The Australian Emigrant/Chapter 4
CHAPTER IV.
On going below to pack up his "goods and chattels," Hugh found Slinger similarly employed. They had become very intimate during the voyage; and now the time for parting appeared drawing near, Hugh felt deeply the loss he should sustain in his messmate, who was about his own age, an intelligent, merry-hearted companion, and who only required his friendship to be put to the test to prove its disinterestedness and sincerity. As Hugh entered the cabin, Slinger said to him, in a dolorous voice,
"I'm going ashore."
"So am I," said Hugh:—"we'll go together after stowing away our traps."
"Confound the things," said Slinger; adding several rough articles of clothing to an already well-filled chest, and pressing down the cover with all his might:—"I wish I understood packing."
"Jump it in," said Hugh, "I'll help you:" and the two friends getting upon the top of the chest, performed some eccentric movements which, however, had the effect desired; for Slinger was soon enabled to close and lock it easily.
"By the bye," he said, "I quite forgot—but I have several hats in that same chest."
"Capital stuff for gun wads," said Hugh: and after a pause, "Do you know, Slinger, my dear fellow, I shall be very sorry to part from you—very sorry."
"Strange coincidence," said Slinger, "but it's the very thing I have been thinking of all day.—Must we part?—why must we? I've a little money—not much to be sure; and an idea has frequently struck me of late, that we might do something together:—it seems to me as if we were cut out for partners—eh?"
"My capital is anything but large" said Hugh, "£150 is rather a small amount to commence any business with, excepting that of match or broom merchant."
"I've £200," said Slinger, "there's a clear £350 to start with."
"But mine is a much less sum than your's, Slinger; so if we do anything together, you must put £50 into a bank, if there is one in Melbourne, in your own name."
"Oh!—oh!—yes of course I must," said Slinger, at the same time with a "mental reservation" to do nothing of the sort. Would that all "mental reservations" could boast of such disinterested and pure motives.
"Hugh Raymond and Co., General Merchants," he continued. —"Is it a bargain? —Yes: then give me your hand my boy." The spirit of honesty seemed to bind those hands together as if loath to part them, for they continued their grasp for some minutes. Then Slinger proceeded, addressing himself to the now deserted berths, "If any of you know any just cause or impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in the bonds of partnership, why out with it.—No answer? "Well, that's settled:" and picking up a piece of chalk, which was lying on the floor of the cabin, he wrote several times, as he said, just to get his hand in, "Raymond & Co."
"No! no!" said Hugh, "it shall be Slinger and Co."
The point admitted of argument:—so it was left to chance.—
"Head or tail," said Slinger, producing a shilling. —"Tail—you lose; henceforth I shall be known as the Co.; and there's an end of that. —Signed, sealed, and delivered on board the 'Big Ann,' this nineteenth day of July—and all that kind of thing;" and the two friends and partners again shook hands warmly; nor did the informality of their contract affect its being adhered to with integrity.
"What a splendid climate!" exclaimed Slinger, putting his head out of the port to enjoy the refreshing breeze, and then "By all that's powerful but there's something very like a steamer coming up astern."
Their preparations being all completed, they went on deck. A steamer was nearing them and a very small one too—a very Tom Thumb of steamers. After wheezing and puffing a great deal, the movement of the machinery being aided by the captain, who acted also as engineer, and added his own exertions to the two-and-a-half horse power of the engine, she was brought alongside to receive passengers. She was called the "Leviathan;" and was not the only example the Colony afforded of very contemptible things bearing magniloquent names.
The "Leviathan" having received three passengers, consisting of Hugh, Slinger, and a Mr. Weevel (a cabin passenger), and their luggage, started for the mouth of the Yarra—the town of Melbourne being situated on the left bank of that river, and by water, some five or six miles from the bay.
Mr. Weevel was a gentleman who had left England without any definite notion of the description of country to which he was consigning himself. He had once read a glowing work on India (Mr. W. was not a great reader), and his mind had never since been entirely free from the impression that all British possessions were necessarily somewhat alike. The idea he had conceived of Australia was that of a country where luxurious natives sat under shady groves by day, sipping oriental drinks and smoking genuine cigars; this pleasant life varied occasionally by a tiger hunt, in which the sportsman was effectually removed from all danger by being stationed in a strongly fortified castle borne on the back of a gigantic elephant. In short, Australia to him was to have been a sensual paradise. But he had, even already, seen and heard sufficient to excite in the little mind he possessed sensations of doubt, disappointment, and dismay. He was dressed in the most extravagant style, for he did not lack money; and like most men of small minds, was, even in the most inappropriate situations, parading the fact before the world.
The "Leviathan" had reached about half way to her destination, when the engine gave evident signs of being out of order. The captain, by uniting his strength with its failing powers, succeeded for a time in keeping the boat in motion. The inevitable climax came at last. Puff-puff—puff-puff—pu—ff—then a full stop; and the helpless "Leviathan" drifted to the bank of the river.
"Stir up the fire, Jim," cried the skipper.
"'Taint no good, commodore," said the boy, who acted as crew and stoker, and was on easy terms with his superior officer, "there's someat wrong with her biler."
"'Twont burst, will it?" exclaimed Mr. Weevel, retreating two steps—another, and he would have been overboard. "If it should burst—oh dear!—oh dear!—Mr. Slinger—Mr. Raymond—do you think we are in danger?"
"Raymond & Co., if you please, Mr. Weevel; that is the style of our firm. We do not think there is any present danger; indeed, we think if the boiler were to burst, we should be quite safe," said Slinger, grinning, and appealing to Hugh for confirmation of what he said, and laying particular stress upon the plural pronoun.
"Oh thank you I'm sure—thank you" said Weevel; "allow me to—" he was going to say "shake hands with you," but observing Slinger's hands were rather dirty (for he had lent his aid, hoping to keep the broken-down engine up to its work), Mr. Weevel simply added, "to—to congratulate you."
The captain went below, if going below it could be called, where half his body was exposed above the deck, and was heard muttering as to the utter impossibility of getting the engine to work in its present state. "And so," he said, stepping upon the deck, "as there's no wind, there's nothin for it but treeing her up."
"Goodness me!" said poor Weevel, who appeared to have made up his mind that some dreadful catastrophe was about to happen, and that "treeing her up" was only another term for "blowing her up."
The skipper explained that his process was of a far less expeditious nature; and proceeded to put it in execution. A rope was got out forward and fastened at its extreme length to a convenient tree, when the skipper, aided by his passengers, hauled away upon it until his craft was drawn up to the tree, then the rope was again taken on, and the same thing repeated.
"Slow work this," said Slinger to Weevel, as the "Leviathan" got entangled among some branches which had fallen into the Yarra; but poor Weevel's attention was engaged on another subject.
"I feel very curious," he said,—"very curious indeed:—I hope the vessel is clean: but my face itches in a most extraordinary manner:—it must be the gnats," said Weevel,—"what numbers of them there are!" and he made repeated dabs at his persecutors as they pitched upon his face and forehead.
"Gnats," said the skipper—"them aint gnats; them's musqueeters, and you'll find 'em uncommon interestin little creeters, I tell you;—they are allers partial to new chums too." But Mr. Weevel was not the only victim; for each passenger suffered more or less. Every exposed portion of the body became the ground of contest; and although hundreds of mosquitoes were crushed, it was a hopeless case to expect to end the persecution, as thousands appeared in their room.
"I'll tell you what, passengers," said the captain, "if you scratch and bang yourselves about as you're doing, you'll spile your beauty. As for you, young man," turning to Mr. Weevel, "your mother would hardly know you as it is."
"Ah," whined Weevel, "she little thinks how confoundedly her Augustus is taken in, and will soon be done for.—Ah!" this exclamation was accompanied by a sound slap on the cheek administered by himself, in a futile effort to annihilate one of the pests: if some one else had slapped Mr. Weevel's face he could scarcely have exclaimed more passionately, "that I should ever have subjected myself to this!"
The "Leviathan" was again moving through the water steadily, for a breeze had sprung up, and the only sail she could boast was set to catch it as it sighed through the tall tea-tree scrubs which lined the river's banks.
"Is all the country like this?" said Weevel, in a desponding tone.
"Oh! no:—some's like that," replied the captain, as he pointed to a swamp which could just be distinguished through the scrub.—"D'ye like it better, lad?" said the skipper with a grin.
Mr. Weevel regarded the prospect for a moment, and then sunk his head in utter despair.
"He's a nice fellow to come to a new country," whispered Slinger, "a few mosquitoes, a scrub, and a swamp have broken his spirit—that is, if he ever had one."
The mosquitoes became more blood-thirsty that ever. Poor Weevel was endeavouring to wrap his face in a highly scented and particularly white handkerchief. He had taken off his hat and placed it on the deck, when the sun, reflected from a small circular looking-glass, which was fixed inside the crown, cast the glitter full in the skipper's eyes.
"Bust my biler!" he exclaimed with an uncommonly near approach to an oath,—"why what on airth's that?" and starting forward, leaving the vessel to take her chance, looked into the hat in the most perfect wonderment. "Well" he said, "I'm blest if it aint a beautiful contrivance to skear the natives—Ha!—ha!—ha!"
Mr. Weevel appeared to have resigned himself to any fate which might await him. The skipper's hearty laugh somewhat roused him, and divesting himself of the handkerchief, he recovered his hat and regarded himself steadfastly in the glass. His face was covered with red blotches, his eyelids swollen, his forehead lacerated, his hair in disorder, and his shirt bloody: it was no wonder he gazed at himself in horror.
"I told you, you'd spoil your beauty," said the captain: "why didn't you listen to an old hand, like the other gentlemen, eh? It's no use your staring that way into the hat, as if you was trying to look a hole through the crown."
Mr. Weevel still looked on—after a short interval his hat fell from his hands, and, with a deep sigh, he laid himself out upon the deck.
Both Hugh and Slinger were somewhat concerned at the state poor Weevel was in, and kindly raised him from where he lay, and endeavoured to alleviate his distresses; but he was not to be comforted until the scrubs and the mosquitoes were left behind.
"Oh!" said Weevel, after some time, "I will return and write a true account of this abominable place, so different from what I once read."
As Weevel had partially recovered, Hugh could not resist the temptation of saying "Of course you will write from experience—make a work of three volumes—call it "A Peep into the Interior of Australia Felix; comprising a Voyage up the Yarra, and a Natural History of the Mosquitoes." You might make the world aware of your acute perception, by adding, that all your information was obtained during a five hours' excursion."
"Only be careful," interrupted Slinger, "that you don't spoil the chance of those who of necessity must remain here."
" Oh! I'm demd!" said Weevel, as he caught the reflection of his disfigured face in his looking-glass—"Dem the moschitoes—dem the colony—dem every thing."
"What a dreadful hand you'd be for swearing, Sir," said the captain, "if you could only speak plain."
Mr. Weevel expressed anger in his looks, as far as his countenance was capable of showing it, but the swollen face assumed a grotesque smile when Slinger, directly appealing to Weevel's weakness, observed, that "there would be one extraordinary fact connected with Mr. Weevel's book—the author would be a rich one."
"The next turn of the river, gentlemen," said the skipper, "and you'll see Melbourne."
Then it was that the passengers became acutely sensible of their sluggish progress. On reaching that part of the Yarra indicated, several low huts were seen, on either bank of the river, standing close to the water's edge. On a beautiful green hill (Bateman's Hill), which rose on their left they could distinguish a building of a better class; further up the stream, and on a parallel line with it, were several edifices built of brick; but the greater part of the best houses were of weatherboard. There were also some very doubtful-looking erections, unlike dwellings, but too good for piggeries. In reply to an inquiry addressed to the captain, he informed his passengers that they were merchants' stores. Amongst the buildings were large stumps, with the parent stems laid low by their sides, cumbering the ground. Gigantic trees dotted the undulating country in the distance, and with tents pitched here and there made the back-ground of the picture. Huge heaps of heavy timber, piled up high above some of the humbler huts, were burning furiously, and dense columns of smoke were so numerous, that one might easily have imagined the town was on fire. Thus does civilization mark her first inroads in a new country.
"Melbourne," said the captain in an introductory style, pointing to the objects we have endeavoured to describe.
"Melbourne!" said Weevel,—"that Melbourne!! I have a plan of the town here;" and he produced one from his pocketbook. "Pray point out the several churches marked on it.—Where is the custom-house?—Where the gaol?—Where the wharf?—Where is government-house?—the barracks?—the police office?—and in short, where is the town?
" Easy," cried the skipper, "I'll point 'em all out to you directly, ony give me time.—The shade of the largest trees left standin are our churches for the present;" and he added with more feeling than might have been looked for from him, "and I tell you it's a pleasant thing, my lads, to hear the birds a cherruppin away above, whilst we are praisin God below—there's somethin very soothin in it arter one's been working this here crazy craft up and down the stream to'ther six days o'the week. That little crib, a short way up from the Yarra, is the custom-house. We aint got no regler gaol because we haven't wanted one yet—only a lock up, and I'll show you that by and by," he said with a smile.—"Here's the wharf," he continued, as the steamer bumped against the river's bank. "Government house is not to be seen for trees; and up above there" he said, pointing to the top of a shingled roof which appeared above the water, "is the police office and lock-up, just under the falls d'ye see?"
"Under the falls!" said Hugh.
"Aye—that's the roof of it you see yonder with a hole in the top. Some of our jolly squatters—rough men, I tell you — being determined on a spree, thought the safest way to begin it would be to swamp the lock-up; and so being a pretty strong and united party, d'ye see, they defied the ten constables, stormed the police office, took it, and putting it on rolling logs of timber, they started it down the hill into the Yarra, and there 'tis now:—it nearly cost one or two of 'em their lives tho', for several of 'em would remain inside, and only saved themselves by tearing an opening in the roof,—Wild dogs!—wild dogs!" said the skipper, with a shake of his grey head;—"why that night they capsized half the wooden houses in the settlement."
"What a country to live in!" said Weevel: and this is the way the people in England are deceived?—Savages are called squatters;—sentry boxes, watch-houses and custom-houses; a mud bank, a wharf; pig-sties, dwelling houses;—trees, churches;—and—"
"Avast there, young man:" said the captain, getting warm at what he considered an unfair estimate of the infant colony:—"why you crawled afore you could walk, and had somebody to nuss you, I'll be bound; whilst we have had to take care of ourselves from the fust—with Sydney on one side always ready to shove the weakest to the wall, and to take any dirty advantage of us; and Adelaide upon t'other, with the English people bolsterin of it up, and sendin 'em out in ship loads, the bone and muscle we could better employ here.—Wait a bit—our turn's a comin—we'll square accounts with 'em both yet. When I came here fust, not many months agone, yonder hill was a pastur for kangaroo and a huntin-ground for the natives; now there's more business done there, rough as it looks, than in any place in England of ten times the size. The plan you are staring at, young man, is correct enough; only, it is what Melbourne is going to be—not exactly what it is. I'll just give it five years," said the captain, prophetically. At the termination of that period, Melbourne had attained that degree of importance which position and natural advantages had marked out for it.