CHAPTER XIIA MAORI MEETING
At this time Tauranga itself was a centre of another kind of activity. Exeter Hall had exerted its wonderful influence in attempting to settle all sorts of questions affecting the Empire and the management of Imperial interests in the colonies, the governing of which had already been handed over to the care of those who had so ably developed them. Exeter Hall had influenced the Imperial Government to call upon the New Zealand Government to make monetary compensation to the Maoris for the loss, or so-called loss, of portions of the land which had been taken from them as the result of the Maori War.
A very considerable tract of land, then known as the King Country, lay to the west of Tauranga, and included, I think, the Ohinemutu district. Riding from Tauranga towards the west, you passed through the bracken country and then arrived at the magnificent bush, which began at a place called Europe, known as “Orope” by the Maoris. Glorious and magnificent trees towered overhead, while hundreds of creepers and other semi-tropical plants grew so intensely that it was more than difficult to force a way through. Herein was the home of the supple-jack, whose branches enfolded you more and more the longer you attempted to force your way through. Here was the home of the wild boar. A large tract of this country formed part of the land for which compensation was to be paid by the Government to the Maoris in accordance with the dictates of Exeter Hall.
Courts of jurisdiction were established at several centres of the population. The courts consisted of an Englishjustice and a native assessor. One of these courts was established at Tauranga. The question for the court to decide was which Maori tribe, at the time of the close of the Maori War, were actually the rightful owners of the particular land in dispute. I was informed at the time—and I think my information was correct—that the title of ownership lay, in accordance with the Maori traditions, with the chief of a tribe who had actually killed (and eaten part of) his unsuccessful rival. The courts arranged to make duly known to all tribes that put forward a claim to any such lands, the dates on which sittings would be held to deal with each case in rotation.
I was at Tauranga when the court was sitting, and a wonderful experience it was. The value of the tract of land under consideration in this one case was some £6,500. Remember that it was not intended to restore the land to the Maoris. They were to be compensated only in cash value for the loss of the land. In this particular instance there were three tribes whose chiefs claimed to have been in possession at the time of the war, and who desired to appear before the court. The procedure was as follows: The court sat at Tauranga. The tribes declined to be represented by the chiefs, even if accompanied by a few of their elder tribesmen; they insisted upon attending the courts with the whole tribe, men, women and children. Their average number was about 380. Provision had to be made for suitable camps during the course of the trial. What a time for the furniture dealers, storekeepers, butchers, bakers, and other tradesmen, whose pleasant duty it became to make such provision! Remember that all expenses which the tribes incurred were a charge on the capital value of £6,500. The Maoris cared not. They did not realize that they were actually paying for their own subsistence. The sole aim of each tribe was to win its case. The local authorities fixed the localities for the camps and made all arrangements for their comfort on a liberal scale. The first tribeto arrive found their quarters ready for them, and it then became their privilege to welcome the second tribe, which came from across the water, a small arm of the sea to the south of the town. This tribe swam across, men, women and children, to the head of the jetty to which the local steamers made fast. The Maoris who lived in close proximity to the sea were excellent swimmers.
The order of procedure was as follows: The tribe already in possession of the camp piled up a couple of trucks with barrels of beer, bottles of rum, gin, brandy and whisky. These trucks were run down the rails to the end of the jetty and were left there to await the arrival of the swimming tribe, while the others remained on the shore end to welcome them. The new-comers, tired after their long swim, greatly appreciated the kind thought of their hosts, and immediately set to work to consume as much of the good gifts as the gods, or, rather, their legal opponents, offered them. These, drawn up in battle array, impatiently awaited their arrival, the braves all in front in such a position as they considered advisable, from their military point of view, to impress their guests with a sense of their prowess. Behind the fighting line the womenfolk were drawn up. In their front line were their best-looking girls. They were specially put there to catch the eye of the leading young men among their guests. The elderly women and the youngsters formed the third line.
Thus the hosts waited for the arrival of their guests. The original idea was that the tribe arriving would take a certain amount of the drink offered to them, enough to fortify themselves so as to arrive at the end of the jetty in fairly good condition. But the hopes of the hosts were unjustified. There was nothing left on the trolley at the end of the jetty but empty beer barrels and glass bottles. Watching them as I did, from the little fort just overlooking the jetty, I was wondering how the advance of the visiting tribe down the jetty was goingto be carried out. I gathered, from what I had seen, that the amount of spirits consumed would produce some comical effects. I was quite disappointed. I wondered also whether the procession down the jetty was to be carried out in the clothes in which they arrived, which were nil. It would have been a quaint experience to have seen a whole naked tribe arriving at quite a respectable English settlement. But, no. Their coverings had been carefully carried by the swimmers on the top of their heads and kept dry. And while they refreshed themselves from the friendly truck they donned such garments as made them quite respectable.
The order for the advance was then formed. It was similar to that which was to receive them on the shore end of the jetty. One could not help admiring their methods. Ceremonial parades all over the world, held at coronations of kings, in commemoration of the proclamation of a country’s victories, aided by the pomp and glory of all modern accessories, failed to convey the solemnity, such as it was, of the advance of that tribe down that jetty. Led by the chief and chieftains of the tribe, followed by their “braves,” that is, their fighting men, the march down the jetty began. There was no band, and no music but their battle-cry—a battle-cry that had made them redoubtable enemies and had forced us to send a large expeditionary force, with all the then best military resources, to overcome them. Down the jetty they came, moving in complete unison that shook the structure itself as they beat it in their advance. As they came forward their hosts joined in rhythm with their advance, stamping on the shore end till the ground, too, shook. The scene became quite inspiring. I have never been present at any review or parade—and I have seen many in many parts of the world—which has so impressed me or left such a keen impression in my mind as that of the moment when the two tribes met at the shore end of that jetty. You may think this is rathera far-fetched thought, but it isn’t, and you wouldn’t have thought so if you had been there.
The official meeting of the chiefs first took place. The rhythmical beating of the ground by the hundreds of feet of the hosts and guests suddenly ceased, and a friendly greeting of all, which, in the usage of the Maoris, took the form of rubbing noses, began and held full sway. The arriving tribe settled down then to the camp provided for them by the authorities. Two days afterwards the third tribe arrived, and the same ceremony took place. The ground then again shook unmistakably. It took one back—as many of the residents of Tauranga (who after fighting in the Maori War had settled in the district) remembered—to the days of that campaign and to the battle-cry of the advancing Maoris whom they had fought against. But these very men were now engaged in the pursuits of peace, and all of them welcomed with delight the presence of their late enemies. It was the source of much profit to them.
This particular case was duly settled by the court. Its decision was given in favour, if I remember rightly, of the tribe that swam across from the south. The court officials were entrusted with the settlement of the expenses incurred by the tribes. After paying all these expenses a sum of some one thousand pounds remained as the amount to be paid in compensation, in accordance with the edict of Exeter Hall, to the winners.
The final celebration had now to take place. The chief of the victorious tribe invited the losing tribes to a farewell festival. A great Maori haka was held, to which not only the natives themselves, but the whole of the English inhabitants, were invited. The braves of all the tribes took part in this. It was a wonderful scene. It took place upon a moonlight night. There was an inner circle, in the centre of which the triumphant chief and his chieftains, surrounded by the chief and chieftains of the other two tribes, stood. Around them was a palisade of sticks,on which the one thousand odd pounds in notes, paid to them as a result of the court’s finding, were festooned. Immediately surrounding this circle were the braves of the losing tribes, and beyond, all round, the womenfolk and the children and European guests. Fires flared in all directions. You have no doubt read about the natives of different parts of the world, but you may not know that the Maori race was, without exception, one of the best indigenous types in our Empire.
Well, the scene was set and the war-dance started. Victors and losers joined, in complete accord with their own customs, and I doubt if a more inspiring sight, taking in view their numbers, has been seen. As their enthusiasm increased the greater became their rhythmical movements. As their vigour increased the more weird became the scene. They were fighting, in their minds, their old battles against their old foe—battles which they had fought with their native weapons against weapons of civilization. Their old war-cries leapt forth from their hearts and mouths as they had done when they fell before their enemy. They looked bewitched, and stayed not nor stopped in their wild orgy until physical distress forced them.
Next day they departed to their own settlement, and peace and quiet reigned in Tauranga, whose residents were more than grateful to Exeter Hall for the result of the great interest which the promoters of the meetings for the welfare of the poor Maori had aroused. Tauranga’s civil population revelled in profit. When the tribes left the whole of the camp equipments were left behind. The Government did not want them, and the whole concern was put up to auction. Who was going to bid? Only the local suppliers. There was no opposition, and the whole equipment was sold to the only bidders.Verbum sap.
CHAPTER XIIIAN OFFER FROM THE GOVERNOR OF TASMANIA
My life in Tauranga was becoming every day more interesting. Fishing, both fresh water in the Wairoa, and deep sea, was excellent. Any amount of shooting could be got within easy driving distance from the township—red-legged partridges, rabbits, and any number of pheasants; as a matter of fact, these were looked upon by the farmers as vermin, they were so plentiful, and they did much damage to their grain crops. Some eighteen miles away one reached the border of the King Country, the large tract of land then in the hands of the Maoris. At this border the natural bush commenced. Wonderful timber, among which semi-tropical creeping plants revelled in forming almost impassable barriers, so luxurious were their growth. Wild boar hunting was most exciting as well as dangerous. Supple-jack was one of the most treacherous parasites of the giant forest trunks, for, notwithstanding hand axes, the deeper you cut your way, the more entangled you became. Our patrolling duties often necessitated our being away for five or six days, and enabled us to get some excellent sport. There was but little trouble with the Maoris. They somewhat objected to the making of roads, which were then being extended inland towards the west coast, and they were a source of some annoyance to the working parties; but the appearance of one of our armed patrols soon brought them to reason.
Ohinemutu was a Maori village at the foot of the wonderful hills up whose slopes rose the marvellous pink and white terraces which were, a few years later, to bewiped off the face of the earth by the terrible volcanic eruptions that devastated that part of the North Island. Acting upon the advice of our doctor I decided to take a short course of the sulphur mud baths which were scattered here and there over the ground. Having obtained permission from Te-Whiti, the then king, I spent eight days at Ohinemutu. The two chief guides, Maria and Sophia, were well known in those days to all tourists who were fortunate enough to visit that wonderful region. I had been free from any rheumatic pains since my landing at Dunedin, but the doctor assured me that the sulphur baths would complete the cure. He was right, as I am thankful to say that from that day to this the old enemy has never tackled me again, though I am afraid I have sorely tempted him.
It was one day shortly after my sojourn at Ohinemutu that I received a letter from Sir Frederick Weld, the then Governor of Tasmania, offering me the position of private secretary, which had become vacant. I had taken out letters of introduction to him from some mutual friends, which I had posted on my arrival in Dunedin; hence his offer. I was naturally delighted, and cabled accepting. Without delay I tendered my resignation to the officer in command of our district, Major Swinley, who told me I could count upon its being accepted, and could make my arrangements to leave for Tasmania as soon as a steamer was available. I found there would be one leaving Auckland for Wellington, Christchurch and Dunedin in a few days. This was indeed fortunate, for it would enable me to see Auckland, call upon our chief, Colonel Reader, at Wellington, thank him for his kindness in giving me the appointment at Tauranga, and say good-bye to all my old friends at Dunedin. At Auckland, a beautifully situated city with an excellent and picturesque harbour, I spent some four days, having ridden from Tauranga through the Kati-kati settlement, the old Thames Gold Fields, and finishing my most interesting journey in alittle steamer, theRotomahana, sailing from Grahamstown. On arrival at Wellington I called on Colonel Reader. He expressed much surprise at seeing me, and told me that as he had no recollection of having received any application from me for leave, he failed to understand on what grounds I had come to Wellington. I was, of course, surprised myself that he had not heard from Major Swinley, and explained to him exactly what had happened. He appeared considerably annoyed, and told me that Major Swinley should not have permitted me to leave Tauranga before the application for leave had been approved by himself; but, as he had done so, he would not stand in the way of my bettering my position, and would accept my resignation. I thanked him and returned to the steamer, which sailed next morning for Christchurch.
In due course I arrived in Dunedin. Here a real surprise awaited me. It was a cable from Sir Frederick Weld to the effect that he had received instructions from the Colonial Office to proceed without delay to Singapore, where he had been appointed Governor, and where his presence was urgently required. He expressed his regret that the alteration in his plans forced him to cancel his offer, and hoped that it would not cause me much inconvenience. There was nothing for it but to bow to the inevitable, break my journey, and put my thinking-cap on.
I had wired to some of my friends in Dunedin, advising them of the fact that the steamer would be calling at the port, and that I would be glad to see them again. Two or three of them were waiting on the pier on the steamer’s arrival. They were much concerned at my bad news, did their best to cheer me up, and promised me a good time while I stayed with them. Being young, I put aside my troubles for the time and determined to take them at their word and enjoy myself. Plenty of time for worry by and by. At the end of the week the senior officer of the local garrison battery came to see me. He said his officers had asked him to apply to the Government to have me appointedas artillery instructor to the district, which then included the port of Invercargill, otherwise the Bluff, and that he had that day sent on an application to that effect, supported by the local Members of Parliament, and other influential citizens. He was quite optimistic as to the result, but I had my doubts. He had not been present at my interview with Colonel Reader at Wellington. I felt convinced that the chief had been much annoyed at what he no doubt thought the cavalier way in which I had left my job at Tauranga, after his having given me the appointment to that district so quickly after my application. However, hope is the mother of cheer, and I felt more reconciled to my lot. Later on arrived Colonel Reader’s answer. It was short and to the point, but a bad point for me. He regretted he was unable to recommend the reappointment of an officer who had resigned at such short notice.
It was all over. I had fallen between two stools. Well, it could not be helped; why cry over spilt milk? After all, I had been more than fortunate in regaining my health. I had spent some six months in one of the most beautiful and interesting countries in the world, gained much experience, enjoyed endless good sport, made many friends. Why despond? Nothing in it. Life was still before me. My friends in Dunedin and Christchurch invited me to visit their stations, fish, shoot, eat, dance and play. I would put in some three months enjoying myself, and then make for home and Wardhouse again. The journey homewards would give me the opportunity of visiting Australia, India and Egypt, and on arrival home I would have been round the world. Some experience, as an American would say, for a young man who, twelve months before, had boarded a sailing vessel in the London Docks with little hope of leaving the ship alive.
One of the most thrilling experiences I have ever had occurred while I made the attempt to climb the peak ofthat lofty mountain, Mount Cook. The time of the year was not the best to venture on such an expedition. On both occasions, when we tackled the venture, ill-luck befell us. Our first attempt was foiled by fogs, which, when driven away by a fierce, bitterly cold gale, that seemed to blow from any and every point of the compass at the same time, were succeeded by sleet and hailstorms that forced us to give up the fight and return home sadder but wiser men. The second time of asking, after a splendid start, once again the Fates were against us, and a heavy fall of snow, which lasted three days, put an end to our ambitious undertaking.
Then my round of visits came to an end, and I took my passage to Melbourne, sorry to leave so many friends, and little thinking that, in after years, I would again see them and enjoy their hospitality in those beautiful southern islands.
CHAPTER XIVI BECOME A NEWSPAPER PROPRIETOR
On arrival in Melbourne I took up my quarters in the old White Hart Hotel at the corner of Bourke Street and Spring Gardens, at that time one of the most comfortable hotels in Melbourne. Situated as it is just opposite the present Federal Houses of Parliament, it is well known indeed by many members both of the House of Representatives and the Senate. The topic of the day was the opening of the Exhibition, and the official representatives of the foreign nations who were taking part had by this time arrived in Melbourne. The representative of the German Empire was in residence, amongst others, at the White Hart Hotel.
I must tell you of a little incident which should have finished in someone’s death, but did not. The German Commissioner’s private secretary had just been long enough in Melbourne to fall in love with the daughter of a well-known tradesman. She was certainly a strikingly handsome girl, and her charms had completely roped in the affections of that gentleman. This girl, then about eighteen years of age, was engaged, or going to be engaged, to be married to a local man. The private secretary was so persistent in his attentions and admiration that he roused the devil in the heart of her fiancé, who challenged the private secretary to a mortal duel. It was to be a fight to the death, so he stated in the challenge, which arrived at our hotel at about 10P.M.on a Tuesday evening, just as we were sitting down to a game of whist. The private secretary solemnly handed the written challenge to his chief. The Commissioner read it, then said:“Write a note in answer stating that our under-secretary will represent you, and meet at once a representative of your opponent here at the hotel, with the view of arranging a meeting between you at five o’clock to-morrow morning.” It was summer time. “Would you prefer swords or pistols?”
“Swords,” said the private secretary.
The letter was written and sent, and swords were to be the weapons.
Our game of cards was put off for the moment, but, as I was afterwards informed, the intervening minutes while the letter was being written had been taken advantage of by the Commissioner to avoid a scandal. He sent word to the German Consul requesting his immediate presence at the hotel. On the Consul’s arrival the Commissioner met him privately, explained the situation, and requested the Consul at once to inform the Commissioner of Police of the intended duel between the two lovers, and to ask the Commissioner to prevent it. The Consul quickly left the hotel to carry out his instructions. The game of whist then proceeded. The private secretary was not playing too well. No wonder. Even a German under the circumstances could not have been but somewhat nervous. He needed not to have been nervous if he had been made aware of the Commissioner’s instructions to the Consul.
At about a quarter to twelve o’clock, as we were finishing our last rubber, the waiter brought in word that two gentlemen desired to see the Commissioner. He asked the waiter to show them into the room. On their coming in they informed the Commissioner that they were extremely sorry to disturb him at that late hour, that they were police officers, that information had been received that a breach of the peace was contemplated, that the private secretary was one of the persons concerned, and, further, that their orders were to arrest him. As, however, he was a guest of the Government, it would be more than sufficient if the Commissioner would guarantee thatno breach of the peace by any one of his staff would take place. I was looking at the private secretary as this statement was made. I do not think I ever saw upon anyone’s face such a look of relief as came to his.
This ended his affair, as he was made to promise by the Commissioner that the lady-love was to be forgotten and not to be spoken to again during their stay in Melbourne.
Having determined to see as much of Australia as possible before I went home, I bethought myself of the letters of introduction which I had brought out with me from home. Amongst them was one to General Sir Peter Scratchley, R.E., who had been, at the request of the Australian Colonies, sent out by the War Office to advise them as to suitable positions and type of fortifications to be erected for the protection of the chief harbours and other vulnerable localities along the Australian coast. I called on him. He was affable and kind. He gave me considerable encouragement by telling me that as some of the forts were being completed it was becoming necessary to increase the Permanent Artillery Force to man them, and that—it seemed to him—I had just arrived in time, as my qualifications were satisfactory. He undertook to introduce me personally to the Premier, Mr. Graham Berry, who advised me to send in a written application for an appointment and promised General Scratchley to give it his favourable consideration when the opportunity arose. Just about this time I received a letter from my old friend, Sir Frederick Weld, at Singapore, stating that he was reorganizing the Native Police Force in that colony and wanted to appoint a few British officers to it. He offered me the position of second in command. This offer was most alluring to me, but General Scratchley simply ridiculed it. He told me he knew Singapore only too well, and that if I went I would probably die in a few years—if I lived as long, and at any rate that I would become an old man before my time. Far better,he said, stay in a glorious country like Australia than go and work in a country only fit for niggers, and poor at that. Taking his advice I declined Sir Frederick Weld’s kind offer. I wrote to him, thanking him, and pointed out that I was somewhat afraid to go and live in such a hot and moist climate after my sad experiences during my voyage out in the tropical regions, specially as since my landing in New Zealand I had not felt a twinge of rheumatism.
So I made up my mind to wait in Melbourne until I obtained my military appointment. I could not, however, afford to live in idleness, so I looked round for some suitable occupation which would bring in grist to the mill. I had always been, as you know, very fond of sport, and horse racing is the leading sport in Australia. I had been attending the meetings in and near Melbourne regularly and had become acquainted with a good many sporting men and the principal bookmakers and trainers. It struck me that it was a pity that a large city, the capital of a most thriving colony, where all kind of sport was rife, possessed no daily sporting paper. The one evening paper in Melbourne,The Herald, usually devoted some space to sport, but it was not published till too late in the day to be of any value to race-goers and punters. I determined to start a “sporting news-sheet,” to be published for the ten days covering the forthcoming Melbourne Cup Meeting. This news-sheet would be on sale at 10A.M.in the morning, and give the latest information even up to the last morning’s gallops—if any—the scratchings, and latest betting prices. I at once set to work and got two reliable sporting men possessing good all-round racing information to join me in the venture. Then I took a set of offices, which were really much too extravagant and in too good a position. The offices were in the best part of Collins Street. But I was a very sanguine young man in those days. It was my first venture in business bar the roller-skating. As a matterof fact, not one of us three had any knowledge or experience in business. We arranged that it should be my work to collect advertisements, attend to the editing and printing, do the financing, and see to the sale of theTurf Tissue, the name selected for the publication. My two partners’ business was to visit the training tracks, watch the horses at work, get all the information they could out of trainers, jockeys and stable-boys, and advise the public what horses to back.
Looking at it without prejudice, it seemed quite a good proposition on paper. So on we went. TheTurf Tissuewas to be sold to the public at twopence a copy, a half-penny of which was to go to the seller. It was a good commission, but by giving it we hoped to attract a very large number of the newsboys who sold the evening paper, in view of the fact that by publishing theTissueat 10A.M.the sale would be all finished some time before the evening papers came out.
Difficulties began early. I found that it was by no means so easy to collect advertisements, knowing, of course, nothing about it, and I tackled the job badly. Those who took up advertising space stipulated for an actual distribution of ten thousand copies of theTissueeach day, which had to be guaranteed and be carried out before they paid for the advertisements. I could see no other way out of the difficulty than to consent to their terms. Next came how to print theTissue. We had no printing plant of our own, so we had to find what I think they called “a job printer” to pull us through. This was by no means easy, as I was unable to find one who would promise that the paper would actually be printed each day and be ready for issue at the stipulated time. Besides, the price to be charged seemed to me to be nearly ruinous. Yet if our venture was worth trying it was worth paying for at first. TheTurf Tissuewas to become a genuine daily newspaper. There would be more than ample profits by and by.
The time was near when the first issue was to take place, namely, the Thursday of the week before the day on which the Melbourne Cup was to be run, the first Tuesday in November. We decided that the first issue was to be given free to the newsvendors and sellers by way of advertisement, and notices were put up inviting all such who were willing to sell theTurf Tissueto assemble outside the offices of the paper on the Thursday morning by 10A.M.That morning came and so did the crowds of would-be sellers to obtain their free issue for which they were to charge 2d. each. In such numbers were they that the traffic was interfered with, and the police took the matter in hand. I found out that a mistake had undoubtedly been made in fixing the main thoroughfare as a place of distribution, and that the mistake was entirely due to my inexperience as an editor and newspaper proprietor. For such I was. In a short time the first ten thousand copies of the first number of the newly-fledged sporting paper were being sold throughout Melbourne town. Looking out of the window of my office I could hear the loud cries of “Buy aTurf Tissue,” “All the tips,” “Latest gallops,” “Only twopence.” All was going well, and the firm adjourned to Scott’s Hotel. A couple of bottles of “bubbly” christened the very first sheet out of the printing press, which I have still.
To avoid the scenes in the street of that morning, I arranged for light carts to proceed next morning to convenient localities, where, under proper supervision, the regular distribution to sellers would take place, and these localities were duly and largely advertised that afternoon.
My two partners left me to ferret out what information they could, particularly to spot, if possible, the winner for the coming Saturday’s races. If we could only strike, say, three or four winners for Saturday our fortune was made. I looked forward to printing an issue of fifty thousand copies on the Tuesday morning, the Cup Day, giving the last and final and correct tip for that great race. Itreated myself to an excellent dinner at my club, and could hardly realize that with all the disadvantages of inexperience and want of knowledge in business matters my success had been so quickly and soundly assured. The first of the rather rude awakenings, which came to me next morning, was a message sent on to the office, where I was sitting after having supervised the departure of the delivery carts to their several distributing localities, arranged for on the previous day, to the effect that no news-sellers were available at the arranged places, and asking for instructions. I sent for a cab and started for the places where the delivery carts were waiting. What a change from the previous day! Either something had gone radically wrong with the advertising of the change in the place and mode of distribution, or else the news-sellers had been tampered with in some way or another. Not one was to be found. Then I remembered the agreement with the advertisers. Ten thousand copies had to be distributed throughout the city and suburbs. There was only one remedy. The delivery carts must deliver them, as widely as was possible, but, of course, free of charge. You will doubtless have noticed that this was the second issue of the paper which had been made without as yet one penny having been returned to the promoters.
On returning to the office I found a well-known Jew of that day, who, I had been told, was the boss of the news-sellers and who practically had them all in the palm of his hand. He informed me straight out that he had passed the word round that any vendor, man, woman or child, who sold theTurf Tissuewould be struck off the list of their evening paper sellers, whom he absolutely controlled. The explanation for the morning’s failure was clear. But what was more clear was the unrelenting spirit in which my visitor absolutely refused to come to any terms which might lead to an amicable settlement. He delivered his ultimatum like a Napoleon. He would haveno truck with new-fangled ideas which might interfere with the sale of the old-established newspaper. He informed me he had not the slightest ill-feeling personally in the matter; in fact, he went so far as to say that if I had only conferred with him before launching my scheme he would have gladly advised me of the futility of it. Bowing himself out, he departed. I had not the least inclination to step over to Scott’s and have a glass of bubbly. I simply had to count up what our losses then amounted to. They were as follows, roughly:
(1) The cost of printing of the two issues by the job printer, in addition to the cost of the paper.
(2) The cost of a fair distribution of ten thousand copies daily, in order to keep faith with the advertisers.
(3) Our rent of the offices for three months, plus the cost of the office accessories, lighting, etc.
These were all chargeable to the debit side. On the credit side, nil. No matter how clever my sporting confrères might be in spotting winners, we could add not one penny to the credit side. I summoned my two partners to a conference that afternoon. Somewhat to my surprise they seemed cheerful. “Things are not so bad as they look,” they said. “We have a real ‘dead bird’ for the Melbourne Cup. We are going to borrow every penny we can, pledge any credit we have with the bookmakers, and on Tuesday evening, after the race, we shall have enough to pay our liabilities on theTissueand plenty more besides. So cheer up; just raise as much money as you can, and we shall put it all on on Monday evening. On the Tuesday, the morning of the race, we will print twenty thousand copies of theTissuewith the name of the winner. We will scatter theTissueall over the city and the race-course. The public will back him for all they are worth, for he is a good horse. He may shorten in price. If so we can lay off and stand on velvet.”
This cheered me up a good deal. Their confidence in their plan was catching. So we went to Scott’s, afterall, had a bottle, and I went home, calculating what my third share of our losses in theTissuewould amount to, and how much ready cash I could lay my hands on to back our tip so as to balance the account. I was not the least ambitious to make a fortune. All I wanted was to get clean clear of my journalistic enterprise and cease to be the proprietor, editor and publisher of a newspaper.
I put aside my worries for the week-end. As a matter of fact, three of our tips out of six races came off on the Saturday, which gave the public considerable confidence in our selection for the winner of the Cup on the Tuesday. Then, casting sorrows to the winds, I arranged for a quiet week-end down at Sorrento. The weather was hot; Sorrento beach was delightful. The lapping waves on the beach were fresh and briny; Nature smiled, and I put worries away.
Then came Monday. It was the evening we were to put our money on our horse, our pick, nay, our “dead bird” for the Cup. We three met at the office. Our office boy, rather a wag in his way, had decorated my office table with flowers. My two partners, who seemed to me to have spent the week-end without any sleep, visiting training stables, waiting for the first streaks of dawn to watch the early Sunday and Monday morning gallops, and doing all that is expected of racing touts, were more than convinced of the certainty of their choice. There was nothing in it but “Mata.” “Mata” could not be beaten. The race was all over. “Mata,” however, was at a short price, and I could see it would require a good deal of money to enable me to get round my share of our losses. Still, what was the use of all our exertions and hard work and financial risks if the two partners specially selected for their intimate knowledge of the true form of the horses were not to be believed? There was nothing for it but to sink or swim together. We duly published theTissueon the Tuesday morning, the Cup morning. By a quarter past ten you could pick up a copy of theTissueanywherein the city. We sent cabs full of them to Flemington and scattered them all over the road and the course. Every one was saying “Mata” would win all right.
The Melbourne Cup was run that afternoon, and Mata didnotwin. As a matter of fact, he was one of the two last horses to finish. Grand Flaneur won—our tip for a place. All was up with theTurf Tissue. Nothing was left but for myself and my two partners to try to look happy and pay our responsibilities. I attended the office on the Wednesday, but my partners did not turn up, as I expected. I found out afterwards that they had lost their all, and that, as I had undertaken the financial responsibilities of the venture, it was left to me to have the pleasure of winding up our company’s affairs. I had in this respect to stand a great deal of good-natured chaff from my friends and General Scratchley, who thought it was quite a good joke.
I am reminded that years afterwards the following amusing incident occurred in Melbourne. The Melbourne Cup of 1896 was to take place. Some two months before the race the Duke of the Abruzzi, cousin of the King of Italy, then a young man and a sailor, arrived in Adelaide on an Italian man-of-war. He was making a tour round the world. I saw a good deal of him during his stay in Adelaide. I was then Commandant of South Australia. The duke was much interested in the Cup, and he was most anxious to get a good tip. A mare called Auraria, belonging to Mr. David James, of Adelaide, was in the race. She was a good mare, and a good deal fancied for the race by the talent in Adelaide. She had, at any rate, an outside show. So I suggested to the duke and his staff to put some money on, as the odds against her at the time were about thirty to one, and if she improved before the day of the race that price was sure to shorten and they could lay off. He made me write the name “Auraria” in his notebook, so that he wouldn’t forget. He continued his tour, and I had forgotten the incident. Later on Iwas in Melbourne, staying with Lord Hopetoun for the Cup carnival. I had backed Auraria myself, hoping to lay off. However, when the day came, nobody wanted to back her. As a matter of fact, you could get forty to one about her as the horses went to the post. The race started. Coming up the straight it was an open race. When they got to the distance the crowd yelled the names of several horses as the winners. At the half distance there came a regular roar. “Auraria, Auraria wins!” A few seconds more and Auraria was first past the post.
After the race we went to afternoon tea with their Excellencies. The room was full, but there were only one or two of us winners, when one of the A.D.C.s told His Excellency that the Duke of the Abruzzi was just outside and he had asked him to come in. In he came, with two of his staff, full of smiles, rushed towards His Excellency and said, “Look! I backed Auraria. We”—he pointed to his A.D.C.—“backed Auraria. We each win £160. Look! All here in our pockets,” which were bulging with gold and notes. And, turning round to the admiring crowd, he suddenly saw me. In a moment he was embracing me with both arms round my neck, saying, “Auraria, my friend! The beautiful Adelaide Auraria.” He then explained that it had been mere chance that he had been enabled to leave Sydney the night before, and had arrived at Flemington race-course just in time for the race, and they had backed Auraria with the cash bookmakers, obtaining the useful odds of forty to one. He then pulled out his pocket-book and said, “You see the name ‘Auraria’? You wrote it for me in Adelaide. I came to put my money on. It is splendid.” And so it was.
The Opening of the First Parliament of the Commonwealth of Australia by H.R.H. The Prince of Wales, 9th May, 1901
The Opening of the First Parliament of the Commonwealth of Australia by H.R.H. The Prince of Wales, 9th May, 1901
CHAPTER XVA MERCHANT, THEN AN ACTOR
Well, something else had to be done to recover my losses and fill in time. Having the offices on my hands—for I had taken them on a three months’ lease—it struck me that if I became a commission agent, and if I secured something good to sell, I might make some money.
So I decided to interview several firms in the exhibition with a view to becoming their agent. My first endeavours met with what I thought was considerable success. They were mostly foreign firms that I approached, as I am a good linguist, and they appeared to be delighted to have my services as their agent. Amongst them, I remember, was a German firm which had quite a wonderful turning lathe which could turn out table legs, ornamental posts, banisters for staircases, and in fact all sorts of wooden legs and posts, in marvellous quick time. Then there was an American firm with a very reliable and still cheap line of watches, and so on. But I was not made aware that these firms had already imported large stocks of their particular goods and were selling them on their own account, so that there were not many opportunities left of doing further business for the time being. In the meantime I spent quite a fair sum of money in advertising their goods, for which, no doubt, they were inwardly thankful.
Sitting in my office one day I had a visit from a gentleman, who asked me if I would act as agent for what he informed me was a sure and good line to sell. I told him it depended on what it was. To my surprisehe said, “Yorkshire hams.” I looked at him, wondering whether he was all right in the head. He noticed my hesitation in answering him, but said:
“All right. The position is this. I am closely in touch with many of the boats arriving in harbour from England. Most of them are now bringing certain quantities of Yorkshire hams by way of a little speculation amongst some of the ship’s company. Knowing most of them, they have asked me if I could place their hams. I have no time myself to do so, but I thought a firm like yours would take it on.”
Well, it didn’t appear to me there was any harm in selling “Yorkshire hams” and getting a good commission out of them, and, at any rate, there were always people who would eat “Yorkshire hams,” and if the market wasn’t glutted they could soon be disposed of. The terms of my commission were fixed up, and my visitor undertook to start delivering the hams at the offices in a couple of days. I may tell you that there was a back entrance to the offices from a side street, and as the offices were fairly large, one room was set aside for the storage of the hams. It was to be his business to deliver them and store them. We began operations at once, and I succeeded in getting orders fairly easily. I discovered afterwards that the reason of this was that my price was lower than the actual market price. Having no previous experience in selling hams, and, as a matter of fact, of selling anything, I had no suspicion that there might be something wrong in connexion with the business. I just kept on selling hams as long as there were any available.
Things were looking up, I thought. If I could only get people to buy a few legs for tables, and banisters for their staircases, good old-fashioned four-poster beds, and some of the other goods for which I was presumably agent, business would look up and a fair start would be made.
But Nemesis was again after me. I received a visit one morning from a gentleman I knew quite well. He was, as a matter of fact, one of the senior Customs officers. He was very nice, but he advised me to give up selling hams. It appeared that these very good hams were all being smuggled, and found their way up to my offices by all manner of means, sometimes in cabs, sometimes in sacks on wheelbarrows, and that consequently I was taking part in a transaction which duly qualified me for a heavy fine, in addition to a somewhat healthy term of imprisonment. So my friend the Customs House officer, who was quite aware that I was innocent of fraud and had no knowledge of what was going on, had come round to warn me. He hoped, he said, very soon to get hold of the kind gentleman who had been good enough to introduce the business to me. Well, there was nothing to be done but “Hands off hams,” and as I had been a commission agent then for some six weeks, and the only merchandise I had sold was “the hams,” I considered it high time to close the business, in case I might let myself in for something more serious.
Just about this time the notorious bushranger, Ned Kelly, who had been captured close to Benalla, Victoria, was sentenced to death, and he was to be hanged at the Melbourne Jail at eight o’clock one morning.
I felt a certain amount of curiosity. I thought it would be an unique experience to witness his execution. I was a personal friend of the chief magistrate of the city, and besides, having arranged with one or two New Zealand papers to communicate to them any matters which might be of interest during my stay in Australia, I could obtain permission to be present at the execution as a representative of the Press. The White Hart Hotel was not far distant from the jail.
I did not feel in the least happy the afternoon before the morning of the execution, when a permit to be present was handed to me by a police officer. My dinner thatnight seemed to disagree with me, and I went to my bed feeling that I was about to witness a scene that was more than likely to leave such impressions in my mind as I would probably regret for the rest of my life. However, it had to be done. I was up early after a sleepless and restless night, and then walked to the jail. I arrived at the big entrance gates, the sad and solemn entrance to the forbidding-looking building, about ten minutes to eight in the morning. Around those gates a large crowd had congregated.
There was not a sound to be heard from that crowd. There was dead silence. I made my way to those big entrance gates. A small wicket gate with a bell-rope attached was in front of me. I pulled the bell-rope. The little door was quietly opened. Just at the moment a cab arrived, and three men stepped out. Naturally thinking they were officials connected with the execution, I stood aside to let them pass through the little door. I noticed that one of them seemed to be somewhat under the influence of drink. They passed on into the confines of the jail. I then asked the gatekeeper who those men were. He said, “That one is the hangman.” He was the one whom I had noticed. My wish, or my intention rather, to step inside those gates vanished. I thanked the gatekeeper and told him that I would not trouble him to let me through. The little door was then shut, and I was more than glad to remain outside. I became one of that silent crowd who waited outside the gates. It was some twenty minutes afterwards that the black flag was hoisted on the building. The full penalty of the law had been paid by Ned Kelly.
I dare say many of those who read this may have seen exhibited the iron case which Kelly wore over his head at the time of his capture, and on which the dents of two or three bullets which had struck it when he had been captured were plainly visible.
I had now been, as you see, really hard at work forover two months, so I thought I was entitled to a holiday; for there appeared to be no probability of the appointment for which I was waiting being made just then.
It was Christmas time, very hot, so the seaside was the place to go to, and I selected Geelong—why, I know not. I was there but a few days when I was introduced to some residents whose business was that of wool broking. We had several mutual friends.
I had told them that I had not been very successful in my business enterprises, and after two or three days they were good enough to offer me a position in their offices. I thanked them very much and left Geelong, as I was afraid that if I started business again so soon after my late experiences I might get into further difficulties.
But, as a matter of fact, the real reason of my refusing their offer was that what I almost looked upon as a divine inspiration had come to me in the meantime. Why should the experiences I had gained while managing the Royal Artillery Theatre at Woolwich for one whole week be lost to the world, and particularly to Australia? I had been manager for that week, and I had been one of the stars of the company. Why, of course, it would be criminal not to give the Melbourne public the opportunity to judge of my capabilities as an actor. So, on a Monday midday I called at the Bijou Theatre, Bourke Street, of which the lessee was Mr. Wybert Reeve, who was running his own company and playing at that timeThe Woman in White. He was a good, sound, old-fashioned actor. I interviewed him in his sanctum and told him that I was anxious to go on the stage.
“Have you acted before?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” I said, quite in a lordly way; and I told him of my experiences at Woolwich. He was not in the least impressed.
“What salary do you expect?” he then asked.
“I should think that four pounds a week would be a fair commencement,” I answered.
You should have seen the expression on his face. He looked at me for a few moments in silence, and then exclaimed:
“Why, good gracious! Do you know that I was acting nearly five years before I earned a pound a week? And you want to begin with four pounds a week.”
“Well,” I said, “you must have begun a considerable number of years ago. Times change. Besides, I have some very excellent clothes, and they are surely worth something in their way.”
Well, he laughed, for he appeared to have been somewhat favourably impressed by what he no doubt considered my impertinence and self-conceit, and told me that at the moment his company was full, but that if I left him my address he would communicate with me as soon as an opportunity arose.
On the very next Thursday afternoon I received a note from him at the old White Hart Hotel, asking me if I would call upon him as soon as convenient. I arrived there at seven that evening, and found him waiting for me in his dressing-room, where he was preparing to make up for his part as Count Fosco, in which he had been quite a success. He opened the conversation by asking me if I was prepared to take on the part of Careless inThe School for Scandal, which he had advertised to produce on the Saturday night next. He explained that the artist whom he had engaged for the part had been missing for two days, and, from what he had gathered, even if he presented himself at the theatre, it was more than doubtful if he would be in a fit condition to appear before the public.
The proposition was a difficult one. To study the part in two days, appearing in it on the evening of the second day, without an opportunity of rehearsal, would be a bold venture for one who was setting forth to earn fame and a high reputation as an actor. I thought for a moment or two. I remembered that I had seenTheSchool for Scandalplayed once or twice in my life. My recollections of the part of Careless were that he was a somewhat light-hearted, jovial, easy-going person, whose life was a pleasure to him, and who did not take too serious a view of the things in this world. Well, was I not, at that moment, in a position when I might with advantage take on the mantle of Careless’s temperament and chance the result? Yes; I consented. Wybert was evidently relieved. He told me afterwards, in confidence, that he so admired what he considered my consummate self-confidence that he decided to give me the opportunity, subject to an informal rehearsal to be held on the next day, Friday, in the afternoon. I then inquired whether Careless’s costume would be ready for me. A serious look came over his face.
“By Jove!” he said, “the Careless that’s missing is only about five foot nine. It’s quite impossible to put your six feet two inches into his clothes. What’s to be done? Can you get them made in time?”
I relieved his mind by telling him that, as good fortune would have it, I had been at a fancy dress ball at a friend’s house in Toorak just ten days before, and that a friend of mine, who was private secretary to one of the then Governors of Australia, and who was about my height and build, had appeared at the ball as Careless, and his costume was a particularly handsome one. I had no doubt if I asked him he would lend it to me. Once more the smile came across his face. He looked at me for a bit and then remarked:
“I’m beginning to think honestly that you’re pulling my leg all the time. Say so, if you are; otherwise I shall postpone the production ofThe School for Scandaland continueThe Woman in Whitefor another week.”
I felt sorry for a moment that he had considered me to have been somewhat flippant. I had no doubt he had some right to think so, so I very sincerely and seriously told him that such a thing as pulling anybody’s leg hadnever entered my mind. Indeed, very far from it; that my experience since I had been in Melbourne was exactly the opposite, and that it was I who had suffered much from having my leg pulled by other people, especially those commercial magnates whose business I had been so anxious to promote. My explanation seemed to please him. There was one more point which required arranging, and an important point too, and that was whether my salary would be four pounds a week or not. So I asked him. He answered very readily that if he was satisfied with the results of the rehearsal next day, and in view of the fact that I was finding my own wardrobe, and that an expensive one, he would pay the four pounds a week. I at once thought to myself that I had made a mistake. I was giving myself away too cheap, but I would keep it in mind for our next business interview. I did remember, as you will see presently.
Friday afternoon came, and, as the stage was occupied in preparing the new scenery forThe School for Scandal, we held a so-called rehearsal in one of the corridors. It was very informal, but I had mastered my book. Wybert closed on our bargain, and the comedy was produced on the Saturday night before a very large, select and enthusiastic audience, amongst whom there seemed to be an inordinate number of my own personal friends. All went well. I had made up my mind to succeed or go right down under. I was in a very happy mood. My friend the private secretary’s clothes fitted me to perfection, and, to the astonishment not only of Wybert Reeve himself, the company, and the professional critics in front, I introduced at times some light dancing steps, which cheered me on in my efforts and apparently highly pleased our audience. Between the acts Wybert took the opportunity, while encouraging me, to suggest that it would be an awful pity to spoil the splendid work I was putting in, as he called it, by overdoing it. I could see how anxious he was. I opened a good bottle of champagne,we had a drink together, and I assured him that all would be well. And so it was; and at the end of the performance we answered repeated calls before the curtain. When we had made our last bows to the audience, the company met in what was then an old institution at the back of the scenes, namely, the green-room, where Wybert himself insisted on opening the champagne and was no longer anxious as to how many glasses we drank to the success ofThe School for Scandal.
Sunday was a happy day. I spent it with some friends near Point Cook, at Port Phillip Bay, which spot, years afterwards, I selected to establish the first aviation school in Australia. Most of the country in that district belonged to the Chirnside family, the first of whom had made good in the early days of the Colony of Victoria. Werribee House was their headquarters. So had the Clarkes made good, the Manifolds, the Blacks and many others whom in after years I had to thank for much kindness and hospitality.
On the Monday, which was known amongst actors as Treasury morning, I duly attended Wybert’s office to collect my first hard-earned wage. It had been arranged that, though my engagement dated only from the previous Thursday, I would be entitled to a week’s wages if all was well on the opening night. I was as contented as anyone could be, for I knew I had made good. The two leading morning papers had most favourable notices, the production was a success, and even Careless had been favourably commented on by them. I duly received four golden sovereigns. I felt this was a much better line of business than editing sporting newspapers or selling hams and table legs.
But I was remembering the fact, yes, that I had asked for too low a salary, and that having come out on top I was entitled to more money. How much was it to be? I bethought to myself that a rise of two pounds would not be an extravagant request, taking everythinginto consideration. So, after thanking Wybert, I informed him that I could not think of continuing in the play unless he raised my salary to six pounds a week. He was cross, I could see, and he also pretended to be hurt.
“How can you make such a request after the chance I have given you? It is preposterous. I am surprised at you.”
“Well,” I said, “I agree with you as far as being surprised. I am surprised myself. And it would never do for you to lose another Careless within a week, and unless I get the extra two pounds a week I might be lost to-night myself.” The idea of such a happening seemed to strike him as possible. He hesitated; then he gave in, and my salary was fixed at six pounds a week, but, more than that, he took me on at that rate for a term of six weeks. I practically became a real live member of his company, and was to be ready to play any part from Hamlet to an imbecile old butler in a fool of a farce, if asked to do so. I was not downhearted. I felt I could play anything. The six weeks passed only too quickly. Wybert produced three other plays within that time, and then came the end of his lease and the breaking up of our company.
Our leading lady was Madame le Grand, who, I think, was (or had been) Mrs. Kyrle Bellew in private life. Mr. Ireland was one of our leading men, the father of that gifted young actress, Miss Harry Ireland. Maggie Oliver, an irrepressible and most clever soubrette, was ever happy and a source of pleasure to us all. Old Daniels, a Jew, was the funny man. He was a first-rate low comedian who never overdid his part. Then there was Hans Phillips, a polished actor, who, I think, married the daughter of Gordon, then the best scenic painter in Australia. Poor Hans Phillips unfortunately died at a comparatively early age. Then I remember those two charming sisters, Constance and Alice Deorwyn, who afterwards became, one, Mrs. Stewart, and the other Mrs.Holloway, the mother of another charming young actress, Beatrice Holloway.
During this time I was introduced to, and became intimate with, many of the leading managers and actors in Australia. There was Coppin, the doyen of the profession. Maggie Moore and her husband, J. C. Williamson, had “struck oil.” The four Stewart Sisters were at their best. In a pantomime the youngest of them, Nelly, then only about sixteen, was bewitching her many admirers, singing “For he wore a penny paper collar round his throat,” and dancing like a sylph. What a favourite she became, and how for many years she continued to be at the top of her profession, all Australia knows. Who that saw her can forget her as Sweet Nell, and who that had had the pleasure of knowing her but thinks of her, not as “Sweet Nell of Old Drury,” but as Sweet Nellie Stewart herself.
The friendships I made then have lasted till death has intervened. During the many years I spent in Australia I counted many shining lights of the theatrical profession as close personal friends—and I do so now. Violet Loraine was the last. At the end of my first and short engagement we got up a benefit on behalf of the two Deorwyn sisters.
The opening piece was a farce namedTurn Him Out, in which I played the leading part, Eglantine Roseleaf. This was my last public appearance as a professional actor.
An event happened which put an end to any reasons why I should stay in Victoria awaiting the military appointment which had been promised me. The finances of the colony were in a low state, retrenchment was imperative, and the Premier, Graham Berry, set to work to carry it out with a heavy hand. The public services suffered heavily, and amongst them the military vote heaviest of all. Instead of any new military appointment being made, a large percentage of the officers serving were retrenched.I felt bitterly disappointed, but I could not blame my friend, General Scratchley; in fact I could not blame anybody.
My friends, or at least some of them, advised me to continue my theatrical efforts. They even offered me a tempting rise on my last salary and fairly long engagements, but I was in no way keen. I had tried it only as an experiment, and the ways of the theatre were not alluring to me, and especially after having gone through them personally. There is a good deal of fun to be got out of it, but few people know how hard one has to work, and what a slave to duty one has to become in order to rise to the top of the tree.
There was nothing for it now but to return home. I said good-bye to all my friends and left for Adelaide, South Australia, en route for Scotland.