Colonial Facts and Fictions.NORTH AUSTRALIA.
Colonial Facts and Fictions.
Residents in foreign lands often think that it is an impertinence if a passing stranger write about them. Those who have been for a long time resident in a country seldom write a description of their experiences. About many things they seem to have learnt how little they really know, whilst to things of every-day occurrence they have become so accustomed, that they do not think them worthy of description. The persons who do write, and who delight to write about a place, are the birds of passage. These persons know very little about their subject. The very fact of only knowing a little about a place adds a charm to an attempt at its description. If you know everything about it you are inclined to write a series of facts, while if you only know a little, there is room for the exercise of the imagination, and the production becomes a combination of truths and untruths.
Reading a book of facts is like reading a dictionary. To make facts palatable they must be diluted as youdilute whisky. Never having been blessed with a capacity for gleaning facts, I have gradually come to dislike them. Now and again facts have been unpleasantly thrust upon my attention. Some facts come out of two bottles. You take an inch of one and dilute it with two inches of the other. In many respects these facts may be compared to the high and low pressure cylinders of a marine engine. Other facts come out of tall, gilt-necked bottles. First they pop, and then they fizzle. When you have imbibed a lot of these facts, at first you feel jolly. Afterwards you feel unwell. The facts I picked up at Port Darwin gave me a headache. When I came to P.D. (it is an Australian custom to abbreviate), I did not know the difference between a kangaroo’s tail and a gum tree. I do not think that I knew very much more when I left.
The first thing that happened when we dropped anchor, was that the anchor made a great splash in the water. This was followed by the rattling of the chain, and a great deal of vibration. We had many Chinamen on board, and as Australians dislike Chinamen, they do what they can to keep them out of their country. At every port, wherever we went, no matter whether the Chinamen were to land or not, they had to pass a medical inspection. At some of the ports the doctors also inspected the Europeans. ‘Let me look at your forehead, now your chest—Um, no spots. That will do.’
The doctors hold their appointments from the Government; the Government holds its appointment from the working man. The working man, the horny-handedson of toil, bosses Australia. It is the ‘navy’ to whom we must look for the stringency of the quarantine regulations of Australia. At the present time it is reported in Australia that there is cholera in China. That a ship has a clean bill of health, although it may have come from a non-infected port, although China is as big as Europe, although the ship has been nearly a month at sea, on arriving at Sydney she must go in quarantine. You come from China, you have Chinamen on board; we don’t want you, and therefore in the face of reason and justice, we will do what we can to throw difficulties in your way. But more of this by-and-bye. I am in a hurry to get past the facts.
The water at Port Darwin is dirty green, and it is full of sharks. When people bathe they do so in a big thing like a bird-cage, and the whales and the sharks have to snuffle about outside. These animals are said to regard this treatment as unusually rough. The town at Port Darwin is called Palmerston, but the two names are pretty well synonymous. The place is located on the level table-land like ground above the low cliffs which fringe the bay. Some of the houses, including the Residency, the Government offices, and a town-hall, are built of stone. Nearly all the other houses are built of corrugated iron. The internal arrangement of these latter buildings, which are lofty and gable ended, is quite ecclesiastical. The streets are wide and at right angles. The houses occur at intervals along the sides of these streets. Some of the streets have lots of grass in them. I heard that it was suggested to run up a tall tower in the town to see the Russian fleet approaching. The Russophobia has runthroughout the colonies, and I shall have to refer to it very often. There are about two hundred whites in Palmerston, six or eight hundred yellow Chinamen, and a few aboriginal ‘blacks.’ The ‘whites’ have in addition to the town-hall, several hotels, a public library, a race-course, a cricket ground, two or three tennis-courts, rifle butts, and a dramatic corps. There are some wells in the place, but a lot of water is collected in corrugated iron water-tanks. Many of the residents have an idea that the water is not good, and in order to keep down thecomma bacillusand other microscopic organisms, it is advisable to dilute it with liquors imported from Europe. The place is called Port Darwin, because it was evolved out of nothing. The town was called Palmerston because many of the early inhabitants had a habit of carrying a twig in their mouth.
One of the first things we did on landing was to make a pilgrimage to the various hotels. Our object was to see the town, and to read the latest papers. Many of these establishments would be creditable to any town. All of them have mahogany bars, garnished with long white handles to pump up beer. These handles made a great impression upon me—in fact they were indirectly the cause of my suffering from nightmare. That night I had a dream that my head rested on a mahogany counter, and while in this uncomfortable position a young lady, who had got me by the back hair, gave me a series of vigorous pulls. While this was going on, my tormentor smiled and inquired whether I preferred stout or bitter? I should have remonstrated, but my nose was too close to the counter for me to speak. Dowhat I would, backwards and forwards went my face across the slippery board, and the musical ‘stout or bitter, sir,’ kept ringing in my ears. At length the movement changed, and instead of having my nose burnished, it was being bumped. This I was told was because I had not replied to the fair persecutor, who, as her anger increased at my reticence, appeared to expand like a concertina. As she grew bigger and bigger, I grew less and less. Suddenly there was a fearful crash, and I awoke to find that Peter’s hat-box had fallen from a rack upon my head. My head with the rolling of the ship had been sliding up and down against the side of my berth, and I imagine that the ‘bob-e-te-bob’ of the screw had been the ‘stout or bitter, sir.’ The blue-ribbon faction in Australia are at present trying to introduce a bill for the abolition of barmaids in Australia. After my dream I felt inclined to offer them my support.
While at the hotel, Peter and I were introduced to an aboriginal. He was black in colour, tall in stature, and had a curly hair. They called him Charlie. I was told that he had been caught wild at a place in the bush about one hundred miles back. When he was first caught the landlord said he was a perfect terror. If you only looked at him, he would snap his jaws, and grind his teeth together like a couple of millstones, and when his passion reached a climax, he would swivel his eyes round and round in circles, snort like a bull, and jump up and down vertically. Charlie was now quite tame, and if we would give him a bob he would take us to an encampment. The opportunity was too good to be lost, for we might nowobtain some authentic information about the aborigines. Before starting, Charlie asked for the shilling, remarking that it should not be squandered in the pot-house, but be kept in remembrance of this visit. We recommended him to forward it to some jeweller in Melbourne, who would mount the coin as a brooch for his wife. Charlie thanked us for the suggestion, and said that he would consult with his family on the subject, and let us know their decision in the evening. The road to the encampment led by the side of the cricket ground, after which there was a sharp descent to the beach. Not having the agility of the antelope, the latter part of the journey was very trying. As Charlie bounded from crag to crag, I observed that the cartilaginous divisional membrane between his nostrils had been perforated. Peter, whose attention I had called to this unnatural aperture, was quite shocked, and remarked that the attention of the Government ought to be drawn to this custom.
The dwellings of the natives were made of a few bent sticks covered with scraps of old bags, bits of bark, and butter tins. The average height of one of these houses was about three feet. You had to enter on all fours, and, when inside, you could enjoy a capital view of the stars, or of the surrounding scenery, through the cracks and rents in the roof and wall. As there was no room to turn round, you came out backwards. The only inmate of the camp was Charlie’s wife—Mary—the remainder of the tribe were away on a fishing excursion. At the time of our arrival Mary was sitting in a hole she had scraped in the sand, playing with a small fox terrier and six small pups.
As we approached, Mary rose. She was dressed in a black skirt with six flounces, and had on her feet a pair of French boots. Her back, like the backs of all the native beauties in these parts, was done in ridges. These ridges are produced by making cuts with a piece of flint or glass, and then rubbing in a quantity of sand or gritty earth. The custom originated by an endeavour to imitate the corrugated iron buildings of the Europeans. Charlie said that his wife derived considerable comfort from the ridges. A rigid surface freed itself from water better than a smooth one; also, as Mary often slept outside, the ridges raised her from the damp earth. He had heard that this custom had been highly approved of at the Healtheries.
‘Mary,’ said Charlie, addressing his wife, ‘allow me to introduce to you a sample of the distinguished strangers from theLeviathannow anchored in our bay.’
‘Gentlemen,’ said he turning to us, ‘allow me to have the pleasure of introducing you to my spouse.’ Mary gracefully inclined her head, and blushed a whitish-grey. We bowed.
‘Be seated, gentlemen, be seated. Make yourselves at home,’ said Charlie, pointing to the sand, and then, turning to his blushing wife, suggested that refreshments would be acceptable.
While Mary was engaged at a decayed stump searching for the delicate and creamy grub known to scientists as theVermiculites filiformison which to regale her guests, Charles told us the following touching story of her capture.
‘Well, it came about in this way,’ said Charlie,clearing his throat and expectorating on the sand. ‘Mary and I had been married a month or so when we thought we would take a run down to the seaside as a wind-up for our honeymoon. For a week or so it was a blaze of sunshine, which, gentlemen, is not unusual in these parts. All day long we wandered up and down the beach, chasing little crabs and gathering up shells. At night, tired with paddling in the water, we scratched a hole in the sand, and slumbered. One morning I awoke and I found I was alone. I didn’t think much of it at the time, for Mary had a habit of rising early to catch a particular kind of worm for which she knew I had a partiality. As time passed, I felt a little anxious, and looked about me to see if it was possible to discover the direction which Mary had followed. I tracked her to the beach, and then down to the edge of the water, but as the tide had risen beyond this, her footsteps had been obliterated. “Mary, Mary, my love, where are you?” I cried. But no response beyond the lapping of the waves. That day I must have travelled nigh on twenty miles to the Eastward, in the hopes of discovering some sign of Mary’s whereabouts. At one time I thought she had deceived me, and had fled with an unknown lover. I vowed vengeance. That night I had to sleep in a hole by myself. Next day I travelled well on forty miles to the Westward, when just as the sun was going down, I came on tracks as thick as if there had been a mob of cattle passing. The few minutes of daylight that remained, for you know, sir, in these parts when the sun goes down, the light disappears as quickly as when you blow out a lamp, I spent in examining the tracks to see if I could find one correspondingto the hoof of my Mary. Just before the light went out, I found the print of a toe which I thought might have been hers. Beyond this there was another little round hole, then a third one, and then a fourth one—one following the other in a crooked line. After I had seen the series there was no doubt in my mind but that I was on Mary’s track. But why was Mary travelling on one toe, and in crooked lines? Had she been waltzing? Was she intoxicated? Had some heathen lopped off her other toes? Who were her companions? While I was thinking over this and a hundred other questions, it became quite dark, and I sat down at the foot of a tree to wait for dawn. I had hardly been there a couple of hours, when a low wailing sound came on the breeze, which had just set in down a neighbouring gully. It was Mary’s voice, and I was off in an instant. In twenty minutes or so I had reached the side of my dusky bride, who, to my horror, I found lashed to a tree. I quickly untied the bonds, and we wept upon each other’s necks. Mary then told me how, when she had risen to capture the early worm, she had suddenly been captured herself by a party of “whites,” who, after putting a gag in her mouth, had carried her off to the place where I had found her. As she was borne alone, she kept putting her foot down to the sand, and thus the toe marks. Her captors were close in the neighbourhood, and had gone in search of me. We must get off at once. Our first move was to hurry towards the beach, where we should be able to travel quickly. Arriving on the shore we almost immediately ran upon a number of tracks similar to those I had seen yesterday. They camefromthe bushdown to the edge of the water, and then appeared to branch off in both directions along the shore line. Now this is what I want you to mark,’ said Charlie, tapping the ashes out of his pipe on the toe of his boot: ‘the tracks came downfromthe bush. Notupto the bush. “It is impossible to travel on the shore,” said Mary to me; “we had better take the opposite direction, and enter the bush where the strangers came out.” Little thinking what was about to happen, hand in hand we entered the bush. We had hardly passed the first thicket, than there was a dreadful yell, and Mary and I found ourselves enveloped in a net. The rest of the story was short: we were bound, brought into Palmerston, exhibited for a week in a show, and finally tamed.’
‘But how was it,’ said Peter, ‘that you made such a blunder as to think you were going in the opposite direction to those who caught you?’
‘Well, it was just this way,’ replied Charlie: ‘those whites didn’t act square, knowing if I came along the beach looking for Mary I was not going to run into their arms;they just walked backwards from the shore up to where they had set their darned net. The blacks are up to this backward trick now, so the new dodge is to catch their wives first, and tie them up to a tree as bait to catch their husbands. That is why they call the black women “gins.”’
When we returned to the hotel, we asked the landlord if he had ever heard the story of Charlie’s capture. He looked at us for a minute, and then went off in roars. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘Charlie tells that same old lie to everyone as comes. How much did you give him for the entertainment?’
That night Peter and I accepted an invitation to dine at a house where there was a collection of pet animals very closely resembling a happy family. I can only describe those which made some impression on me. One animal was a great slate-coloured bird like a stork. Usually it contented itself with standing stock still, posing as a bronze image. When you advanced to admire the beautiful workmanship, it would give a little ‘sold again’ sort of wink, and walk away. Another remarkable creation was a parrot who was always edging along sideways towards you, as if desirous of seeing how near you would allow it to put its eye to yours. I suggested that it should be provided with a cage. The most remarkable animal of all was a male sheep. This had once been a little lamb skipping about with a blue ribbon round its neck. Since its early days it had grown to the size of a young ox, and therefore, instead of wandering about the house, it had been placed together with other sheep in a paddock inside. In going home that night we had to cross this paddock. As it was close on midnight my companions said that danger need not be apprehended, the sheep would certainly be sleeping. I once thought of turning my attention to sheep-farming, but after my experiences on that memorable evening I think that all sheep ought to be kept in cages, or at least wear muzzles. In was 12 p.m. on the 4th of July. When in future years Americans see me rejoicing on the glorious 4th, they need not embrace me as a faithful citizen. My thanksgivings will be to commemorate deliverance from the jaws of a ferocious sheep. The name of this sheep is Billy. I first saw Billy standingin the moonlight. The moment my companions saw him, there was a general stampede. I am thankful to state that I kept well in the van. As to what occurred during the next ten minutes I can only speak from memory. There was no time allowed for taking notes. For two or three minutes or so, I am told that I was seen passing very rapidly backwards and forwards over and through some wire fencing. During this time I can remember a snorting and rustling going on at the distance of about two feet from my coat-tails. Each time that I slipped between the wires I could feel the warm breath of my pursuer near my body. Once or twice I heard some vicious, blood-curdling snaps. At last there was a pause. I was on one side of the railings and Billy was on the other. About two feet away from us was an open gate, which at once explained the continued proximity of Billy’s nose to my coat-tails. After grinding his jaws, he snuffed defiantly, threw his head in the air, and marched away. Billy had certainly cleared the field. It took us fully ten minutes to collect together, and then ten minutes more to clear our pockets and shoes of dirt and gravel. The whole thing had been like a thunderstorm. So much for the innocence and docility of sheep. I shall say more about Australian sheep in another chapter.
Next day a nice-looking fellow, called Pater, invited us to join a shooting-party. This would give me an opportunity of seeing something of the bush, so I embraced the offer. As Billy occupied the paddock, it was necessary to make a detour, and we were in consequence rather late for breakfast. We started in a buggy. The euphonious word ‘buggy’ is applied to a vehiclenot unlike a waggonette. The place we went to was called ‘The Lagoons.’ I believe they were the lagoons of some particular person, but I forget his name. It was a long drive of perhaps ten or twelve miles, through tolerably open woods, made up of gum trees and screw palms. The gum trees grew anywhere and anyhow, but the screw palms grew with a corkscrew-like arrangement of their leaves, and only in places where there is water. If everything could arrive at a helical condition by imbibing water, what a time the sailors would have! Our road lay along a proposed railway track, and near an existing telegraph line. The railway line will lead to the mining districts, about 150 miles away. The telegraph line leads to Adelaide, nearly 2,000 miles distant. In position it is something like a line of longitude. We thought of following the line of telegraph to Adelaide, but as we heard that the journey usually took two years, our friends persuaded us to give up the notion.
Here and there we saw a lot of ant-hills. These ants have white bodies and look like little grubs. I forget the colour of their heads. Most ants are very active, and appear to be continually dodging about in a variety of directions. These ants are very slow in their movements. If you had not been told that they were ants, you would be inclined to call them cheese-maggots. To all appearance they are without any particular points, and as ants they are certainly below the average.
The only thing which makes North Australian ants conspicuous is their work. In the woods their business appears to be carting dirt. Five or six ants club together, and having selected a site, they commence tocart dirt, and they continue carting dirt until they die. Then their children cart dirt. Finally the grandchildren cart dirt. And so carting dirt is continued from generation to generation, until at last carting dirt has become a family mania. All this dirt is piled up to make a mound like a small volcano or a meat-cover. The meat-covers that I saw would hold two or three fair-sized oxen. Of how long it takes to make a meat-cover I am unable to give any exact information, but if I had resided at Port Darwin for a few thousand years I might possibly have obtained some exact date. For argument’s sake, if we suppose that twenty ants, and I never saw more than twenty together in one volcano, carry a pound of dirt per annum, and a given monument weighs two tons, then to build this particular monument it must have taken at least 4,480 years. If, however, just for variety we assume, that a particular meat-cover weighed forty tons, then, with the other assumptions, a meat-cover must have taken 90,000 years to build. Look at the question as we will, the Port Darwin ants possess a history that will vie with that of ancient Egypt.
In one or two places the ants had given a character to the scenery. Some of them, instead of following the meat-cover plan of construction, have built slab-like structures. A group of these erections looked like a graveyard, where the form and position of the monuments had been regulated by legislation. These ants were evidently of a melancholic turn of mind. From careful meteorological observations, carried on during a long series of years, it would appear that they had determined the direction of the prevailing winds, andhad placed these slabs end on to this direction. These were magnetical ants, and might possibly be able to correct a compass.
What all these ants had in their heads when they first started these structures, no one has yet discovered. Perhaps, having travelled over the whole of the Australian continent, they had become disgusted at its flatness, and therefore had endeavoured to alleviate the monotony by building up towns. Maybe they feared a flood.
These are the country ants. The town ants, having during the last few years discovered that their structures form a good cement for tennis-courts and other purposes, have adopted different tactics. Instead of having their houses bored into, their great delight is to bore into the houses of other people. They approach a house by subterranean covered ways. Reaching a post, they bore up it from the bottom to the top, only finishing when they have left a shell of paint. Then they take a second post. Next they may attack a door. This they eat out until it is as hollow as a drum. After this they attack the stationary furniture, approaching everything by covered passages. Somehow they manage to come through the floor just beneath the centre of the leg of the table, or whatever it is they intend to devour. A sheet of lead is no obstruction. I have seen sheets of lead eaten away as if they had been so many pieces of woollen cloth. They began with dirt, next they took to wood, and now they eat metal. They are herbiferous, carniverous, metaliverous, dirtiferous, and all the other ‘iverouses’ that have yet been discovered.
Not long ago a bank manager had to write to his directors that he regretted to inform them that there was a deficiency in his treasury. A large quantity of bullion had been devoured by white ants. The reply came by wire, ‘File their teeth.’
The first bird that was shot was a great big white cockatoo. All the other cockatoos, that were with the one we shot, fled away. This happened at a small shanty standing near the edge of a lagoon. I should have shot the cockatoo myself, but it looked too much like slaughtering a domestic fowl. Cockatoos were good to eat, they make excellent pies, and I must shoot every one I saw; but—and here my companions were very impressive—be careful and not get ‘bushed.’
To get ‘bushed’ means to get lost. A direction was pointed out to me where I might meet with some geese. Being in a strange land, surrounded with strange sights, in the midst of woods which, for aught I know, might be tenanted by blacks and bushrangers, I was a little nervous. This was heightened by the caution I had received about getting ‘bushed.’ It wouldn’t do to show the white feather, so waving an adieu to my companions, I put my gun on my shoulder, and started into a cane brake which skirted the side of the lagoon. It was simply horrible; you could not see where you were going to, or where you had come from. At every step your feet plopped into water; now and then you received a slap across the face from an unusually elastic reed that had slipped past your gun barrel. Here and there the bottom became so swampy that I felt I might be bogged. This led to rushing and jumping between bits of hard ground and tussocks of grass. Once ortwice I found that I had become impaled by the nostril on a cane that had been sticking out horizontally. To unthread myself I had to walk backwards. Perhaps this is the way in which the blacks get their noses bored. After ten minutes or so of earthly purgatory, I had advanced perhaps fifty yards. Not having any intention of training for a bushranger, not even if I could have shot all the cockatoos and geese in Australia, I picked out a dry looking spot, and sat down upon a bundle of reeds. While mopping the perspiration off my face, looking at my bird-cage like surrounding, and, I may add, reflecting on my folly, I heard a loud crackling in the canes. It was evident that some big brute was approaching. There are alligators in North Australia, and perhaps this was one of them on his way to get a drink. I would have shouted to my companions, but by this time I knew that they were far away. Then my tongue seemed to be paralyzed and my hair was bristling. Suddenly the noise ceased. The brute had stopped, and I pictured it with its nose upon the ground snuffing at my tracks. At that moment I would have given the whole of Far Cathay, had it been mine, for a moderate-sized tree. The only trees were in the direction from which my pursuer was approaching. Suddenly the crashing recommenced. The animal had snuffed me out, and was coming on in bounds. Another crash, and the monarch of the swamp stood before me. It wasn’t an alligator, but a hairy, snipe-faced animal with long thin legs and an elegant waist. It might have been a dingo or a kangaroo. Anyhow, as it did not look very ferocious, I would try and capture it alive. For some minutes we looked at eachother. As it was clear that it did not intend to open the conversation, and there was no one near to give us a proper introduction, I put on an idiotic smile, and holding out my hand said, ‘Poor doggy—poor ’ittle doggy’—‘poor ’ittle doggy woggy.’ The last phrase seemed to fetch it, for it waggled its tail, but when I rose to make an advance it put its nose in the air, gave a sniff, turned round, and bounded off. Later on, I found that the animal was a Scotch deer-hound, belonging to a party who had come out to the shanty for a picnic, arriving just after I had entered the cane brake.
When I got out of the cane brake I registered a vow never to enter another cane brake while in Australia. The next place where I found myself was in some tolerably open woods. Here I could see what was coming, and if anything large appeared there were lots of friendly trees. The first thing I fell in with were a lot of parrots. These were of all sizes, shapes, and colours. From the manner in which they were guffawing and screeching at each other, they appeared to have assembled for an important debate. If each of them had been provided with a little tin pot and a chain, the resemblance of my surroundings would have been very like the parrot-house in the Zoo. Having been told that cockatoos were game, I picked out what looked like a good-looking bird of the cockatoo order, and dropped him as dead as a door nail. When I picked it up, instead of being a cockatoo, to my great astonishment, it turned out to be some kind of pink parrot. The parrots that had not been shot, instead of flying away as the cockatoos had done, surrounded me and my prize, and commenced a pandemonium ofscreeches that it will take long to forget. Most of them sat in the trees, but others flew over my head. What they said I could not well make out, but a lot of it sounded like ‘Oh! you blackguard,’ ‘you blackguard.’ ‘Who shot poor Polly?’ The confusion was only paralleled by that which overwhelmed Baalam. But not being in a mood to be bullied by a parcel of parrots, I picked up my game and marched towards the camp. All the way I was accompanied by a flock of flapping pollies. Some went in front, some came along on my flanks, while some were behind me bringing up the rear—they were like mosquitoes. Every one of them was yelling and squalling fit to break their throats. A pretty lot of companions. Now and then, one bolder than the rest, would almost touch my head. At one time I felt inclined to bury my game. The next moment I thought I would shoot a few of the tormentors. This, however, might only lead to greater trouble. It was certain I could not go into camp with a troop of yelling parrots after me, but how was I to get rid of them? As we went on they appeared to increase in numbers, and their yelling became louder and louder. I now began to regret that I had shot a pink parrot. When within a hundred yards or so of the shanty, I saw an old gentleman with a lady and two or three youngsters seated round a table-cloth. To complete the party there was my snipe-nosed friend of the cane brake, looking out for the tail ends of ham sandwiches. Here a bright thought struck me. If I were to drop my game near to the picnickers, my infuriated companions might perhaps get mixed, as to who had been the murderer. It worked beautifully. Holding theparrot behind my back, I walked up to within ten or twelve yards of the unsuspecting pleasure party, and, without stopping, dropped Polly and walked along. What happened after my absence I did not stop to see; all that I knew is that when I returned the picnickers had departed. The pink parrot had also gone. Shortly after this I blundered on a second lagoon, which was fringed with tall grass. Before me there was a flock of geese. On the opposite side of the lagoon, and evidently stalking the geese, there were two of my companions up to their arm-pits in water. I felt extremely sorry for my companions, for the geese, on seeing me, immediately rose, and I shot one of them. From the gesticulations of my companions I could see that they were annoyed, so I quickly retreated, congratulating myself at being out of gun-shot. After this I met with a multitude of adventures. The greatest surprise, however, was on my way back to the shanty, where we were to meet for lunch. That I met with a wild beast, there is no doubt. It passed in front of me at a distance of about six feet when I first saw it; its head was in the bushes, and it appeared to be about as long as my gun. It was like a log of wood moving end on. There was no crackling this time. It simply slid along like a panorama, passing out of sight into a clump of screw pines. For a moment I was rooted to the spot; my heart palpitated, and my hair bristled. What was the phenomenon? Could it be anything less than an alligator? If it was a baby alligator, where were papa and mamma? Should I go on, or should I turn round and run? The way I did go was backwards and sideways, the whole time pointing my gun at the clump ofscrew pines. Each time that a leaf rustled or I saw a crooked stump, I prepared for the final struggle. When I got back my companions told me it was only an iguana, and I ought to have shot it. They made first-rate curry. I spent the afternoon in keeping camp, watering the horses, and washing up the plates. While doing this, I saw Pater stalking some geese up to his neck in water, at the opposite side of the lagoon to where we were encamped. He shot one of them, and then putting his gun ashore swam about a quarter of a mile out amongst a lot of water-lilies to retrieve the game. Until I saw him safe ashore I was quite concerned about his safety. To be a successful sportsman about Port Darwin you ought to be about eight or nine feet long, and not mind wading.
Everything having been nicely arranged about the camp, I took the cushions out of the buggy, and prepared myself for a siesta. Then I dozed. Just as I had reached the middle of an interesting dream, I was awakened by crackling and a cloud of smoke. Here was a pretty go. The bush was on fire, and within half a mile wild flames were leaping up higher than church steeples. This was worse than alligators. The horses might be saved by turning them free, but the buggy,—well, the buggy might be saved if it was of cast-iron. To get a better view of the conflagration, I climbed on the roof of the shanty. The wind was blowing straight at me, and, at every gust, the flames would seethe along fifty yards nearer. Nearer and nearer came the flames. Hotter and hotter grew the gusts of air, thicker and thicker came the clouds of smoke and smut, louder and louder grew the roaring. Oh! what an ass I had been to venture into the Australian bush! Just as I wassetting the horses free, Pater turned up and asked me what I was about. ‘The fire,’ said I. And then he laughed. ‘Why, we set it going ourselves. It can’t possibly cross that patch of green stuff.’
This was the end of my first experience in the bush. We were all of us awfully tired when we got back, and slept like tops.
Port Darwin is by no means a bad place. For many years North Australia was a white-elephant country, but now it is a land of promise. It is a sort of colony within a colony, being attached to South Australia by the same sort of bonds that South Australia is attached to England. At present Port Darwin is the terminus of the cables from Europe, and the land lines are the Australian colonies. Before a great many years it hopes, by being the terminus of a transcontinental railway, to become a San Francisco or New York. When this is made, the journey to and from the colonies will be considerably shortened; six hundred miles of line now run northwards from Adelaide, and very shortly there will be 150 miles of line southwards from Port Darwin. This latter line will open up a number of valuable mining districts, where gold, copper and tin are already being worked. In addition to mining industries, North Australia offers a good field for the squatter and planter. The squatters, with herds of horned cattle, have already been successful. The planters have, however, thus far failed. When they had good land they wanted capital, and, where they had capital, they were unfortunate in their selection of land. On the coast there are the pearl shell fisheries.
By-and-bye we shall hear that Port Darwin has become as famous as the distinguished savant who gave to it its name. Port Darwin, Good luck! and good-bye.