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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Lebensstil
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
In "My Experiences in Australia," A Lady offers an insightful and engaging account of her travels and experiences in the vast and vibrant continent of Australia. Written in a reflective narrative style, the book intertwines personal anecdotes with rich cultural observations, effectively capturing the essence of 19th-century Australian society. Her eloquent prose not only provides a vivid portrayal of the landscapes, flora, and fauna, but also engages with the social dynamics and colonial encounters of the time, allowing readers to glimpse the complexities of life beyond the British Isles. The author, A Lady, is an intriguing figure whose own background significantly shapes her narrative. Likely influenced by her own socioeconomic status and the Victorian ideals of travel as a means of personal growth, she embarked on this journey desiring to explore the unknown. Her pen captures not just the physical journey, but also the internal transformations that accompany travel, fundamental to the burgeoning sense of identity and social consciousness of women in her era. This book is an essential read for those interested in travel literature, colonial history, and women's narratives in the 19th century. A Lady'Äôs keen observations and graceful writing style make "My Experiences in Australia" a compelling exploration of a period marked by discovery and transformation, inviting readers to reflect on their own experiences of place and identity.
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My Experiences in Australia.
Table of Contents
Frontspiece-vignette
PREFACE.
So much has been written of late years about the Australian colonies, that it may seem at first sight that there is nothing new left to write about.
But all the works which I have seen, though of far higher pretensions than the little volume I venture to submit to the public, still appear to me to leave something untold.
While they contain a large amount of information relative to Australia interesting and valuable to the statesman, the man of science, the merchant, and the emigrant, still, perhaps, they give but little notion of everyday life in the colonies, as it would appear from a lady's point of view.
I am aware that these recollections of a fifteen months' residence in Australia do but little towards supplying the want referred to; still, if the perusal of these pages has the effect of checking the over-sanguine expectations of some of my lady readers, and of removing the over-timid apprehensions of others, I shall feel that this record of my own experience has not been without its use.
Departure from England—Doubts and fears—Making the best of things— and regarding the choice of a stern cabin—Fellow-passengers—Sea unfavourable to development of more pleasing features of character—The Line—A homeward bound ship—Off the Cape—Fishing for sea birds—A shark—Phosphorescent balls—Land ahead—Pilot aboard—Sydney harbour—First impressions of the natives—Arrived at last. First impressions of Sydney—Half-disappointed—The streets—Irregular style of building—Scarcity of private houses—Hyde Park—Its surroundings—A colonial notability—Another—The value of a character—A of colonial architecture—St. James's Church—Its neighbours—Legislative Council Chambers—An odious comparison—Newspapers—Literary taste in the colony—More about the streets—Government gardens—Flower shows—Gardening "doesn't pay"—Government House—A stranger's yearning for home. The suburbs of Sydney—View of the harbour from Paddington—No place like home—The drives round Sydney— an omnibus—A bouquet of wild flowers—Flowering shrubs—Forest trees—The bush—Varieties of a —Snakes—Botany Road—Botany Bay—The menagerie—Cook's River—New Town. The climate of New South Wales—Variations of temperature—Australian children—Their precocity in every respect—Resemblance to Americans—Sydney society—Beadledom at the antipodes—The squatters—The Sydney season—Balls and pic-nics—Fish—Beauties of the Harbour—The Paramatta River—Oranges and orange groves—The Town of Paramatta—Traditions of the Female Factory. Colonial government in the early days—Police regulations—The value of a passport—An awkward predicament—The Governor's prerogatives—A model editor—Emigrants and emancipists—The first constitutional council—Playing at "Parliament"—Legislating in earnest—Responsible government—New constitutions—Colonial munificence—A Brummagem aristocracy—The British country gentlemen—The Australian legislator. Starting for the interior—Travelling equipment—Preparations for camping out—Our party— and for —Not so pleasant during a flood—The low countries—Fleeing to the tree tops—Best months for travelling—The town of Newcastle—Hunter's River—The coal districts—Carrying coals thereto—Morpeth—A bad start—The town of Maitland—Our first encampment—The of the bush—The laughing jackass—Common bush birds. Off at last—Roads of the interior—A thunderstorm—Making the best of things—Division of labour—Our order of march—Harper's Hill—Native indigo—Australian daisy—Refractory horses—Learning to be a whip—Town of Singleton—A catacomb of trees—Glenny's Creek—Bush fare—Edible birds and beasts—Bushrangers—Bush manners and travellers' tales—Truth stranger than fiction. The town of Muswellbrook—A hurricane—Aberdeen—Scone and its neighbourhood—Crossing the Waldron Ranges—Murrurundi—The backbone of Australia—The squatters' barrier—A canine comparison—Eastern and western waters—Liverpool Plains—A dismal anniversary—The mirage—Myal tree—Tamworth—The river Namoi—A stock-keeper's cottage—Bush hospitality—The tree lizard—Unpleasant visitors—The plague of insects. Barraba—Going ahead—Bell's Mountain—The Slaty Gully— a difficulty—The Bingera Diggings—A panorama of hills—Crossing the Ranges by night—A midnight bivouac—The Bundarra—Keera—An early arrival—A squatter's cottage—Its surroundings—A station and its belongings—The "shepherd's friend"—Cultivation of grain—Carriers at a premium. Sheep shearing—The washpool—An ancient custom—Shearers and their habits—Scarcity of servants—Convict days—Chinese servants—A horrid story—Chinese emigration——Cattle—An Australian stock-keeper—A hunt after a —Agriculture in the squatting districts—The vine—Fruit—Primitive wine making—Qualifications for a bush housekeeper. The Blacks' camp—Frequent change of quarters— spoken by them—Their aversion to labour—Love of hunting—Varieties of game—Arts of the chase—Their modes of cooking—Skin cloaks—The Bunya-bunya or Australian bread-fruit—Native honey—Stingless bees—Native toilette—A ball Spurgeon Corroborees and Boroes. Native superstitions—A burial place—Different modes of disposing of the dead—Notions of a future state—Condition of their women—A matrimonial dispute—Native children—Infanticide—Half-castes—Nurses and washerwomen—"Black Charlie"—An awkward predicament—A sad fate—Both sides of the question—Calling things by right names. Starting for a day of kangaroo hunting—A —Advantages of a thick skull—The Tea free—Table land—Kangaroos in sight—An unsuccessful burst—An "Old Man"—A formidable weapon—The Dingo—A theory—The kangaroo rat—The Bandicoot—The Rock Wallaby—River fishing—The —The Bunyip—A flood—Flies and mosquitoes—Varieties of blight—Ophthalmia—Fifty miles from a doctor—Visitors—Neighbours—Homeward ho! A false start—A fair one—Foul weather—A shepherd's hut—Bush tea—The Rocky River—The Red Gum tree—Weather bound—The Rocky River diggings—Gold finding—Alluvial diggings—Quartz crushing—A nugget—"All is not gold that glitters"—A friend in need. Salisbury Court—A squatter's residence—Lost horses—Ophthalmia—The Moonboye Range—Tamworth—An unpleasant situation—The Burning Mountain—Flood-bound—Another upset—Fording the river—A Canadian traveller's tale—Driving a road—A "Slough of Despond "—The last of the bogs—Megaethon—A philological reason. Anticipations—The Bush near Sydney—The roads again—The flood on the Hunter of 1857—The Liverpool Railway—A roadside inn—Appin—More rain—Retracing our steps—An unpleasant habit—Illawarra—The Cabbage Tree Palm—The Garden of Australia—A case of plants—Our feathered and four-footed fellow-passengers—Preparing to re-embark. Confined quarters—Baby provender—A model captain—Homoeopathy and sea-sickness—Port of Melbourne—Its suburbs—The city—Fortunate purchasers—"What is in a name?"—The rival queens of the South—Melbourne streets—An argument for Bloomerism—Colonial gold ornaments—The Yarra Yarra—A sound of —The Botanical Gardens—Waterfowl—A natural preserve—Canvas Town—The Houses of Parliament—A senator in trouble—The land to make money in—The coast of Western Australia—Albany—A trip ashore. Our last look of Australia—A fishy fantasy—The order of the day on shipboard—Point de Galle—Another trip ashore—The Cinnamon Gardens—Re-embarking—Aden—A naval battle—The natives—Divers—The Red Sea—A midnight alarm—On the rocks—All hands at the pumps—An unpleasant alternative—Preparing to take to the boats—Ground sharks—Afloat again—Noxious gases—Nubian natives—Coral islands—"Passing on his way"—News from Jeddah—Off again—"Zeal for the service"—Suez—Last adieus—A comparison—Transit through Egypt—Malta—Home, sweet home!
MY EXPERIENCES IN AUSTRALIA.
CHAPTER I.
"And fearfully and mournfully We bid the land farewell, Though passing from its mists away In a brighter world to dwell." —Hemans.
On a cold, bleak day in March, 1856, my husband and myself stood leaning against the bulwarks of the good ship —— ——, gazing earnestly at a little boat fast disappearing from our view. Even before she reached the not very distant shore, she became enveloped in the dull grey mist that hung around, and we lost sight of the dear friends who had left us by her, and of whom we had just taken a long farewell.
For we belonged to the number of the outward-bound; the vessel on whose deck we stood would, God willing, next cast anchor in the fair harbour of Sydney, and for a time we were to be wanderers in that bright new land, of which it has been said that—
"A soft clime and a soil ever teeming, Summer's December and Winter's July; The bright southern cross in the firmament gleaming, There the safe harbours are bidding men try."
Before us were the perils of the wilderness, as well as the perils of the sea; and on the eve of such a journey it certainly required a brave heart to banish all doubts and fears, and look brightly and hopefully into the future.
The day, too, was dark and stormy. The dull threatening sky, and the wailing sough of the wind, whistling among the furled sails, added not a little to our melancholy, being, moreover, suggestive of a state of weather likely to prove very disagreeable to so bad a sailor as myself.
However, as we were not to raise our anchor till the following morning, we had an evening of comparative quiet before us, and we thought it would be wise to make use of it in putting our cabins in order, that when the evil hour should come, we might be as comfortable as circumstances would permit. So, adopting the "up and doing" philosophy, I set to work, endeavouring to do my utmost to give them a homelike appearance. To my inexperienced eyes the accommodation seemed very poor, but I found afterwards, by comparison, that I had no reason to complain, and that it was better than any to be obtained at present in the mail steamers. We had one of the stern cabins for ourselves, and the side one next to it for our little girl and her nurse. The clear space in both was very small, but in ours there were famous lockers, and convenient places to stow away our boxes, &c., which conveniences, indeed, I found, after a little experience, constituted their principal recommendation. On the whole, any advantages they possess do not, I think, compensate for the great disadvantage of the motion being so much more sensibly felt at the extreme ends, than nearer the centre of the ship, so that all bad sailors should carefully avoid choosing a stern cabin.
I made this discovery when too late to remedy our mistake, and when experience had taught me how impossible it is to struggle against sea sickness—an impossibility which I would not believe in—on the afternoon of our departure. I knew too well that I was by no means a good sailor, but I tried to persuade myself that a week or ten days would be the limit of my period of wretchedness; at all events it was better to be sanguine on the subject, and to look as much as possible on the bright side of things.
By the time we had put our cabins in some sort of order, we were summoned to dinner, and had the opportunity of making the acquaintance of our fellow-passengers, about whom I felt naturally a little curious.
We were but a small party, in all thirteen grown-up passengers and four children.
It would be but an invidious task to particularize any in so small a number; and I fancy that any sketch of character taken at sea would bear a very caricature sort of resemblance to the original.
Certainly, petty miseries, and daily annoyances and privations, are not favourable to the display of the more pleasing features of character; and too frequently on board a ship one general rule of action is very undisguisedly followed—that of "every one for himself."
Some allowances also must be made for people of totally different dispositions and habits, of different stations in life, and engaged in different pursuits, when gathered together in so small a space—deprived of all their usual occupations and subjects of interest, and compelled for a certain number of months to associate more or less intimately with each other. Among a large number of passengers this remark is of course less applicable, as then it is quite possible to select your own associates, and to fight as shy as you like of the rest of your fellow-passengers, whose peculiarities may serve rather to amuse you, when you are not brought too closely in contact with them.
For instance, the small affectations and fine-lady airs of the wives of the minor colonial officials, going out for the first time to share in their husband's colonial dignities, are only amusing, when viewed from a little distance; but you are apt to judge somewhat severely of the owner of such accomplishments, when circumstances bring you into constant communication with her, and you happen to be yourself to some extent a sufferer from the constant attention she requires, and from her monopolization of many small comforts, to the exclusion of all less exacting passengers.
Then, no doubt, the petty miseries I have referred to affect one's own mental vision, and make one take a jaundiced view of everything. For instance, can there be a more agreeable addition to a pic-nic party ashore than a lady who plays upon the guitar, adding to the melody thus produced the music of her voice? Or could any one desire more harmless and healthy exercise for some half-dozen young men, than a good game at leap-frog? But if at the time chosen for the music you are at sea in a ship pitching heavily, and you yourself suffering from a severe headache; or if the place selected for the game be immediately above the berth in which you are endeavouring to forget all your woes in the arms of "sleep, the sweet consoler"—why, I am afraid you are apt to be a little uncharitable, and wish the fair musician a slight taste of the terrible mal de mer, and the uproarious youngsters safely back in the playgrounds of their late respective schoolmasters.
So, board of ship is not a place to do justice to any characters, or to make them appear in a favourable light; and I think the best plan to adopt, at all events for the first few weeks of a voyage, is to think as charitably of, and associate as sparingly with your fellow-passengers as you find it possible to do.
This resolution, or at all events the latter part of it, I found it easy enough to adhere to. On our first evening on board after a late dinner, during which we just learned to know our fellow-passengers by sight, I retired early to my cabin, and when I awoke the next morning we were sailing down the Thames, and before the middle of the day were in such rough water that we ladies were obliged to take to our sofas, and were unable to reappear in public for several days. Oh! the horrors of that time, and indeed of many succeeding days and weeks. I do not think it is possible to portray, however faintly, the utter wretchedness of sea sickness. I struggled, I think I may say bravely, but, alas! it was vainly, with the malady. Urged by my husband's exhortations I contrived to get upon deck for the first time on the third day.
My servant had also proved a very bad sailor, and my little girl had just been sufficiently unwell to be content to lie quietly in bed—a fact which I was unnatural enough not to lament over.
We had no stewardess on board, and my husband had had to act in many and various capacities, including those of nurse and lady's maid; it was therefore a matter of no small rejoicing to him to get us all safely on deck, and as he hoped on a fair way towards recovery.
The day was bright and cheering, and the fresh air very pleasant. We were getting near the mouth of the Channel, but the English coast was still in sight, forming a blue line in the horizon. Several homeward bound ships passed us, their white sails glistening so brightly in the sunshine, and the sea was so calm and the sky so blue I almost made up my mind that all my troubles were over, and began to indulge in some pleasurable anticipations with respect to the remainder of the voyage; they were doomed to receive another check, however for that evening the wind sprang up again and continued blowing violently for some days.
In the Bay of Biscay, that place of ill renown, it amounted almost to a hurricane, and continued blowing very violently till Friday, the 28th of March, when we passed Madeira; I could not distinguish land, though I believe it was to be seen through the telescope. The weather began to get very pleasant from this time; we fell in with the trade winds, and went bounding merrily along. I was much better, indeed quite well when on deck, but unable to bear the close atmosphere of the saloon.
The captain's wife, a very pleasant person, was an equal sufferer with myself, and we used to condole with one another on our lamentable shortcomings as good sailors. I am afraid not even the sight of the flying fish and the pretty paper nautilus with its gauze-like sails, or the splendid sunsets and calm moonlight evenings, compensated for all I underwent.
The heat, too, soon became very great, but still by no means so intense as I had been led to expect. With the exception of two or three days just on the line, when we were becalmed, and there was positively not a breath of wind stirring, we always had a nice breeze which prevented the weather from being absolutely oppressive. The day before we crossed the line we had the good fortune to pass a homeward bound vessel, which afforded us the opportunity of sending letters to our friends. The excitement such an event causes far out at sea can hardly be imagined by those who have not had the good or ill fortune to experience it. We had public news of great importance to communicate to them, being none other than the intelligence of the termination of the war with Russia and the birth of an heir to the French throne, while their good offices were to consist in carrying tidings of us to many anxious hearts at home. In the evening before we parted we exchanged rockets and blue lights, and the crews cheered one another very heartily.
After crossing the line we fell in with the south-east trades, and made a very good run to the Cape—only forty odd days from England. After passing it the weather became very bad, very cold and stormy, and for many days the hatches were battened down, and we ladies were unable to get on deck. On one occasion, when it was blowing very hard, my husband persuaded me to disobey orders and go out; I paid for my rashness by getting drenched from head to foot by a sea which, had it broken nearer where we were standing, the captain declared, would have washed us overboard. So I made a hasty retreat, but considered that I had been more than compensated for my bath by the magnificent spectacle presented by the sea in a storm. The spray was drifting like snow, and the large curling green waves looked as if they must overwhelm the good ship as they kept breaking over her sides, flooding her decks, and occasionally rushing down the companion ladder, and making their way into the cabins situated in that part of the ship: our position at the extreme end, saved us from any such unpleasant intruders.
This gale was the beginning of our bad weather, and the wind continued blowing heavily, and generally against us, until we were off the coast of Van Diemen's Land. With me this was a time of intense misery, I was confined almost entirely to my berth; if the day chanced to be a little calmer and milder than usual, I perhaps got on deck by twelve o'clock for an hour or two. The captain was very kind in erecting a tarpaulin to shelter us, in some measure, from the wind, rain, and snow; and in lashing my chair firmly on the deck; and when I had sufficiently recovered from the exertion of crawling upstairs, I used to find some amusement in watching the flights of birds which came round our ship; the large snowy white albatross, the mutton-bird with its silver grey plumage, and the beautiful little Cape pigeon.
It was a favourite amusement with some of the young men on board, to bait a line with salt pork, and fish for them. Sometimes they seized it eagerly, and were hauled on the deck for our nearer inspection, though they showed to much less advantage there than in their native element. If they were not much injured, we ladies generally obtained their release, and they were allowed to fly away, though in one or two instances, in the case of some very beautiful specimens, we were cruel enough to sanction their death, and petition for their skins. We once captured a small shark, and on several occasions saw some tremendous monsters swimming close to the ship. They are always accompanied by a beautifully-striped little fish, called the pilot-fish, of which sailors tell funny stories. They say, in times of danger the shark swallows them, and puts them up again when the peril is past; and that in return for such kindly offices, these little fish serve as guides to their huge protectors, and look out for prey for them.
As we got into the more southern latitudes, we occasionally saw whales at some little distance, spouting and blowing; and phosphorescent substances in great abundance. In the evening, the sea used literally to seem on fire. We once got the captain to lower a bucket and bring up one of the glittering balls; by daylight its colour was of a dirty white, and it had something of the consistency of a sponge. I think that the general opinion is, that these balls are composed of a sort of animalcula, in which the whales find their chief sustenance. We kept our specimen in salt water, and were in hopes as night approached, to see it again assume its brilliant appearance, but we were disappointed, as it never shone brightly again, and after watching it for two or three evenings we threw it overboard.
We had been some eighty-three days at sea, when the captain told us one morning that that afternoon at about four o'clock, we should sight Cape Pillar in Van Diemen's Land. The pleasurable excitement this intelligence caused may easily be imagined, and every eye was eagerly bent in the direction in which land was expected to appear. At last there was a cry of "land ahead," and within half an hour of the time named, we saw the fair land of Tasmania rising as a cloud out of the sea; the wind at this time unfortunately failed, and instead of reaching Sydney in some three or four days from this, it was that day week before we sighted the lighthouse at the entrance to Sydney Harbour.
Any land must appear beautiful to eyes that for three long months have beheld nothing but one vast expanse of sea and sky; and the south-east coast of Australia from Cape Howe to Sydney Heads, is certainly in itself picturesque, wooded almost to the water's edge. We ran in quite close to the shore, and obtained a view of Wollongong, and the "Five Islands" opposite to it; and by twelve o'clock on Sunday, the 16th of June, we were opposite the entrance to Sydney Harbour. The wind at this time very provokingly died away, and the whole afternoon was passed in tacking and retacking, and when night came on, we were still outside the Heads, and though the night was calm, the wind somewhat more favourable, and the moon shining brightly, the captain most wisely determined not to attempt entering till daylight, as this was his first voyage to Sydney, and he was not well acquainted with all the intricacies of the harbour. So we beat out to sea till the following morning, when we stood in for the Heads, and by ten o'clock a.m., we were safely anchored opposite the Quarantine Ground—our long and stormy voyage brought to a happy conclusion.
A pilot soon boarded us to conduct us up the harbour, and he was accompanied by a medical officer, who made the usual inquiries touching our bill of health. It was fortunately, a very satisfactory one, and there was nothing to prevent our proceeding on to Sydney as soon as the sails could be furled, and a steamer procured to take us in tow. Long before this, however, many boats from the town had come up to us, bringing friends of the passengers, newspaper reporters, &c. Ours was the latest news from the Old Country, and most eagerly it was received. My first remark on seeing the younger, and for the most part native-born among the new comers, was, "What a set of Yankees!" their appearance so completely realised one's notions of a genuine New Yorker. Tall and slight, with that go-ahead sort of expression of countenance, the cigar in the mouth, and the broad-brimmed straw hat—all seemed to correspond with the generally received opinion of the characteristics of the finest nation in creation.
But, as I was not likely to recognise any familiar face among all who came on board, arriving as I did, a "stranger in a strange land," and as colonial news possessed but little interest for me, my attention was principally engrossed by the surrounding scenery, which was very lovely. There can be but one opinion on this point; every stranger must be struck by its beauty.
The entrance is bold and rocky, the North Head rising perpendicularly from the sea, to the height of many hundred feet; farther in, the style of scenery changes, though it cannot be said to lose any of its beauty.
Wooded hills slope down to the water's edge; rocks festooned with creeping plants, and picturesque little headlands, jut out into the deep blue water, the white sparkling sand on the beach forming a pretty contrast with the bright azure of the waves rippling gently over it; while here and there are scattered pretty villas, half-hidden by the dark wood that surrounds them. English eyes may miss the bright green foliage of the trees of their own land; but to mine, which had been so long accustomed to the darker hues of our Scotch fir woods, the sombre tints of these trees, which are mostly of the Eucalyptus tribe, wore a home-like aspect, affording too, a very pleasing contrast with the deep bright blue of the sky above and the water beneath. There is a wonderful clearness in the Australian atmosphere, the outline of every object is so distinctly defined; hills, trees, and buildings stand out so sharply; and then the sky of cobalt, or ultramarine, forms so lovely a background.
I had plenty of time on the morning of our arrival to admire all the surrounding beauties, for we were at anchor for two or three hours off the Quarantine Ground, and were afterwards towed very slowly up the harbour, past the Island of Pinchgut (which, from its position commanding the only navigable channel, has lately been fortified), and many other small islets, and cast anchor opposite the Circular Quay, where the Custom House is situated, and where most merchant vessels unload.
And now we had really arrived at the end of our long voyage. How inexpressibly thankful we all were! and I not the least among the number, for I had been so very ill during the whole of the passage.
Certainly, Sydney stood a fair chance of having in me a very partial observer, for I was quite prepared to be delighted with everything on terra firma. I will, however, reserve the account of the impressions it made on me for another chapter.
CHAPTER II.
"That which they have done, but earnest of the things that they shall do." —Tennyson.
Though I have stated in the previous chapter, that Sydney stood every chance of finding in me a somewhat partial delineator, so truly delighted was I once more to set foot on dry land, yet I cannot say that the first impressions with which it inspired me were very favourable. I suppose I had expected too much, for I fancy I ought to have been much struck with it; this is a piece of common courtesy expected from every stranger. The general remark used to be, "Were you not delighted with the town—it must be so far in advance of what you could have expected? Are not the shops in George Street very handsome?" Now, the simple truth is, I was disappointed in Sydney as a city; nothing can be more beautiful than its situation, and its extent equalled my anticipations, but the streets are straggling and irregular; here and there some fine shops and public buildings, and adjoining them, miserable tumble-down cottages, surrounded with old broken palings, all evidently erected in the "year one" of the colony.
