguments on both sides of the
question. Batman felt that he had been unfairly dealt with, although the
government paid him about thirty-five thousand dollars for his claim. At
the time they paid the money to him the land was worth very much more
than that amount."

"Did he stay here and go to building a city at once?" queried one of
the youths.

"No; he went back to Tasmania, whence he had come, in order to get a
fresh supply of provisions, and while he was gone John Fawkner came here
with a schooner called the _Enterprise_, and made a settlement. His
party consisted, if we may include the quadrupeds, of five men, two
pigs, one cat, two horses, and three dogs. When Batman came back he was
very angry, and as long as both the men lived there was a bitter quarrel
between them which threatened several times to result in a shooting
affray. Batman died in 1839; his heirs and partners took up the quarrel,
and traces of it are said to exist to the present day. The people of
Melbourne have erected a monument to Batman's memory, but Fawkner is
generally regarded as the founder of Melbourne, as he made the first
permanent settlement, and the colony may properly be considered to have
begun on the date of his arrival."

When the conversation had reached this point, the party found themselves
at the corner of Elizabeth Street, which intersects Collins Street at
right angles.

"You observe," said the doctor, "that this street, Elizabeth, is the
dividing line of the city. That is to say, from it the streets are
called east and west just as they are so called in New York. At Fifth
Avenue, East Forty-second Street and West Forty-second Street begin. In
the same way we have here Collins Street, East, and Collins Street,
West; Bourke Street, East, and Bourke Street, West; and so on through
the whole list. They put the word designating the point of compass after
the name of the street, while in New York we do just the opposite."

"Oh, yes, I see," Harry remarked, with a twinkle in his eye. "Melbourne
is on the other side of the world from New York, and so they name the
streets in the reverse manner. So, then, there is another proof that
Australia is a land of contradictions."

Ned laughed, and made no reply other than to ask if the great number of
deaths that occurred here during the gold excitement had any allusion to
the name of the city. Harry looked at him with a puzzled expression, and
asked what he meant.

"Why, I was thinking," said Ned, "that possibly Melbourne might have
been 'the bourne whence no traveler returns,' mentioned by Shakespeare."

"Oh, that is old," said the doctor; "and while you are on this subject,
I will inform you that the city obtained its name from Lord Melbourne,
who was Prime Minister of Great Britain at the time that the place was
laid out."

"The surveyor who laid out the city," remarked Harry, "had a 'level'
head, as well as a leveling one. See what wide streets he gave it."

"Yes, that is so," replied Ned. "They must be one hundred feet wide, at
least that is what I would guess."

"You guessed very closely," said the doctor, "as they are ninety-nine
feet (one chain and a half) wide, and the tradition is that Melbourne
was laid out by an American surveyor. The city, as originally planned,
was one mile square, but it has received numerous additions, so that it
now covers a great deal more than a square mile. It really occupies,
with its suburbs, an area of nearly one hundred square miles, and every
year sees a new suburb added. Of course, when population is mentioned,
the whole of the suburbs should be included, and the inhabitants claim,
with a great deal of reason, that within a radius of ten miles from the
city hall, there are fully four hundred thousand people residing."

"That is certainly a very rapid growth," said one of the youths. "All
that population since 1835! It is the most rapid growth of any city that
I know of, is it not?"

"Yes, I think it is," replied the doctor. "Neither San Francisco nor
Chicago can show a growth equal to that of Melbourne in the first fifty
years of its existence. Chicago is now a much larger city, but fifty
years from its foundation it could not boast of as many inhabitants as
could Melbourne when it was half a century old."

To the eyes of our young friends Melbourne presented a very busy
appearance. Cabs and carriages were rushing hither and thither. Crowds
of people were on the sidewalks, and other crowds filled the tram-cars
and omnibuses. Harry observed that Melbourne was sufficiently up with
the times to be provided with electric cars, and that she also had cable
lines, as well as the more primitive street cars. It was near the close
of the afternoon, when the great majority of the population are seeking
their homes, and the scene of busy life reminded the youths of lower
Broadway, near the end of the day in New York.

The doctor explained that a very large part of the working population
resembled the well-to-do portion, by having their homes in the suburbs,
and, consequently, that a great many people required transportation.
Hence the rush for the tram-cars and other public means of travel on the
part of the great mass of the public, while those with better-lined
purses patronized the cabs and carriages. Cab fares are high, being
about one third more than in London, but not so high as in New York. In
the days of the gold rush the most ordinary carriages could not be hired
for less than fifteen dollars a day, and five dollars was the price for
an hour or two.

There is a story in circulation that a gold miner was once bargaining
for a carriage for which the driver demanded twelve pounds (sixty
dollars) for a day's hire. The miner said he would not pay it: he handed
a ten-pound note to the driver, and said he must be satisfied with that.
The driver assented, and there was no further discussion on the subject.

Prices of all sorts of things throughout Melbourne are somewhat above
London figures, but they have been established a long time and nobody
complains of them.

Our friends continued their walk to the Yarra River, up whose waters
Batman and Fawkner sailed when they came here to found the city. Its
native name is Yarra-Yarra, but the double word is rarely used by the
inhabitants of Melbourne in speaking of the stream. Of itself, it is not
a river of much consequence, as originally all but very small vessels
had difficulty in ascending it. It has been dredged and deepened, so
that craft drawing not more than sixteen feet of water can ascend it to
Prince's Bridge, the spot where our friends reached the stream. Vessels
requiring more water than that must remain at Fort Melbourne, about
three miles further down. There are several other bridges crossing the
river at different points. Near Prince's Bridge our friends saw several
passenger steamers crowded with people, on their way to their homes down
the bay.

On their return towards the hotel our friends loitered among the shops,
and especially among those in what are called the Arcades, of which
there are four, modeled after the Arcades of London and the "Passages"
of Paris. They are delightful places to lounge in, whether one is in
search of purchases or not, and the three strangers were in no hurry to
get through them.

One of the arcades is known as the Book Arcade, and the shops inside of
it are almost wholly devoted to the sale of books. Harry remarked that
he judged the Melbourne people to be a reading one, otherwise there
would not be so much space devoted to the sale of books. The youths had
a brief conversation with one of the proprietors, who told them that it
was one of the largest book stores in the world, in fact, he did not
know of any other as large as that. "We can give you anything you want,"
said he; "everything is so arranged that we know just where to lay our
hands on any book that a customer wants."

Melbourne is a great source of supply for all the interior of Victoria.
In the wholesale shops there were great quantities of goods intended for
up-country use. "There were," said Harry, "tons and tons of clothing
destined for the mines or for sheep and cattle runs, and great
quantities of tea, sugar, and other provisions, together with saddlery,
harnesses, and ironmongery in great quantity and variety."

"We observed," wrote Ned, "that between every two wide streets there is
a narrow street running in the same direction. I believe you will find
the same arrangement in many parts of Philadelphia, and also in the new
part of Boston. The original intention of the surveyor was that these
small streets should be used as back entrances for the buildings on the
larger ones, but this intention has not been carried out in the
development of the city. Formerly these narrow streets took the name of
the wide ones, with the prefix 'Little'; for example, the one between
Collins and Bourke Street being known as Little Collins Street. Most of
them are now called lanes, and are spoken of as Collins Lane, Latrobe
Lane, and the like, and many of them are devoted to special lines of
trade. Flinders Lane, between Flinders and Collins Streets, is the
principal locality of the wholesale dealers in clothing, and Bourke Lane
is largely occupied by Chinese. We are told that the renting prices of
stores along these lanes are very high, probably greater than either
Batman or Fawkner ever dreamed they could be in their wildest moments.

"When we returned to the hotel we found an invitation for us to dine at
one of the clubs, the gentleman who gave the invitation having called
during our absence. We dressed as quickly as possible, and went at once
to the club house, where we dined on the best that the city afforded.
Melbourne is a great place for clubs, quite as much so as London or New
York. Nearly everybody belongs to a club, and many gentleman have two,
three, or more clubs on their lists. Nearly all of the clubs have
lodging rooms for bachelor members, and the popularity of the
institution is shown by the fact that most of these rooms are constantly
occupied.

"Life at a club is somewhat expensive, though less so than at a
first-class hotel. One gentleman probably stated the case very clearly
when he said that life in a club house is pretty much as each individual
chooses to make it. He could live economically or expensively, according
to his preference. He could dine on the choicest or on the plainest
food, and could entertain liberally or frugally. 'There is no
necessity,' he added, 'for a man to waste his money because he lives at
a club, but there is no denying the fact that a club affords temptation
and opportunity to do so.'

"During dinner the subject of horse racing came up, and our host said
that he did not believe there was any city in the world where so large a
proportion of the population was interested in equine sports as
Melbourne. 'On Cup Day,' said he, 'that is, on the day of the annual
race for the cup which is given by the city of Melbourne, people come
here from all parts of Australia.'

"'Everybody who can afford the time and expense is reasonably sure to
visit Melbourne, and a great many come here who can hardly afford to do
so. Hotels and lodging houses are crowded to their fullest capacities
for several days before the great event. When Cup Day comes, it is like
the Derby Day in England. Half the population of Melbourne goes to
Flemington, when the race is run, and nearly all the scenes of the great
Derby Day in England are repeated. The winner of the Melbourne cup is
greeted with the heartiest cheers at the close of the race, and if he
is put up for sale on the spot, he is sure to bring an enormous price.'

"'I asked if the horses competing for the cup were limited to those
raised in the colony of Victoria?'

"'Oh, not by any means,' the gentleman answered; 'horses from any of the
colonies can be entered for the great race. They come from New South
Wales, South and West Australia, and also from Queensland, and sometimes
we have them from New Zealand or Tasmania. In some years it has happened
that not one of the racers was bred in the colony of Victoria. There is
never any lack of competitors, their number being usually quite equal to
that in the race for the Derby. The race track is a little more than a
mile from the center of the city, so that the public has not far to go.
Vehicles of every kind command high prices on Cup Day, and many
thousands of people go to the race on foot. For weeks before the event
little else is talked of, and the great question on every tongue is,
"What horse will win the cup?"'

"Melbourne is very fond of athletic sports, and there are numerous clubs
devoted to baseball, football, cricket, golf, and the like. There are
also rowing clubs, and their favorite rowing place is along the part of
the Yarra above Prince's Bridge. The course is somewhat crooked, but
there is a good view of it from the banks, and a rowing match between
two of the crack clubs is sure to attract a large crowd."




CHAPTER IX.

"THE LAUGHING JACKASS"--AUSTRALIAN SNAKES AND SNAKE STORIES.


Our friends returned to their hotel, but, before leaving them, their
host arranged to call for them after breakfast the next morning, for a
drive among the parks and around the suburbs of the city.

The drive came off as agreed upon, and a very pleasant one it was. They
visited the Botanic Garden, which is on the banks of the Yarra, and
seemed to contain specimens of nearly all the trees on the habitable
globe. Harry said he wondered how elms and oaks could have attained the
size of some that he saw, when he remembered that the city had its
beginning in 1835. It was explained that all exotic trees grew with
great rapidity in the climate of Melbourne, and not only exotics but
natives. The climate seems adapted to almost any kind of vegetable
production.

Our friends found cork trees and palms growing almost side by side with
the birch, the pine, and the spruce. Among other things, their attention
was attracted to some beautiful fern trees, which were fully twenty feet
high, and there were climbing plants in great profusion, some of them
clinging to the trees, and others fastened to trellis work.

[Illustration: TO THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDEN.]

Almost every kind of tropical fruit tree was represented in the garden,
and the gentleman who led the party said that the garden had been of
great use in distributing exotic fruit trees through the colony, after
first settling the question whether they would exist in the climate of
Victoria. Every variety of orange was there, and the orange is among the
most abundant of the fruits growing in the colony. Apricots, peaches,
pears, mangosteens, the custard apple, mangoes, and other fruits have
found a home in Victoria, and demonstrated that they can exist within
its limits.

"We were unwilling," said Harry in his journal, "to leave the Botanic
Garden and go elsewhere, as there were so many attractive things to be
seen, but time pressed, and whenever our host gave the word we proceeded
with him. From the Botanic Garden we went to the Fitzroy Gardens, which
are situated in the eastern part of the town, and were to some extent a
repetition of the Botanic Garden, though not entirely so. The Fitzroy is
more like a park than a garden; it is beautifully laid out with walks
and drives, and is rendered picturesque by means of rocky hills,
miniature lakes, and occasional fountains.

"We afterwards went to the Carlton Gardens and also to the Zoological
Garden, the latter being situated in the Royal Park. The 'Zoo,' as it is
popularly called, contains a fine collection of animals from all parts
of the world, including elephants, lions, tigers, and the like, and also
specimens of the animals of Australia. Of course it has a cage full of
monkeys,--what Zoo is ever without them?--and they look just exactly
like the collections of monkeys that we have elsewhere in various parts
of the world.

"There is a very fair collection of birds, and we were particularly
interested in the specimens of the birds of Australia. And that reminds
me of an amusing experience, as we came around to where the aviary
stands.

"We heard somebody laughing very loudly, and a queer sort of a laugh it
was. Ned remarked that somebody must be feeling very happy, and I agreed
with him. Our host smiled, and so did Dr. Whitney, but nothing further
was said, as the laugh died away.

"When we got close to the door we again heard the laugh, which came from
the inside of the bird house.

"'The fellow is at it again,' said Ned. 'Wonder if we can't share in the
fun?'

"I said that I hoped so, as I had not seen anything to laugh at since we
started out from the hotel. When we got inside we looked around for the
man who had been making the noise, but there was nobody visible except a
very solemn-faced keeper, who did not look as if he had laughed for a
month.

"I remarked to Ned that the old fellow had put on a serious face now
because company had come in, to which Ned nodded assent. Just as he did
so the laughing began again, and it was such a funny laugh that both of
us joined in it.

"The old fellow's face did not move a muscle, and we saw that he was not
the humorous one of the place. We looked in the direction of the
laughter and saw that it came, not from a man, but from a bird. In spite
of our astonishment we burst out laughing, and the doctor and our host
joined us in doing so.

"Our host then explained that the bird which was amusing us was known as
the 'laughing jackass.' We had heard of the creature before, but this
was our first view of him. We took a good look, and while we were doing
so he laughed again, right in our faces. The laugh is almost exactly
like that of a human being. It is not musical but is very comical, and,
somehow, it has a tendency to set everybody laughing who is within sound
of it.

"The bird is about the size of a full-grown pigeon, perhaps a little
larger. He is not handsomely proportioned, his head being too large for
his body and his tail very small. His feathers are white and black, and
he has a comical appearance that harmonizes well with his humorous
manner. He is easily domesticated, and will learn to talk quite as
readily as the parrot does.

"The laughing jackass is a friend of the bushman, as he foretells wet
weather. When the air is dry and clear, he is a very lively bird, and
fills the air with the sound of his laughter; but if rain is coming, or
especially if it has come, he is the very picture of misery and
unhappiness. He mopes on his perch, whether it be in a cage, or on the
limb of a tree, or in the open air, with his feathers ruffled, and a
very bedraggled appearance, like a hen that has been caught in a shower.
In the forest he will imitate the sound of an axe cutting at a tree, and
many a man has been deceived into walking a mile or more in the
expectation of finding somebody at work.

"The bird belongs to the kingfisher family, but does not hunt much for
fishes, his favorite food being snakes. It makes no difference to him
whether the snakes are poisonous or not, as his attacks upon them are
limited only by their size. Large snakes he cannot handle, but small
ones are his delight. He drops down upon them with the quickness of a
flash, seizes them just back of the head, and then flies up in the air a
hundred feet to drop them upon the hardest piece of ground he can find.

"The fall breaks their backs, and he keeps up this performance until
life is extinct, when he devours his prey. His services as a
snake-killer are known all over the country, and consequently he is
never shot or trapped. He is intelligent enough to understand his
immunity from attack, and comes fearlessly about the houses of the
people in the country districts.

"Speaking of snakes reminds me that they have a very good collection in
the Zoo. We asked the keeper to indicate to us the snakes peculiar to
Australia, and he did so. The largest of them is known as the carpet
snake, and the specimen that we saw was about ten feet long. It belongs
to the constrictor family, being perfectly harmless so far as its bite
is concerned, but it has powers of constriction that might be very
serious to the person around whom the creature has wound itself. One
traveler in Australia tells how he was visiting a cattle station in
Queensland, and when he went to bed the first night of his stay, he
found a carpet snake lying on the outside of his couch. He called loudly
for some one to come and kill the serpent.

"His call was heard by the proprietor, who shouted to him not to kill
the snake, as it was one of the family pets, and then the man came and
seized the creature by the neck and carried it to a barrel where he said
the snake belonged. I hope they won't have any pets of that sort around
any house that I visit during my stay in Australia.

"There are eighty-three distinct species of snakes peculiar to
Australia, of which sixty are venomous, and fifteen amphibious. The most
common of the deadly serpents are the death adder, black snake, brown
snake, tiger snake, and diamond snake. The latter is so called on
account of the color of his skin, which is laid out in lozenges of a
diamond shape, alternately brown and white. The death adder, so the
keeper told us, is the most dangerous of all the Australian snakes, as
it never tries to escape. It lies perfectly still when approached, but
the instant one touches it, it darts its head and delivers, if possible,
a fatal bite. The poison speedily accomplishes its purpose, and unless
an antidote can be had in a few minutes death is the inevitable result.

"People who go about much in the region where this snake abounds wear
high-top boots as a protection against these serpents. The black snake
and the brown snake are the most common of the deadly serpents. The
brown one is the largest of them, and frequently attains a length of
eight or nine feet. The tiger snake seems to be related to the
'_Cobra-di-Capello_,' of India, as it has the same power of flattening
and extending its neck when irritated.

"I asked what were the antidotes used for snake bites in Australia?

"To this our host replied that there were various ways of counteracting
the effects of a snake bite. One was to cut out the wound and take away
the flesh from each side of it for half an inch or so. Another was to
swallow large quantities of brandy and whiskey, and the third and most
common way was to use a hypodermic injection of ammonia. The last-named
antidote is regarded as almost certain, and a great many people, such as
stockmen, wood-cutters, farmers, and the like, carry in their pockets a
hypodermic syringe, charged and ready for use.

"'On that subject I can tell you an interesting story,' said our host.
'There was at one time a man named Underwood, who discovered a positive
antidote for the bite of the most venomous serpent. He gave several
exhibitions in which he permitted himself to be bitten by snakes in full
possession of all their venomous powers, a fact which was established by
the immediate deaths of dogs, chickens, and other small animals, which
were bitten by the snakes after they had tried their fangs on Underwood.
He carried a supply of his antidote about him, and used it whenever he
was thus bitten.'

"'Underwood's remedy was a secret known only to himself. He was trying
to sell it to the government, the latter intending to make it public for
the sake of saving life. One day Underwood gave an exhibition in which
he allowed himself, as usual, to be bitten by a venomous snake. He was
intoxicated at the time, and in consequence of his intoxication was
unable to find his antidote; the result was that he died within an hour,
and carried away the secret of his antidote forever.'

"Newly arrived emigrants in Australia have a great fear of snakes. For
the first few weeks they are startled whenever they hear the least
rustling in the bushes, but after a time they get accustomed to it, and
think no more about snakes than they do about dragons. It makes a great
difference in what part of Australia you are. There are some regions
where the snake is rarely seen, while in others great precautions are
necessary. Low, swampy districts are said to be the worst, and men who
walk around in such localities are very careful of their steps.

"Some of the snakes of Australia have an unpleasant habit of coming
around the houses, and this is particularly the case with the tiger
snake, which in this respect seems to possess the same characteristics
as his relative the 'cobra,' of India. Our host told us a story which he
said he knew to be a true one, the incident having occurred in a family
with which he was acquainted. There was an invalid daughter in the
family, and one afternoon, when she was sleeping in a hammock on the
veranda, she suddenly waked with the feeling of something cold, and
moist, and heavy near her neck. She raised her hand and happened to
grasp the neck of a snake just back of the head. In her paroxysm of
terror, she clutched it with terrific force to tear it away.

"She gave a piercing cry that summoned her father and other members of
the family, and immediately after the cry she fainted. But she still
continued to clutch at the snake's neck, and although she was utterly
unconscious of anything surrounding her, she grasped it with such force
that the reptile was fairly strangled by her fingers. Her father
realized that it would be impossible to free her hand until
consciousness returned, and the indications were that it would not be
speedy in coming. So they released her fingers one by one, with a piece
of the hammock cord, and removed the dead body of the snake so that it
should be out of sight when she revived. Luckily, the creature had not
bitten her before she grasped it.

"It is not at all unusual for a man sleeping on the ground at night to
find, on waking, that a serpent has crawled in by his side, or curled
itself up on his breast for the sake of the warmth that his body
supplies. I have heard a story of a man who thus entertained an
unwelcome visitor. He waked during the night while lying flat on his
back, and felt something heavy and cold on his chest. He moved a little
as he waked, and his movement caused the snake that was lying on him to
raise its head. By the light of the camp fire the man saw his
predicament. His hair stood on end, and he could feel the blood
stiffening in his veins. He knew it would be some time before daylight,
and felt that he would lose his mind before morning, or perhaps die of
fear. He carried a knife in his belt, and decided, after careful
consideration, that his best plan was to reach for the weapon and kill
the snake where it lay.

"Slowly, very slowly, he worked his hand to his waist and drew his
knife. He could not avoid making some movement in doing so, and at each
movement the snake raised its head to ascertain the cause of the
disturbance; then the man became perfectly still until the reptile
subsided again.

"After the lapse of what seemed to be many hours, the man got his knife
and arm in readiness for action. Then he moved his body a little,
causing the serpent to lift its head once more. As it did so, the man
made a quick movement of his hand, and he declares that he never made a
quicker one in all his life. The snake's head was severed by the blow;
it fell to one side and the writhing body of the creature followed it.
At the same instant the man was on his feet, and he says that he danced
for a few minutes in a wild paroxysm of joy, and then fell to the ground
in a fainting fit, caused by the sudden reaction in his feelings. The
snake that he killed was of a poisonous kind,--the tiger snake, which
has already been mentioned. When stretched out to its full length, it
measured very nearly five feet.

"They have scorpions and centipedes in Australia, and their bite is just
as deadly as that of the same creatures elsewhere. They have a black
spider about as large as a pea,--black all over except a red spot on its
back,--which is found in decaying logs, and, unhappily, has a fondness
for living in houses. It is aggressive in its nature, as it does not
wait to be disturbed before making an attack, and it has been known to
cross a room towards where a person was sitting in order to bite him.
Its bite is as bad as that of the scorpion or centipede. Sometimes its
victims are permanently paralyzed for the rest of their lives, or become
hopeless lunatics, and, not infrequently, death results from this
spider's bite.

"One gentleman told me how he was once bitten by one of these spiders on
the calf of the leg. He immediately cut out the wound and injected some
ammonia close by the side of it, but in spite of these precautions he
suffered intense pains in the leg for several days. The limb swelled to
twice its natural size, and became as soft as putty. At the spot where
the wound was a suppurating sore formed and it discharged for several
months. He fully expected that amputation would be necessary, and the
doctor whom he called to attend him said the chances were five to one
that he would lose the leg altogether. Greatly to his and the doctor's
surprise and delight, he managed to save it, but for fully a year after
the wound had healed the limb did not resume its normal size, and he
suffered frequent pains like rheumatism.

"'You will naturally conclude,' said our friend, 'that as we have
spiders here we ought to have flies, and we have them in sufficient
abundance to prevent life from becoming monotonous. They are worse in
the interior than on the coast; in the latter region they are only
troublesome during the autumn months, while for the rest of the year
they are not at all numerous, or may be absent altogether; but in the
interior they are always bad, the only difference being that they are
worse at some times than at others. In parts of the interior everybody
wears a veil when going about the country, and it is often necessary to
do so while in the house. On some of the interior plains you can see a
man before you see him, as an Irishman might put it. You see in the
distance a small black cloud hovering just over the road. It is a cloud
of flies around the head of some unfortunate traveler, who is
approaching on horseback. They stick to him like a troubled conscience
and go with him wherever he goes. If another traveler happens to be
going in the opposite direction, the clouds about their heads mingle as
the individuals meet, and when they separate the flies move on with
them, as before.'

"Flies in the houses are very troublesome, as they are fond of loitering
about the table, just like flies in America and other countries. They
are a nuisance to which nobody ever gets accustomed, and in some
localities they almost render the country uninhabitable. Mosquitoes
abound in most parts of the country, especially along the rivers and
lakes and in swampy regions, and every traveler who expects to be out at
night carries a mosquito net with him."

From the Zoo our friends continued their drive through other parks and
along some of the principal streets, passing several public buildings,
all of which were spacious and attractive. The town hall, post-office,
government house, and other public structures of Melbourne would do
honor to any city and evince the taste and good judgment of those who
planned and erected them. The numerous parks and gardens are a great
ornament to the city and give an abundance of breathing space for the
people. Our young friends were loud in their praise of what they saw,
and their comments were well received by their host. The people of
Melbourne are fond of hearing their city commended, and their pride in
it is certainly well justified.




CHAPTER X.

THE HARBOR OF MELBOURNE--CONVICT HULKS AND BUSHRANGERS.


In the afternoon the party visited Port Melbourne, formerly known as
Sandridge. Properly speaking, this is the harbor of Melbourne, and it is
situated near the mouth of the Yarra, where that stream enters Hobson's
Bay, the latter being an arm of Port Philip Bay. It is a busy place and
contains the usual sights of a harbor. Ships were discharging or
receiving their cargoes, some at the piers which jut out into the water,
while some were anchored away from the shore and were performing the
same work by means of lighters. On the other side of Hobson's Bay is
Williamstown, which is a sort of rival of Sandridge. A great deal of
shipping business is done there, and Williamstown contains, also,
graving docks and building yards where many vessels engaged in local
trade along the coast have been constructed. The gentleman who
accompanied our friends called their attention to the railways which
connect Williamstown and Sandridge with the city, and remarked that
times had changed since the gold rush in the early fifties.

"At the present time," said he, "you can go between Sandridge and
Melbourne for threepence or sixpence, according to the class you select,
but in the time of the gold rush prices were very much higher. If you
wanted a carriage from here to the city, you would be lucky to escape
for a sovereign, and a dray load of baggage drawn by a single horse
would cost fifteen dollars. There used to be an omnibus line that
carried passengers for two shillings and sixpence, but it was somewhat
irregular in its movements, and could not be relied on. Nowadays the
omnibus will carry you for threepence.

"When a ship arrived and anchored in the bay the passengers had to pay
three shillings each to be put on shore, and very often the boatman
raised the tariff to five shillings whenever he thought he could induce
or compel the passengers to pay it. The charge for baggage was a
separate one, and sometimes it cost more to take a quantity of baggage
from Sandridge to Melbourne than it had cost to bring it all the way
from London to Sandridge, a distance of thirteen thousand miles."

"It was a golden harvest for the boatmen and everybody else engaged in
the transportation business," Harry remarked.

"Indeed, it was," said the gentleman; "and a great many people had the
sense to perceive that they had a better chance for a fortune by
remaining right here than by going to the mines, where everything was
uncertain."

"I suppose everything else was in proportion, was it not?" queried Ned.

"That was exactly the case," was the reply. "When goods were brought on
shore they were loaded into carts for transportation to Melbourne, and
the cart was not allowed to move out of the yard until three pounds
sterling had been paid for taking the load to the city. The travelers
protested and said they would not pay, but they generally did, as there
was no other alternative. When they got to the city they found the same
scale of prices.

"The poorest kind of a room without any furniture would bring ten
dollars a week, and a stall in the stable of a hotel which would
accommodate two men rented readily for ten shillings a night.
Hotel-keepers made fortunes, or at least some of them did, and others
might have done so if they had taken care of their money. I have heard
of one hotel-keeper who had his house crammed full of patrons, none of
them paying less than ten shillings a night for their lodging, while he
had seventy-five lodgers in his stables, each of them paying five
shillings apiece.

"A great many people spread tents on the waste ground outside of the
city to save the expense of lodgings. They did not succeed altogether in
doing so, as the government required them to pay at the rate of sixty
dollars a year for the privilege of putting up a tent. Everybody was
anxious to get away from Melbourne as quickly as possible, but they
underwent great delays in getting their goods out of the ships."

"I suppose you had no railways at that time to facilitate travel," one
of the youths remarked.

"No; there were no railways and the only way of travel was by the
ordinary route, and very ordinary it was in many places. It was not a
graded and macadamized road such as you find in England, but simply a
rough pathway, principally of nature's manufacture. It was full of ruts
and gullies, very muddy in the rainy season, and terribly dusty in the
dry times. Travelers went to the mines in all sorts of ways, some on
foot, and some by ox and horse wagons, and if they had plenty of money,
and were determined to have luxury and speed at whatever cost, they
traveled by stage-coach. An American firm, Cobb & Company, came here in
the early days and established lines of stage-coaches, first from
Melbourne to the mines, and afterwards all over Australia. Cobb's
coaches are still running on some of the interior routes that are not
covered by railway, but wherever the locomotive has put in its
appearance it has forced them out of the way."

"I have read somewhere," said Harry, "that traveling on the road to the
mines was not very safe in those days."

"That depended somewhat on the way one was going," was the reply.
"Travelers going towards the mines were not very liable to attack, as
they were not supposed to have any money, but it was not so with those
coming from the mines to the coast. The natural supposition was that an
individual moving in the direction of Melbourne had 'made his pile' and
was on his way home. The country was infested with ex-convicts and men
who had escaped from convict service in Australia and Tasmania. They
were known as 'bushrangers,' and great numbers of them were along the
routes to the mines. They lived in caves among the hills, or in the open
air, and occasionally took shelter in out stations on sheep runs. They
supplied themselves with food by stealing sheep and cattle from the
ranches, and by robbing wagons laden with provisions on their way to the
mines. Clothing they obtained by the same system of plunder, and
whenever the haunt of a gang was discovered by the police it was almost
invariably found to be well stocked with provisions and clothing.

"These were the fellows that made life miserable to the miners returning
to the coast. The bushrangers traveled in gangs of all the way from five
to fifteen or twenty, and sometimes more, and each gang was led by the
most desperate man among them. They used to 'stick up' solitary
travelers, or travelers in groups of a dozen or more. They lay in wait
at turnings of the road or near the summits of hills, and generally took
their victims by surprise. If a man submitted quietly to be robbed, he
was generally left unharmed, but if he made any resistance, he was
knocked senseless or shot down without the least compunction. Sometimes
these gangs were so numerous that hardly a traveler escaped them. Then
there would be a lull in the business for a time and the road would be
particularly safe.

"Once a week or so, gold was sent down from the mines by the government
authorities; and of course it was accompanied by a strong and well-armed
escort of police. Many people entrusted their gold to the escort, paying
a high premium for the guarantee of safe delivery in Melbourne. A good
many people used to accompany the escort for the protection it afforded,
but the number became so great and troublesome that the government at
length refused to permit travelers to go in that way unless they paid
the same premium on the gold that they carried as was paid by those who
shipped the precious metal. Not infrequently the bushrangers attacked
the government escort, and on several occasions they were successful.

"It was a piece of good fortune that, as a general thing, the
bushrangers were never able to agree with each other very long. After a
gang had been organized and selected its leader, dissensions arose very
speedily, particularly as to the division of the spoil. The leader
always believed that he ought to have a larger share of the plunder than
anybody else, while all the subordinate members believed just as
earnestly that their stealings should be divided equally. In this way
quarrels took place. The captain would be deposed and another one
selected, and he in time would share the fate of his predecessors.

"Some of the bushrangers were quite famous for their bravery and daring,
and they used to give the police a great deal of hard fighting. On the
other hand, the police acquired a high reputation for their skill in
fighting and capturing bushrangers. They were instructed to bring in
their captives alive, if possible, but it did not injure their
reputations at all if they killed the scoundrels on the spot. The
government wanted to be rid of the rascals, and frequently offered
rewards for their capture, 'dead or alive.'

"Whenever the bushrangers made a haul of gold dust it was divided as
soon as possible, each man taking his share and doing with it what he
pleased. They generally hid their booty in spots known only to
themselves, and when any of the bushrangers were captured, the police
usually proceeded to draw from them the information as to where their
gold was concealed. Naturally, the fellows were unwilling to say, and if
they refused to tell, various means were resorted to to make them give
up the desired information. Singeing their hair, pinching their fingers
and toes, or submitting them to other physical tortures, were among the
means commonly used.

"When ordinary methods failed, a favorite device was to tie the
bushranger hand and foot, and then place him on an ant hill. The black
ant of Australia has a bite that is very painful, and when hundreds of
thousands of ants are biting a man all at once, the feeling is something
fearful. The ant-hill torture was generally successful. After submitting
to it for a time, the bushranger generally gave up the secret of the
whereabouts of his gold. I do not mean to say that all the police
officials indulged in this harsh treatment, but it is certain that many
of them did.

"It is probable that a great deal of stolen gold is concealed in the
country bordering the road from Melbourne to the gold diggings which
will never be found. Many of the bushrangers were killed while fighting
with the police, died of their wounds, or in prison, or managed to flee
the country without giving up the secret which would have enabled the
authorities to find where their treasures were concealed. Occasionally
one of their deposits is found by accident, but there are doubtless
hundreds which nobody will ever come upon.

"There was a great deal of lawlessness in and around Melbourne in those
days. One afternoon a band of robbers took possession of the road
between Melbourne and Sandridge, and 'stuck up' everybody who attempted
to pass. People were tied to trees and robbed, and for an hour or two
the bandits were in full possession of the road. They had one of their
number on watch who gave the signal when the police approached, and
thus they were enabled to get away in good time, leaving their victims
fastened to the trees.

"Once a ship was anchored in the harbor, ready to sail for England, with
several thousand ounces of gold on board. She was to leave the next
forenoon, and was to receive her crew and passengers early in the
morning. There were only some ten or twelve persons on board. Along
about midnight a boat came to the side of the ship, and, when hailed by
the lookout, the answer was given that two passengers were coming on
board. Two men came up the side of the ship dressed like ordinary
passengers, and without any suspicious appearance about them.

"While they were in conversation with the lookout and asking about the
location of their rooms, they suddenly seized and bound him, and put a
gag in his mouth to prevent his making an outcry. Then several other men
came up the side of the ship very quickly, and one by one all on board
were bound and gagged so quietly and speedily that they could not give
the least alarm. The robbers then opened the treasure-room, took
possession of the gold, lowered it into their boat and rowed away. They
were not on the ship more than half an hour, and as no one came to
ascertain the state of affairs and give the alarm until the next
morning, the robbers succeeded in getting away with all their plunder.
It was a very bold performance, but from that time such a careful watch
was kept on board of the ships that it could not be repeated.

"A fair proportion of the successful miners kept their money and went
home with it, but there was a large number who seemed to believe that
the best use to be made of gold was to get rid of it as quickly as
possible, and they found plenty of people ready and willing to help them
in this work; and it was not infrequently the case that miners were
killed for the sake of their gold, and their bodies disposed of in the
most convenient way. Most of the men who thus disappeared had no
relatives or intimate friends in the country, and consequently their
disappearance caused no inquiries to be made concerning them. If the
waters of Hobson's Bay would give up their dead, and the dead could
speak, there would be a long series of fearful tales."

"Those bushranger fellows must have been terrible men," remarked Harry
as the gentleman paused. "What did the authorities do with them whenever
they caught any?"

"They disposed of them in various ways," was the reply. "Those who had
been guilty of murder or an attempt at it were hanged, while those
against whom murder could not be proved were sent to the hulks for life
or for long terms of imprisonment."

"What were the hulks? I don't know as I understand the term."

"Oh, the hulks were ships, old ships that had been pronounced
unseaworthy and dismantled. They were anchored in Hobson's Bay after
being fitted up as prisons, and very uncomfortable prisons they were. A
most terrible system of discipline prevailed on board of these hulks.
The man who established the system, or rather, the one who had
administered it, was beaten to death by a gang of desperate convicts,
who rushed upon him one day on the deck of one of the hulks, with the
determination to kill him for the cruelties they had suffered. Before
the guards could stop them they had literally pounded the life out of
him and flung his body overboard."

"How long did they keep up that system?" one of the youths asked.

"From 1850 to 1857," their informant replied. "In the last-named year
the practise of imprisonment on board of the hulks was discontinued and
the convicts were put into prisons on shore. Four of the hulks were sold
and broken up, and the fifth, the _Success_, was bought by speculators
and kept for exhibition purposes. She was shown in all the ports of
Australia for many years, and was at last taken to England and put on
exhibition there. She was five months making the voyage from Australia
to England, and at one time fears were entertained for her safety; but
she reached her destination all right, and has probably reaped a harvest
of money for her exhibitors. She was built in India in 1790, her hull
being made of solid teak-wood. She was an East Indian trader for more
than forty years, then she was an emigrant ship, and finally, in 1852, a
convict hulk.

"The convicts on board these hulks, or at any rate the worst of them,
were always kept in irons, but this did not deter them from jumping
overboard and trying to swim to the shore. Very few of these ever
succeeded in reaching the land, as they were either carried to the
bottom by the weight of the irons, or were captured by the guard boats
that constantly surrounded the hulks. Most of the convicts were
confined in separate cells, and the 'history' of each convict was posted
on the door of his cell.

"Nearly the whole interior of the ship was thus divided into cells, and
when candles and lanterns were removed the places were in pitchy
darkness. I went on board the _Success_ one day, while she was on
exhibition here, long after she had given up her old occupation, and as
a matter of curiosity, I had myself shut up in one of the cells and the
light removed. I told them to leave me in for ten minutes only, not
longer.

"It was on the lower deck, where not a ray of light could come in, and
the place where they locked me in was one of the 'black holes' in which
prisoners were confined from one to twenty-eight days on bread and
water.

"As soon as they had locked me in and went away, I regretted that I had
made the suggestion. You have heard of its being so dark that you could
feel the darkness; well, that was the case down there. I felt the
darkness pressing upon me, and the air was very thick and heavy. I felt
an overwhelming desire to light a match, and discovered that I had no
matches in my pocket.

"One, two, three, and four minutes passed away, and I had had all I
wanted. I kicked and hammered at the thick door, and when it was opened
and I went out of the hold and up on deck, I was nearly blinded. How in
the world a man could stay in one of those places for a single day, let
alone twenty-eight days, without losing his reason is more than I can
understand."

Harry asked if all the prisoners were kept in solitary cells on board of
these hulks.

"Most, but not all, of them were confined in this way. There is a space
at the stern, and another in the center of the ship, heavily barred with
iron, where those who were considered utterly irreclaimable were huddled
together. It would almost seem as though the authorities deliberately
put them there in order that they should kill each other, as fights
among them were very frequent and not a few were murdered by their
companions. They did not work, they were simply in prison, that was all.

"The punishments that the convicts received were various. They had the
dark cells and bread and water of which I have told you, and then they
had floggings, and plenty of them, too. They were tied up by the thumbs
so that their toes just touched the deck, and they were compelled to
sustain the weight of the body either on their thumbs or their toes for
hours at a time. They were 'bucked,' 'gagged,' and 'paddled,' and
'cold-showered,' and treated to other brutalities which have been known
in the English army and navy for a long time. In spite of their
liability to punishment, many of them paid little attention to the
rules, and some were continually yelling in the most horrible manner,
and day and night the sound of their voices was heard.

"Over the hatchway was a wheel by which the food of the convicts was
lowered into the hold at morning, noon, and night; at other times it was
used for raising in an iron cage, from the lower decks, convicts who
were allowed exercise, but the weight of whose irons prevented their
ascending by the companionways. Many of them wore 'punishment balls'
attached to their irons. The punishment balls and chain together
weighed about eighty pounds, and frequently bowed the prisoner double.

"The heaviest leg irons weighed thirty-five pounds, and some of them
forty pounds. You will readily understand why it was that men who tried
to escape by swimming, with such weights about them, were almost
invariably drowned in the attempt.

"A good many famous criminals were confined on board of the _Success_
and her four sister hulks. Among them was the notorious Captain
Melville, who for several years haunted the country between Melbourne
and Ballarat, and was credited with many murders and countless
robberies. When he was finally caught he admitted that his own share of
the gold he had stolen amounted to not less than two hundred and fifty
thousand dollars, and he claimed that he had hidden it in a place known
only to himself. For the last forty years people have been trying in
vain to find out where Melville hid his ill-gotten gold. He was in the
habit of riding to the top of Mount Boran, whence, by the aid of a
powerful field-glass, he was able to see the returning gold miners on
the road. Consequently, it is believed that Melville's treasure must be
hidden in the neighborhood of Mount Boran, but all attempts to find it
have proved fruitless.

"Melville was tried and convicted and condemned to be imprisoned for
thirty-two years on board the _Success_. He watched his opportunity, and
formed a conspiracy with a number of his fellow-convicts to rush upon a
boat and the keeper in charge of it and take possession. The plan
succeeded and the escaped convicts pulled to the shore in safety,
although fired upon by all the hulks and war ships in the harbor.
Melville was soon recaptured, and at his trial he defended himself
brilliantly, relating in burning words the horrors of the penal system
on board the hulks.

"The speech was published in the Melbourne papers and caused a great
sensation. A great mass meeting of the citizens was held, and
resolutions were passed in favor of abolishing the convict hulks. The
popular feeling aroused against them was so strong and general that,
although the government had sentenced Melville to death for killing the
keeper in his attempt to escape, it was compelled to commute the
sentence to imprisonment for life. He was not sent back to the
_Success_, but was incarcerated in the jail at Melbourne. According to
the official report, he committed suicide there, but the unofficial
version of the affair is that he was strangled to death by a keeper
during a struggle in which the prisoner was trying to escape.

"Melville at one time had eighty men in his gang, the largest number of
bushrangers at any time under a single leader. Another scoundrel who was
confined on the _Success_ was Henry Garrett, who, in broad daylight,
'stuck up' the Ballarat bank and robbed it of 16,000 pounds. One of his
tricks consisted in wearing a suit of clothes of clerical cut, a white
necktie, and broad-brimmed hat. On one occasion he walked into the bank
dressed in this manner, stepped up to the safe and began to plunder it.
He was a man of good education, and varied robbery with the pursuit of
literature. He used to write essays and other articles, which he sent to
the newspapers, and on one occasion he wrote an essay on crime.

"One man, William Stevens, helped Melville and his gang in their
attempt to escape from the _Success_. He struck down a warder with a
stone-cutter's axe and jumped overboard. He was never seen again, and
the authorities were always in doubt whether he escaped or went to the
bottom, the prevailing opinion being in favor of the latter result.
Another famous bushranger was Captain Moonlight, who served his time and
became a respectable citizen. Another prisoner, after serving for
fifteen years, was given the position of 'guide' upon the vessel by her
owners, and made a comfortable income by showing visitors around."




CHAPTER XI.

GEELONG--AUSTRALIAN GOLD MINES--FINDING A BIG NUGGET.


When they had finished with Williamstown and Sandridge our friends went
to St. Kilda, which may be called the Coney Island of Melbourne, as it
is very popular with those who are fond of salt-water bathing. Harry and
Ned remarked that there were hotels, restaurants, and other places of
resort and amusement such as are usually found at seaside watering
places, and Ned thought it would require no great stretch of the
imagination to believe that they were at the famous bathing place of New
York. Ned observed that there were fences consisting of posts set in the
ground, not more than ten or twelve inches apart, extending a
considerable distance out into the water and completely enclosing the
bathing place.

He asked why the fences were placed there, and was informed that it was
because the bay abounded in sharks, and people who came there to bathe
had a prejudice against being eaten up by these sea-wolves. "If we
should take away the fences," said one of the attendants at the bathing
house, "we would not do any more business here, and you may be sure that
we are very careful to keep the fences in order."

Sharks abound all through the waters of Australia. They have caused not
a few deaths, and everybody who understands about them is careful not to
venture into the water at any place where the creatures are liable to
come; but occasionally one hears of an incautious or ignorant person
falling a prey to these monsters of the deep. When sailboats and other
craft are overturned in storms or sudden squalls and their occupants are
thrown into the water, they suffer fearful peril. Not long ago a small
sailboat was overturned in Port Philip Bay with two gentlemen and a lady
on board, in addition to the boatman and his boy. Before help could
reach them the whole five had fallen victims to the sharks.

Port Philip Bay, into which Hobson's Bay opens, is a grand sheet of
water between thirty and forty miles wide, and navigable for ships of
all sizes, and the bay affords anchoring space for all the ships in the
world, in case they should come there at the same time. The entrance to
the bay is about thirty miles from Melbourne, and at Queenscliff near
the entrance there is a fine watering place, which is reached both by
railway and by steamboat. It has the advantage of St. Kilda in standing
on the shore of the ocean, while the former place has only the waters of
the bay in front of it. Many Melbourneites go to Queenscliff to enjoy
the ocean breezes and watch the surf breaking on the shore. While St.
Kilda may be called the Coney Island of Melbourne, Queenscliff is fairly
entitled to be considered its Long Branch.

On their return to Melbourne, the youths found at their hotel an
invitation to make a trip on the following day to Geelong. When Dr.
Whitney read the invitation to the youths, Harry asked where Geelong
was.

"Oh, I know about that," said Ned; "I happened to be reading about it
this morning."

"Well, where is it?"

"Geelong is a town forty-five miles from Melbourne," replied Ned, "and
it is a fairly prosperous town, too. It is not quite as old as
Melbourne, but at one time the inhabitants thought that their town would
outstrip Melbourne completely."

"How is that?"

"The town stands on Corio Bay, an arm of Port Philip Bay, and has a good
harbor; in fact, the harbor at that time was better than that at
Melbourne. The people of Geelong went to work and built a railway from
their city to Melbourne, with the idea that if they did so, all the wool
that was being shipped from Melbourne would be sent to Geelong for
shipment, while the cargoes of foreign goods that landed at Melbourne
would be landed at Geelong."

"The plan did not work as they expected, did it?"

"Not by any means. As soon as the railway was built, wool coming into
Geelong was sent to Melbourne for shipment, and goods that were intended
for Geelong were landed at Melbourne and sent over by railway. In this
way the measures they had taken to increase their trade worked exactly
the other way and diminished it."

"Don't they have any foreign commerce at all at Geelong?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yes, they have some, but nothing in comparison with Melbourne. We
will learn something about it when we go there."

As there are three passenger steamers running between Geelong and
Melbourne daily, the party went by railway and returned by water. In the
railway journey they had a pleasant ride along the shore of Port Philip
Bay, and arrived at their destination in a little more than two hours
from the time of starting. They found the town pleasantly situated on
Corio Bay, being laid out on ground sloping to the bay on the north and
to the Barwon River on the south. Along the streets were fine shops,
attractive stores, and every indication of an industrious and prosperous
population.

In the suburbs, where they were taken in a carriage by the gentleman who
accompanied them, they found numerous private residences, many of them
of a superior character. The gentleman told them that Geelong was famous
for its manufactures of woolens and other goods, and that it built the
first woolen mill in Victoria. Iron foundries, wood-working
establishments, and other industrial concerns were visited, so that our
friends readily understood whence the prosperity of Geelong came. Their
host told them that Geelong had long since given up its ideas of rivalry
with Melbourne, and had settled down with the determination to develop
itself in every feasible way and let things take care of themselves.

Our young friends thought they would like to see something of the gold
mines of Victoria, and asked Dr. Whitney about them. He readily
assented, and the trip to Ballarat was speedily arranged, and also one
to Sandhurst, which is the present name of Bendigo of gold-mining days.
Ballarat was the most important place of the two, and its placer mines
gave a greater yield of gold than did those of Bendigo. At both places
the placer mines were exhausted long ago, but gold is still taken from
the rocks and reefs which underlie the whole region.

The mining establishments of Ballarat are outside of the city itself,
and when the visitors reached the place and rode through the town they
could hardly believe they were in a gold-mining region. The streets are
wide, and most of them well shaded with trees, while some of them are so
broad that they deserve the name of avenues rather than that of streets.
There are substantial public buildings and a goodly number of churches,
a botanical garden, and all the other features of a quiet and
well-established city, and it was quite difficult for them to believe
that they were in a place whose chief industry was the extraction of
gold from the ground. All the lawless features of the Ballarat of
gold-rush days had disappeared, and the town was as peaceful as any one
could wish to find it.

Our friends brought a letter of introduction to a gentleman of Ballarat,
who kindly consented to show them about the place and answer any
questions that they wished to ask.

Harry's first question was, whether the first discoveries of gold in
Australia were made at Ballarat or elsewhere.

"It is very difficult to say exactly," the gentleman answered, "where
the first discoveries were made, but certainly they were not made at
this spot. According to history and tradition, gold was discovered in
the mountains behind Sydney about the year 1814, but the news of the
finding of the precious metal was kept a secret by the government. At
intervals of a few years from that time small deposits of gold were
found at various places in New South Wales and Victoria, but these were
also kept a secret, the individuals who found the deposits being in one
way or another under the control of the government.

"In the early part of 1851 a miner from California, named Hargreaves,
discovered gold at Lewis Pond Creek in New South Wales, and about the
middle of the same year another California miner, named Esmond, found a
deposit of gold at Clunes, sixteen miles from Ballarat. Before the
government could take any steps for suppressing it the news had spread
and the excitement began. The stories were greatly exaggerated, and many
people came here believing that they had only to shovel the gold from
the ground into barrels and boxes, and send it away to be converted into
coin. That was the beginning of the gold rush, and a rush it was, you
may be sure.

"From all over Australia people flocked to the new El Dorado. Mechanics
of all kinds left their employments; shepherds deserted their flocks;
merchants and clerks fled from their counting-houses; farmers quit their
fields and gardens, doctors and lawyers their offices, and the whole
country seemed to have gone mad about gold. Youth and age got the fever
alike; boys of sixteen and men of seventy walked side by side on their
way to the mines. Melbourne and Sydney were deserted, and the
prediction was made that before the end of the year grass would be
growing in the principal streets of those cities.

"Provisions, clothing, and miners' tools and equipments rose to an
enormous price. Picks or shovels worth four or five shillings apiece in
the sea-coast cities were sold for ten pounds apiece at the mines. Nails
for building sluices sometimes brought their weight in gold. Bacon and
flour were worth a dollar a pound, and not always to be procured at that
figure. The most ordinary shelter was worth ten shillings a night, and
the rental price of a house for a month was the equivalent of its cost.

"The government refused to permit anybody to work at mining without a
license, and the miners were so numerous that the revenue from the
licenses issued was a large one. The money thus obtained was expended in
organizing a strong police force and preserving order. Whereever mining
fields were opened, a gold commissioner with a police escort at his back
made his appearance as soon as possible, and insured a certain degree of
safety. Miners could leave their gold with the commissioner, either on
deposit, to be called for whenever they liked, or for transportation to
Melbourne. I presume you already know about the bushrangers and how they
used to plunder the homeward-bound miners."

"Were the early miners successful in finding large deposits of gold?"
one of the youths asked.

"The question is a difficult one to answer directly," was the reply. "A
great many were successful, but, on the other hand, a great many had
very poor luck in the mines and hardly succeeded in making a bare
living. We always hear of the rich finds in the mining district, but
rarely of the many failures. This has always been the case in gold
mining the world over, and Ballarat and the region around it were no
exception to the rule. I will tell you of some of the rich discoveries,
and leave you to remember that the fortunate miners were in small number
compared to the unfortunate ones. It may be safely said that the early
yield of the Ballarat mines exceeded that of the best days of
California.

"Some claims eight feet square yielded, each of them, from fifty
thousand to sixty thousand dollars. One mine, which was owned by several
men in common, was worked about four months and yielded eighty thousand
dollars to each man. One tubful of earth which was taken from the bottom
of a claim where the bed rock was scraped yielded nearly ten thousand
dollars, and one claim which was supposed to have been worked out, and
was abandoned, was again taken up by two men who obtained forty thousand
dollars from it in two weeks. Up to the present time it is estimated
that very nearly two billion dollars' worth of gold have been taken out
of Australian mines."

Ned asked in what shape the gold was found; that is, was it in large
pieces or small ones, fine dust or nuggets?

"It embraced everything between the large nugget and fine dust or
flakes," the gentleman replied. "A great deal of the gold was in little
lumps like bird shot; a great deal of it was in scales, and then, again,
it took the shape of dust so fine that the particles were almost
invisible to the naked eye. Nuggets the size of hens' eggs were not
very unusual, while those the size of pigeons' and sparrows' eggs were
much more numerous. The great nuggets were the ones most sought for, and
of course they were the rarest found.

"One nugget, resembling in shape and size a leg of mutton, and weighing
one hundred and thirty-five pounds, was found a long distance below the
surface, where some miners were tunneling to reach the bed rock; and
another nugget was found in such a remarkable way that I must tell you
the story of it.

"A man who was wandering about the scrub in the neighborhood of Ballarat
one day, sat down at the foot of a tree to rest. While sitting there he
took out his knife to cut a stick, and finding the knife was dull, he
proceeded to sharpen it by rubbing it upon a stone that lay almost
completely imbedded in the ground. As he rubbed, he found that the
surface of the stone became yellow. He was greatly surprised at this,
and then he dug around the stone with his knife, scraping it in several
places, and then trying to lift it. He might as well have tried to lift
a horse. Do what he could, he could not budge it an inch, and for a good
reason, as it was a mass of solid gold.

"He felt his head swimming and his wits leaving him. He pinched his
cheeks and pulled his ears to make sure that he was not dreaming. Here
he was with a fortune in his possession and he could not move it! Then
he sat down again and wondered what was best to do.

"Even if he could move it and started for the camp, he might be robbed
before he got there, as bushrangers infested the country, and he was
just as liable to come upon them as upon honest men. He could not stay
and watch it, as he had no provisions; and he was afraid to leave it,
for fear that somebody might come upon it during his absence. But there
was no help for it, as leave it he must, and after thinking the matter
over he acted about as sensibly as he could have done.

"He covered the nugget up very carefully, replacing the earth and
sprinkling it with leaves so that there was no indication that the spot
had been disturbed. Then he stripped the shirt from his back and tied it
to a neighboring tree, wisely concluding that it was not judicious to
hang the garment on the tree beneath which he had sat. Then, on his way
out of the scrub, he marked the trees here and there so that he could
find the place again, and as soon as he was in sight of the diggings he
went straight to the tent of the gold commissioner and told the story of
his discovery. The commissioner immediately sent the man back again with
a strong escort to secure the valuable find. The man received for the
nugget, after deducting all charges and commissions, the sum of
fifty-one thousand dollars.

"A great many fortunes were taken out of the earth around Ballarat
before the placer mines were exhausted. The news of the discovery of
gold in Australia spread to other countries, and thousands of people
came from all parts of the world to search for it. Nearly every
nationality was represented, and they came in great numbers. Just before
the gold discovery there were seventy-seven thousand inhabitants in the
colony of Victoria. The population doubled in a single year, and three
years after the discovery the colony had two hundred and thirty-six
thousand inhabitants. The gold rush properly ended when the placer mines
were exhausted, although in the meantime new mines had been discovered
in several localities, principally at Bendigo and Castlemaine. Ballarat
was nearly deserted for a time after the placer mining gave out, and the
same was the case at the other places mentioned. Then the reefs and
ledges were attacked; crushing machinery was erected, and the form of
work which you call quartz mining in America had its beginning. It has
gone on steadily ever since and gives employment to a great many people.
It also employs a great deal of money, as quartz mining requires
capital, while placer mining does not. To get a fortune by quartz mining
you must have a fortune to begin with, while in placer mining you need
nothing more than a pick and shovel.

"Australia will continue to produce gold for a great many years to
come," the gentleman continued. "New discoveries are made almost every
year, and in some years half a dozen fields will be opened. The
government has changed its tactics in regard to gold discoveries. It
rewarded Hargreaves and Esmond for their discoveries in 1851, and it has
rewarded the discoveries of other gold fields. Most of the colonial
governments have a standing offer of a handsome pecuniary reward to
anybody who discovers a gold field, provided there are not fewer than
two hundred men working in that field six months after its discovery.
This, you see, bars out all those finds that are exhausted in a few
weeks, which is the case with the majority of them.

"Every little while there is an excitement over a new discovery,
companies are formed for working the mines, and their stock is placed on
the market. It is safe to say that, in the majority of instances, more
money is made by shrewd speculators in Melbourne and Sydney manipulating
the stock than is taken from the mines. A few years ago there was a wild
speculation in mines in what is called the 'Broken Hill' district of
Victoria, and at present there is an excitement about gold discoveries
in Western Australia. According to the latest accounts from the
last-named region, there is a difficulty in working the mines there on
account of the scarcity of water. You cannot work a mine any more than
you can run a steam-engine without water, and many people have paid very
dearly to ascertain this fact."

From Ballarat our friends went to Sandhurst, which was formerly called
Bendigo. They found there a mining region resembling Ballarat in its
general features, but not in all of them. At Ballarat the mines are not
in the town but in its suburbs, while at Sandhurst they are directly in
the town itself. One of the residents remarked that there was a gold
mine in every back yard, and our friends found that this was not very
far from the truth.

Mining operations were carried on in the rear or by the side of the
houses, and it was said that sometimes the dust of the streets was
gathered up and washed to obtain the gold in it. An individual who
certainly appeared credible, said that the first brick house ever built
in Bendigo was torn down and the bricks crushed in order to obtain the
gold in them; this gold amounted to three ounces per ton, and not only
the house but its chimney yielded handsomely of the precious metal.

Bendigo yielded enormously to the placer miners of the early days. When
the placer mines were exhausted the place was nearly deserted, and then
came the era of quartz mining the same as at Ballarat. Thousands of men
are employed at Sandhurst and in its neighborhood, working in the gold
mines or in the crushing establishments connected with them. The quartz
mines thus give employment to a great number of people. Some of the
mines have been pushed to a great depth, one of them being twenty-six
hundred feet below the surface. There seems to be an inexhaustible
supply of gold-bearing rock, and it is a common saying in Victoria that
a true ledge has never been exhausted.

Harry made some inquiries as to the amount of gold annually produced in
Victoria, and learned that it was not far from five million pounds
sterling, or twenty-five million dollars. He was further told that the
cost of production amounted to very nearly the same figure; that is,
including the cost of the mining machinery, the wages of laborers, and
the many other expenses. It was admitted that the best mines showed a
fair profit on the investment, but not enough to make a fortune in a
short time.

The youths came to the conclusion that gold mining had been most
profitable to the people that never engaged in it. In this number he
included the brokers, bankers, storekeepers, farmers, and others who
kept out of the actual business of digging gold but profited by their
dealings with those who were engaged in it. Nothing so delights the
owner of a large farm in Australia as to learn of a gold discovery a few
miles from his place. He knows that it will give him a good market for
all he has to sell, though there may be occasional thefts from his horse
or cattle paddocks. Traders of all kinds get an enormous profit at the
mines, and as for the brokers and bankers, there is no doubt of their
ability to take care of themselves.

When Harry made the remark contained in the foregoing paragraph, Ned
said that it reminded him of a story.

"Well, please tell it," said Dr. Whitney; "we are always ready for good
stories."

Thus encouraged, Ned spoke as follows:--

"I was reading a day or two ago about a man who had a large cattle run
in a part of Australia where he had been for several years without any
near neighbors. Gold was discovered about ten miles from his place, and
a good many people flocked there. The gold mines furnished an excellent
market for his beef and for all the vegetables he chose to grow on his
place; but, on the other hand, he suffered somewhat by the depredations
of lawless characters. Horse stealing seemed to be the popular amusement
among the people at the mines, and quite often horses disappeared from
the estate and were never seen again.

"But they had one horse, called Stepney, that was a perfect treasure. He
was kept for carriage purposes and would never let anybody mount on his
back. He would stand perfectly still while being saddled, and while
anything was being attached to the saddle, but the instant anybody got
on his back he was thrown, and there was not a rider in Australia who
could stay in the saddle more than a few seconds.

"About once in a fortnight Stepney would be missing from the paddock,
but he always turned up in a day or two, and almost invariably with a
saddle on his back, generally a new one, and a miner's 'swag' attached
to it, and on most of the occasions the swag contained a goodly amount
of gold. Once he came back with a brand new saddle and six hundred
dollars' worth of gold, which nobody ever came to claim. The owner said
that Stepney was the most profitable horse he ever owned. He paid for
himself several times over, and whenever they ran short of saddles, all
they had to do was to use Stepney as a trap and 'set' him in the
paddock, with entire confidence that he would catch a saddle within a
day or two."

"That recalls a story about the way the miners used to try to deceive
the bushrangers," said the doctor; "I refer particularly to those who
were on their way to the coast with gold in their possession. They used
to bore holes in the shafts or frames of their carts and conceal the
gold in these holes, and sometimes they managed to hide quantities of
gold dust between the inner and outer soles of their boots. One miner
took the padding out of his horse's collar and inserted eighty ounces of
gold in the hollow. He jogged along the road to Melbourne, suffering a
good deal of trepidation at first, but finally arrived within twenty
miles of the city with his treasure, and began to feel safe.

"While he was driving slowly along with his cart he was overtaken by a
man on horseback, who explained that he was in a hurry, as the police
were after him for a fight he had been concerned in with another man.
His horse was exhausted and he would give the miner ten pounds to
exchange horses.

"As the animals were of about equal value, the miner assented and
proceeded to unharness his horse. When he took off the collar the other
man seized it, put it on his horse and jumped into the saddle, which he
had not removed; then he rode away, to the astonishment of the angry
miner, waving his hand and saying by way of farewell:--

"'The collar is all I wanted, friend. I don't care to make any horse
trade now.'

"You are doubtless aware," said their Ballarat friend, "of the
operations of the bushrangers, and how the police used sometimes to
torture those that they captured in order to make them reveal the secret
of the hiding place of their gold. They tell a story of a fight between
a gang of bushrangers and the police in which the leader of the robbers,
known as 'Kangaroo Jack,' was mortally wounded. He was lying on the
ground dying; there could be no mistake about that. The police captain,
I will call him Smith, but that wasn't his name, sat down by his side
and said:--

"'Come, Jack, you are going to die and there is no help for you. Tell me
where your gold is.'

"'I won't do it,' replied Jack. 'I won't tell you or anybody else!'

"Smith pressed him, but Jack was obstinate. Smith continued to urge and
Jack to refuse until death sealed the bandit's lips.

"Smith was afterward telling the story to one of his fellow-officers,
and remarked in conclusion:--

"'I think it was downright mean of Jack that he wouldn't tell me where
his gold was. I know he had at least fifty thousand dollars' worth
stowed away somewhere. He knew he couldn't take it with him, and it
couldn't do him any good, and it would have been a very tidy sum for me.
He couldn't have any personal ill-will to me, as I didn't shoot him
myself. I think it was downright mean, don't you?'

"His friend agreed with him, and no doubt he would have been willing to
share the plunder if it could have been found."




CHAPTER XII.

A SOUTHERLY BURSTER--WESTERN VICTORIA.


The day after their return to Melbourne, our friends were treated to an
entertainment which, as Harry said, "was not down on the bills." It was
what the Melbourneites called a "southerly burster," a storm which is
peculiar to Australia, and particularly to the southern portion of it.
They had already experienced showers of such force that the gutters of
the streets were filled to a depth of a foot and more, and sometimes the
whole street was covered. Most of the street crossings are bridged so
that the water can run away with comparative ease.

The water at such times flows with terrific force. Men attempting to
cross the gutters, who make a misstep, are lifted off their feet and are
instantly swept down by the current, and in case they should be carried
under one of the crossings they are liable to be drowned.

We will listen to Harry as he described in his journal their experience
with a southerly burster.

"When we arose in the morning," said Harry, "the weather was delightful
and we thought it would be a fine day for an excursion. There was not a
cloud in the sky and the breeze was blowing from the northeast. A
barometer hung in the hallway of the hotel, and Dr. Whitney remarked, as
he came out from breakfast, that it was falling rapidly. A gentleman
who was standing by his side heard the remark and said:--

"'I think we are going to have a burster; that is the way it usually
begins. If you have any engagements to go out to-day and they are not
absolutely imperative, you had better postpone them.'

"Ned and I overheard what he said and wondered what a burster was. We
said nothing, however, as we expected to find out by practical
experience.

"All through the forenoon the barometer continued to fall. The sky
remained clear until a little past noon, and the wind blew gently from
the northeast as before. Suddenly we saw a white cloud rolling up from
the northeast and spreading over the heavens until they were completely
covered. Masses of dust came with the wind, which increased in force for
a time and then lulled a little.

"Suddenly the wind went around to the south and blew a gale, yes, a
hurricane. It started off at about thirty miles an hour, but before it
ended its visit it was blowing fully seventy miles an hour, at least
that is what the papers said next day. I am told it sometimes reaches a
velocity of one hundred miles an hour, and has even been known to exceed
one hundred and forty miles. These tremendous winds do a great deal of
damage. They drive ships ashore or overwhelm them at sea; they devastate
fields and forests and level a great many buildings.

"The barometer fell rapidly in the forenoon, as I have mentioned; it was
the thermometer's turn in the afternoon. The mercury stood at about
ninety degrees Fahrenheit in the middle of the forenoon, and it remained
so until the wind chopped around to the south. An hour after the change
of wind it stood at seventy degrees, and an hour later at fifty. I am
told that it sometimes drops thirty degrees in half an hour, but such
occurrences are unusual.

"This is a good place to say that sudden changes in the temperature are
very common in Australia, and that the change from midday to midnight is
far greater than any to which we are accustomed in the United States.
When we have a change of twenty or thirty degrees in a single day we
regard it as unusual. What would you say to one hundred and ten degrees
at noon and fifty degrees at midnight? This is quite common in the
interior of Australia and not at all infrequent on the coast.

"The thermometer runs very high in this country, and it is not at all
rare for it to indicate one hundred and twenty-five or one hundred and
thirty degrees Fahrenheit. One traveler has a record of one hundred and
thirty-nine degrees in the shade and one hundred and seventy-two in the
sun. I am told that in South Melbourne the thermometer once made an
official record of one hundred and eleven degrees in the shade and one
hundred and seventy-nine degrees in the sun.

"So great is the heat of the sun at midday that travelers generally try
to avoid it if they can do so. It is the plan of most people who travel
on horseback, in wagons, or on foot, to start before daylight, and keep
going until nine or ten o'clock. Then they halt and rest until three or
four o'clock in the afternoon, when they move on and continue until late
in the evening. Of course, the railways are not run on that principle,
as the locomotive is not supposed to be affected by the outside
temperature.

"But I am getting away from the southerly burster. The wind blew like a
hurricane. It kept up this rate for about three hours, filling the air
with dust so that we could not see across the street. Though the doors
and windows were tightly closed, the dust found its way inside the house
and was present everywhere; every article of furniture was covered with
it.

"We found it in the food, we found it in our beds, and the next day when
I opened my trunk to take out some articles of clothing, I actually
found that the dust had worked its way inside in a perceptible quantity.
One of the waiters of the hotel said, that always after a burster they
found dust inside of bottles of mineral water which had been tightly
corked up to the time of opening. I am inclined to doubt the truth of
his assertion, particularly as he offered no documentary evidence to
confirm it.

"Along towards night it came on to rain, and, oh, how it did rain! It
poured as though the flood gates of the skies had all been opened at
once. It rained not only cats and dogs, as the old expression has it,
but lizards, scorpions, snakes, and I don't know what else, at least it
did figuratively. The gutters of the streets were filled, and then we
were able to see how easy it was for a man, and especially for a child,
to be drowned in them. I have seen it rain hard in a good many places,
but am sure I never saw it rain harder than it did at the end of that
southerly burster.

"I remarked as much to a gentleman whose acquaintance we had made in
the hotel, and he answered:--

"'Oh, nonsense. That is no rain at all.'

"'No rain at all,' I answered. 'Do you have worse rains than this in
Australia?'

"'Why, certainly we do,' he replied. 'I have known it to rain so hard
that this would be a sprinkle by comparison. I remember the 25th of
February, 1873, when nine inches of rain fell here in Melbourne inside
of nine hours. An inch of rain in an hour is a good deal, isn't it?'

"Ned and I admitted that it was, and then our informant continued:--

"'I happened to be in Newcastle early in 1871, when they had the
greatest rainfall that I ever saw or heard of in any country. In less
than three hours ten and a half inches of rain fell, and the story was
that it was so thick that the fishes in the harbor could not distinguish
between the rain cloud and the bay, and actually swam up half a mile or
so into the air. One man said that he had a barrel with both ends
knocked out, and the rain went in at the bung hole faster than it could
run out at the ends.'

"I asked the gentleman how long the storm lasted, and he said that
twenty-one hours elapsed between the beginning and the end of it, and
during that time twenty inches of water fell, and the streets of
Newcastle were like small rivers.

"The gentleman remarked, in conclusion, that it was a great pity the
rainfall was not distributed more evenly, both in time and amount, than
it is. Some parts of the coast get a great deal more rain than they
have any use for. The floods destroy a large amount of property, and the
superfluous rain flows away in the rivers, inundating large areas of
ground and doing more harm than good, but through the greater part of
the interior the rainfall is far less than the land requires. The ground
becomes parched, the streets dry up, and the grasses wither, and the
whole face of nature presents a scene of sterility. Sometimes there is
no rain for long periods. There have been times when not a drop of rain
fell for two years, and but for the heavy dews at night, a vast extent
of land would have been absolutely turned to a desert. Cattle and sheep
perished by the million, of starvation and thirst. The production of
grain fell off enormously and the whole country was very seriously
affected.

"Ned asked if no remedy had ever been found or proposed for this state
of affairs.

"A remedy had been suggested, said the gentleman, which would save herds
of cattle and flocks of sheep, but it would not save from destruction
the crops in the fields.

"'What is that?' Ned asked.

"'It is a system of storing water throughout the interior of the country
so as to save the precious fluid when the rainfall is excessive. There
are many places, great numbers of them, where nature has so formed the
ground that the storage of water would be comparatively easy. I have
already begun it on my sheep run, and other sheep owners have done the
same thing. It is an expensive work, but I believe it will pay in the
end.'

"'There are three places on my land where broad valleys terminate at
their lower ends between hills forty or fifty feet high. Now, by
building a dam from one of these hills to the other, I can flood any one
of these valleys to any depth I choose up to the height of the hills. It
was only recently that I finished work at one of these places, and I
have gangs of men busy with the other two. For the present I shall make
my dams thirty feet high, and this will give me at each of the three
places a lake of fresh water with about forty acres of surface area. If
I can fill these lakes every winter with water, I think I will have
enough to keep my sheep through the dry season, after making liberal
allowance for loss by evaporation and in other ways. Of course, such a
system of storing water is only practicable where the owner of a place
has sufficient capital for the purpose. The poor man, with his small
flock of sheep, can hardly undertake it.'

"'Preliminary surveys have been made in places where it is proposed that
the colonial governments should build extensive works for saving water
on a grand scale. The government would be repaid, in part at least, by
selling the water to private landholders in the same way that water is
sold in California, New Mexico, and other parts of the United States. I
am confident that you will see a grand system of water storage in full
operation in Australia before many years.'"

While on the subject of rainfall, Harry asked Ned if he knew where the
heaviest annual rainfall in the world was.

Ned said he did not know, but he thought that Dr. Whitney might be able
to inform them.

The question was appealed to the doctor, who paused a moment, and then
said that "what might be considered a heavy rain in one place would be a
light one in another. In Great Britain, if an inch of rain fell in a day
it was considered a heavy rain; but in many parts of the Highlands of
Scotland three inches not infrequently fall in one day. Once in the isle
of Skye twelve inches of rain fell in thirteen hours, and rainfalls of
five and seven inches are not uncommon. Thirty inches of rain fell in
twenty-four hours at Geneva, in Switzerland, thirty-three inches at
Gibraltar in twenty-six hours, and twenty-four inches in a single night
on the hills near Bombay.

"The heaviest annual rainfall on the globe," continued the doctor, "was
on the Khasia Hills, in India, where six hundred inches, or fifty feet,
fell in a twelvemonth. Just think of it; a depth of fifty feet of water
yearly, and of this amount five hundred inches fell in seven months,
during the southwest monsoons."

"How do they account for such heavy rains?" Ned asked.

"It is accounted for," the doctor replied, "by the abruptness of the
mountains which face the Bay of Bengal, from which they are separated by
low swamps and marshes. The winds arrive among the hills heavily charged
with the vapor they have absorbed from the wide expanse of the Indian
Ocean. When they strike the hills and are forced up to a higher
elevation, they give out their moisture with great rapidity, and the
rain falls in torrents. As soon as the clouds have crossed the mountains
the rain diminishes very much. Twenty miles further inland it drops
from six hundred to two hundred inches annually, and thirty miles
further inland it is only one hundred inches. The same conditions
prevail to a certain extent in Australia. The mountain chains are near
the coast. On the side next the ocean there is a liberal rainfall, but
on the other side, towards the interior, the rainfall is light. As the
clouds charged with vapor come from the sea to the mountains they yield
their moisture freely, but, after passing the mountains, they have
little left to yield."

The burster died away along in the evening, and, though the streets were
wet in many places, our friends went out for a stroll. During their walk
their attention was naturally drawn to the sky, which was now bright
with stars. Naturally, their conversation turned to the difference
between the night skies of the Northern and Southern Hemispheres, which
had not escaped their observation during their voyage from the east
coast of Africa down to the Equator, and thence in the Southern Ocean.
On this subject Harry wrote at one time in his journal as follows:--

"We found the famous Southern Cross a good deal of a disappointment. In
the first place, it requires a considerable amount of imagination to
make a cross out of it; very much more than is needed to make 'The Great
Dipper' out of the constellation so called in the Northern Hemisphere.
The Southern Cross consists of three stars of the first magnitude, one
of the fourth magnitude, and three of the fifth, and, look at them
whichever way you may, you can't make a real cross out of them, either
Greek or Roman. Before I investigated the subject, I thought the
Southern Cross was over the south pole, but found it is not so. The
constellations of the Southern Hemisphere altogether are not as
brilliant as those in the northern one. If the principal object of a
traveler in this region is to see the heavens, he had better stay at
home.

"An interesting feature of the southern heavens is 'The Magellan
Clouds,' two white spots in the sky like thick nebulæ of stars. They are
nearer to the pole than the Southern Cross is, and are much used by
mariners in taking observations. Quite near the pole is a star of the
fifth magnitude, called 'Octantis,' and this also is used for
observation purposes. It isn't so brilliant, by any means, as the pole
star of the north, which is of the second magnitude; and, by the way,
that reminds me of what Dr. Whitney told me in the desert of Sahara,
that what we called the polar star in the north is not directly over the
pole, but nearly a degree away. The real polar star is a much smaller
one and stands, as we look at it, to the left of the star, which I had
always believed to be the proper one."

Melbourne has a Chinese quarter like San Francisco and New York, and our
friends embraced an opportunity to visit it. They found the shops
closely crowded together and apparently doing an active business. There
were temples, shops, and a good many stores, some of them very small and
others of goodly size. The sidewalks were thronged with people, mostly
Chinese, and they hardly raised their eyes to look at the strangers who
had come among them. Our friends took the precaution to be accompanied
by a guide, and found that they had acted wisely in doing so. The guide
took them into places where they would have been unable to make their
way alone, and where, doubtless, they would have found the doors closed
against them.

The Chinese are very unpopular in Australia and in all the colonies. The
laws against them are decidedly severe, from a Mongolian point of view.
Every Chinaman landing in Victoria must pay fifty dollars for the
privilege of doing so, and after getting safe on the soil he finds
himself restricted in a business way, and subject to vexatious
regulations. John is satisfied with very little and he usually manages
to get it. He is a keen trader and always an inveterate smuggler. He is
very skillful in evading the custom house, and as soon as one trick is
discovered he invents another and his ingenuity seems to be boundless.

One of the industries in which the Chinese excel is that of market
gardening. In driving in the suburbs of Melbourne, our friends observed
numerous market gardens cultivated by Chinese, and in every instance
they remarked that the cultivation was of the most careful kind. John
can make more out of a garden than anybody else. He pays a high rental
for his ground, but unless something very unusual happens he is pretty
sure to get it back again, with a large profit in addition.

In some of the colonies the restrictions are more severe than in others.
In New South Wales the laboring class of white men are politically in
control of the legislature, and have enacted anti-Chinese laws of great
severity. The tax upon immigrant Chinese in that colony is one hundred
pounds sterling, or five hundred dollars. The naturalization of Chinese
is absolutely prohibited, and ships can only bring into the ports of New
South Wales one Chinese passenger for every three hundred tons of
measurement. The restrictions in regard to residence and trading are
very severe. The country is laid out into districts, and in each
district not more than five trading Chinese are allowed to live and
transact business. Steamers and sailing vessels having Chinese stewards
or sailors on board are subject to seizure and fines on their arrival at
Sydney, and so great have been the annoyances to this class of vessels,
that they have been compelled to leave in some other port, before coming
to Australia, all their Chinese employees.

The hostility to Chinese labor in Australia is similar to that on the
Pacific coast of the United States, and in the States of the Rocky
Mountain region. It will doubtless increase as time goes on, as it
increased in the United States, until it culminated in the Chinese
Exclusion Act of a few years ago. Eventually, the Chinese in Australia
will be shut out from all occupations, and expelled or excluded from the
country. A good many intelligent Australians deprecate the hostility to
the Chinese, but when it comes to voting, this class of citizens is in
the minority.

During a part of the gold rush, great numbers of Chinese found their way
to the mines, where they were perfectly contented to work in abandoned
mines and wash the earth, which had already been washed by the white
men. Owing to the prejudice against them and the likelihood of
interference, they rarely took up fresh claims, but contented
themselves with what the white man had left. Even this form of work was
considered an encroachment by the white miners, who frequently attacked
the Mongolians and drove them out at the point of the pistol. Many of
these attacks were accompanied by bloodshed, and if the history of
Australian mining were written in full, it would contain many a story of
oppression, accompanied with violence.

Our friends made a visit to the famous lake district of Victoria, where
they found some very pretty scenery, and from the summit of one hill
counted no fewer than fifteen lakes, some of them of no great size,
while the largest measured ninety miles in circumference. Harry made
note of the fact that this largest lake was called the Dead Sea. It is
said to be not as salt as the famous Dead Sea near Jerusalem, but it is
a great deal salter than the ocean, and no fish of any kind lives in it.

"I asked a resident of the neighborhood," said Harry, "if they had ever
tried the plan of putting fish from the ocean into this Australian Dead
Sea. They said they had done so, but the fish thus transported always
died in a few hours, and the experiment of stocking the lake had been
given up long ago.

"A curious thing that we found regarding the lakes in this part of
Victoria," Harry continued, "is that some of them are salt and some
fresh, and sometimes the salt lakes and the fresh ones are quite close
to each other, and on the same level. We were puzzled how to account for
the peculiarity and tried to learn about it. How the circumstances
happened, nobody knows exactly, but the theory is that the salt in the
salt lakes comes from the drainage of the rocks, and as the lakes have
no outlets, the superfluous waters are carried off by evaporation. They
told us that in summer these lakes sink a good deal below the level of
other times of the year, and when they did so the ground left dry was
thickly encrusted with salt, which the people gathered in large
quantities. The market of Melbourne is supplied with salt from these
lakes, and you can readily understand that it is very cheap.

"Another peculiarity of this part of Victoria is the large quantities of
potatoes that are grown there. The land often yields from twenty to
thirty tons of potatoes to the acre, and an acre of ground for raising
potatoes will frequently sell for four hundred dollars, while it will
rent for twenty-five dollars yearly. Most of the coast ports of
Australia, including the great ones of Melbourne, Adelaide, and Sydney,
are supplied with potatoes from this region.

"The potatoes are among the finest we ever saw. They are large, rich,
and mealy, and when properly cooked they are simply delicious. No other
part of Australia can compete with this district in potato cultivation.
The excellence of this vegetable is supposed to come from the volcanic
nature of the soil. All the country round here was once in a high state
of ebullition, and the lakes I have mentioned are the craters of extinct
volcanoes."




CHAPTER XIII.

JOURNEY UP COUNTRY--ANECDOTES OF BUSH LIFE.


Our friends accepted an invitation to go up country to visit a cattle
station and also a sheep run, and to spend a week or so in the bush.
They went by train as far as the railway could carry them, and were met
at the station by a wagon which enabled them to finish their journey.
They arrived at the station late in the afternoon, after a delightful
drive through the gum-tree forest and across a small plain. It was not
strictly a plain, however, as the ground was undulating, and in the
hollows between the ridges there was generally a growth of trees from a
quarter to a half a mile in width which broke the monotony of the
landscape. The road was not the smoothest in the world, and before they
had gone half way Harry and Ned both remarked that they would have
excellent appetites for supper, and hoped that the meal would not be
long delayed after their arrival at the cattle station.

The party received a cordial welcome from their host, Mr. Syme, who had
preceded them a day in advance and sent his younger brother to the
railway to meet them. About half a mile from the house they saw three or
four men lying on the ground by the roadside, evidently taking a rest or
waiting for something. They reminded our young friends of the
individuals frequently seen in the United States, and known as
"tramps," and after getting out of earshot of the party Ned asked their
new acquaintance, who was escorting them, what those men were.

"Oh! those are sundowners," was the reply, and then there was a pause.

"Sundowners!" exclaimed Harry. "What is a sundowner?"

"A sundowner is what you call a tramp in America," was the reply; "and
he gets his name from one of his peculiarities. It is the custom all
over Australia--I mean in the country districts--to feed and lodge
anybody who comes along, and if he has no money there is no charge for
his entertainment. He is expected to move on in the morning the first
thing after breakfast, unless we happen to have work for him and can
give him employment at regular wages. If he comes along anywhere in the
afternoon before sunset, he is expected to do any odd work that may be
handy until supper, as a payment in part, at least, for his night's
entertainment.

"Most of these fellows don't like to work," he continued, "and so they
take good care not to arrive at a place before sunset. If they find they
are getting too near it, they sit or lie down on the ground and wait
until the sun has disappeared below the horizon. That is why we call
them sundowners, as they turn up just after the sun has gone down."

"It is certainly very liberal on the part of the people in the country
to feed and lodge all comers," remarked Ned.

"Well, we think it's not illiberal. It is the custom of the country
which has grown up from the early days when farms were far apart and
travelers were few in number. When the custom first began, the number of
this sort of travelers would not exceed a dozen in a month. Nowadays we
often lodge that number in a single night, and sometimes it is a pretty
heavy tax on us. I don't think it will be many years before we have laws
that will restrict these wanderers somewhat, just as you have tramp laws
in many of the States of your Union. There is a very large number of
idlers going about the country and subsisting in this way. They always
pretend to be searching for employment, but whenever employment is
offered, it is not the kind that they want. They are like an American
tramp I heard of once, who was always looking in winter for a job at
hay-making, and in summer he wanted to find employment at cutting ice.
When one of these fellows gets to a sheep station, he says he knows
nothing about sheep, but understands everything about cattle; at the
cattle station he reverses his story, and wants a job at shepherding."

"Don't you have trouble with them sometimes?" one of the youths
remarked. "Are they willing to accept what you offer them, or do they
demand something better?"

"As to that," was the reply, "there is a good deal of difference among
them. We don't feed them with the best that the place affords, and the
majority of them accept the situation and take what we choose to give.
Cold meat and bread are their usual fare, and there is always enough of
that. Sometimes they make a row, and demand to be fed just in the same
way that we feed our own farm hands. For instance, only last evening I
was called into the men's dining-room to quell a disturbance caused by
a sundowner. The travelers' table was supplied with cold meat, bread,
and tea, while the table of our farm hands had on it bread and hot roast
mutton. The sundowner had a knife in his hand and was threatening to
kill the kitchen maid unless she gave him hot mutton instead of cold."

"What did you do about it?"

"I told him that if he could not eat cold meat he was not hungry enough
to eat anything, and if he did not put that knife away one of our men
would knock his head off. He became quiet at once and sat down to his
supper, muttering something about not being treated like a gentleman. We
would like to shut our doors altogether against this class of fellows,
but there are difficulties in the way. We would be liable at times to
turn away honest and deserving men who were really in search of
employment, and furthermore, the revengeful scoundrels would set our
buildings on fire during the night, or perhaps kill our cattle and
horses. They would be less likely to do the latter than the former, as
the destruction of our buildings by fire would be much easier and safer
than the other proceeding. We certainly need some kind of legal
restriction over these sundowners, and we will get it in the course of
time."

The house at which our friends arrived was large and spacious, and its
external appearance, as they approached it, betokened hospitality. It
covered a considerable area of ground but was only a single story in
height, with the exception of one end, where there was an upper story
occupied by the female servants. The men employed at the place ate and
slept in a building in the rear of the principal house, the two being
connected by a kitchen and a shed. The house was substantially
constructed of wood, the sides being double walled with planking, while
the roof sloped gently to the front. There were gutters at the eaves to
catch all the water which came down in the form of rain, and convey it
to a large cistern just in the rear of the main dwelling. Their host
explained that they had a fine spring close to the house, from which
they usually obtained their supply of water. "This spring sometimes
gives out in seasons of excessive dryness," said he, "and then we fall
back upon the cistern."

"You have been long enough in Australia," he continued, "to learn the
full value of water, and we are obliged to be careful in the use of it
and in selecting a location for our house. In the great drought, when we
had no rain for two years, we suffered exceedingly and a great many of
my cattle perished for thirst. Since then I have built a reservoir for
storing water, and if another drought should come, I don't think my
herds will suffer as much as they did."

Dr. Whitney and our young friends were shown to the rooms they were
expected to occupy during their stay. Dr. Whitney was assigned to a
good-sized bedroom, while the youths were placed in another bedroom
close to it and equipped with two beds. They made a brief survey of the
room and concluded that they would be very comfortable. Harry remarked
that it was quite as good as any room they had thus far occupied in
Australian hotels. They devoted a short time to removing the dust of
travel and putting themselves in a condition of cleanliness, and
shortly after they appeared on the veranda, where their host was
awaiting them, and dinner was announced.

The size of the dining-room indicated that the place was an hospitable
one, as the table was capable of accommodating not fewer than twenty
people without crowding. Harry took note of the menu which comprised
their meal, and according to his memorandum it was as follows:--

"Soup of kangaroo tail, mutton pie, roast beef, potatoes, cauliflower
and parsnips, hot and cold bread, plum pudding and tea. There were also
some canned apricots of home production. Altogether it was a very
substantial meal, excellent in quality, liberal in quantity, and well
cooked throughout."

The evening was passed in front of a big fire in the large sitting-room.
As the night was chilly and somewhat damp, the fire was very welcome.
The time was passed in conversation concerning the cattle business,
interspersed with stories of Australian life. Harry and Ned asked the
permission of their host to make use of their notebooks, and their
request was readily granted. Accordingly, they kept their pencils in
their hands, and placed on paper anything which seemed to them
particularly interesting.

Harry made note of a statement of their host concerning the cattle
business and its ups and downs. One of his notes reads as follows:--

"To go into the cattle business, one ought to have a capital of not less
than fifty thousand dollars, and he could use one hundred thousand to
advantage. His first step is to secure a tract of land, and this he
does by getting a grant from the government allowing him to occupy an
area of ground several miles square at a rental of ten or twenty
shillings annually for each square mile. His next step is to secure
location, and to do this he travels a great deal through the interior,
visiting ground that has not been taken up, and exercising his judgment
as to the choice of ground. He must take care to find a place where
there is good grass and good water; he wants a certain amount of timber
on his land, but not too much, and the water holes must be at suitable
distances apart. Many a man has come to grief in the cattle business
owing to his bad selection of a location.

"A man who takes a large area of ground in this way is called a
'squatter.' You can put this down in your notebooks, young men, that a
squatter in Australia is just the reverse of the same individual in
America. In your country, the squatter is a man who lives upon a small
tract of land which he cultivates himself, while here he is a man, as I
said before, who takes a large area of ground for pastoral purposes. The
equivalent of the American squatter is here called a 'selector,' and
between the selectors and the squatters there is a perpetual warfare, as
the selector is allowed by law to select a location for a farm on any
government land, whether occupied by a squatter or not. The selectors
give the squatters a great deal of trouble, and many of us think that
the colonial governments have treated us very badly.

"Well, after getting our ground we proceed to stock it, and with fifty
thousand dollars we can buy about twenty-five hundred head of cattle.
Then we put up our buildings, employ our stockmen, and set to work. If
we have good luck we can pay our expenses, almost from the beginning, by
sending fat cattle to market. For the first five years we sell only fat
cattle; at the end of that time we have doubled our original stock, and
then we begin to sell ordinary cattle as well as fat ones. From that
time on, if no mishap befalls us, we can sell twelve or fifteen thousand
dollars' worth of cattle every year, including all kinds. At this rate
the profits are satisfactory, and in fifteen or twenty years, a man who
has started out with fifty thousand dollars can retire on eight or ten
times that amount."

Harry asked what were the drawbacks to the cattle business; that is,
what were the kinds of bad luck that could happen to a man who engaged
in it.

"As to that," replied Mr. Syme, "there are several things which it is
not possible to foresee or prevent. In the first place, nobody can
foresee a great drought when cattle perish of thirst and starvation;
added to this danger is that of diseases to which cattle are subject,
especially pleuro-pneumonia. Whole herds may be carried away by this
disease, and if it once gets established among the cattle of an estate
it is very difficult to eradicate it. Sometimes it is necessary to kill
off an entire herd in order to get rid of the disease, and I have heard
of cattle runs that were depopulated successively two or three times by
pleuro-pneumonia, and their owners ruined. Sometimes the market is very
low in consequence of an over-supply, and the price cattle furnish is a
very poor remuneration to stock raisers.

"Sheep farming is more profitable, on the whole, than cattle farming,"
he continued; "but the risks are somewhat greater in consequence of the
greater liability of sheep to disease. There are several diseases
peculiar to sheep which carry them off in great numbers, and they are
affected by drought quite as much as cattle are. A sheep run can be
started with a small capital, and you might almost say with no capital
at all. For instance, a man with very little money, or practically with
none at all, can find a location and squat upon it, and then go to one
of the cities, and if he is known to be a respectable, honest, and
industrious man and free from vicious habits, he can find somebody who
will supply the capital for buying a few hundred sheep. With these sheep
he can make a start, and if he is industrious and attentive to business,
and has no bad luck with his flocks, he will make money rapidly. In ten
years he will have a comfortable fortune; but, on the other hand, he is
liable at any time to be ruined by two successive bad seasons of drought
and disease. Sometimes the price of wool is so low that it leaves very
little profit to the sheep farmer after paying for shepherds, shearers,
and other employees, and the expense of taking his wool to the
sea-coast."

Their host remarked, in conclusion, that he was afraid the good days of
cattle and sheep farming had gone and would never come again. "Land has
become dear," he said, "and labor unions compel us to pay high prices
for stockmen and shearers, especially the latter, and the prices of wool
are not as good as they used to be. The wool market of the world is low,
and so is the cattle market. Since the practise of freezing beef and
mutton and carrying the frozen meat to England has come into vogue the
prices of meat have improved, but the supply is so abundant and the
sources of it so numerous that we have not been greatly benefited by the
new process. There still remains enough in either business to encourage
those who are in it to continue, but the inducements for new enterprises
of this kind are not great."

Some of the stories that were told about experience on cattle and sheep
runs were so interesting to our young friends that they made note of
them. One of the party told of the dangers surrounding the life of the
stock-riders, the men who look after the herds on a cattle estate.

"He has some hard duties to perform," said the narrator. "He gets his
breakfast early in the morning and starts out at once, mounted on
horseback, and with a horse that is more or less unruly. Each
stock-rider, or stockman, as we call him, has a particular part of the
run assigned to him, and every morning he goes along the boundary of it,
and if his own cattle have strayed across the line, he drives them back
again; likewise, if he finds his neighbor's cattle have strayed into his
territory, he drives them out. He is expected to show himself to his
cattle at least once a day, to accustom them to the sight of men, and
also to train them to go where they are wanted whenever he cracks his
whip and rides in among them.

"The group of cattle belonging to each stockman is called a 'herd,' and
he is expected to train them so that they will recognize his authority.
A bunch of fifty or so is called a 'mob,' and it takes several mobs to
make up a herd. All over the run, at intervals of two or three miles,
are places where the cattle assemble when they hear the stockman's whip.
These places are called 'cattle camps'; they are open spaces of level
ground and are always near water; in fact, many of them are used as
regular watering places for the mobs and herds of cattle. Occasionally
the animals are driven into these camps, either for the purpose of
branding the calves or selecting cattle to be sent to market. You will
have an opportunity of seeing one of these to-morrow, as a man arrived
here to-night who is buying cattle to take to Melbourne.

"Well, the stock-rider is on horseback for the greater part of the day.
Sometimes he takes his dinner with him and sometimes he comes back to
the station to get it, and in the afternoon goes to a different part of
his section. Sometimes he does not come back at all, and the next
morning a search is made for him. Of course there is now and then a man
who runs away and leaves his employment, but this is rarely the case, as
there is no occasion for him doing so unless he has committed some
offense."

The youths listened in breathless silence, waiting for what would come
next.

"There really ought to be two men riding together at all times, so that
if a mishap occurs to one of them, the other can help him out of his
trouble, and, if unable to do so, can go for assistance; and we
generally send out a black boy on horseback with each stockman. A few
months ago one of our stockmen, who had gone out alone, failed to come
home at night, and we were at once apprehensive that something had
happened to him. His horse came back along about midnight, and the next
morning several of us started out to find him. We tried to make use of
the intelligence of the horse to guide us to the place where he had left
his master, but, unfortunately, it was an animal that he had ridden only
a few times and there was no attachment whatever between man and beast.
We rode along the boundary where we knew he was accustomed to go, but
did not find him. We spread out over all the ground we could cover and
shouted continually, in the hope that he would hear us and answer. We
made a complete circuit of the portion of the run in his charge, and,
finding no traces of him, we struck off haphazard across the middle of
it. We kept up our shouting and finally heard a faint answer.

"Then we rode in the direction of the sound, and in fifteen or twenty
minutes we reached the man's side. It seems that his horse had stumbled
over a fallen log so violently as to pitch the rider over his head. In
falling, the man had the misfortune to break his leg. The horse stood
and looked at him a few minutes while he tried to call the animal to his
side, but to no purpose. The beast threw his head and then his heels
into the air and trotted off. He was soon out of sight in the bush and
the stockman was left alone, disabled in the way I tell you.

"There was no water in this vicinity and he had no food with him, and he
could not walk or stand on account of his broken leg. He could crawl
slowly, but only a short distance at a time. He knew that he was out of
the regular track of riders, and it might be days or weeks before he
would be discovered. He suffered great pain in his injured limb, and
very soon the tortures of thirst began, to be followed later in the day
by those of hunger.

"All the rest of the day and all through the night he lay there in great
suffering and wondering if relief would ever come. Along towards morning
he heard a rustling in the grass near him, and then other similar
sounds, which he soon concluded were caused by snakes. When daylight
came he found that his fears and horrors were realized. Moving around
him were several serpents, and they manifested a tendency to approach
nearer and nearer. Some of them went away as the sun rose and the full
light of day shone upon him, but others remained in his immediate
neighborhood. He beat the ground with the butt of his whip in the hope
of scaring them away; his effort was partially successful but not wholly
so. One large snake came close to his side and actually traversed his
body. He dared not make a motion, for fear the serpent would turn upon
him and inflict a fatal bite. He lay there as still as a block of marble
till the snake, having satisfied his curiosity, glided away into the
grass.

"All through the afternoon and until we found him, the reptiles remained
there. They seemed to understand that the man was disabled, and
evidently they were determined to take their own time in enjoying his
sufferings. This was the state of affairs when we found him. He said
that when he heard our call he almost feared to reply, lest it should
rouse his unpleasant neighbors and cause them to take the aggressive.

"We killed two of the snakes not a dozen yards from where the man was
lying, and if we had made a vigorous search, it is probable that we
could have despatched more of them. We brought the man to the house as
quickly as possible, improvising a rude sort of litter, which was
carried, with the man upon it, by two of our blacks. Two of us relieved
them occasionally, when they were wearied of carrying the burden. In a
short time the man was well again, but he said that the horrors of that
night were too much for him, and he would seek some other occupation
than that of stock-rider. He left us as soon as he recovered, and I
don't know what became of him."

"That reminds me," said another of the party, "of the case of a man who
met with a similar accident, being thrown from his horse and getting a
broken leg. The place where he fell happened to be near a large ant
hill, and in a few moments he was covered with the terrible black ants
that we have here in Australia. He was horribly bitten by them all over
his body, but principally on head and hands, the other parts being
somewhat protected by his clothing. After two or three hours of torture
he managed to crawl away from his awful position, but for several hours
afterwards the ants continued their attacks; and when he was found by
one of his fellow-stockmen, his face was so swollen that he could not
see, and he was barely able to articulate. Face and hands became a mass
of sores, and it was weeks before he recovered. When he got well, his
face was pitted like that of the victim of an attack of smallpox, and he
suffered for a long time with a partial paralysis of his limbs. I have
heard of one or two other instances of the same sort, and can hardly
imagine anything more terrible."




CHAPTER XIV.

LOST IN THE BUSH--AUSTRALIAN HORSES.


"Another of the gentlemen," wrote Harry in his notebook, "told us a
story about a young woman, with a child in her arms and an older child
at her side, being lost in the bush." She had been on a visit to an
acquaintance who lived about four miles away, and was to start for home
in the afternoon of a certain Friday, having gone there in the forenoon
of the same day. She did not reach home in the evening, and it was
thought at first that she had concluded to remain until Saturday. Not
until Sunday did her husband go to the house where she had been
visiting, and there he ascertained that she had left the place on Friday
afternoon, as agreed, and carried no provisions except a pound of butter
which she was taking home for her husband.

"It was at once concluded," said the gentleman, "that she had missed her
way and been lost in the bush; and when one is thus lost, it is very
hard to find the way out again. The general features of the landscape
are so similar that it is very difficult to distinguish one part from
another, and the alarm and perplexity natural on finding oneself in such
a situation increases the danger which attends it by robbing the
wanderer of the presence of mind which is so necessary in such an
emergency. When the sun is obscured by clouds the most experienced
traveler is liable to stray and become lost, and even when the sun is
shining it is not every one who can take advantage of its position to
guide him out of trouble. The course of the streams in a well-watered
country is of great use in guiding an inexperienced traveler, but
Australian streams, like most others, wind about a great deal, and make
the road along their banks a very long one.

"It was the rainy season of the year when this woman was lost, and the
streams were flooded. If she had followed the creek which would have led
her to her home, she would have been compelled to keep to the high
ground on either side of its valley, as the low, flat land was covered
with water. The weather was cold and wet and the winds were keen and
piercing. There was not the least supply of nourishment to be obtained
in the bush, and when we heard late on Monday what had happened, we all
felt that the unhappy wanderers must have perished from hunger and cold.
Still, there was a possibility that they might yet survive, and, as it
was too late for us to start that day, we determined to set out on
Tuesday morning in search of them. We sent off to the nearest police
station and obtained the assistance of several blacks who had been
trained to the police service. You have probably heard about the
wonderful skill of these people in following a track, and as soon as
they arrived on the ground we set them at work.

"All day Tuesday these native trackers sought diligently to find traces
of the missing ones, but none could be discovered. Then on Wednesday
morning we renewed the search, covering as much ground as possible and
examining it with the greatest care, occasionally discharging a revolver
in the hope that its sound might be heard, and frequently shouting the
Australian 'coo-ee,' which can be heard at a great distance. We returned
home completely discouraged and gave up the wanderers for dead, being
satisfied that any further search would be useless.

"But on reaching home we heard news that gave us encouragement. A
woodchopper returning from his work told us that he found on a hill,
some distance away, a rude mia-mia or wind shelter made of the branches
of a wild cherry tree. He said it was not like those usually put up by
the blacks, nor were there any traces of fire near it, which would
certainly have been the case if it had been a native mia-mia. We started
at once, under the guidance of the workman, to inspect the place for
ourselves, and on examining the shelter carefully we felt sure that it
had been put up by the lost woman. A few pieces of a Melbourne newspaper
were lying on the ground and a strip of calico had been fastened to the
bushes, evidently in the hope of attracting attention.

"We collected these little articles carefully and took them to the
husband, who instantly identified the strip of calico as belonging to a
gown his wife had worn, and he also remembered that she had taken a
Melbourne newspaper with her. He was greatly excited at the sight of the
articles, and so were we. It was too late to do anything that day; in
fact, it was dark before we reached home, and so we made all
preparations for an early start on Thursday morning. We were on the way
soon after daylight, and the native trackers expressed the fullest
confidence in their ability to find the missing wanderers, now that they
were able to start on the track.

"We first went to the mia-mia, or wind shelter, and then took a course
to the northeast, walking over a succession of low ranges and shallow
gullies where the water often reached up to our knees. The trackers were
much disappointed, as the amount of water which spread over the country
made it impossible for them to follow the trail. We passed through thick
scrubs and prickly plants, and over sharp rocks which were rough walking
even for men; what must they have been for the woman and her children?

"We continued our search for several hours, and had almost resolved to
give it up, when one of our party fired at a kangaroo which he had
disturbed, and which fled before us. The animal fell wounded, and as we
were advancing towards it, we thought we heard a distant coo-ee. We
stood still to listen, and faintly, yet quite distinctly, it was
repeated. We walked on with great eagerness in the direction whence the
sound appeared to come, and every little while we coo-eed and waited for
an answer to assure us that we were on the right track. We did not get
an answer every time, and when we did it was not a strong one; but there
was no mistaking the sound, and we realized each time that we were
getting nearer the spot where it was made.

"We reached the edge of a gully thickly overgrown with tangled scrub
about twelve feet high. We pressed forward through this scrub, wading
occasionally through the water, and pushing aside the last bushes,
found ourselves at the edge of a small open plain. There we saw,
standing at a little distance, a gaunt, ragged woman with a child in her
arms. As she caught sight of us she turned and fled; either she mistook
us for black fellows, or the surprise and relief of obtaining help had
turned her brain. We shouted loudly to her to stop, and as our voices
fell on her ear she stood still and we approached. She looked at us with
a half-crazed expression in her eager, gleaming eyes; her cheeks were
thin and sunken, and her whole appearance was one of great wretchedness.

"We gave her some tea which she drank greedily, and it revived her
somewhat. Seeing that she had only one of her children with her, the
youngest, we asked where the other was, and she led us to a large,
hollow tree in which she placed the little girl. The poor child's feet
were so cruelly cut and blistered that she could no longer walk, and the
mother, hoping to reach home and find help, had thought best to leave
her and travel on with the other child. She had built up the opening of
the tree with logs and brush-wood in the hope of protecting the child
against the attacks of the wild dogs, but when her preparations were
complete the little girl wept so piteously that the distracted mother
could not consent to leave her alone. So she made up her mind to stay
there and die with her children.

"Just as she had reached this conclusion she heard the report of the
rifle, and with all her remaining strength she uttered the coo-ee which
brought relief to her. She did not faint or lose her self-possession,
and she astonished us all by her strength. She would not wait to allow
us to send for a dray or other conveyance, but insisted that she could
walk with us; it was a walk of seven miles, but she went on bravely,
carrying her boy, who would not leave her arms. The men by turns carried
the little girl, and offered to take the boy, but she would not give him
up.

"She solemnly declared that neither she nor the children had found
anything to eat during the time they were in the bush. On the first
night, she divided the pound of butter between the children, and ate
nothing herself. Her only sustenance for the whole time had been water,
and it was the only sustenance of the children after the butter was
consumed. Every morning they had begun to wander, hoping to reach home
before night; and every night, as the darkness closed in, they huddled
together, cold, and hungry, and footsore, on the wet ground, and with no
shelter except a few scanty bushes.

"The children slept fairly well, but the mother said she listened
through the greater part of every night, hearing the howling of the wild
dogs around them, and constantly dreading their attacks. She said she
heard the report of our rifles on the first day of our search, but
unhappily the wind was blowing directly from us towards her, and
consequently we were unable to hear her answering calls, though she had
strained her voice to the utmost to make herself heard. She had been
almost frantic with despair, knowing that help was so near at hand and
yet beyond her reach. She thought, and we agreed with her, that another
day in the bush would have ended their lives, or at any rate that of the
little girl."

As the narrator paused, Harry asked if the woman recovered her health
and strength completely.

"She recovered her strength very soon," was the reply, "but her mind was
affected by her exposure and sufferings, and she was never quite herself
again, mentally. The children recovered completely after a few weeks of
nourishment, and the little girl who was so near dying in that hollow
tree has since grown up and married."

"I think it is time for a story of less mournful character," said one of
the party.

"By all means," said another; "let us have one."

"Well, here it is," was the reply.

"At the station of a wealthy squatter a party assembled one evening for
a good time and a supper. There were young men and young women, as well
as men and women who were not altogether young, who had been invited for
miles around, and they had a jolly time, you may well believe me. Some
of the young fellows, wishing to have some fun, disguised themselves in
rough clothes, blackened their faces, and frowzed up their hair in the
roughest kind of way. Then they suddenly appeared at the door of the
large room, and the cry of 'Bushrangers!' was raised. Some of the ladies
fainted in alarm, and all were more or less frightened. The joke was not
kept up very long, as the counterfeit bushrangers were not good
impersonators, and were speedily detected by their friends. There was a
great deal of fun and laughter over the trick that had been played, and
then the performers in the scheme resumed their ordinary dress and
continued in the games with the others.

"An hour or so later, rough voices were heard outside of the house, and
soon there appeared in the doorway six or eight rough-looking men with
begrimed faces, untrimmed hair, and very shabby-looking garments, who
entered the hall with a very determined manner. Some of the party burst
out laughing, and exclaimed, 'Bushrangers again!' declaring that they
would not be fooled a second time. Some of the others had an instinctive
perception that this time the bushrangers were real ones."

The narrator paused, and Harry asked if that was the case.

"It was exactly," was the reply. "The men were notorious bushrangers who
had been troubling that part of the country for some time. The robbers
drew revolvers and ordered the men to 'bail up!' (hold up their hands)
which they did in a hurry, and then they were commanded to stand in a
row with their faces next to the wall.

"Then the bushrangers ordered the ladies to provide them with
refreshments, while one was commanded to sit at the piano and entertain
them with music. No one was allowed to leave the room except under the
escort of a bushranger, for fear that word would be sent to the police.

"The scoundrels ate and drank freely, and then took possession of all
the watches, jewelry, money, and other valuables in the possession of
the party. After making their collection they left the place. Word was
sent to the police as soon as possible, but as the police station was
several miles away, the information was of no practical value."

"Were the scoundrels ever caught?" inquired Ned.

"Yes, they were eventually caught and hanged," was the reply. "They
troubled that region for some time. The inhabitants dared not pursue
them, for fear of their vengeance, though all wanted to be rid of them.
Four men came from Melbourne with authority for taking these robbers,
dead or alive, and with the promise of a large reward. It was impossible
to keep their errand a secret, and none of the people dared give them
any assistance in consequence of their dread of what the bushrangers
might do if they heard of it. I know of one instance where these four
men applied to a squatter for a night's lodging and supper. He dared not
let his family know about the men being there, but lodged them in an
out-building, and with his own hands carried the food to them for their
supper."

"And did these four men capture the bushranger gang?" queried Harry.

"Not by any means," was the reply. "They were riding one day along the
road, when they suddenly found themselves face to face with the
bushrangers. A fight followed as a matter of course, and every one of
the four was killed. When the corpses were discovered, one of them was
found in a kneeling posture, as though he had died in the act of begging
for mercy. A ten-pound bank note was found sticking in a wound in his
breast, and evidently the bushrangers put it there, to show that in this
instance, at least, their object was revenge and not plunder.

"That the bushrangers were a bad lot," continued the gentleman, "no one
will deny, but in many instances they showed chivalry and appreciation
of bravery. It was rare, indeed, that they ill-treated women or
children, and it was also very rarely the case that they committed
murder except in self-defense or for revenge. This led a good many
sentimental people to regard them rather in the light of dashing heroes
than that of downright criminals. You have probably heard of Captain
Melville, have you not?" he asked, turning to Harry and Ned.

The youths nodded, and said the name of that famous bushranger was
familiar to them.

"Well, it once happened," said their informant, "that Captain Melville
had in his power a man whom, of all others, he had most occasion to
dread,--an officer of high standing in the police force, at that time
engaged in pursuit of the robber, whom he declared he would take alive
or dead. This officer was riding one day alone and slightly armed, when
he suddenly met Melville with his entire gang. The police uniform
readily told the rank of the officer, and it happened that Melville and
several of his men were familiar with the officer's face.

"He was immediately surrounded and disarmed; his hands were tied behind
his back, and his captives took him triumphantly to their camp. When the
camp was reached, the prisoner was bound to a wagon wheel while his
captors held a counsel to decide what to do with him. The officer was
noted for his courage, and when Melville came near him, he was taunted
by his captive for his cowardice in taking him at the time when he was
defenseless and alone.

"Melville became angry at the taunt, and, walking towards his prisoner,
he placed a loaded revolver at his head and said, 'Say another word and
I'll blow your brains out.'

"'You dare not do it,' replied the officer, and he looked with an
unflinching eye at the robber.

"Melville's eyes glared, and probably the slightest show of fear on the
part of the officer would have provoked a fatal shot.

"Melville held the pistol at the prisoner's head for a few seconds and
then lowered it, saying, as he did so, 'You are too brave a man to be
shot,' and then he turned and walked away. The officer afterwards
managed to escape and reach Melbourne safely. The supposition is that he
was assisted in escaping by one of the bushrangers who was tired of life
on the road and desirous of leaving it. The officer was able to promise
him immunity from punishment in return for his service in aiding the
latter's escape."

"That reminds me of a story I heard not long ago," said Harry.

"A lawyer in Australia was once defending a man whose family antecedents
and record were anything but good. Ignoring this, he made a most
touching plea about the gray-haired parents in England waiting to
celebrate Christmas with their returned wanderer. The jury found the man
guilty, however, and the judge, after sentencing him, remarked that the
learned counsel would have his wish; the convicted client was going to
the same prison where father and mother were already serving sentences.
Their Christmas would be passed under the same roof."

Other stories were told during the course of the evening, but we have no
room for any more of them. When the last story was given, the youths
looked at their watches and were surprised to find the hour so late.
They immediately retired to their room and slept soundly, or at least
Ned did. Harry said he was disturbed somewhat by dreams of snakes,
bushrangers, unruly cattle, and horses, and of being lost in the bush.
Evidently the disturbance was not serious, as he was out at an early
hour with Ned to investigate the place and learn the peculiarities of an
up-country station in Australia. Here is what he wrote concerning what
he saw and heard before the announcement of breakfast:--

"The sights and sounds were not altogether unlike those of a farm in New
England, but there were many more of them, in consequence of the greater
size of the station. A farm in New England covering two or three hundred
acres of ground would be considered a large one. This station covers an
area ten miles square, or one hundred square miles. They have five
thousand head of cattle upon it and more than one hundred horses. Most
of the cattle, in fact, nearly all of them, are fully half wild. The
domesticated ones comprise a few yokes of oxen and a small herd of milch
cows, and even the cows are nowhere near as tame as the same animals
would be in New England. We went out to the milking yard and witnessed
the operation of milking three or four cows which had been driven in
from the paddock. Not one of the creatures would stand quietly to be
milked, as a well-mannered cow should do, and each one had to be driven,
led, or pulled into a frame or cage something like the frame in which
oxen are shod. When the cow was thoroughly secured in this way, with
one fore leg tied up so that she could not lift either of her hind legs,
the milkmaid, who was a big, rough-looking man, proceeded to milk the
animal. When the operation was concluded, another cow was brought up and
put through the same process.

"I asked if they had any cows that would stand peaceably and submit to
the milking process. They answered me that they had such cows
occasionally, but not often; and the man with whom I talked seemed to be
rather proud of the circumstance, that Australian cows were more
high-spirited than American ones.

"The stockmen had had their breakfast and were about starting for their
daily rounds. Some fifty or sixty horses had been driven in from a
paddock and enclosed in a yard large enough for five times their number.
A man went into the yard to select his horse for the day's riding, and
having singled out the animal, he made several ineffectual attempts to
capture him. When he approached the group, it divided and started off
for a different part of the yard. Then the man was joined by another,
and the horses at once concluded that it was time for their fun to
cease. They submitted quietly to being bridled and saddled, and one
after another they were led out of the yard as soon as this operation
was complete.

"One of the stockmen remarked that he would like to see one of us
youngsters go in there and get a horse.

"I replied that I had heard too many stories of the character of
Australian horses to induce me to make the attempt.

"You are very wise not to do so," he answered. "They would have fun
with you by the hour, and then you would not be able to lay hands on one
of them. Whenever we get a new chum that is a green hand, we have a
jolly time seeing him work. He goes inside with one of the black boys,
and between them they manage to get a horse off into a corner. Then the
new chum takes his bridle over his arm and approaches the horse, talking
to him all the time. Australian horses don't understand that sort of
thing, and you might as well talk to the surf on the sea-coast as to one
of them. Just as the new chum gets up to within about four feet of the
horse's neck, the beast spins around on his hind legs, and is off like a
shot. He kicks and prances, and sometimes he lies down and rolls, and
all the time he is saying to himself, 'What a jolly time I am having.'

"Then the new chum and the black fellow try it on again, and with the
same result. All the old hands sit around the fence and have a good
laugh, and we let the new chum keep at it until our sides are sore.
After awhile we agree that we have had enough of it, and then we turn in
and catch the horse and saddle him in about half no time.

"But there is more fun to come," continued the stockman, "and that is
when the new chum tries to ride. He gets into the saddle, and just as he
gets fairly seated the horse begins to buck-jump. Perhaps you don't know
what buck-jumping is?"

"I have heard of it," I said. "In fact, I have seen what was said to be
a very good performance of it, and that was in Buffalo Bill's show."

"How high up in the air did the horses throw the fellows in the show?"

"Oh, a little ways," I answered; "enough to pitch them out of the
saddles and bring them to the ground."

"Oh, nonsense," said the stockman; "you wait till you see an Australian
horse send a new chum up into the air. I've seen a fellow tossed up so
high that he didn't look bigger than a dog. He must have gone up fifty
feet, at least, and he came down astraddle of the horse again."

The man said this with all possible gravity, but I thought I could see a
twinkle at the corner of his eye. I smiled politely, as I did not want
to contradict him, and, at the same time, did not wish him to believe
that I swallowed his preposterous story.

"Some of our horses," he continued, "will stand still and allow
themselves to be saddled, and then they will take a long breath, swell
themselves up with air, burst the girths, and throw the saddle up at
least twenty feet above them, and all this in one motion."

"Seems to me, I have heard of something of the kind in America," I
remarked. "As I remember the story, they first fed the horse with
self-raising flour, and then gave him a pail of water to drink."

The man stood silent for a moment, and then said, "You'll do, youngster;
you ought to stay in Australia."




CHAPTER XV.

EXPERIENCES AT A CATTLE STATION--A KANGAROO HUNT.


"They breed good horses in Australia," continued Harry in his journal.
"As a general thing, however, the horses of this part of the world are
vicious, and it is no wonder, when we consider that they are harshly
treated all their lives, and very rarely hear a kind word. The owner of
the cattle run gave orders that the gentlest animals should be reserved
for the visitors to ride, and I have no doubt that they were so
reserved. We found them anything but gentle, from our point of view, but
managed to get through the day without being thrown out of the saddles.
They danced and pirouetted more than was to our liking when we first
mounted, and it was only after we had ridden several miles that their
behavior was what might be called quiet.

"The process of breaking horses to the saddle here is interesting,
though it is rough and cruel. The horses are kept all together in a
large paddock; some of them already broken, and some that have never
known saddle, bridle, or halter. Every morning they are driven up by the
black boys. Selections are made of the animals required for the day's
riding, and then the remainder are turned loose into the paddock again.
The daily visit to the paddock accustoms the younger horses to the
presence of men, so that they are not altogether wild when they are
taken in hand for breaking.

"There is a class of men going about the country whose business it is to
break horses at so much a head; usually two pounds, or ten dollars. The
whole herd is driven into the yard, and then the horse breaker proceeds
to his work. With the aid of two or three black fellows he lassoos a
horse and puts a strong halter on him. Then, while the black fellows
hold the animal, he is saddled and bridled, and the breaker gets on his
back. The halter is gathered up around the horse's neck, and at the word
of command the black fellows jump away from him.

"Then begins a lively performance of bucking and jumping, the rider all
the time clinging to the saddle with his knees. Sometimes the horse
tries to lie down and roll in order to free himself from his
incumbrance; he succeeds occasionally, but as a general thing he does
not. Even should he manage to shake off his ride, the latter is on the
creature's back again before he gets fairly on his feet, and then the
kicking and jumping are renewed. The rider keeps at the horse until he
has subdued him and ridden him several times around the yard; possibly
he may take a spin out into the paddock and back again, but he does not
always do so. The great point is to conquer at the first riding, and a
good horse-breaker never stops until he has done so.

"After this lesson is over the horse is left with the saddle on his
back, and it is not taken off until he is turned into the paddock at
night. The next day he receives another lesson of the same sort, and
after a few days of this kind of training he is pronounced properly
broken, and fit 'for a lady to ride.' I shouldn't want any lady of my
acquaintance to venture on the back of such an animal.

"I mustn't forget a trick that these horse-breakers have, and that is,
of getting on the back of a bucking steed, placing a half-crown piece
between each thigh and the saddle, and allowing the animal to go through
all the performance she chooses to, without once displacing the coins.
Exactly the same thing is done by the rough riders of our western States
and Territories, with the difference that they use half dollars instead
of half crowns.

"We found the morning air around the station very agreeable. A gentle
breeze was blowing, and we caught the odor of the fragrant eucalyptus
mingled with that of the numerous flowers which ornamented and
brightened the grounds near by. We could hear the notes of several
birds, and louder than all the rest of their voices was that of the
laughing jackass, which has already been described. One of these birds
perched on the fence of the yard where the men were catching horses, and
Ned and I approached within twenty feet of him before he flew away.
Before doing so he treated us to a very jolly laugh, and both of us
laughed, too, in concert with him.

"Breakfast was announced, and we went in to enjoy it. We had oatmeal,
mutton chops, and ham and eggs, with plenty of bread and butter, and
honey. I looked around the table for coffee, but saw none. There was a
large pot of tea, and Ned and I took it without a word of objection,
though we would have preferred coffee. We were already aware that
coffee is but little used in the country districts of Australia, tea
being the almost universal beverage, for the reason that it is more
stimulating than coffee and better for a steady diet. It is carried
about and prepared much more easily than coffee, and this, no doubt, is
one cause of its popularity. In the old days of placer mining, every
miner carried at his waist a 'billy,' or tin cup for drinking purposes,
and he regarded a billy of tea as a very important part of any meal. At
the present day, a goodly proportion of sundowners and other Australian
pedestrians carry billies at their waist belts and treasure them with
great care."

We will listen to Ned as he tells the story of their ride among the
cattle.

"While we were at breakfast," said Ned in his journal, "the horses were
saddled and bridled and brought up to the front of the house. There were
seven of us altogether. Our host, Mr. Syme, and his two brothers, a
black fellow called Jack, Dr. Whitney, Harry, and myself. Our host and
the doctor led the way; John, the elder of his brothers, rode with
Harry, the younger, William, with me, and the black fellow by himself.
That is to say, the black fellow, Jack, brought up the rear, to be ready
for use in case of an emergency. We found our companions well informed,
and ready to give us any information in their power.

"For a mile or so we rode through an open, undulating region where the
grass was fairly abundant, though not densely so. One of our escorts
explained that the season had been a little dry, and the grass was not
appearing as well as usual. After passing this open stretch we entered
a forest principally of gum trees, whose white stems extended up a long
distance into the air before throwing out any limbs. From the gum forest
we passed into a stretch of scrub, and then entered a valley, through
which ran a small stream. The banks of the stream were fringed with
trees, and the open parts of it were thickly covered with grass. A mob
of some fifty or sixty cattle was grazing in this valley, and by the
orders of our host, the black fellow rode in among them, cracking his
whip loudly, and starting them off with heads and tails in the air.

"'They'll go straight to the cattle camp,' said Mr. Syme, 'and that's
where we want them.'

"I asked if each herd had its own cattle camp, and whether it was
possible to drive the animals to two or more different camps.

"'We never try to do that,' said the young man at my side; 'we think it
quite sufficient if they will go to one camp only. You must remember
they don't have much chance for education, and there is a limit to their
powers of understanding.'

"We chatted on various topics as we rode along, and in two hours from
the time of starting we reached the cattle camp. There was a herd there
of several hundred cattle, which pretty well filled the open space
forming the camp. Half a dozen stockmen were there with as many black
fellows, and there was also the Melbourne cattle dealer with two or
three assistants.

"At one side of the camp there was a little hill or mound, and Harry and
I went there, as it afforded a better view of the camp than the lower
ground. It was a very interesting sight that we had from the mound. The
mass of cattle was moving about uneasily; the bulls were bellowing, and
pawing, and having an occasional fight; the cows were lowing for their
calves, from which they had become separated, and the young bullocks
were making mild disturbances in the ways peculiar to the bovine race.
The stockmen and black fellows were kept busy in preventing the straying
of the animals, but even with all their vigilance a refractory animal
would occasionally break away and disappear in the scrub. The cattle
dealer had already begun to select his purchases, and we watched with a
good deal of interest the process of separating them from their
companions, and this is the way they did it:--

"They cut out a small mob of cattle, perhaps a dozen or twenty animals,
and drove them off to one side. This was called the draft mob, or rather
it was the beginning of the draft mob. The cattle that were picked out
from the rest of the herd were put with these in order to keep them
quiet while the operation was going on, and then the original of the
draft mob were allowed to go back to the rest of the herd.

"The cattle selected by the dealer were mostly young and fat bullocks,
possessing a good deal of strength and tempers of their own. They were
what is called 'rowdy' in this country, that is, they were badly
behaved, and it was no easy job for the stockmen to handle them.

"The cattle dealer would indicate an animal that he wanted, and then two
of the stockmen would bring the creature out. Generally the bullock was
disinclined to go, and made things pretty lively for the stockmen. Each
man was mounted on a horse that knew his business and had done the same
kind of work many times before. The horses stuck to their work just as
earnestly as did the riders, and whenever a bullock tried to run away
they ran after him, and kept up with him, too. I wonder that horse and
riders did not break their necks in this performance, and one of the
young gentlemen with us said that accidents were by no means infrequent.
He said that sometimes the bullocks showed a tendency to use their horns
and charge upon the men and their horses just as the bull does in a
Spanish bull-fight. No accident happened while we were looking on, and
for this I am very thankful.

"One by one, the cattle which the dealer wanted were separated from the
herd and placed in the draft mob until their number amounted to eighty.
Then the animals originally constituting the draft mob were allowed to
rejoin the herd, and the herd was permitted to scatter wherever it
liked. The draft animals were then taken in charge by the stockmen and
started on the road to Melbourne; perhaps I ought to say that they were
started for the nearest railway station and completed their journey with
the aid of steam.

"By the time the drafting was completed the sun was past the meridian,
and Harry and I were as 'hungry as hunters,' to use the old expression.
We thought we would have to ride back to the station to get our
luncheon, and were agreeably disappointed when we found that a black
fellow had just arrived with a hamper, or rather a bag of provisions,
tied behind his saddle. Our host led the way to a well-shaded nook where
there was a spring of water, and we gathered around the spring at the
indication of our host, and prepared to do justice to the food that had
made such a welcome appearance.

"A fire was kindled near by, and soon a steaming pot of tea was ready.
Tin cups made their appearance along with tin plates and knives and
forks, and I had a realizing sense of the delicious taste of a cup of
tea in the open air when one is hungry. The luncheon was a cold one, but
it was abundantly satisfying, and we thanked our host for his
thoughtfulness in providing it.

"When we were near the end of our meal, one of the stockmen came in and
said something in a low tone to Mr. Syme.

"The latter nodded briefly, and said, 'All right,' and then the stockman
went away.

"Then Mr. Syme remarked, turning to us:--

"'On our way back to the station we'll go by a different road, and I
think I can show you something that will be new to you.'

"He said nothing more, and left us to wonder what the new sight would
be.

"I forgot to mention that when we started from the station we were
accompanied by several dogs. They had a good time ranging around over
the plain and through the forest after the manner of dogs when let
loose, and seemed to enjoy themselves thoroughly. They were large and
rather lank animals, and capable of making high speed when necessary. We
asked our entertainer what they were specially used for, and were told
that the animals were kangaroo dogs.

"'We use them for hunting kangaroos,' said the young man who
accompanied me; 'and a well-trained kangaroo dog is a valuable piece of
property to have. The kangaroo is an ungainly looking creature, but he
can get over the ground with wonderful rapidity. He goes fourteen or
sixteen feet at a jump, and he can jump at a very lively rate. Ordinary
fences are nothing to him, as he can clear a six-foot fence at a single
bound.'

"While we were at luncheon the dogs were close about us on a keen
lookout for any scraps or slices of meat that came in their way.

"The remains of the luncheon were given to them after the black fellow
Jack had been duly cared for, but there wasn't enough of the provisions
remaining to give the animals an overdose.

"When all was ready we mounted our horses, and our host led the way,
first announcing that he would show us some wild kangaroos. We came out
on the plain, and after riding three or four miles, approached a clump
of low trees and bushes, which was pointed out by the stockman whom I
mentioned.

"'There are the kangaroos,' said Mr. Syme; 'we will go in on one side of
the clump, and give them a chance to make a run.'

"Following his directions, we spread out into a somewhat extended line
and approached the bunch of timber from the northern side. The dogs
began to show uneasiness, but were held in check by their young masters,
who spoke to them in very emphatic tones.

"We advanced a short distance into the bushes, keeping in line as well
as we could. Suddenly there was a great stir and a series of sounds, as
though some one was pounding violently on the ground with a club.

"'There they go!' shouted Mr. Syme. 'Let off the dogs!'

"Evidently the dogs understood what he said, as they did not wait for
the permission of their young masters. Away they went at full speed
after the kangaroos. There must have been twenty or thirty of the latter
making off across the plain in a southerly direction, but run as fast as
they did, the dogs could not keep up with those high-jumping creatures.
The speed was something prodigious. Our whole party started in full
gallop behind the dogs, the horses seeming to enter into the spirit of
the race quite as much as did their riders.

"There wasn't much chance for conversation during this run, but the
young man who was acting as my escort managed to tell me that we would
have a race of about three miles. 'The kangaroo always runs for water,'
he said; 'and the nearest water in that direction is about three miles
away. They'll fetch up at a small pond and make a stand there.'

[Illustration: "THERE THEY GO!" SHOUTED MR. SYME.]

"I learned afterward that this was a peculiarity of the kangaroo, to
seek water whenever he is pursued. The country over which we rode was
not the smoothest in the world, being broken in some places by rocks,
and encumbered by fallen timber in others. Here is where the jumping
powers of the kangaroo came in handily, as he could clear rocks and logs
with the utmost facility, and he had the ability to select a
comparatively smooth spot to come down upon. His jumping is done with
the muscles of his very powerful hind legs. He doesn't use his fore legs
at all in walking or jumping, employing them principally as hands and
arms, very much as the American squirrel uses his paws. He can give a
tremendous hug with his fore legs, and that is one of his methods of
fighting.

"This is a good place to say something about the natural history of the
kangaroo.

"Australia is, emphatically, the home of this animal, as he is found in
a wild state in no other part of the world. Nearly all of the Australian
animals are marsupials; that is, they have pouches in which their young
are carried until able to take care of themselves. Of the large kangaroo
there are eight species, and the largest of them are fully six feet in
height and weigh one hundred and fifty pounds or more. Geologists say
that at one time there were, in Australia, marsupial animals closely
resembling the kangaroo but equaling the rhinoceros in size. They must
have been formidable fellows to attack!

"The largest of all the kangaroos is the red one, and he is the one that
we hunted. Of the small kangaroos, weighing, say from ten to fifteen
pounds, there are seventeen species. Away in the interior of Australia
there are some silky-haired kangaroos about the size of an ordinary
rabbit, and there are several varieties still smaller, until you get
down to those about as large as an ordinary squirrel. All of them are
easily domesticated if taken when young, and they are very gentle pets.
They tell me that they had two at this station last year, and the dogs,
whose business it was to hunt the kangaroo, clearly understood that
they must leave these pet ones alone. Not only did they not harm the
animals, but got on very good terms with them, so that it was no
uncommon sight to see the kangaroos and the dogs lying down together in
a very well-mannered group. But one day, while the pets were in the
front of the house, a pack of strange dogs happened along and killed
them.

"We didn't overtake the kangaroos until they reached the water; in fact,
we heard the loud barking of the dogs before we came in sight of the
pond. One of the largest males, commonly denominated here as an 'old
man,' was on a little mound of earth just even with the surface of the
water, while around him was a depth of about four feet. The dogs in
front of him were at a respectful distance, as they had a great dread of
and respect for his hind feet, which are a part of his fighting
equipment. The kangaroo's hind foot has three very strong toes, the
center one especially so. His method is to seize his assailant with his
fore paws, and rip him to death with his hinder ones, and sometimes he
drowns a dog by holding him under water. Many an incautious or verdant
dog has been killed in this way, and occasionally men have fallen
victims to the powerful hind feet of these animals.

"The 'old man' kangaroo was defending himself bravely, and he had his
assailants at an advantage. The water was too deep for them to wade in.
Some were swimming about in front of him, carefully keeping out of
reach, while others were assailing his back. All of the dogs kept up a
loud barking, and kept looking around for human help.

"The kangaroo was more than fifty feet from the shore of the pond or
pool, and when our party reached it, the animal was despatched by means
of a rifle in the hands of one of our party. The carcass was brought to
the shore and skinned, and a portion of the meat was fed to the dogs as
a reward for their exertions, and they ate it with avidity. In addition
to the 'old man,' we killed a young kangaroo, and the carcass, after
being disemboweled, was placed on the black fellow's horse and sent to
the station.

"We had kangaroo steaks for dinner, and very toothsome they were,
reminding us more of mutton than any other meat. These steaks came from
the young kangaroo I just mentioned. The flesh of the 'old man' is too
rank for human food, though it is sometimes eaten when no other food is
to be had. The flesh of the young kangaroo is put up at meat-canning
establishments for transportation to England, and they also export large
quantities of soup made from kangaroo tails. Some people think this soup
is preferable to ox tail, or even to turtle. I asked one of our friends
about it, and he said, with a smile, that it was better when you
couldn't get either of the others. It is certainly an excellent soup,
and it's a pity that so much of the raw material goes to waste.

"In returning from our hunt we crossed a portion of the ground where we
had chased the kangaroos. One of the dogs scented something in the
grass, and barked in a manner to attract the attention of his owners.
The men hastened to the spot and found a 'joey,' or baby kangaroo,
which its mother had taken out of her pouch and laid upon the soft
grass, intending to return and pick it up after the danger was over. It
was a pretty little creature, about a foot long, and covered with soft,
silky hair. One of the young men took charge of it and carried it
carefully to the station, his intention being to raise it and make a pet
of it, as he had made pets of the kangaroos that they lost the year
before. When taken at this age, the kangaroo becomes perfectly docile,
and never shows the least desire for a wild life.

"Our host told us that when the kangaroos are hunted, and there is no
water within reach, an 'old man,' if cornered, will place his back
against a tree and sell his life as dearly as possible. It is very
dangerous to go near him when he is thus defending himself, and it is
considered a fortunate circumstance in a fight of this kind if none of
the dogs are killed or injured.

"When the first settlements were made in Australia the kangaroos were
not especially numerous, though they were probably more abundant than
any other animals. Their numbers were kept down by the aboriginals, who
used to hunt them for food and clothing, for which the kangaroo skin was
used, and they were also kept down by the dingoes, or wild dogs. The
dingoes were then abundant, and unhappily they were fond of mutton, and
when sheep were brought to Australia the flocks were very much reduced
by the operations of the wild dogs. Of course, the sheep raisers took
vengeance on the dingoes, and poisoned them in great numbers.

"At the same time, the aboriginals diminished steadily in number, owing
to causes previously stated, and those that remained preferred to live
upon mutton and beef obtained from the settlers rather than take the
trouble of hunting the kangaroo. Thus, the two natural enemies of that
animal were removed, and with their immunity from destruction the
kangaroos increased at a terrific rate. Their flocks and herds blackened
the fields for miles. They were frequently to be seen feeding among the
sheep, and as one kangaroo eats as much grass as three sheep, it will
readily be understood that the sheep farmer's flocks were in danger of
being starved out.

"Millions of acres of land were thus rendered unfit for sheep or cattle
pasturage. The settlers presented their case to the colonial
governments, and the latter placed a bounty on kangaroo scalps.
Meantime, it was found that the skins were worth something, and then the
slaughter of the creatures began.

"Hunting with dogs in the way I have already described was altogether
too slow, and a quicker method was devised and found successful. This is
the way of it:--

"A clump of trees a few acres in extent is selected as a central point.
Among these trees a stout yard is built, with a fence not less than ten
feet high and strong enough to resist any attack the kangaroo can make.
From the entrance of this yard two diverging fences of a somewhat
lighter character are built out upon the plain, the point of the fences
where they terminate being not less than a mile apart. When all is
ready, a day is appointed for the hunt, and notice is sent to everybody
within thirty or forty miles. The hunt is in charge of one of the oldest
settlers, and everybody is bound to obey his orders.

"The day before the hunt or drive is to take place, the principal men to
engage in it meet at the house of the leader and receive their orders.
All the squatters and other settlers who can do so come to the hut, and
with them all their stockmen and black fellows who can be spared from
their daily work. Sometimes as many as a hundred people take part in the
drive, and they are spread out in such a way as to include a very large
area of ground.

"At the appointed hour, they begin to move in a long line in the
direction of the clump of bushes where the yard is located, or rather in
the direction of the jaws of the extended fences. Whatever kangaroos
there may be in the area of the country enclosed by the hunters are
driven in the direction of the yard, and the driving is done very
quietly, to avoid alarming the animals before the ends of the line of
men reach the ends of the diverging fence. When this takes place the
drive is pushed more rapidly, and the thoroughly frightened animals make
rapid leaps in the direction of the clump of timber, not suspecting that
in doing so they are going to their death. Before they are aware of it
they are inside the yard, and as the last of the drove enters, the gate
is closed and the animals are hopelessly imprisoned.

"Sometimes thousands of kangaroos are taken in a single drive, and the
bounty obtained from the government, added to the value of the hides, is
divided among those who have participated in the hunt, or it may be
applied to some needed public work in the neighborhood.

"The hides are pegged out and dried, and after being packed into bales
they are shipped to various parts of the world. There is an increasing
demand in the United States for kangaroo leather, as you are doubtless
aware. Kangaroo flesh is put into tin cans for the market, but by far
the greater part of the meat obtained from a single drive is left on the
ground.

"Mr. Syme tells us that when the aboriginals used to hunt the kangaroos,
they killed them with the boomerang or the spear. In hunting with the
boomerang, they would creep up very slowly until within range, and
whenever they threw the weapon, it was generally with fatal effect. In
hunting with the spear, a native used to dress up so as to look like a
bush, by surrounding himself with twigs and vines. He carried his spear
in an upright position, so that it appeared to form an apex of the bush.
Then he walked slowly along, standing perfectly still when the kangaroo
raised its head to look around, and only moving while the animal grazed.
In this way, and by taking plenty of time, he would get up within
spear-throwing distance, and the rest of the story tells itself."




CHAPTER XVI.

HUNTING THE EMU AND OTHER BIRDS--AN AUSTRALIAN SHEEP RUN.


It was pretty well along in the afternoon when the party reached the
station on its return. Our friends agreed that they had had an excellent
day, and the sights they had witnessed were full of interest.

Mr. Syme asked the doctor and our young friends if they were good shots
with the rifle or shot-gun. They modestly and truthfully answered that
they had had very little experience in shooting, but were willing to
make a trial of their skill.

"Very well," said the host, "we will go out to-morrow and make an effort
to obtain some birds. We will begin with the largest bird of Australia,
the emu, and see what luck we can have with him."

"I've read about that bird," said Harry; "he doesn't fly, but he can run
very fast. I have read that he will outrun a horse; is that really so?"

"Yes," was the reply; "he can outrun most horses; in fact, it requires
an exceedingly fleet steed to overtake him. It is very little use to try
to run him down by a dead chase after him. The best way is to station
the horses along in a line about half a mile or so apart, and then chase
the bird in their direction. Each horseman takes up the chase with a
fresh animal until the emu is tired out, and then the dogs are sent in
to finish the work."

Our young friends slept well that night, the result of their exercise on
horseback in the open air; in fact, they didn't care to sit up late, and
retired much earlier than on the previous evening.

The next morning the party started very soon after breakfast, and the
way was taken to an open plain, three or four miles across, and fringed
with timber. When they neared the plain they met a black fellow, who had
been sent out early in the morning to find the game. He had found it,
and informed his master where it was.

Then the horsemen were spread out in the manner already mentioned, and
the bird was started out of a little clump of timber where they had
taken shelter. Harry and Ned were surprised to see the manner in which
he ran. He seemed to be ready to drop with exhaustion, and Harry
confidently predicted that he would fall dead from fright before going a
mile. But somehow he managed to keep in advance of his pursuers, and
whenever they quickened their pace he quickened his, but all the time
keeping up the appearance of weariness. The last of the horsemen,
however, approached within two hundred yards of the emu, who was by this
time really tired. Then the dogs were turned loose, and they speedily
overtook the bird and pulled him down. One of the dogs was quite
severely injured in the fight with the bird, but his wounds were dressed
and bandaged, and his owners said he would soon be well again.

The emu is called the Australian ostrich, and he resembles that bird in
being unable to fly, running with great rapidity and using his feet for
fighting purposes. He strikes a heavy blow with his foot, and a single
stroke of it is sufficient to disable a dog or break a man's leg. The
young man who accompanied Harry told him that he knew of an instance
where an emu was chased and overtaken by a man on horseback, accompanied
by dogs. The bird became desperate at finding he could not escape. As
the horse approached, the bird threw itself on its back and kicked
savagely, ripping the side of the animal with its claws. The horse was
so badly lacerated that it was necessary to shoot him.

If caught when young or hatched out from an egg, the emu can be easily
domesticated, but he is a dangerous pet to have about the premises. Like
the ostrich, it has a love for bright things, and has been known to
swallow silver spoons and other shining articles. One day a stranger,
standing close to the fence of a yard where a tame emu was kept, took
out his gold watch to ascertain the time. The bird was attracted by the
glittering object, and with a quick motion he seized it and dropped it
down his throat. Several black fellows were called, who secured the bird
with some difficulty, poured a powerful emetic into his stomach, and
then hung him up by the feet. This heroic treatment had the desired
effect, and restored the watch to its owner.

The eggs of the emu are in demand as great curiosities, and Australian
jewelers work them into various ornamented articles and sell them
readily at a high price. The perpetual hunt for the eggs, which is kept
up by the blacks, is steadily diminishing the number of these birds,
and, in course of time, there is danger that they will become extinct.

Another bird that was seen by our friends, but not captured, is the one
known as the native companion. It is a large bird, belonging to the
crane family. Its head stands about three feet from the ground, its legs
are long, and its plumage is a lavender gray. It is rarely seen alone,
there being generally two of them together, and very often a dozen or
more. In this instance there were two birds, which went away rapidly on
their wings and were soon lost to sight. When there is a large number of
them together, they indulge in a series of evolutions which have a close
resemblance to the movements of accomplished dancers. They advance,
recede, turn, return, and go through a variety of figures like dancers
in the quadrille or the minuet. Sometimes they keep up these
performances for an hour or more, and seem to indulge in them entirely
for the sake of amusement.

Harry asked if they would have an opportunity to see the famous lyre
bird of Australia. "We saw two of them," said he, "in the Zoo at
Melbourne, and therefore, know what their appearance is, but we would
like very much to see them in their wild state."

"The lyre bird is getting very scarce in Australia," said their young
friend, "and I have never seen one in this locality. The bird frequents
mountainous regions where the forests are somewhat dense, and very
rarely comes out into the open plain. It is about the size of an
ordinary barnyard fowl, but looks much larger, owing to its beautiful
tail, which is very long, and grows exactly in the shape of the
instrument after which it is named. It is a very clever mocking bird,
and will reproduce the notes of all its forest companions, but it is
very shy and difficult to get at, and unless it is got when very young
it cannot be domesticated.

"We have wild turkeys here," continued their informant; "and they are
very good eating; perhaps some of our party will be fortunate enough to
bring down a turkey or two before we go back. There is one fowl here
called the mallee bird, about the size of the pheasant, and resembling
him in many ways. He generally lives near the edge of the mallee scrub,
and his flesh is very much esteemed by all who have eaten it. The mallee
is a gregarious bird, and at the breeding season large numbers of them
come together. They collect great heaps of dry leaves, among which a
number of hen birds lay their eggs, indiscriminately taking care to
cover them up warmly.

"They don't take any trouble to hatch their eggs, but leave that for the
heat of the dry and decaying vegetable matter. When the time approaches
for the chicks to break the shell, the male birds hover about on the
watch for their appearance, and snakes, also, like to come around, in
the hopes of securing a few of the tender birds as they emerge into
daylight. When the chick comes out from the egg, his skin is pink and
bare, and hardly a sign of a feather is visible; but within twenty-four
hours, during which the feathers spread so rapidly that you can almost
see their growth, the bird is fully fledged and feathered, and able to
take care of itself."

An amusing circumstance happened during the day's excursion. Ned was
the victim of it, and he did not consider it at all amusing until after
it was all over. This was the way of it:--

While the party was halted at one time, discussing where next they would
go, the dogs disturbed something, but neither of our young friends could
make out what it was. They were in the open country at the time, though
not far from the edge of the bush. The something that the dogs had
disturbed came directly towards the party, and Ned happened to be nearer
to it than anybody else. The creature looked like a small alligator, and
that's what Ned and Harry thought it was. Ned had dismounted from his
horse and was standing by the animal's head, waiting for the decision
about their movements. The animal came directly up to Ned and climbed up
his side. It was about five feet long, and a very formidable-looking
creature. The youth immediately began fighting the animal, and shouted
for his friends to pull him off.

"Lie down on the ground," said one of the Australians; "lie down on the
ground, and he will leave you at once. He is just as much frightened as
you are."

Ned flung his horse's bridle to one of his friends, and then obeyed
instructions. He dropped to the ground, and immediately as he did so the
horrid-looking creature left him.

"What in the world is that?" said Ned, as he rose to his feet again and
regained his composure.

"That's an iguana, or lizard," was the reply. "It is perfectly harmless
as long as you know how to deal with it. When it is pursued by dogs, it
runs to its hole if it can; if its hole is not available, it climbs a
tree until it is out of reach of its pursuers, and if no tree is at
hand, it will climb on a man or a horse. It selected you as a place of
shelter, and I warrant it was more scared than you were."

"It might be easily mistaken for an alligator," said Ned, surveying the
animal as it was stretched on the ground, having been killed by a blow
on the head from the butt of a stockman's whip.

"Yes, it is often mistaken for a young alligator. I have known of an
iguana to appear in a party of pleasure seekers, picnicking in the
woods, and make quite a serious disturbance. The ladies screamed and
fled and some of them fainted. Some of the men fled, too, but those who
knew about the creature quickly despatched him."

"Is it useful for food?"

"Yes; the blacks use it, and are very fond of it, but white men don't
'hanker after it,' as your American phrase is. However, those who have
been bold enough to taste it assert that, when well cooked, the flavor
is excellent."

"Well, it doesn't look very inviting," Ned remarked; "and I don't think
I would care for iguana for dinner."

"You may not care for it," was the reply, "but the black fellows will.
Here, Jack," he continued, addressing the aboriginal, "you can have
this."

Jack needed no second invitation. With a smile on his face, he quickly
took possession of the huge lizard and strapped it to his saddle. No
doubt the meat of the iguana gave the blacks at the station a supper
that they greatly enjoyed.

Another day was spent at the cattle station, Harry and Ned going out
with one of the stockmen and accompanying him on his morning round. Dr.
Whitney thought he did not care for any more horseback exercise just
then, and spent the day around the station. The youths enjoyed their
ride very much, and returned to the house in time for luncheon.

It had been arranged that our young friends should visit a sheep run
about twenty miles away, and on the morning of the fourth day Mr. Syme
took them in his covered wagon to their destination. The road was not a
very smooth one, but the wagon, which was well built, suffered no
injury, and as for the passengers, they did not mind a little jolting.
They reached their destination with very sharp appetites, and evidently
their new host, Mr. Johnson, was aware of what their condition would be,
as a substantial meal was on the table a few minutes after their
arrival; and you may be sure that it received ample attention from the
strangers.

After the meal was over, the party went out for a stroll among the
buildings connected with the station. The house where the owner lived
was a solidly built affair, not unlike the one they had sojourned in for
a few days at the cattle station. There was this difference, however,
that it was elevated on posts about six feet from the ground, giving
free circulation of air beneath it, and furnishing a good place of
storage for various things connected with the station.

In reply to an inquiry by Harry, Mr. Johnson said that this arrangement
of the building was a good one to keep out snakes. "It doesn't keep them
out altogether," said he, "as there are snakes that will climb posts,
but ordinarily serpents do not attempt that performance. When I first
came to Australia, I lived in a house which stood right on the ground.
The region was a snaky one, and every little while we would find a snake
in the house, and have a lively time driving him out or killing him.
None of the family was ever bitten by a snake, but we certainly had some
narrow escapes. When I came here and built this house, I determined to
have a dwelling which these unpleasant visitors could not easily enter."

Harry remarked that a snake-proof house was certainly quite to his
liking, and he hoped the building would continue to display its
admirable qualities as long as he remained there.

The youths were impressed with the size and extent of the wool shed
belonging to the establishment, and Ned remarked that they must have a
very active time during the shearing season.

"It is our most active time," was the reply; "the busiest of all the
year. Ordinarily the life on a sheep run is quiet and humdrum, but when
shearing time begins everything is lively. We engage the shearers as
they come along, in parties or gangs. They are a difficult lot of men to
deal with, as they have a very powerful trade union which stands by its
members, with little regard to right or wrong. The shearing is done by
piece work. We used to pay three pence for shearing a sheep, or rather
we paid five shillings a score. A good shearer can do fourscore in a
day, and consequently he earns twenty shillings or one sovereign. That's
pretty good pay, isn't it?"

"Seems to me that it is," replied Harry. "Do you board the shearers, or
do they find themselves?"

"Oh, we have to board them, of course, and we have to board their
horses, as most of the shearers travel on horseback. But the feed of a
horse isn't of much consequence, as we simply turn him into the paddock
and let him graze there. Sometimes we hire a fiddler to play for the men
while they are at work in the shearing house, and also in the evening,
when they are off duty. Sometimes a gang of shearers brings along its
own cook. They pay the cook's wages themselves, but the employer
supplies the material out of which the shearers' meals are made. These
fellows are very particular as to their treatment, and if they feel that
they are ill-used in any way, they are liable to quit work and go away."

"They ought to earn a very nice little sum of money during the shearing
season," observed Harry.

"They certainly do," was the reply; "especially as, for the last two
years, they have demanded four pence and even five pence for each sheep
sheared. I expect they'll get it up in time so as to take most of the
profits of the business. It makes little difference to the great
majority of them how much they get for their work, as it is generally
gone by the end of the shearing season."

"That reminds me," said Mr. Johnson, "of the visit of a gentleman from
Melbourne to a sheep station up country. He went there with a friend,
reaching the station about dinner time. He was introduced to the owner
of the station, who greeted him cordially enough, and invited the two of
them to remain at dinner, which would be ready shortly. He strolled
about the buildings for a little while, and when dinner was announced,
he went in and joined the others at table.

"The table was well supplied, and he had no occasion to complain of the
quality or quantity of the food set before him; but he was somewhat
surprised to find that no one spoke to him, except in the briefest
manner, and that every one seemed desirous of being rid of him as soon
as possible. In fact, there was very little conversation at the table,
anyway, and as soon as they were through dinner he suggested to his
friend that they had better be moving. Their team was brought out, and
they continued their journey, their temporary hosts not even taking the
trouble to say good-day to him.

"When they were out of earshot of the place, the Melbourne gentleman
remarked to his companion, who, by the way, was a good deal of a
practical joker:--

"'I don't think much of your friends from a civility point of view. They
were as rude to me as a party of savages could be.'

"'I don't wonder at it,' was the reply. 'Just for the fun of the thing,
I told them you were president of the Sheep Shearers' Union.'

"'If you told them that outrageous lie,' said the other, 'I am not at
all surprised that they treated me as they did, but please don't do it
again.'

"I don't believe that the president of the Shearers' Union would
receive a hearty welcome at any sheep run in Australia. Sheep farmers
have good reason for a serious grudge against the whole concern; but,
after all, it is no worse than most of the other trade unions. Nearly
all of them are oppressive to a high degree, and are a great injury to
business and commercial prosperity."

Ned and Harry were especially interested in the place where the shearing
was done. The building was a large structure of quadrangular shape, with
a bulkhead running across the middle of it and dividing it into two
portions. There is a platform for the shearers around one of the
enclosures formed, and by the bulkhead at shearing time; this is always
kept full of sheep; in fact, it is crowded full, so that the shearer can
lay hands on a sheep at any time without the necessity of running after
it. The shearers stand at their work. They have tried various devices
for sitting down or for placing sheep on a bench or table so as to avoid
bending their backs, but none of the experiments have succeeded, and the
old process remains in use. It is decidedly fatiguing for a beginner,
but in course of time one gets used to it, as to everything else.

"What is that little door for, and the little yard outside of it?"
queried Ned, as he pointed to one of a series of low, small doors at the
outside of the shearers' platform, opposite the enclosure.

"Oh, that is for the shearer to let out his sheep after he has removed
the fleece. He takes the animal to be sheared out of the enclosure, as I
told you, and then when he has sheared it, he lets it out through this
door into the little yard; that is to enable us to count the men's work
in a way to avoid all disputes. In the early days of Australian sheep
farming, the men who gathered up the fleece kept the accounts of the
shearers, but there were constant disputes on the subject, which led to
the adoption of the present system. You see there isn't any chance for
misunderstanding now."

"Certainly, you have it now beyond question," remarked Harry; "and I am
sure that every shearer is very careful about letting his sheep out
through his own door."

"That he is," was the reply; "and we never have any complaints about
unfair counting. At the end of the day's work everybody can count up for
himself."

"I suppose," said Ned, "that the shearers occasionally cut the sheep
while shearing them."

"Occasionally!" was the reply; "you had better say frequently, or very
often; and some of them are much worse than others. We have proposed to
the Shearers' Union to establish a system of fines for 'tomahawking'
sheep, but the union refuses to do anything about it. We always have a
boy here, and sometimes two boys, while the shearing is going on. The
boy is provided with a tar bucket and brush. Whenever a shearer cuts the
skin of a sheep he calls out 'Tar!' not stopping a moment in his work.
At the sound of that word, the boy runs forward with his bucket and
brush and covers the wounded spot with tar, which keeps the flies away
from it. Tar is the best thing we can find for this purpose, and is in
use on all the sheep runs in the country.

"Many of the shearers," continued their host, "pride themselves on the
skill with which they perform their work. The shearer places the sheep
between his knees with its head upwards; he begins at the throat and
shears downward, so that, when his work is completed, the fleece drops
off in a single piece. As fast as the sheep are sheared, the fleeces are
gathered by the man whose duty it is to collect them. They are then
taken to the baling house, and, when a sufficient quantity has been
obtained, the fleeces are made into bales, in much the same way that
cotton is baled on an American plantation."

Mr. Johnson then led the way to the baling house, or rather the baling
room, as it was in the same building where the shearing is carried on.
The baling apparatus proved to be a simple affair, nothing more than a
press, very much like a cotton or hay press, and handled in the same
way. The bales of wool usually weigh about four hundred pounds, and are
manipulated with hooks, just as cotton bales are handled.

Ned asked if it was necessary to have the wool perfectly dry when
packing it.

"Yes, indeed," was the reply; "and for that reason all work in the wool
shed must stop during wet weather. The fleeces, when taken from the
sheep, must be absolutely dry, and if the sheep are caught out in a
rain, it takes two or three days to dry them thoroughly. It is a serious
loss of time when we have occasional rainy days, as we lose not only the
rainy day itself, but not less than one or two clear days afterwards in
order to have the fleeces in proper condition for baling."

Other observations were made around the wool shed, and about the time
that they were concluded a flock of sheep came in from its day's
pasturage. There were about five hundred sheep in the flock, accompanied
by the shepherd and his dog. They were not driven to the wool shed, but
to a yard a little distance away from it. The sheep were in good
condition and evidently well cared for.

Harry remarked as much to the owner, who answered that the man in charge
of them was a very faithful shepherd, and he added that he might well be
so, as he was constantly under the eye of his employer.

After looking at the flock and visiting several other buildings of the
establishment, the party returned to the house, and in due course of
time sat down to dinner. The entertainment was very much like that of
the cattle station. The cooking was good, the host was attentive, the
meal was enlivened by stories of sheep-farming life, and altogether the
occasion was a pleasant one.

The next morning Mr. Johnson accompanied his guests in a horseback ride
over a portion of his grounds. As the sheep run covered an area of about
one hundred square miles, it was too much to expect that they would
examine the whole of it. They visited two or three of the out-stations,
and saw the shepherds caring for their flocks. Each of the out-stations
that they visited consisted of a hut for two men, and two yards where
the sheep were kept at night. As already mentioned in our account of the
visit of the party to a sheep farm in South Africa, each shepherd
started out in the morning with his flock, moving it slowly along so as
to reach water about noon, and then slowly feeding it back again,
reaching the station about nightfall.

Nearly every shepherd has a sheep dog, partly for the sake of
companionship and partly for assistance. A good sheep dog is a very
useful and valuable animal. He aids the shepherd in keeping the flock
together whenever any of them show a disposition to straggle, and the
sheep speedily learn to know him and regard him as their friend. He
never injures them, though he frequently makes a great pretense of doing
so. Sometimes he takes a refractory sheep by the ear, or seizes it by
the wool on his neck, but the case is exceedingly rare where he
perpetrates an actual bite.

The favorite dog for the shepherd is the collie, but other kinds are
employed, and many an ordinary cur has been trained by an intelligent
master so that he made an excellent sheep dog, though he can never
attain the excellence of the genuine collie. The real shepherd dog will
accomplish more than would be possible for a man under the same
circumstances. He will drive a flock from place to place, gather them
together to be counted, and take them from one field to another much
quicker than a man could do it. A story is told of an instance that
happened in Scotland, to James Hogg, known in literature as "The Ettrick
Shepherd." Seven hundred sheep broke loose one night from his charge,
and scampered off in three divisions across the plain. It was too dark
to see anything for any appreciable distance, and the shepherd supposed
he would have to wait until morning, and then take his chances of
collecting his animals. Shortly afterwards he missed his dog. In the
morning he went out to look for the sheep, but saw no sign of them until
he reached the edge of a ravine and looked over the side. There he saw
the dog guarding the entire flock, not one of the seven hundred being
missing. How he ever managed to collect them in the dark, his owner
could not imagine. A dozen, or even a hundred men, would have failed
where he succeeded.

Near the end of the last century there was a sheep stealer in Scotland,
who was finally discovered and hanged for his crimes, who used to carry
on his trade by the aid of his dog. He traveled about the country under
pretense of buying sheep, though he rarely bought any. While looking at
a flock, he would pick one of the fattest and give a secret signal to
his dog, indicating the animal. That night the dog would come to the
flock where the sheep belonged, often traveling several miles to do it;
then would pick out the identical animal and drive it to his master. If
he happened, at any time, to meet his master on the road while going on
one of his stealing expeditions, the dog would give no sign of
recognition, and treat his master as a perfect stranger. When the man's
guilt was discovered, and he was tried and condemned for his crime, the
dog was also condemned to be hanged; but it was afterwards concluded
that the dog was simply an instrument, in the hands of his owner, and
not responsible for his actions. He was given to a shepherd, who kept
the animal as long as he lived; and, according to the shepherd's
account, the dog was never afterwards guilty of any crime.

During their ride among the out-stations of the sheep run, our young
friends learned several things connected with the industry of raising
wool for the market.

One fact which they learned was, that for a portion of the year, a great
many sheep farmers are in debt to the bankers at the ports where they
send their wool. They have a considerable amount of money to pay out
during the course of the year before shearing time, and consequently
they require advances from their bankers. It is not at all difficult to
obtain money in advance on a crop of wool, and in this respect a sheep
run has an advantage over a cattle run. Even when the sheep farmer is
growing rich, and has money laid by, he often prefers to obtain advances
on his wool crop rather than use his own money for carrying on business.
When the crop comes in, all the indebtedness is paid off, and there is
usually a good balance left. This may be set aside and invested, or it
may remain at the banker's, to be drawn whenever wanted.

Sheep farmers keep very little money at their stations in the country
districts for fear of attracting bushrangers, or other individuals,
whose ideas of the rights of property do not harmonize with those of
society in general. In many cases laborers are paid off by check, and
not in cash, and it is no uncommon sight to see a laboring man, in an
Australian town or village, flourishing a check previous to turning it
into money, which he proceeds to spend with a liberal hand.

Another point that they learned was, that there are certain portions of
Australia between the mountains and the coast, particularly in
Queensland, that are not adapted to sheep, though they make excellent
pasturage for cattle. In these localities there is a grass that has a
barb on its edges, and when once it becomes attached to the wool of the
sheep, it steadily works its way inward until it pierces the skin of the
animal, and eventually causes its death. Cattle are not affected by this
grass, as it does not penetrate their skins. They walk in it and feed
upon it with impunity, and in any of the regions where this grass is
found there is no attempt at rearing sheep, but the land is devoted to
cattle raising.




CHAPTER XVII.

FROM MELBOURNE TO SYDNEY--CROSSING THE BLUE MOUNTAINS.


When their visit to the sheep run was concluded, our friends returned to
Melbourne, where they spent two or three days, and then proceeded to
Sydney. Two ways were open to them, one by sea, and the other by land;
they chose the latter, as it would give them an opportunity to see more
of the country than if they went by water. The water journey is mostly
made by night, and consequently they would be deprived of a sight of the
picturesque coast which lies between the two cities.

The railway out of Melbourne runs through a picturesque country, as it
ascends the slope of the dividing range of mountains in the neighborhood
of the city. There are many country residences of gentlemen concerned in
business in Melbourne, and the country has a prosperous appearance.
Further away on the slope of the range, our friends passed through large
wheat fields, sheep and cattle runs, occasional patches of forest, and
not infrequently crossed small rivers flowing on their way to the sea.
They also crossed a goodly number of dry beds of rivers, which had every
appearance of being full and running over in the season of heavy rains.
The side of the range next the coast receives more rain than the other
side of it, and the reasons therefor have been given in a previous
chapter.

After the train had passed the crest of the range, it rolled along
through a broken and undulating country, largely devoted to sheep and
cattle raising, and having many stretches of blue gum forest. In some
places great numbers of rabbits were visible, but this was a sight to
which the eyes of our young friends had become accustomed. As they
approached the frontier of the colony of Victoria, Dr. Whitney remarked
that they would spend the rest of the day and the night at Albury, so as
to have another view of the Murray River, and study the peculiarities of
the colonial frontier.

"I believe," said Harry, "that we have our baggage examined at the
frontier, just as it is examined at the frontiers of the empires and
kingdoms of Europe."

"Yes," replied the doctor, "that is the case; and I suppose the
examination will be a light one for us, as we are going out of a
protection colony into a free trade one. If we were going the other way,
the custom house officials would be more particular."

"How is that?" Ned asked.

"Why, don't you see?" the doctor answered, "a protection country is on
the lookout for goods that may interfere with its manufacturing
interests; the free trade one has no such care for its manufacturing
industries, but levies its duties on articles of luxury principally.
When you come into the United States, your baggage is examined much more
carefully than when you go into England. England is a free trade
country, while our own is a protection one; at least it has been for
the greater part of the time since it began its existence."

"It is rather a strange circumstance," remarked Ned, "that two colonies
of the same country, lying side by side, and one of them an offshoot of
the other, should be so radically different in their tariff laws. How do
you account for it, sir?"

"We are treading on dangerous ground," replied the doctor, "as it is not
prudent for a traveler in foreign lands to talk politics; but as we are
quite by ourselves, we may be permitted to discuss the subject a little.
Victoria, as you are aware, is an offshoot from the colony of New South
Wales, from which it was separated in August, 1851. I don't know
anything about the matter, but presume that the origin of the
differences in tariffs between the two colonies grew out of the
opposition of the new to the old. There has always been a great deal of
jealousy between them, and as New South Wales had a free trade policy,
it was the most natural thing in the world that the jealous young colony
of Victoria should adopt a protection one. In each of the colonies there
is a strong party opposed to its tariff policy; in Victoria there is a
goodly number of free-traders, while in New South Wales there is an
equally good number of protectionists. Whatever a man's views are, in
regard to free trade or protection, it is generally useless to attempt
to change them by argument; and if he is a skilled debater, he can give
you facts and figures to demonstrate, with great clearness, the
correctness of his views. On that point I can tell you what was to me an
amusing story."

"What was that?"

"Several years ago, when the financial authorities of the two colonies
had made their annual reports, the two documents were taken by a free
trade writer for an English magazine, and out of them, by the use of the
figures and facts that they contained, there was constructed an
admirable article, demonstrating, with great clearness, the advantages
of free trade in New South Wales. Almost simultaneously in an American
newspaper appeared a similar article, drawn from the same facts and
figures, which demonstrated with equal clearness and with equal
conclusiveness the advantages of protection in Victoria. There was not a
weak point in either of the articles, and the curious thing was that
they were drawn from the same sources. Each writer showed that the
colony whose tariff policy he had favored was far more prosperous than
the other, and was making progress steadily, while the other was running
behind."

"It's pretty much the same in our own country, is it not?" queried
Harry. "It seems to me that I have read articles in the New York
_Tribune_ and the New York _Evening Post_ that were flatly contradictory
of each other on the subject of the tariff."

"Yes; that is quite likely the case, as both of the papers you name are
ready to debate the subject, and it is evident that the writers upon
both sides of the question believe what they say. I don't think it worth
our while to enter into the abstract question here, and so we'll drop it
for something else. You are aware, I presume, that we have to make a
change of train at the frontier on account of the different gauges of
the railways of the two colonies."

"Yes, sir, I was aware of that," said Harry; "one track is six inches
wider than the other."

"Yes; that is another indication of the hostility between the two
colonies. When the railway between Sydney and Melbourne was projected,
it was impossible for the opposing interests to agree upon a uniform
track for the whole distance, and consequently each colony did as it
chose. The result was, that the Victorian line was of one gauge, and
that of New South Wales of another. Neither passenger nor freight cars
can run through from one city to the other, but all passengers and
freight must be transferred at the frontier."

"Let me call your attention to another thing while we are on the subject
of colonial disagreements," the doctor remarked. "Each of the colonies
has its own postal system and each its own postage stamp. In New South
Wales, a Victorian stamp would be of no use, any more than would a
British postage stamp in the United States Post-office. You can prepay
letters from one colony to the other in the stamps of the colony where
you happen to be, but if you post a letter in Sydney with a Victorian
stamp upon it, I am afraid it would go to the dead letter office, just
as if it had borne no stamp at all."

"What a pity it is," said Harry, "that the colonies cannot reconcile
their differences and come together."

"You are not the first one, by any means, who has thought so," was the
reply. "Statesmen have been for a considerable time discussing the
question of a federation of all the colonies in the same way that the
British American colonies are federated. Federation would have been
accomplished long ago, at least it is so claimed by the others, had it
not been for New South Wales, which stands aloof from the rest
principally on account of the tariff question. All the other colonies
are in favor of the protection of home industries, while New South
Wales, as before stated, favors a free trade policy. I saw, while in
Melbourne, a cartoon representing several young women standing in a
circle. All were dressed in white and wreathed with roses, and the
various members of the circle were marked with the names of Victoria,
Tasmania, Queensland, South Australia, New Zealand, and West Australia.
A little in the background, and leaning against the wall with one finger
in her mouth as though she were angry, was a young woman dressed in
black, and labeled 'New South Wales.' The others were evidently trying,
but without success, to induce her to join the circle.

"I presume," he continued, "that federation will come in time, and an
Australian gentleman told me the other day that he believed it would be
a step towards independence. He thought, as do many other Australians,
that the long distance from the mother country and their diversity of
interests would tend, as the years go on, to weaken the bonds between
Great Britain and her Australian colonies, and that separation would be
sure to come. The colonies realize their great danger in case Great
Britain should become involved in a foreign war, and especially with a
power possessing a powerful navy. The colonies have a military force on
the volunteer system, which could no doubt do efficient service in time
of war. The British government maintains a certain number of warships in
Australian waters, but neither they nor the volunteer troops provided by
the colonies would be of much avail against a powerful force sent here
by a first-class power."

There was further conversation upon various topics of which we have no
record, and in due course of time the train reached Wodonga, the
frontier terminus of the line. It halted a few minutes in the station,
and then moved on to Albury, in New South Wales, crossing the Murray
River on an iron bridge; Harry remarking, as they did so, that it was
the same Murray, though not the same bridge, that they crossed between
Adelaide and Melbourne.

Harry learned, on inquiry, that the railway line from Melbourne reached
Wodonga in 1873, but the line from Sydney did not arrive at the northern
bank of the Murray until eight years later. There were disagreements
between the management of the two concerns, so that for three years the
ends of the two railway lines were not brought together. Passengers were
transferred by coaches or omnibuses, and baggage and freight by wagons,
between Wodonga and Albury, a distance of two miles. At last, however,
the quarrels came to an end. A bridge was built, the lines of railway
were completed, and since then everything has been harmonious.
Passengers from New South Wales cross the river in the train by which
they have arrived, and alight in the station at Wodonga. Passengers from
Victoria cross the river, and make their change of cars on the
territory of New South Wales in the Albury station.

After the custom-house examination was concluded, and it was by no means
severe, our friends found a fairly good hotel where they put up for the
night. Then they took a carriage and drove around the town, which was
evidently a prosperous one, and had the usual paraphernalia of public
institutions, such as churches, hospitals, jail, town hall, etc. It is
said to be the home and the place of business of a considerable number
of smugglers, whose occupation is invited by the long frontier line
which separates Victoria from New South Wales. A resident of Albury,
with whom our friends fell into conversation, admitted that a good deal
of smuggling was carried on there, and added that it would take the
whole male population of Victoria to guard the frontier efficiently. Of
course, smuggling, like the same business everywhere else, relates
chiefly to goods where high values can be included in small parcels. No
one would think it worth his while to smuggle bulky articles of small
value, since it would not pay to carry them long distances on men's
backs, as most of the smuggled articles are carried.

Albury stands on the bank of the Murray River, five hundred and
thirty-one feet above the sea; it is about three hundred miles from the
source of that stream, and six hundred above its mouth. During the rainy
season, when the Murray is at its height, steamers run up to Albury, but
ordinarily the river is not navigable to that place. As our friends
drove along the edge of the stream, below the two bridges which span it,
they saw a small steamboat tied up at the bank, and having an
appearance of idleness about it. They stopped the carriage for a few
moments to inspect the boat, and found that it had been left there by a
sudden fall of the river, and was waiting for the next flood to come.

"It is a very light draft steamboat," said Harry in his notebook; "and
makes me think of those they talk about in the western part of the
United States, that can run on a heavy dew, or where a man goes ahead of
them with a sprinkling pot. It is a side-wheel boat, the wheels being
very large, but not dipping far into the water. The engine seems rather
small for such a large pair of wheels, but I suppose the boat was not
built for speed so much as for general utility. She has a saloon over
the engines, with cabins opening out of it, and there are quarters on
the main deck for the officers and crew. The rooms in the upper cabin
are intended for passengers, and as there are only ten of them on each
side, you can readily understand that the accommodations are limited.
They told me that the steamer was built at one of the towns lower down
the river, her engines having been made in Adelaide, and brought
overland to the place where the hull was constructed. They also told me
that the first steamer which ever ascended the Murray was named the
_Albury_, and arrived in the year 1855. I infer, from the name of the
boat, that it was owned by people living here, but on that point my
informant was unable to say anything definite."

When the party returned to the hotel for dinner, they were regaled with
a fish which was new to them. At Melbourne they had fish from the sea
almost daily, but when visiting the cattle and sheep stations they had
none at all, for the reason that no fish were to be obtained in those
localities, and it would be an expensive matter to bring them there from
the sea with the strong probability of their being unfit for eating at
the time of their arrival. As they were not looking for fish in any
inland town, they naturally inquired what it was before them.

"That is the Murray cod, sir, or cod-perch, as we call it," said the
waiter, in reply to Ned's question. "It is a fish caught in the Murray
River, and I think you'll like it, gentlemen."

They did like it, all three of our friends pronouncing it quite
toothsome. It is a fish somewhat resembling the American perch, both in
appearance and in taste, and probably belongs to the same family.
Australia is poorly supplied with fresh water fishes. Many of the lakes
contain no fish whatever, and the few that are found there are poor
eating. There are trout in the mountainous districts, but they are not
numerous. Attempts have been made to stock the rivers with European
salmon, carp, and other food fishes, but thus far the experiments have
not been especially successful. Once in a while a fisherman catches a
small salmon in one of the streams, and paragraphs concerning his
performance are circulated far and wide in the newspapers. The habit of
most of the Australian rivers of running dry at certain portions of the
year is a serious discouragement to the industry of fish culture.

At Albury our friends found themselves in one of the mountainous
districts of Australia. Mount Kosciusco, the highest peak in Australia,
was not far away, though not visible from the town, but other mountain
peaks were in sight of the place. Kosciusco is not a very high mountain,
as mountains go, as its summit is only 7,308 feet above the level of the
sea. It is quite picturesquely situated, forming one of a group of
several mountains, and the journey to its summit is by no means an easy
matter.

Athletic young men, with a fondness for adventure, occasionally make up
parties for an excursion to the top of the mountain, and if the weather
is good they come back with their spirits high, their shoes or boots
well worn, and their clothing more or less damaged. Traveling facilities
are limited, and anybody who climbs Mount Kosciusco must expect to
"rough it." The town nearest to the mountain is Tumberumba, and the
excursion is made partly on horseback and partly on foot. It is forty
miles from Tumberumba to the mountain, and in order to reach that town
it is necessary to travel by coach a distance of seventy-four miles,
from Calcairn, which is the nearest station on the railway.

Travelers who have visited Switzerland before going to Australia say
that the region around Mount Kosciusco is quite Alpine in character, as
it has deep gorges and ravines, and the streams plunge for long
distances over precipitous rocks. The Murray River takes its rise among
these mountains, and a great contrast is offered between the country
around its head waters and that through which it flows in the latter
part of its course. The country is too rough around these mountains for
sheep and cattle stations. There is a considerable amount of tillable
land among them, which is principally devoted to the growing of oats
and wheat.

At their appointed time, our friends proceeded by train in the direction
of Sydney. They found the railway running for much of the way through a
mountainous region, some of it very mountainous indeed. The railway
engineering on many parts of the route evoked their admiration, and
certainly it deserves a great deal of praise. There are numerous tunnels
on the way, gorges and ravines are traversed by bridges high up in the
air, and nowhere in the world can be found better examples of
engineering skill in mountain work. A gentleman who was in the carriage
with them said they would find equally good work on the western line of
railway, the one on which they were traveling being the southern.

"The range of mountains that winds around the whole coast of Australia,"
said the gentleman, "has made our railways cost us very dearly. To go
any distance at all into the interior, we had to traverse the mountains,
and for a long time it was believed that it would be absolutely
impossible to get through them. The first railway line in New South
Wales was surveyed about 1847, and ground for it was broken in July,
1850. The obstacles which the Blue Mountains presented retarded the work
very much, but finally, after they were passed, we got along well
enough. You will see for yourself how difficult they were."

"From what we had already seen," wrote Harry, "we fully agreed with the
gentleman in his statement, and were not surprised to learn that the
engineers were considerably discouraged when they began their work.
After a pause, he described to us some of the interesting points of the
western line, as it is called, and said he hoped we would be able to
make a journey over that part of the railway system of New South Wales.
He assured us that we would never regret it, and that we would see some
of the most magnificent sights to be obtained anywhere in railway
travel.

"When you have crossed the crest of the Blue Mountains," the gentleman
continued, "you will see a piece of railway engineering which has never
been undertaken, as far as I know of, anywhere else in the world."

"What is that?" one of the party asked.

"It is the accomplishment of a feat that has always been disastrous in
every other part of the globe, that of two trains passing each other on
a single track."

"It certainly results in disaster as far as I have ever known," Dr.
Whitney answered. "I have never heard of two trains trying to pass each
other on a single track without both of them coming to grief."

"Well, you know that Australia is a land of contradictions," was the
reply; "and why shouldn't we be contradictory in this as well as many
other things? The way we perform this trick is this:--

"The railway climbs the mountain by means of zigzags, running first one
way, and then the other, and all the time making an ascending grade. At
the end of each zigzag the track is prolonged sufficiently to hold two
railway trains. When an ascending train sees a descending one coming,
the engine driver runs his train to the end of this prolonged track and
stops. Then the descending one comes down, runs upon the track, is
switched off down the mountain, and the way is then clear for the
ascending train to proceed. There is no double track anywhere, and yet
the trains have passed each other, and safely too."

"Very simple when you know what it is," said Harry, and the others
echoed his remark.

When they crossed the Blue Mountains they found the zigzags, readily
recognizing them from the description. On seeing the rugged character of
the mountains, they were not at all surprised that the engineers were
appalled at the difficulties before them. Neither did they wonder that
the officers in command of the first convict settlement at Sydney for a
long time regarded the Blue Mountains as impassable, and believed that
escaped convicts traveling in that direction would be stopped by this
formidable barrier. The Blue Mountains were not crossed and the country
beyond them explored until 1813, although the settlement at Sydney was
founded in 1788.

Mountain regions are always considered healthy places to live in, and
this is especially the case with the region of the Blue Mountains. A
fellow-passenger in the train told our friends that it was a favorite
saying in the country that nobody ever dies in the Blue Mountains; he
simply dries up and disappears. Another passenger said that once, when a
town was founded in the Blue Mountain district, the people wanted to
start a graveyard, and took along an elderly man who was in the last
stages of consumption. They had agreed to pay his expenses and give him
a grand funeral, on the condition that he lived until he reached the
site of the town. Not only did he live until he got there, but he
continued to live for many years, and finally dried up and blew away.
The people felt that they had been defrauded, and if the man had left
anything in the way of property, they would have brought suit for the
recovery of damages.

Harry recorded the above anecdote in his notebook, adding to it the
words, "Interesting, but of doubtful authenticity."




CHAPTER XVIII.

SIGHTS OF SYDNEY----BOTANY BAY AND PARAMATTA.


After leaving the Blue Mountains behind them, our friends were whirled
onward through a more fertile country than the one they had traversed on
the western slope. As they approached Sydney, they found the country
dotted with pleasant residences and diversified with fields and forest
in a very picturesque way. At the appointed hour the train rolled into
the station at Sydney, and landed the strangers in that ancient city;
ancient from an Australian point of view, as it is the oldest settlement
on the island continent, but exceedingly modern when compared with
London, Paris, and other European capitals.

As our friends drove in the direction of the hotel where they intended
to stay, they were struck by the narrowness of the streets, which seemed
to them very narrow indeed, after the wide streets of Melbourne.

Harry wondered how the difference of the streets of the two cities could
be accounted for.

"Oh, I understand," said Ned. "Sydney was laid out by an English
surveyor, and Melbourne by an American. Being a native of the little
island called England, the Britisher felt that he must make the most of
the land he had, while the American, coming from his own wide-spreading
country, took all the room that he wanted. That's the way of it, I'm
sure."

"Well, that will do for an explanation," said Harry, "until we get at
the real facts in the case."

"The probabilities are," the doctor remarked, "that as Sydney was
originally a convict settlement, the officers that came out in charge of
the expedition felt that it should be made as compact as possible for
the greater facility of guarding the convicts. In this way the
narrowness of the streets may be accounted for."

"They didn't foresee the tramways in the streets, and the steam cars
running upon them," said Harry, as a noisy little steam engine drawing
two passenger cars passed close to their carriage.

"No, indeed," responded Ned. "Street cars had not been invented at the
time Sydney was founded, and the locomotive was unknown. One would think
that steam cars, running through crowded streets like this, would cost a
considerable loss of life every year."

"I have heard that they do so," said Dr. Whitney. "You observe that they
have flagmen at some of the crossings, and that the trains do not stop
wherever passengers want to get on, but only at certain designated
points. There must be great danger to pedestrians, many of whom, in all
cities, are careless, and I wonder the authorities do not abolish this
steam traffic in the streets, and adopt the cable or the trolly."

"We'll take good care that they don't run over us while we are in
Sydney," remarked Harry, and there the tramway subject was dropped.

Our friends followed the same plan here as in the other cities they had
visited, of going out for a drive or stroll immediately after arranging
for their accommodations at the hotel, and removing the dust of travel
from their clothing. They thought there was less bustle and activity in
the streets of Sydney than in those of Melbourne, and accounted for the
difference that Sydney was the older and more dignified place of the
two, had a smaller population, and was not so much given over to
speculations in gold mines and other matters. They found it well
equipped with public buildings, most of them fully equal to the
corresponding edifices in the rival city. The city hall especially
roused their admiration, and they passed several churches which would do
honor to any city of Europe. The doctor remarked that the people of
Sydney had constructed their public buildings with a liberal hand, and
Harry answered that the liberal hand had been directed by excellent
taste.

"I am impatient to see the famous harbor of Sydney," Ned remarked soon
after they started on their drive. "You know it is the one thing we have
heard about more than any other."

"We will have an opportunity of seeing it in two or three ways," the
doctor remarked. Then he called to the driver, and told him to stop in
front of the city hall.

After giving a hasty glance at the interior of the building, the party
climbed to the cupola, which is one hundred and fifty feet above the
level of the street below. From their point of observation they had a
fine view in every direction. The whole city was in sight, and also a
good deal of the surrounding country. The magnificent harbor, too, was
at their feet. Fifteen miles to the westward, they could see the pretty
town of Paramatta, which is a favorite resort for Sydney merry-makers;
while to the eastward, the broad line of the Pacific Ocean was spread
before their gaze. They remained there for half an hour or so in the
cupola, taking in the view in general, and also in many of its details.

As they were about to descend, Ned remarked that the harbor fully met
his expectations, and in some points exceeded them. Afterward he wrote
as follows in his notebook:--

"The harbor may be said to consist of a series of coves or bays, uniting
together in a single body of water, which opens to the sea between two
promontories, called The Heads. Whether viewed from an elevation like
that of the tower of the city hall, or from points along its shores, or
from the deck of a vessel passing over it, Sydney harbor presents a most
admirable view."

After leaving the city hall, our friends drove to Circular Quay, whose
character in one respect is described by its name, as it is of
semicircular shape, and encloses the most important of the divisions of
Sydney harbor. Harry and Ned were unable to say whether the amount of
shipping at Sydney was greater than that at Melbourne or not, but in one
thing they were agreed, that neither city had a right to be jealous of
the other on the score of marine business. There were ships of all
nations at Melbourne, and there were also ships of all nations at
Sydney. Sydney has the advantage of being the terminus of most of the
great steamship lines, and consequently their vessels are in port at
Sydney for a longer time than at Melbourne. There were great steamers
of the Orient line, of the Peninsular and Oriental (familiarly known as
the "P. & O."), the French line, or Messageries Maritimes, the North
German Lloyd, and other lines of lesser note. There was a steamer there,
from San Francisco, and there were several vessels belonging to the
Australian Steam Navigation Company.

As our friends were looking at the forest of masts and funnels, Harry
was the first to break the silence.

"You could start from here," he remarked, "for almost any other part of
the world. You could set out for Greenland's icy mountains or India's
coral strand with very little ease."

"I don't know about Greenland's icy mountains," said Ned, "as I don't
believe there is any line running to them from Sydney, but the P. & O.
boat and several other boats will take you to India's coral strand; of
that I am sure."

Circular Quay was formerly called Sydney Cove, and it was at the head of
this little cove that the first settlement was made. It is the principal
one of the coves or harbors where ships can lie, though Darling Cove is
nearly as important as the one just mentioned. The sheet of water into
which these coves open is called Port Jackson, and extends inland some
twenty miles from The Heads. Islands of various sizes are scattered
through Port Jackson, some of them occupied, and some remaining in a
state of nature. Our friends planned, while strolling about Circular
Quay, to make an excursion up the harbor as soon as they could do so
conveniently, and then, as it was getting pretty late in the afternoon,
they returned to their hotel.

On their arrival at the house they met a gentleman to whom they had a
letter of introduction. He had heard of their arrival, and came to hunt
them up without waiting for the delivery of their letter. This
circumstance led Harry to write as follows in his journal:--

"Wherever we go we are received with the most open-handed hospitality.
Persons who are entire strangers to us are always civil, ready to answer
any question we ask, and every one of them seems quite willing to go out
of his way to serve us. We have made the acquaintance of men in railway
trains and around the hotels, or elsewhere, who have ended up a brief
conversation by inviting us to visit their country places, their sheep
or cattle stations, if they have any, or their business establishments
in the city, and this, too, without knowing anything about us other than
that we are strangers in Australia. Those to whom we have letters throw
their houses open to us, and in every instance urge us to a longer stay
whenever we intimate that we must depart. Those to whom we are
introduced by these people are equally courteous and equally ready to
show us any hospitality. The whole country seems open to us, and if we
could and would accept half the invitations that have been given to us,
we should remain in Australia for years, perhaps for a decade or two.

"Many Australians, some of them born here of English parents, together
with natives of England who have lived here many years, complain that
when they go back to the old country they are received very coldly. It
is no wonder they feel that English customs are very frigid, when they
contrast them with the general kindness and liberal hospitality that
universally prevails throughout this island continent. Men who have
received strangers as freely as is the custom here, must have a
sensation of having ice water poured down their backs when they go to
London or New York, and are greeted with the formality customary to
those two cities.

"I have been told that it is not infrequently the case that an old
Australian who goes to England with the intention of spending not less
than a year there, is back in the antipodes in less than six months. The
cold formality is not at all to his liking, and, as one man expressed
it, he feels as though a southerly burster had dropped on him all at
once; and yet his English friends are no doubt glad to see him, and have
no thought whatever of giving the least offense.

"They are only adhering to the customs of centuries, and unless they
themselves have been in Australia, which is very rarely the case, they
cannot understand why the stranger should feel that he is being unkindly
treated. I am told that thirty years ago there was the same contrast
between the Atlantic and Pacific coasts of the United States, but since
railways have traversed the American continent, and communication is
made easier, the forms of hospitality of the peoples of the two sections
have become pretty much the same.

"Of one thing you may be sure: we shall never forget the courtesies that
we have received, and when we leave the shores of Australia we shall
treasure long in our memories the warm hospitality which we have
encountered since the day we first set foot upon Australian soil."

That evening the party visited one of the clubs where all three were
"put up" for the time of their stay in Sydney, their host intimating to
Dr. Whitney that, as his nephews were under age, they would not be
expected to visit the club, except in his company. Before they had been
in town twenty-four hours, our friends had received the offer of the
hospitality of no fewer than four clubs, together with several
invitations to dinner. The three agreed that Sydney was certainly a very
hospitable place, and that a stranger suffering from indigestion, or in
poor health, generally would find it too much for him.

The next day our friends were taken on a drive through some of the
parks, of which Sydney has a liberal supply. Most of the parks are of
considerable extent, one of them, called the Domain, occupying one
hundred acres of ground on the shore of one of the coves. Other parks
are projected, and it was evident to Harry and Ned that the authorities
of Sydney were thorough believers in having plenty of breathing space
for the people.

The drive included the Botanical Gardens, which proved to be full of
interest. Nearly every plant and tree of the whole of Australia is
represented in the Botanical Gardens, and there are many trees and
plants there from other parts of the world. Everything planted in these
gardens seems to thrive, the products of high latitudes growing side by
side to those of very low ones.

The Botanical Gardens are not of recent origin, some of the trees they
contain having been planted there seventy or eighty years ago. Among
these trees are Norfolk pines, which have attained a height of one
hundred feet, and a diameter of five feet at the base. Dr. Whitney had
visited the pine forests of California, and said that the specimens in
the Botanical Gardens at Sydney reminded him of the magnificent trees of
the Golden State.

At one place during their visit to the gardens Ned observed the smell of
musk, and looked around to ascertain whence it came. The gentleman who
accompanied him noted his curiosity and said:--

"I think you are looking for the musk tree. Here it is."

And there it was, sure enough. The tree is a product of Australia, and
has the peculiarity of constantly giving out the odor of musk, which is
perceptible at quite a distance. Ned asked if any perfume was
manufactured from the tree or its leaves, and was answered in the
negative.

All the parks of the city appeared to be tastefully laid out and well
kept. Ned recalled the numerous parks that they saw at Melbourne, and
remarked that neither city had occasion to be jealous of the other in
the matter of pleasant resorts for the people.

Our young friends asked if any of the prisons or other buildings that
were erected at the time of the settlement of Sydney were still in
existence.

"There is hardly a trace of any of them," was the reply. "As the city
has grown, the old buildings have been destroyed, to make place for new
ones of a more substantial character. One of the churches occupies the
site of the original cemetery which was established soon after the
foundation of the city, and a business house covers the ground where the
principal prison stood. There is no desire on the part of any of us to
preserve the buildings of the original settlement, as they recall
unpleasant memories.

"We want to forget as much as we can," he continued, "all that is
disagreeable in the history of Sydney, just as an individual usually
wants to forget anything unpleasant about his own origin or history. The
subject comes up occasionally, and we have no squeamishness about
discussing it, and the history of the colony is well known to every
intelligent inhabitant of the place. Transportation to this colony
ceased about fifty years ago, and consequently there are few men now
living in New South Wales who came here as involuntary emigrants. The
old disputes between Emancipists and Free Settlers were ended long ago,
and the questions that greatly agitated the population of the first half
of the century have now become matters of history."

As the gentleman paused, Harry thanked him for his information, and then
asked if Port Jackson and Botany Bay were the same thing.

"They are quite distinct from each other," was the reply. "Botany Bay is
situated a little to the south of Port Jackson and opens into the
Pacific Ocean. It is a singular circumstance that Captain Cook missed
the entrance of Port Jackson, which he does not seem to have discovered
at all. It is only five miles across the land from one body of water to
the other, and it is evident that he did not venture very far inland, or
he would have found Port Jackson an infinitely better harbor than Botany
Bay.

"It was in Botany Bay," continued the gentleman, "that the first
expedition to form a settlement in Australia cast anchor. Captain
Phillip, who commanded the expedition, and some of his officers examined
the land around Botany Bay, and found it quite unfit for a settlement.
While making their examinations they discovered Port Jackson, and
immediately perceived its superior advantages. The ships were at once
moved around to this harbor, and then the convicts and the soldiers who
guarded them were brought on land for the first time. But the name of
Botany Bay clung to the settlement for a long while, and became a name
of terror to the criminal classes of England."

"It is a very pretty name when divested of its association," remarked
Harry. "I wonder how Captain Cook happened to hit upon it."

"He gave it that name," was the reply, "on account of the great number
of flowers and flowering plants which he found all around the bay. Quite
likely he would have given the same name to Port Jackson if he had
discovered it, as there were just as many flowers here as at the other
place."

On another day our friends took a drive to Botany Bay, which is only
five miles from Sydney. They found quite a pretty place, and were not
surprised to learn that it is a favorite resort of the residents of
Sydney. Their attention was called to the monument which marks the spot
where Captain Cook landed in 1770, and took possession of Australia in
the name of the British government.

Another trip that they made was to Paramatta, going there by rail and
returning by water. Of this excursion Harry wrote as follows:--

"The journey is a short one, as Paramatta is only fifteen miles from
Sydney. It is on what they call the Paramatta River, which isn't really
a river, but simply an arm of the bay, and is a favorite place for
rowing races. Next to Sydney, it is the oldest town in the colony.
Governor Phillip, the first governor of New South Wales, laid it out in
1788, his object being to utilize the labors of the convicts in farming.
The first grain fields were established here, being cultivated by
convict labor, and the governor had a space of ground cleared, and a
house erected for his country residence.

"The experiment of cultivating grain was so successful during the first
year, that it was continued on a larger scale during the second and
subsequent years. Free settlers took up ground at Paramatta, which was
then called Rosehill, the name which the governor gave to the little
elevation where his house was built. Settlers who came out to Sydney of
their own accord received allotments of land, and were supplied with a
sufficient number of convicts to do their work.

"These were known as assigned servants, and the practise of having
assigned servants spread everywhere and became very popular, as the
parties to whom the convicts were assigned got their labor for
practically nothing. Sometimes the wives of convicts came out as
passengers in the same ships with their husbands, or followed them
later. When they arrived and set up housekeeping, they would apply for
servants to be assigned to them, and would name their husbands as the
men they preferred. The plan was found to work very well in nearly all
cases, and the government encouraged the practise. Sometimes, though, it
happened that the husbands were inclined to abuse and beat their wives,
but this did not happen often, as the wives had the power, like other
employers of assigned servants, of sending their husbands to be flogged.

"Whenever, in the early days, the sentence of a convict expired, he was
given a farm at Paramatta, or in its neighborhood, and in this way quite
a farming community grew up. The agricultural features of Paramatta have
continued down to the present time, and all about it there are pretty
farms and gardens, which make the place look very much like an English
town of the same size. It is regularly laid out, the principal street
extending about a mile back from the landing place, with a width of two
hundred feet. Many business men of Sydney have their residences here,
and there is a goodly number of public buildings, including hospitals,
asylums, churches, and the like.

"Our attention was called to several manufactories, but we were less
interested in them than we were in the orange groves and orchards, which
are numerous and extensive. They showed us some orange trees which they
claim are the largest in the world, but whether that is the case or not,
I am unable to say. They showed us one tree from which ten thousand
oranges had been taken in a single year, and after we had looked at the
orange groves, we were shown through several flower gardens, which
seemed to be literally masses of flowers. When we returned to Sydney by
the boat, we observed that the banks of the river were lined with flower
gardens, and were not surprised to learn that almost the entire flower
market of Sydney is supplied from Paramatta.

"We were unfortunate in not being here in the season of fruits, as they
told us that the Paramatta oranges are among the finest in the world,
and the same could be said of the other fruits grown in the place. I
think we have said before that the climate of Australia is very
favorable to the cultivation of fruits, those of the tropics as well as
those of the temperate zones showing a universal tendency to thrive in
the genial atmosphere."

Dr. Whitney and his young companions spent two or three days at some of
the country residences in the neighborhood of Sydney, and were charmed
with the warmth of the hospitality and the beauty of the places that
they visited. It was impossible for them to accept a tenth part of the
invitations they received, as their time was limited, and they were
anxious to press on to the northward. So one day they bade farewell to
their friends and took the train for Newcastle, the principal point of
the coal-mining industry of the colony.




CHAPTER XIX.

COAL MINES AT NEWCASTLE--SUGAR PLANTATION IN QUEENSLAND--THE END.


"The region between Sydney and Newcastle," wrote Ned in his journal, "is
a diversified one. Here and there are forests interspersed with open
country. Some of the ground is level, and some of it very much broken
and mountainous. Most of it is fertile, and we passed through many
fields of wheat and other grain. Some of it is devoted to cattle raising
and some to the production of wool, though it is not generally regarded
as a good country for raising sheep. In places the mountains come quite
close to the sea-coast, and there we found the railway winding over a
very tortuous course, where the rocks that rose on either hand, and the
tunnels through which we were occasionally whirled, convinced us that
the building of the railway must have cost a great deal of money. At
several places coal mining was in progress, and it was evident that
Newcastle didn't have an entire monopoly of the coal-producing business.

"Newcastle is quite as much devoted to the coal business as the English
city from which it was named. More than two million tons of coal are
shipped from this port every year, and the engineers who have carefully
examined the coal seams say that there is enough coal under Newcastle
to keep up the supply at the present rate for more than five hundred
years.

"We were first taken to the harbor where the shipments are made. There
we found admirable facilities for loading vessels with the products of
the mines. They claim that they can handle twenty-five thousand tons of
coal daily, and that a good-sized coal steamer can leave port with her
cargo six hours after entering. I'm not an expert in such matters, and
therefore don't know, but from what I saw it seems to me that there is
no difficulty about it.

"The harbor of Newcastle was not a very good one originally, but they
have made it so by extending into the sea a breakwater, which shelters
it from the gales that formerly swept it. It is not a large harbor, but
an excellent one for its purpose.

"We visited some of the coal sheds and coal breakers, and went into one
of the mines. They would gladly have taken us through all the mines in
the place, but as one mine is very much like another, we declined to
make the rounds of all of them. The one that we entered was about four
hundred feet underground. We were lowered in a cage to the bottom of the
mine, and then walked through a tunnel to where the men were at work,
dodging on our way several loaded cars that were going towards the
shaft, as well as empty ones coming from it. The cars were pushed along
by men, each of them carrying a little lantern on the front of his hat;
in fact, every man whom we saw working underground had one of these
lights for his guidance. The tunnel itself was lit up with electric
lights, extending from the shaft to the front of the working; and in
addition to these, each of us carried a lantern, which was of material
assistance in showing us where to place our feet. We had a few stumbles
on the way, but nobody experienced a fall.

"When we reached the front of the working, the sight was a curious one.
A dozen men--I think there must have been that number at least--were
attacking the coal seam, most of them lying on their sides and digging
away with picks at the lower part of it. Some of them had worked their
way in two or three feet, and were almost out of sight, and I shuddered
to think of the possibility that the mass above might fall upon and
crush them. I asked our guide if this did not happen sometimes.

"'Unfortunately, yes,' he replied. 'It does happen now and then, and the
men on whom the coal falls are more or less severely injured, and
perhaps killed. We have to watch the miners constantly, to see that they
do not run too great a risk. If we let them have their own way,
accidents would be much more frequent than they are.'

"'Why do they burrow under the coal in that way?' I asked. 'Couldn't
they get it out in some manner less dangerous than that?'

"'That is the way to which they have been accustomed,' the guide
answered, 'and it is difficult to get them to change. Most of these
people come from the coal-mining districts of England, and they are very
conservative. Machines have been invented for doing this kind of work,
and they are in use in some of the mines, but the men are opposed to
them, and in some instances they have disabled or destroyed the
machines.'

"Then he went on to explain that the miner makes an opening below the
mass of coal in the manner that we saw, and then drills a hole some
distance above it, in which to explode a charge of powder. This brings
down all the coal below the locality of the explosion. Sometimes it is
broken up into lumps that a man can handle, and sometimes it comes down
in a single block, which requires another blast to break it up, and then
the cars are brought up as near as possible. The coal is loaded into
them, and pushed away to the shaft. Each man is paid according to the
amount of coal he gets out, and some of them receive large wages. There
are about five thousand people employed in the coal mines here, and the
probabilities are that the business will be extended, and the coal
product of Newcastle increased within a year or two from the present
time."

From Newcastle our friends continued their journey northward to
Brisbane, the capital of Queensland. They traveled all the way by rail,
changing trains at Stanthorpe, on the frontier. During the delay
subsequent upon the change of trains, Harry made the following
memorandum in his notebook:--

"It seems to me that it is a great misfortune for Australia that each
colony insists upon having its own particular gauge of track, thus
preventing the running of through trains without change of cars. Some
day the people will find out their mistake, and I believe some of them
realize it already. Dr. Whitney says that there was at one time in the
United States several different gauges of track from four feet, eight
inches and one half up to six feet, and that the railway managers
generally agreed upon four feet, eight inches as the standard gauge.
Since that agreement all other tracks have been changed to make the
tracks uniform. Now any railway car can be run all over the United
States, with the exceptions of a few special lines where the gauge is
three feet, six inches.

"Three feet, six inches is the gauge of the railways of Queensland. That
of New South Wales is four feet, eight and one half inches, while that
of Victoria is five feet, three inches. In South Australia some of the
lines are of five feet, three inches gauge, and others have the same
gauge as the Queensland railways. The narrow gauge is especially adapted
to mountain regions, and also to thinly populated districts. On lines
where the business is light and the distances are not long, this gauge
answers all requirements, but on many lines, especially those having
considerable business, it is not at all advantageous."

During their railway ride our friends observed the strange combination
of aboriginal and English names, and called Dr. Whitney's attention to
it. "Here are Coolongolook and Coonabarabran," said Harry, "and next
come Clarkeville and Smithville. Here are Cootramundra and Illawarra and
Murrumbidgee close by Orange and Richmond. Here are Curabubula and
Waggawagga, with Warwrick and Union Camp. I could go on indefinitely
with those names, and it seems to me that the aboriginal ones are about
as numerous as those of British origin. They are picturesque and perhaps
interesting, but they are very difficult to pronounce."

"Isn't it possible that you will find the same state of things at
home?" queried Dr. Whitney.

"Quite possible; I have never thought of that. Let me see."

"Why, certainly," said Ned. "Go to Maine and New Hampshire and run over
some of the Indian names of lakes, rivers, mountains, and towns in those
States. Think of Kennebec and Penobscot, Winnipesaukee, Pemigewasset,
Passaconaway, and a good many others that I could name. I think it is an
excellent policy to preserve these old names and not let them die out.
Piscataqua is a much prettier name for a river than Johnston or
Stiggins, and Monadnock sounds better as the name of a mountain than
Pike's Peak or Terry's Cliff. The more the native names are preserved,
the better I like it."

"I agree with you," replied Harry; "but I wish they would make the
orthography of those native names a little easier. That's the only fault
I have to find with them."

The region through which our friends traveled was devoted to
agricultural and pastoral pursuits, as the numerous flocks of sheep,
herds of cattle, and fields of grain that they saw gave evidence. They
were told that it was also rich in minerals,--the few surveys that had
been made resulting in discoveries of gold, tin, silver, antimony, and
other metals. Some of the passengers whom they met on the train were
under the impression that Dr. Whitney was looking for a place in which
to invest money, and they were very anxious that he should stop and
investigate their promising properties. Several fine specimens of
gold-bearing quartz rock were exhibited, and the fortunate owners of
these specimens said that the ground was covered with them in the
locality where they were obtained. Dr. Whitney politely declined to
delay his journey, and assured his zealous acquaintances that he was not
looking for any new investments.

When our friends were out of earshot of the would-be speculators, Dr.
Whitney said that their statement reminded him of an incident which once
occurred at a town in California, where a quartz mill was in successful
operation. Harry and Ned pressed the doctor to give them the story,
whereupon he related as follows:--

"There were many speculative individuals around that town who were
constantly endeavoring to discover deposits of ore. One day one of these
speculators was standing on a street corner, when a solemn-faced Indian
came along, stopped in front of the man, and, after looking around in
all directions to make sure that nobody was observing him, he produced
from under his blanket a piece of gold-bearing quartz. Without saying a
word, he held the bit of rock before the eyes of the speculator.

"The speculator grasped the specimen with great eagerness. Sure enough
it was gold-bearing rock, and no mistake. It was generally believed in
the town that the Indians knew of valuable deposits, but were very
unwilling to divulge their location to the white men."

"'Where did you get this?' the speculator asked.

"The Indian made a sweep of his arm that embraced two thirds of the
horizon, but said not a word.

"'Is there any more where this came from?' queried the speculator.

"'Yes; heaps, heaps more,' and the red man made a circle with his arm
that might mean anything from a mole hill to a mountain.

"'Will you show me where you got this?' said the speculator.

"The Indian said nothing except to pronounce the words 'five dollar.'

"Unlike many of his associates, the speculator happened to have some
money about him. He thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out a
five-dollar gold piece, and placed it in the extended palm of the red
man.

"The latter examined the coin very carefully, even to the extent of
biting it between his teeth. Then he placed it in some mysterious
receptacle under his blanket and said:--

"'You with me come. You with me go share.'

"The Indian led his new partner a long walk, going out of the town on
the side opposite the quartz mill, making a circuit of a mile or two
among hills, and finally fetching up at the dump pile of the mill. The
dump pile, it is proper to explain, is the pile of ore as it is brought
from the mine to be crushed. Having reached the foot of the pile, the
Indian paused and said:--

"'Me get him here. Heaps more here, too.'

"A more disgusted individual than that speculator was at that moment
could rarely be found in the town. He had been completely outwitted, in
fact, sold, and by a savage who couldn't read or write."

From Stanthorpe on the frontier of Queensland the country was much the
same as that through which our friends had traveled from Newcastle,
except that its character was more tropical the further they went
northward. They reached Brisbane in the evening, and were out
immediately after breakfast on the following morning to view the sights
of the place, which were fewer than those of Sydney and Melbourne, as
the city is not as large as either of the others mentioned. The entire
population of Brisbane and its suburbs does not exceed one hundred
thousand. It is named after Sir Thomas Brisbane, who was Governor of the
colony at the time the city was founded. In some respects it may be
called an inland city, as it lies on a river twenty-five miles from the
entrance of that stream into Moreton Bay, which opens into the Pacific
Ocean. It is on a peninsula enclosed by a bend in the river, so that it
has an excellent water front.

Harry made note of the fact that Brisbane resembles Sydney in the
narrowness of its streets, but he added that the surveyors had some
excuse for restricting the amount of land reserved for the streets,
inasmuch as the space between the rivers was limited. The youths were
reminded of New York City when they noted that the streets of Brisbane
ran from the river on one side to the river on the other, just as do the
numbered streets on Manhattan Island. They had a further reminder when
an island in the river was pointed out to them as the site of a prison
during the convict period, just as Blackwell's Island of New York City
is the location of a prison to-day.

Queen Street is to Brisbane as George Street is to Sydney or Collins
Street to Melbourne. The principal shops and several of the public
buildings are located along Queen Street, and our friends observed that
wide verandas extended across the sidewalks from one end of the street
to the other. These verandas enable pedestrians to walk in the shade at
all times, a very wise provision to avoid sunstroke. It must be
remembered that Brisbane is considerably nearer the Equator than either
Melbourne or Sydney, and consequently has a warmer climate. Dr. Whitney
said that he was reminded of New Orleans by the temperature, and on
inquiry he ascertained that Brisbane is fully as warm as the great city
near the mouth of the Mississippi.

There is a fine bridge of iron which crosses the river between North and
South Brisbane. It is more than one thousand feet long, and has a draw
in the center to permit the passage of ships. Ned and Harry strolled
across this bridge when they reached the end of Queen Street, and on
arriving at its farther end they turned around and retraced their steps.
When back again in the principal part of the city, they continued to the
end of the peninsula, where they had expected to find huge warehouses
and places of business fronting the river. Instead of these edifices
they found the Botanical Gardens and other parks occupying the point of
land where the river makes its bend. It was an agreeable surprise to
them, and they remained in and about the gardens for an hour or more.

Whenever they came to any of the public buildings during their stroll,
they ascertained the name of each edifice from some by-stander or
shop-keeper. They observed that all the buildings were handsome and of
good construction, with the exception of the court house, which had a
very low and mean appearance. The curiosity of the youths was roused by
this circumstance, and Harry spoke to a good-natured cab driver to
ascertain how it happened.

"That's easy to tell, when you know," the driver answered.

"Well," said Harry, "if you know, won't you kindly tell us?"

"Certainly, sir," the driver responded. "You see this is the way of it.
That court house there used to be the female prison in the old times,
and for years it was crowded with women that the government had sent out
here to punish 'em. They were lifers, most of 'em, and I suppose they
are pretty near all dead now. If any of 'em is alive, they're pretty
old. Them that was kept in prison had to do hard work, making clothes
and that sort of thing, but a good many of 'em went out as assigned
servants to do housework, and they had to work in the fields, too; but
those days is gone now, and all the prisons we have in Brisbrane in
these times is for them that commits crimes right here on the spot."

"Do you mind that round building up there with the mast on it," said the
cab driver, pointing to a structure that looked like a windmill with the
arms of the mill removed.

"Yes, I see it," said Harry; "what about it?"

"We call it the Observatory," was the reply, "and that's what it is.
That mast there is for signaling ships when they come into the harbor.
In the old times there was a windmill there, where they used to grind
grain into flour and meal for the convicts to eat, and I guess other
folks ate it, too. When the wind blew the arm went round and round, the
machinery worked, and the stones revolved and ground out the meal.
Sometimes they didn't have no wind, because it didn't blow, but they had
a treadmill there, and then they used to bring up a string of convicts,
and put them on the treadmill to run the machinery and keep up the
grinding of the grain. I suppose you know what a treadmill is?"

"I have heard about a treadmill," said Harry, "but I never saw one." Ned
nodded, and said that he was in the same predicament.

"Well," said the driver, "I have seen one in the old country; I never
saw the one here, because it was gone before I came to Brisbane. What I
saw was a wheel in the shape of a long cylinder with twenty-four steps
around the circumference of it; in fact, it didn't look much unlike the
paddle-wheel of a steamboat, where the men stood to turn it. Each one of
'em was boarded off from his neighbor so that they couldn't talk to each
other. There was a hand rail for them to hang on to. The weight of the
prisoners' bodies on the steps caused the wheel to turn, and they sent
it around about twice a minute. A man on a treadmill has got to work, he
can't get out of it. If he tries to avoid stepping, he's got to hang his
weight on the hand rail with his arms, and after he has tried that for a
minute or so he's glad to go back to stepping again."

"I should think," said Ned, "that it would be difficult to adapt it to
the weight of different individuals, and also to their height. While it
might not be too much for a strong man, it might be for a weak one; and
if the position of steps and rail were adapted to a tall man, they
wouldn't be for a short one."

"I believe that's just the trouble they found with it in the old
country," was the reply; "and it's mostly been given up there. They've
got a machine in the place of it which they call 'the Crank,' which can
be adapted to anybody. It's a wheel with paddles to it, and turns inside
a box. They put gravel in the box, graduated to the strength of the man
who is to turn it, and the prisoner's hard labor consists in turning the
crank."

"It doesn't serve any useful purpose, as the treadmill does, I presume?"
said Harry.

"No; there is no useful purpose about it. A man has to turn that crank
because he's been sentenced to hard labor, and there's nothing else they
can put him to, that's all. And they don't by any means use the
treadmill all the time for turning machinery and grinding grain, or
doing some other work. Most of the treadmills I ever knew anything about
in the old country were just treadmills, and that was all."

Our friends were invited to visit a sugar plantation in Northern
Queensland. They accepted the invitation, and one morning embarked on a
steamer which took them in the direction which they wished to go. The
steamer called at several places on the coast, including Rockhampton,
Bowen, Mackay, Keppel Bay, and Somerset; the last-named place was their
destination, and it was here that they landed.

"We utilized the time of stoppage at each port by going on shore," said
Harry in his journal. "Except for the exercise of the trip, we might
about as well have stayed on board, as there was very little to be seen
at any of the places. The coast towns of Queensland are pretty much all
alike. They have from one to two thousand inhabitants each, and though
they're pretentiously laid out, they consist of little more than a
single street. On the streets, other than the principal one, there are
scattered houses, where the owners of land have endeavored to increase
the value of their property by putting up buildings, but generally with
poor success. For pavement the natural earth is obliged to answer, as
most of these towns are too poor to afford anything better. The streets
are very dusty in dry weather, and very muddy after a rain. At one of
the places where we landed there had been a heavy shower the night
before, and the main street was a great lane of mud. Ned said the street
was a mile long, eighty feet wide, and two feet deep; at least, that was
his judgment concerning it.

"One thing that impressed us in these towns was that hardly a man in any
of them had a coat on. Everybody was in his shirt sleeves, and if he had
a coat with him, he carried it on his arm. For the novelty of the thing,
we took dinner at a hotel in Mackay, more with a view of seeing the
people that went there, than with an expectation of a good meal. There
were squatters from the back country, planters, clerks, merchants,
lawyers, and doctors, all with their coats off, and we were told that
this habit of going without coats is universal. One man who had lived
there a good while said, 'You may go to a grand dinner party, and find
the ladies dressed in the height of fashion, and the gentlemen in their
shirt sleeves.' I don't wonder that they have adopted this plan, as the
climate is very warm. The region is decidedly tropical, the air is damp
and oppressive, and in the daytime especially the heat is almost
insupportable. I wonder, though, that they don't adopt the white linen
jacket for dinner purposes, just as the Europeans living in China and
Japan have done.

"Somerset, where we landed, is principally a pearl-fishing station, and
the pearl fishers who live there are a very rough-looking lot. The
business is very profitable, those engaged in it estimating that the
pearls pay all the expenses of their enterprise and a little more, while
the _nacre_, or mother-of-pearl, the smooth lining of the shells, is a
clear profit. The exportation of shells from Queensland is worth,
annually, about half a million dollars. The pearl shells sell ordinarily
for about one thousand dollars a ton. They are gathered by black divers
under the superintendence of white men.

"These white men own the sloops and schooners devoted to the pearl
fishery, and they go out with these craft, taking along a lot of black
men as divers. The diving is done in the same way as in pearl fisheries
all over the world, so that there is no necessity of describing it. The
shells are like large oyster shells; in fact, they are oyster shells and
nothing else. They are about twenty inches long, and from twelve to
fifteen inches from one side to the other; so, you see, it doesn't take
many oysters to make a load for a diver. The divers are paid according
to the number of shells they gather, and not by fixed wages. A man
familiar with the business said, that if you paid the men regular wages,
you would be lucky if you got one dive out of them daily.

"I tried to ascertain the value of some of the pearls obtained here,"
continued Harry, "but my information was not very definite. They told me
that several pearls worth five thousand dollars each had been taken, but
they were not very common, the value ordinarily running from a few
dollars up to one hundred or two hundred dollars each. My informant said
that the best pearls were found on the coast of West Australia, but that
the fishery in that locality was more dangerous than on the coast of
Queensland. He said that the sea in that locality was subject to
hurricanes, and sometimes an entire fleet of pearl-fishing boats would
be overwhelmed and sunk, hardly a man escaping. 'These disasters,' he
said, 'do not deter those who survive from taking the risk over again,
and there are always plenty of black men who go out as divers there
whenever a boat is ready to start.'"

To go to the sugar plantation to which our friends were invited, they
had to make a journey inland, in a wagon over a rough road about forty
miles long. The plantation was located on both sides of a small river,
and employed, at the time of their visit, about one hundred and fifty
men. One of the owners was there, and exerted himself to his fullest
ability to make the strangers comfortable and have them see all that was
to be seen. They visited the crushing mills and the boiling rooms, and
learned a great deal about the process of manufacturing sugar from the
sugar cane.

"We may say briefly," said Ned, "that the cane-stalks are crushed
between rollers, and the juice is caught in vats, whence it flows in
troughs or pipes to the evaporating house. Here it is boiled till it is
reduced to syrup, and then it is boiled again, until it is ready for
granulation. Then it is placed in perforated cylinders which revolve
with tremendous rapidity. By means of centrifugal force all the moisture
is expelled and the dry sugar remains behind."

Our friends visited the fields where the luxuriant cane-stalks were
growing, but they were quite as much interested in the men they saw at
work there as in the fields themselves. Harry remarked that the men
seemed to be different from any of the Australian blacks they had yet
seen in their travels.

"These are not Australian blacks at all," said their guide; "they are
foreigners."

"Foreigners! Of what kind?"

"They are South Sea Islanders principally from the Solomon Islands; some
of them are from the New Hebrides and some from the Kingsmill group."

"You import them to work on the plantations, I suppose?"

"Yes; that's the way of it. You see this country is too hot for white
men to work in the field, just as your sugar-growing States in America
are too hot for him to work in. The blacks are the only people that can
stand it, and as for the Australian blacks, they're no good. There are
not enough of them anyway, and even if there were, we couldn't rely upon
them. An Australian black will never stay in one place for any length
of time, as you have doubtless learned already. He is liable to quit at
any moment, and that sort of thing we can't stand on a sugar plantation.
We must have men to work steadily, and the only way we can get them is
by hiring them under contract from some of the Pacific Islands."

"I think I have read about that somewhere," remarked Harry. "You send
small ships out among the islands to pick up the men, and the business
is called 'black-birding,' is it not?"

"Yes, that is the name of it, or rather used to be," was the reply.
"Black-birding," along in the seventies, was an outrageous piece of
business no better than slave-stealing on the coast of Africa. In fact,
it was slave-stealing and nothing else. A schooner would appear off an
island, drop anchor and wait for the natives to come out in their
canoes, which they were sure to do. Then forty or fifty of them would be
enticed on board, and perhaps invited one by one into the cabin, whence
a door had been cut through into the hold. They were shoved along one by
one until a sufficient number had been obtained and imprisoned below,
and then the schooner set sail and left the island.

"Sometimes one of the officers was dressed up like a clergyman, with a
white necktie, broad-brimmed hat, and blue spectacles, and wrapped in a
long black cloak. He carried a large book under his arm, and was a very
good counterfeit of a missionary. He was rowed to the shore, where he
would inform the natives that their old friend, Rev. Dr. Williams, was
on board the vessel and would like to see them, and he would very much
like some fresh fruit. He explained the doctor's failure to come on
shore by saying that he had fallen on deck and broken his leg the day
before, and was then confined to his cabin.

"The natives would hasten to gather a large supply of fruit and take it
on board the schooner. Their fruit was piled on deck, and one by one
they were taken below, ostensibly to see their disabled friend, but
really to shove them forward into the hold in the manner I have
described. When a sufficient number had been entrapped the schooner
sailed away, and there was little probability that the deceived natives
would ever see their island again.

"That was the method formerly in vogue for supplying labor to the sugar
plantations in Queensland. The matter became so notorious that the
government investigated it and put a stop to 'black-birding.' At present
the business of obtaining men from the Pacific Islands is fairly well
conducted. On every ship that goes out for that purpose there is a
government officer whose duty it is to see that no deception or trickery
is practised, and that the contracts with the natives are fully
understood on both sides before they are signed.

"We hire these people for three years, and when that period has expired
we are obliged to return them to their homes. Formerly, they had the
option of renewing their contracts here without going away, and a good
many planters were careful to see that the men were heavily in debt at
the expiration of their term of service, so that they would be obliged
to engage again in order to get themselves out of debt, which they never
did. Now the government regulation forbids the renewal of a contract
here, and in order to have the agreement a valid one, it must be made
in the island whence the man was brought. Of course this is a hardship
where a man really does not want to go home, but, on the whole, it is
for the best."

Harry asked how they managed to get along with the natives of the
different islands, and if they proved to be good laborers.

"As to that," was the reply, "there is a great deal of difference among
them. The most of them are industrious and do fairly well, but nearly
all need a little urging. We don't flog them, as flogging is forbidden
by law, but the overseers generally carry long, supple sticks which they
know how to handle. They have to be careful, though, in using these
sticks, as some of the Kanakas, as we call the South Sea Islanders, are
revengeful, and they're very handy with knives.

"The men from the Solomon Islands are the worst to deal with, as they
have ugly dispositions; they are inclined to resent what they believe to
be an insult, and they are a strong, wiry race. They are quarrelsome
among themselves, and probably their tendency to quarrel is increased by
the fact that many of them are cannibals. Sometimes we miss one of these
fellows, and though we hunt everywhere, it is impossible to find him.
There are vague rumors that he has been eaten by his friends. The whole
business is carefully concealed from us, and it is very rarely the case
that we are able to get at the facts. It generally turns out, when we
ascertain anything about it, that the man was killed in a fight, and was
then cooked and eaten, to prevent his being wasted."

Harry remarked that the Solomon Islanders, as he saw them on the
plantation, were not a prepossessing lot of people, and he would not
care to be among them even for a single day.

The natives of the Kingsmill group were much more attractive in their
appearance, but even they were nothing to be fond of. On the whole,
neither of the youths took a liking to the laborers on the sugar
plantation, and as the place was said to be infested with snakes, they
were quite willing to cut their visit short and return to the coast.

THE END.


      *      *      *      *      *


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