Title:      Tales of the Colonies
Author:     Charles Rowcroft
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Title:      Tales of the Colonies
Author:     Charles Rowcroft



TALES OF THE COLONIES
or, THE ADVENTURES OF AN EMIGRANT
EDITED BY A LATE COLONIAL MAGISTRATE.
LONDON
SAUNDERS and OTLEY
In Three Volumes.
FIRST PUBLISHED: 1843
ROWCROFT, CHARLES (1798-1856)


INTRODUCTION.

THE increasing difficulty of maintaining a family in England, in which
the competition for mere subsistence has become so keen; and the still
greater difficulty of providing for children when their maturer years
render it imperative on the parent to seek for some profession or calling
on which they may rely for their future support, has excited among all
classes a strong attention towards the colonies of Great Britain, where
fertile and unclaimed lands, almost boundless in extent, await only the
labour of man to produce all that man requires.

It seems, indeed, that there must be some strange neglect or ignorance on
the part of VOL. I. b the government or legislature of a state when a
large portion of an active, industrious, and intelligent population,
willing to work, and capable of producing more than sufficient for their
own subsistence, and of adding immeasurably to the national wealth,
cannot make the wealth-producing power of their labour available. It is
painfully vexatious to behold in one part of the national dominions an
excess of population wanting land to work on, and in continual
apprehension for the next day's food, and in another part an excess of
land wanting a population to work it; and that in such a state of things
neither the government nor the legislature has instituted any national
measure, to supply the deficiency on the one side from the excess on the
other; a measure which, while it would add to the happiness of the
individual, would conduce to the general prosperity of the mass of the
people.

All those practically acquainted with the colonies must feel, that if
one-tenth part of the annual expenditure of the poor's-rates for some
years past had been directed to a systematic plan of national emigration,
for the conversion of the wretched, half-starved pauper into the
contented, well-fed colonist, all the irritation and ill-will which have
been caused by the concoction of the new poor law, for grinding the
labouring man down to the lowest degree above starvation point, might
have been happily avoided. Were this act of national charity and national
wisdom to be even now adopted, those huge and unsightly receptacles of
misery which the union workhouses present to the people's execration;
those engenderers of discontents; those nurseries of Chartism; those
normal schools of plots and treasons; those frowning and repulsive
prisons for the poor, proclaiming in the severity of their privations how
criminal in the sight of the rich is poverty; and practically
complaining, as they impiously do, of the improvidence of God in allowing
creatures to be born into a world which political economists have
pronounced to be already overstocked; those foul blot from a hard and
selfish system of short sighted saving, on the fair country of England,
might be levelled with the ground--amidst the shame and repentance of
society, for having, even for a time, permitted so dangerous an
experiment on the feelings and habits of the British people.

But it is not only on the class dependent on manual labour for
subsistence that the difficulty of providing for a family presses. In
this respect, all the grades of the middling classes are alike uneasy.
Those with some capital, as well as those with none, are suffering under
the constant anxiety of providing for their children with a regard to
their condition in life, their education, and their habits, in a country
in which every day the difficulty of finding suitable occupation
increases. In this search, the parent feels that it would be as painful
for his children, who have been brought up in a certain condition, to
descend from that rank, and trust to their hands instead of their heads
for support, as for the more hardy and less sensitive sons of labour to
bear the extreme state of destitution and precarious subsistence to which
their condition, in the old country, now subjects them. This drives the
educated classes to seek in the more genteel professions the power of
maintaining their position in society, and of obtaining, by the higher
remuneration of mental over mechanical employments, the means to minister
to their more refined pursuits and pleasures. For education and
refinement bring with them their own embarrassments. The animal man can
no more go back, suddenly, than any other animal, from the civilized to
the natural state, without pain and privation. Education refines and
improves the body and the mind of man; but in changing him from the
natural to the artificial state, it adds to his wants, and renders the
satisfying of them more costly and more difficult.

Every day, however, renders the attempt to compete in the occupations of
intellect more hazardous; all, comparatively, being educated, and all
being incited to push themselves forward into the educated professions,
it would seem that the time is fast approaching when there will be as
many barristers, physicians, solicitors, surgeons, and apothecaries, b 2
as of unprofessional people to practice on. This patient nation is
law-ridden enough already; and at every corner of the street stands a
surgeon with knife in hand, ready to amputate you if living, or to
dissect you if dead; while innumerable apothecaries and druggists, from
every new shop-window, thrust forward their obtrusive physic. Even the
business of the undertaker is over-done; while the nails of their
coffins, attractively resplendent to entice the passer-by to take
possession of them, shine uselessly in the window, their owners complain
of the want of trade, and eye the living customer suspiciously and
complainingly as he passes by, as if he was committing a personal
grievance on them by being still alive.

What, then, is to become of the masses of educated persons, striving,
pushing, and jostling each other on the road of life? and the numbers
still increasing! They cannot become day-labourers; they cannot go
up--the passages are blocked up; they cannot go down--that their pride
and their habits forbid. To remain as they are is to starve. What then is
to be done? Fortunately, in the colonies there is room for all, of all
grades and classes, and opportunities for all. In this country, to labour
in the field is to the educated person a degradation, because the field
belongs to another man, and that man is his master; and the condition of
an agricultural labourer, from its obvious poverty, in a country where
the greatest of crimes is to be poor, is a state of flagrant criminality
which the union workhouses have specially been erected to coerce and
punish.

But in the colonies, in a new world, and in a new life, a man may till
his own land, and work in his own fields with his own hands, and neither
feel it to be a degradation in his own eyes, nor in the eyes of those
around him. On the contrary, in resuming the occupations of the
patriarchs of old, he may be said to recover the natural dignity of man.
The very solitude of the wilderness, the boundless space, the unbroken
silence, the solemn repose of Nature seem to bring him in nearer contact
with the great Creator. In his new state, his mind, so lately bowed down
by care and anxiety, recovers its natural independence. He stands on his
own land, the source of certain subsistence, and of almost certain
wealth, for himself and for his children. Above is the light of God's
sky, of which no assessed tax debars him. He is not driven to obsequious
fawning on the rich or great for countenance or patronage. He has to pray
to no man "to give him leave to toil." On his own labour and his own
prudence depends his own success. He finds that he is become of value as
a MAN; and that where the materials to work are to be obtained, INDUSTRY
is in itself a CAPITAL.

His experience soon confirms him in the important truth, that if Nature
has prescribed labour to man, she is no niggard, in the absence of the
restraints of man, of labour's reward. His family, instead of being a
burthen, and the subject of unceasing and fearful anxiety, is a comfort,
a solace, and a help to him. Each child soon becomes an illustration of
the principle, that naturally every human being has the power of creating
more than he has a necessity for consuming. He lies down to rest without
fear of the morrow; no rent, nor taxes, nor rates, nor tithes disturb his
dreams; and he rises after his rest, not with anxiety and apprehension
for the day's employment and the day's remuneration, but with renewed
strength and with freshened hope; going forth to his cheerful labour with
the full reliance that, from the bounteous earth, he may always produce
the abundance which Nature never refuses to her industrious children.

It is with the view of describing the process of settling in a new
country; of the precautions to be taken; of the foresight to be
exercised; of the early difficulties to be overcome; and of the sure
reward which awaits the prudent and industrious colonist, that the editor
has collected the following tales; and he may add, that he can testify to
the accuracy of the descriptions which they contain from his personal
experience as a resident magistrate in the colony. The first tale which
is presented to the public is the journal of a settler, detailing, in his
own homely language, the actual progress, day by day, from the beginning,
of the establishment of a colonist's farm.

CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.



CHAPTER I.

THE SETTLER'S JOURNAL

CHAPTER II.

Mr. William Thornley, a sort of Half-Farmer in the County of Surrey,
finding that he cannot live on his small Capital, turns his thoughts to
the Colonies--Reasons for Emigration--A Wife's hearty consent an
indispensable Preliminary--Preparations--Voyage to Van Diemen's
Land--Appearance of the Country--He has an interview with the
Governor--Mode of obtaining a grant of Land.

CHAPTER III.

Resolves to lose no time in getting out of the Town and on to his
Farm--His Journey up the Country in search of good Land--His Talk with an
old Hand--He meets with a strange Person and makes a new
Acquaintance--Mode of Farming in the Colony--An Adventure.

CHAPTER IV. PAGE

How to milk a wild Cow--Picture of a Settler's Dwelling--Mutton-chops and
Dampers--A spare Bed "improvisatised"--Night Alarm--Sheep-stealing.

CHAPTER V.

Pursuit of the Sheep-stealers--Meeting with the Natives--The black Man's
instinct in Tracking--Walk over the Country--Finds Land to please
him--Returns to Hobart Town with his new Acquaintance, Crab--Proceeds
with his Family to the Clyde.

CHAPTER VI.

Journey up the Country with Family, Bullock-carts, and Crab--A steep
Hill--A Night inthe Bush--Arrives at his Land--His first chop at a
Gum-tree.

CHAPTER VII.

A Settler's daily Labours--Chopping down Gum-trees tough work--Builds a
Log-house--Buys some Sheep--Shoots a wild Animal--Black-cockatoo Pie--A
Kangaroo Steamer.

CHAPTER VIII.

AKangaroo Hunt--Description and Habits of the Animal--Crab dilates on the
Topsy-turviness of all things Animal, Vegetable, and Geographical in
Van Diemen's Land.

CHAPTER IX.

Takes Possession of his new House--Delight of Independence--Crab puts the
Plough into the Ground--The Garden and Sheep-shearing--The Settler takes
Stock and makes a Discovery.

CHAPTER X.

Expenses of Settling--Increase of Sheep and Cattle--Anecdotes of
Snakes--His Position in 1821--Increase of Sheep and Cattle in
1824--Sheep-stealing increases in the Colony--Hears some disagreeable
accounts of Bushrangers--His Prosperous State in May, 1824--His
Tranquillity is suddenly disturbed by distressing cries of Alarm from a
neighbouring Farm.

CHAPTER XI.

Hastens with a party of Friends to his Neighbour's assistance--The
dangerous passing of the River on the Trunk of a Tree--The lifeless Body
of a young Girl strangely discovered--The plundered Dwelling, and the
desolate Mother.

CHAPTER XII.

The Attack of the Bushrangers--The mysterious Fate of the lost
Husband--It is resolved to pursue the Bushrangers--Preparations for the
Expedition--The Magistrate heads the Party--Horrible discovery.

CHAPTER XIII.

The Ruins of the burnt Stock-keeper's Hut--The Murderer Musqueeto and the
Natives--The Sagacity of the Kangaroo Dogs--Native's Tomb--The Natives
begin an Attack--Skirmish with the Bushrangers.

CHAPTER XIV.

The Bushrangers Retreat--The Magistrate's Party pursue--A Bivouac--Tracks
of the Bushrangers--Crossing of the Big River--The Pursuit grows warm.


VOL. I.C.

CHAPTER XV.

Arrival at the Great Lake--Bushrangers at Bay--The Fight--Simultaneous
Attack of the Natives--Matters remain in suspense--Thornley looks out for
a Kangaroo for Supper.

CHAPTER XVI.

Hector points at unexpected Game--Thornley meets with a party of
Soldiers--His Joy thereat--His Disappointment thereon--His lamentable
Predicament--His fortunate Escape from a Pistol-bullet--His Release--A
Letter from his Wife--The Bushrangers escape to an Island in the
Lake--Melancholy News from the Clyde--Thornley resolves to return Home.


CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME

CHAPTER I.

He sets out for the Clyde, tries to make a short cut, and misses his
way--He is lost in the Bush.

CHAPTER II.

Is threatened by Eagles--His Sufferings--The Magnetic Needle--The Dogs
glve notice of the Natives--Their Attack--His Fight single-handed with
the Savages.

CHAPTER III.

Takes Refuge in a deserted Hut--The Natives besiege him, and set fire to
the Roof--His Escape--He climbs into a Tree--The Natives set fire to
it--Death seems certain--His Rescue.

CHAPTER IV.

He recovers his senses and finds himself among Friends--Account of the
Bushrangers at the Great Lake--Moss's extraordinary Escape.

VOL. II.b.

CHAPTER V.

The Governor's Proclamation--The Magistrate's Mission--The Sergeant's
Device--The Bushrangers Captured.

CHAPTER VI.

He returns to his Home--Sets about repairing his Disasters--How to Build
a House with pulverized Earth--Mr. Crab's increased importance, and how
Sheep may increase from one hundred to two thousand--The Building of a
Stone House resolved on.

CHAPTER VII.

Stone Quarries--Manner of Gardening by Yonng Ladies in New Colonies--A
Stranger--Miss Betsey suddenly becomes scientific respecting
Stone-Quarries and other matters--The large Ants resent the intrusion on
their Territories--Wild-cattle Hunting--A young Bull gets maddened, and
galloping into the Bush meets with Betsey--Thornley sees her peril and
gives her over for lost.

CHAPTER VIII.

The Stranger saves her Life--The Surgeon appears again--Thornley sets off
for Hobart Town.

CHAPTER IX.

The facetious Attorney--Colonial mode of getting rid of a Wife--Thornley
attends an Execution, which makes him sick--He returns Homewards--A chase
after Sheep--Encounter with a Bushranger.

CHAPTER X.

Awkward Predicament--The Bushranger declares himself--Unexpected appeal.

CHAPTER XI.

The Bushranger's Tale--His Crimes and his Sufferings--His Escape from
Macquarie Harbour.

CHAPTER XII.

Passage across the Country of the escaped Convicts--The Bushranger's
Confession--No man so bad but there is some good in him--His last
Request--His awful Death.

CHAPTER XIII.

The Corporal is pleased to make some Remarks on the recent Tragedy--He
searches the Pockets of the Deceased--His Discoveries--Thornley proceeds
in much State to the Magistrate's house--He is restored to his
Family--Mr. Crab indulges in some peculiar Observations on the
occasion--Red Ribands produce curious emotions in others besides mad
Bulls.

CHAPTER XIV.

A Family Breakfast in Van Diemen's Land--A new Settler--Danger of eating
Kangaroo-tail Soup--People make love much in the same way on the one side
of the Globe as on the other--The Surgeon in danger of Starving--Mr. Crab
sympathises with him cordially--Crab's Lamentations on the wretchedness
of the conutry.

CHAPTER XV.

The Convict System--Assignment of Convict Labourers to Settlers--System
of Reformation--Treatment of the Convicts.

CHAPTER XVI.

Causes of Crime--The Improvement of the Moral Condition ofthe Convict
from the amelioration of his Physical State.

CHAPTER XVII.

The effect of the Convict System on the development of the Resources of
the Colony--Management of the Convicts--Complaint of a Master, before a
Magistrate, against his assigned Servant.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The Trial.

CHAPTER XIX.

Complaint of an assigned Servant against his Master--The Servant has
redress against the ill-treatment of his Master in the same way as the
Master against the ill-conduct of his Servant.

CHAPTER XX.

The Working of the Transportation System.

CHAPTER XXI.

Complaint of a Convict against his Fellow-Servant.

CHAPTER XXII.

The Flogging System--Necessity of Coercion and Decision--in a Convict
Colony--Horrors of Transportation to Macquarie Harbour, the Penal
Settlement of the Colony--Thornley returns Home--A Letter from the
Governor.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Surveying a grant of Land-Crab becomes a Landed Proprietor against the
grain--He discourses authoritatively on practical Emigration--The
Bushranger's Daughter.

CONTENTS OF THE THIRD VOLUME.

CHAPTER I.

Crab's Contradictions--French Fashions penetrate into the Interior of Van
Diemen's Land--A Parson wanted--Smoking a Ship--A Plot discovered--A
Disguise, and a new Adventure.

CHAPTER II.

First Appearance in a new Character--The Disguise Discovered--The
Struggle--Three to One too much--An Apartment for a single Gentleman.

CHAPTER III.

Necessity the Mother of Invention--Advantage of a good Memory--An
anatomical Experiment--Courage and Perseverance overcome all
Difficulties--An unexpected Meeting--The mysterious Letter gives a Clue
to a Hiding place--Search of the Red House.

VOL. III.b.

CHAPTER IV.

The Colonial Constable--The Track in the Snow--Seven mile Beach--The
Desolate Hut--The Discovery--Baulked again.

CHAPTER V.

The Consultation--Middle-aged Gentlemen get tired of Adventures at
Last--The Track Regained--An extempore Dinner and fresh Oysters--A new
Horror.

CHAPTER VI.

Who is the Murderer and the Victim?--A Settler's Fare--An Excuse for a
Glass of Grog--Kangaroos in Miniature--The Chase.

CHAPTER VII.

The Chase--Scroggs' Pathos--Confirmation of the Fugitive--Unexpected
Information--A Sailor on Horseback--A new Arrival.

CHAPTER VIII.

The Van Diemen's Land Jockey--Swopping--The Chase Renewed--Retributive
Justice--The Natives--New Dangers.

CHAPTER IX.

Winter in Van Diemen's Land--The Pursuit of the Black Fellows--Native
Habitations--News of the Child.

CHAPTER X.

A Native Encampment--Conference with Musqueeto--A Savage has a Soul--The
lost Child recovered--How to Catch an Opossum--A Kangaroo Hunt by the
Natives--The Apparition of Spears and Waddies excites disagreeable
Suspicions.

CHAPTER XI.

AKangaroo Hunt by the Natives--They recognise an old Enemy--The
Flight--The Skirmish--The Attack Renewed--Scroggs's generous
Devotion--Return to the Clyde--Crab resolves to leave the Country.

CHAPTER XII.

How Crab sold his Sheep--The Embarrassment of Riches--Crab's
Misadventures--He resolves to leave the Colony.

CHAPTER XIII.

Reasons for Emigrating--Breeding of Sheep--Advice to Emigrants.

CHAPTER XIV.

Fourteen Years pass by--The Emigrant's Wealth--A Letter from the Gypsey's
Daughter--Death of Crab.

CHAPTER XV.

CONCLUSION




TALES OF THE COLONIES: Volume I etc.



CHAPTER I.

THE SETTLER'S JOURNAL.

I DO not pretend to be philosopher enough to analyse deeply the reasons
which induce me, after a long and active life, passed for the most part
in laborious but pleasurable occupations, to lay down the axe for the
pen, and to write an account of my life in this country. Perhaps it is
that my family being grown up, and gently pushing, as the young do, the
aged from their stools, by supplying my place in overseeing my farm, the
leisure that has come over me prompts me to employ my mind, which from
habit is disinclined to inaction, in recalling past scenes and old
recollections. Or it may be that, at sixty-two years, the garrulousness
of old age inclines me to indulge on paper in the talk which every one
around me seems too busy to attend to orally. I would fain hope that I am
actuated by a better reason than any such as these: that the desire to
present a useful history of a settler's life, and to shew by my own
instance how much may be accomplished by prudence, industry, and
perseverance--incites me to write this record of facts and feelings.
Whether these accounts may ever appear in print I do not know, although I
will confess that it is not without a secret inclination that they may,
in some shape, find their way to the perusal of the public, that I now
proceed to arrange them. Whether they appear in print or not, I have at
least the satisfaction of hoping, that when I shall repose beneath the
soil of this beautiful country, which I have learnt to love so dearly, my
children's children after me may sometimes turn to this manuscript of the
old man's recollections, not without advantage from its perusal.



CHAPTER II.

MR. WILLIAM THORNLEY, A SORT OF HALF-FARMER IN THE COUNTY OF SURREY,
FINDING THAT HE CANNOT LIVE ON HIS SMALL CAPITAL, TURNS HIS THOUGHTS TO
THE COLONIES--REASONS FOR EMIGRATION--A WIFE'S HEARTY CONSENT AN
INDISPENSABLE PRELIMINARY--PREPARATIONS--VOYAGE TO VAN DIEMEN'S
LAND--APPEARANCE OF THE COUNTRY--HE HAS AN INTERVIEW WITH THE
GOVERNOR--MODE OF OBTAINING A GRANT OF LAND.

IT is now twenty-two years since I left London for Van Diemen's Land.
When I got on board ship, I remember I found many of the passengers
keeping journals, so I did the same, though I can't say I found, at
first, much to put in it; however, the habit of keeping a journal stuck
to me after I landed, so that I was never easy at night unless I wrote
down what had occurred during the day. I am glad of it now, as I find
that the looking back on what I have gone through is useful to me, and
makes me the more thankful for what I have got now, and the reading of it
will, I think, be of advantage to those who come after me; so I will
first describe how it was that I came to emigrate, and then I shall copy
all my bits and scraps of journals fairly out, that those who may think
that some profit is to be got from them may easily read them.

It was in the beginning of the year 1816 that I was first in difficulties
in England; that was just after the close of the long war. There was
great distress in the country; all seemed to go wrong. So many lost
employment from the change of war to peace, that many were starving, and
there was great confusion and riots. If I recollect right, it was the
year when the "Blanketeers" came from the north to present a petition to
the king. I had carried on, for many years, a pretty good business at
Croydon, in the corn trade. I did something with coals too, the canal
being handy; (by the bye, that gave me the idea when I went abroad of the
advantage of water-carriage), and I never refused any sort of small
trading that seemed likely to turn to profit. But the corn business was
my main stay, and that brought me a good deal into communication with
farmers, and their way of farming; but I found that farming was a very
different thing here in Van Diemen's Land to what it was in Surrey. I
remember, as if it was yesterday, that one morning, when I went to the
corn-market, I found a cluster of farmers and others standing round a
neighbour of mine, reading a letter; it was from a son of his--a wild
sort of chap--who had gone out as mate of a vessel to Sydney, or Botany
Bay, as it was called then. By the bye, Botany Bay and Sydney are quite
different places; Botany Bay lies round to the east of Sydney, and there
is no town at all there; Sir Joseph Banks named it Botany Bay from the
number of new plants which he found there, but the town of Sydney was
fixed lower down, at a better spot. Well, the reading of this letter
caused a good deal of amusement, speaking of the kangaroos, and the
natives, and the bushrangers; but what surprised us most was to hear how
easily the young fellow had turned farmer; for farming was not at all in
his line, as he had scarcely looked into a farm in his life when he was
in England. The accounts contained in this letter, of the beauty of the
country, of the fertility of the soil, and of the largeness of the crops,
made a great impression on me, and gave rise to vague ideas and designs,
which dwelt in my mind, and set me about making further inquiries.
However, I said nothing about it at home at this time, waiting till I had
acquired more information, but went on with my business as usual: but my
business did not go on as usual with me. My purpose is not to describe
how a man breaks down in England, but how he gets on in the colonies, so
I shall say no more of my losses and difficulties than this; that with
one failing and another failing, and people crowding into the trade and
taking the bread out of one another's mouth, and altogether, I found that
it would not do any longer. So one evening, after a hard day's work, and
no profit but all loss, I made up my mind to put an end to it. My wife
was sitting alone in the parlour, and I said to her (for I ought to have
said before that I had been married eleven years, and had five children),
"Mary," said I, "things are going on very badly."

"They'll get better by-and-by," said she.

"They've been getting worse the last six months," said I. "I don't like
the look of it at all."

"We must work the harder," said my wife.

Said I, "I tell you what it is, Mary; I work as hard as any man can, and
we both of us spend as little as we can, but we are eating up our
capital; and work as I may, and pinch ourselves as we may, we can't go on
at this rate. You know how many have broke, and there's no chance of our
money from them; in three years we shall have nothing left, and maybe we
should break down before then, for things are getting worse and worse,
and the trade is like playing at hazard."

"Why, William," said Mary, "what would you have us do? Shall we try a
farm?"

"Not in this country," said I. "What with rent, and rates, and taxes, and
tithes, with corn falling, and all things unsettled, I'm thinking farming
never will be the business it used to be. No, Mary," said I, speaking to
her with much earnestness, "farming won't answer here; and with our five
children depending on us for bread, and for their future provision in
life, I should not like to risk the little that we have left in working
at a farm in this country. We must make up our minds to a great effort,
and since there are too many struggling with one another in England, we
must go where the people are few and the land is plenty. We must
emigrate."

"Emigrate!" said Mary; "where to?"

"Why," I replied, "perhaps I have not made up my mind which would be the
best place to go to, nor indeed could I make up my mind that we should
emigrate at all until I had consulted with you, and you had agreed to it.
But I have thought of the matter a good deal, and the more I think of it,
the more convinced I am that it would be better for us to take care of
what we have left, and turn it to account in a new country. If there was
only you and me, we could make a shift, perhaps, to rub on; but when I
consider our children who are growing up, and how to provide for them
comfortably I know no more than the dead, I do feel that to be sure of
house and home, and bread to eat, and clothes to wear, would be better
for them than to be exposed to all the chances of uncertain trading or
farming in this country."

Well, I saw that the tears had come in Mary's eyes at this talk, and her
heart was quite full; for the thought of her mother, now advanced in
years, and of her relatives and acquaintances about, of the scenes of her
early childhood and the companions of her youth, all to be quitted
perhaps for ever, was too much for her; and all the circumstances of our
own losses and difficulties crowding in upon her thoughts, her emotion
got the better of her, and she burst into tears and sobbed for some time.
My own eyes were not dry; but I felt that in these cases almost all
depends on the firmness of the head of the family, and that if he gives
way, all gives way soon after. I soothed her with all the kindness of an
affection as true and as deep as ever man had for woman; I explained to
her exactly our condition and all our circumstances, and after a long
consultation, her good sense coming to her aid, and, most of all, her
strong affection for her children mastering all other considerations, she
fell in with my views, and it was agreed, that as we had made up our
minds to this decisive step, the sooner we carried it into effect the
better.

I have been the more particular in narrating this conversation, because
it made, as may easily be supposed, a great impression on me as it
related to one of the most important acts of my life; and from the
circumstance also, that from that hour my dear wife never made a single
complaint, nor uttered a murmur at all the inconveniences and occasional
hardships which she was put to, as well during the voyage as during the
first years of our settling in the colony. This deserves the more
worthily to be noted, as I have been a witness, in Van Diemen's Land,
of the evil effects of a contrary course of conduct on the part of the
wives of emigrants. To my knowledge, more than one failure has happened
from the fancies, and fine-lady affectations, and frettings, and sulkiness
of settlers' help-mates; forgetting how much of a man's comfort and
happiness, and, in a colony, of his success, depends on the cheerful
humour, the kindly good temper, and the hearty co-operation of his wife.

Well, the great point being settled, that of my wife's consent and hearty
concurrence in the project, all the rest went on rapidly enough. She was
a little frightened at first at all there was before her to do; but she
found that the labours and difficulties which, viewed in the mass, seemed
almost insurmountable, were easily overcome as they were encountered
singly; and, as she said at the time, with her cheerful smile, "that if
we waited until we had provided against all possible and impossible
contingencies, we never should undertake the expedition at all; that what
others had done, we, with prudence and care, and energy, might do also;
and that, putting to the work all the zeal and industry that we could
bring to it, we must leave the rest to that Providence which never
deserts the willing heart and the humble mind."

I could write a great deal about all our hopes and fears, and our little
and great troubles; but I am anxious to get to my journal. I shall not
give a long account of our voyage by sea, of the sharks that we saw, and
of the flying-fish that we broiled, because all those things have been
described over and over again. All sea-voyages are much alike; there must
be some discomfort on board of a vessel, where you cannot have much room
to yourself, and the passage to New South Wales is, I dare say, often a
very tedious affair; but this I will say, that every thing is made better
by good temper, and by a cheerful and contented mind. I have observed
through life, that much of people's happiness or unhappiness proceeds
from the way in which they take things. Some fret and grieve
everlastingly at what cannot be helped, and lose the enjoyment of that
which they might otherwise derive pleasure from, because they cannot have
every thing their own way; and so they go on, miserable themselves, and
making everybody else miserable around them; while others, making up
their minds to bear the annoyances they can't escape from, contrive to
make pleasures out of very slight materials, and, by their own
good-humour and cheerfulness, to inspire the like in others. But, before
I begin our voyage, it will be well to state what our circumstances were
on leaving England and what we took out with us.

I found, after scraping together all I could get, that I could just
manage to muster up £1,150; little enough to begin the world anew with,
and with a wife, five children, and my wife's mother, to convey to the
other side of the globe. It ought to be observed, too, that my wife had
been well educated, and had always lived in a lady-like way; and although
she had always been an industrious housewife, she had never had any
practice in the hard work which, for the first year or two, falls on the
settler in a new colony. Besides this £1,150 in money, we had our beds
and bedding, and blankets and linen, and such household articles, in
plenty; and a variety of things which lie about a house, and seem of no
value, we took out with us, and found them valuable, for use or sale, in
the new country. As to the bulk of our furniture, we sold it all, as I
was told that it would be several years before we could have a suitable
place to put it in, and that I should find the money more useful; that I
must rough it for some time, and think of nothing but STOCK: that is, of
sheep and cattle. This advice was very good, as I afterwards found, and I
was as happy, for many months, sitting on the stump of a tree, with my
wife opposite me on another, as if we had reclined on the softest sofas
in London. But there was not much time for reclining, as will be seen
when I come to my journal. I took care to carry with us all the usual
tools imperatively wanted on first settling, such as saws, axes, chisels,
augurs, etc. I had the good fortune to listen to the advice of the
captain of a ship, and took out all the furnishing of a blacksmith's
forge, which I found of the greatest use to me. I shall not further
particularise here the list of articles proper for a settler to take out
with him, because all those particulars will be found detailed at full
length in two letters, one from me and one from my wife, to friends in
England, advising them as to what they should bring out with them, and
copies of which I find noted in my journal. They are too long to insert
here, but they will be found in their proper place. I will only say here,
that it is better to have too many tools than too few; for, to want a
tool in the bush, a saw or an axe, is an inconvenience that often stops
important work. I was wrong in the sort of nails that I took out; they
were good enough for the soft deals and other woods usual in England, but
too weak for the hard woods of New South Wales. I took out two pair of
cart-wheels, with their boxes and axles complete. These were very useful,
but they make them in the colony now as good, and nearly as cheap as they
can be imported; and the colonial wood, when well seasoned, stands the
summer heat better. But I see I am forestalling my journal.

Now to our voyage, which I shall make short enough. We set sail from
Gravesend on the 7th September, 1816. We touched at the Cape of Good
Hope; but I shall not stop to describe a place that has been so often
described before. I want to hasten the way to the colony. After a passage
of about five months, we arrived at Hobart Town on the 3rd February,
1817. Hobart Town is the chief town or capital of Van Diemen's Land, at
the south end of the island. The new ideas which the words "north" and
"south" conveyed in those parts confused me at first; for, contrary to
the impression which they convey in Europe, the north wind on the
opposite side of the globe is the warm one, and the south the cold one.
"These warm north winds and these cold south gales" sounded oddly, and it
was some time before I got used to the expressions. The aspect of the new
country was not encouraging, and I felt a little damped at first. All the
country up the river, from Storm Bay Passage to Hobart Town, had a
mournful, desolate appearance. The trees had a sombre look, and the grass
was a dirty brown, excepting here and there a green patch, where I was
told it had been recently burnt. It looked like the close of autumn
instead of the middle of summer, which it was, we arriving, as I said
before, on the 3rd February, and the months of winter and summer being
reversed here in this topsy-turvy place. A brown and dusky autumnal tint
seemed to pervade all nature, and the place had a quiet, sleepy
appearance, as if every thing had been standing still and was waiting for
settlers to come and improve it. Mount Wellington, as the large high
mountain, about four thousand feet high, is called, at the back of the
town to the left as you go up the river, had a little cap of snow on its
summit, which I have observed in summer several times since, but it
seldom remains more than a few hours at that season of the year. The town
had a straggling, irregular appearance; a pretty good house here and
there, and the intervening spaces either unbuilt on or occupied by mean
little dwellings, little better than rude huts. It is to be borne in mind
that I am speaking of Hobart Town as it was twenty-two years ago; since
then, great changes have taken place, as will be found noted from time to
time in my journal. One thing I can't help adverting to, and that is the
surprising number of dogs that kept us awake for some nights after we
arrived in the town with their incessant barking. At that time every one
had a kangaroo-dog who could contrive to keep one, and what with these
and others, first one set up a growl, and then another caught it up, and
he was of course answered from another part of the town, so that
presently hundreds of dogs, watch-dogs, kangaroo dogs, and mongrels of
all sorts and sizes, all would set up such a barking and tearing, that we
thought to be sure something dreadful must be the matter; that the
convicts had risen, or the natives had fired the town. We wished that all
the dogs had their tails stuffed down their throats to stop their noise.
But we soon got used to this, like the apprentice that was lost, and
found asleep in the copper that the workmen were hammering at outside;
and afterwards we found the value of the faithful and intelligent
kangaroo dogs in the wild bush, for their vigilance saved us all from
being murdered by the natives, or perhaps burned to death, as I shall
have to relate in its proper place. Well, I did not care, at this time,
for the statistics, as the term is, of the town or the colony; I was too
much taken up with my own statistics, and with arranging to settle
ourselves on our land and get out of the town, for we soon found that our
money would melt away very fast if we stayed there, and no return for it,
every thing being so dear. I paid 35s. per week for the wretched place
that we got shelter in: as to going to an inn, of which there were one or
two indifferent ones, of a public house order, that would have been ruin
indeed. Meat was 9d. and 1 0d. per lb.; bread a little cheaper than in
London; as to milk and butter, that we were obliged to go without.
Butter, for several years after, was from 5s. to 10s. 6d. a lb.; the
common Irish salt butter sold for 2s. 6d. per lb., and that rank and
oily. I was puzzled to understand how it was that there was not plenty of
milk and butter in an agricultural country; but I soon found out that
there was a reason for every thing. To get milk from the wild cows, in a
country without fences, you had to catch them first. I shall have to
describe in its place the operations to be entered on in those times for
milking a cow. It was an expedition for the whole farming establishment
to join in; but I must not anticipate.

Altogether, I did not like the look of matters; but I was assured that
the interior of the country was more inviting, and I was advised to lose
no time in getting on my land, for it had been observed, that more than
one emigrant who had lost his time in loitering over the town, gaping and
staring about, and fretting and complaining because all things did not
come easy to his hand, had soon got rid of so much of his money, as not
to have enough left to establish himself and carry him through the first
year. I must own I could not help feeling strange in a new country, where
every thing was so different from what one had been used to at home; and
the difficulty of getting a female servant, and that a convict one, to
help my wife with the children and the house, trifling as it may seem to
speak of, troubled her sadly. I felt very queer myself among the
convicts; some with yellow jackets on, and some without, but all with a
peculiar look, as it seemed to me, with here and there gangs of a dozen
or more working on the roads with chains on their legs, and making the
place look, as I must confess, not very respectable. However, I had not
expected to find plum-puddings growing on the trees ready baked, and beds
of rose-leaves ready spread to lie on, as some did, so I plucked up heart
and set to work. My first care was to see all our goods and chattels
safely landed from the ship, and properly housed in a store belonging to
a merchant in the town. This I had to pay dear enough for. I was rather
puzzled to know what to do with my money, in a land of convicts, where
every finger was a fish-hook; but the governor allowed me to deposit it
in the treasury. As it was all in dollars, the weight was pretty heavy,
more than I could carry by myself, and I said jokingly to my wife that I
had sometimes read of the embarrassment of riches, but that I had never
felt it before. After all expenses of outfit and passage paid, I found
myself in the colony with 3,600 dollars in hand, being about £780
sterling, having purchased the dollars in London at four shillings and
fourpence a-piece. With this sum I had to set about establishing myself
in the wilderness.

I had now to turn my mind to the fixing on a place to settle on. The way
of obtaining land was very different then to what it is now, and, as I
think, the alteration has not been for the better. The mode of obtaining
land twoand-twenty years ago was thus:--

Before leaving England, I applied to the office of the Secretary of State
for the Home Department, by letter, stating my intention to emigrate to
Van Diemen's Land with my family, and requesting an authority to obtain a
grant of land when I got there. In reply to this I received a sealed
letter, addressed to the lieutenant-governor, and which, I was informed
on an interview with the clerk to that department at the Home Office,
contained the necessary authority. This letter, I afterwards ascertained,
was an authority to allot to me a grant of land according to my means.
When I arrived at Hobart Town, I waited on the governor with this letter.
The governor, whom I saw himself, and who was very kind in his
information and advice, made a note of my circumstances, of the amount of
my property, of the number of my children and family, of my views in
coming to the colony, and he dwelt much on the bonā fide nature of my
intentions to go on the land and work it. I told him that I had come with
the intention of settling as a farmer, and of residing on my land, and
cultivating it myself. At this time, in the year 1817, this class of
settlers was always specially favoured by the colonial government, as
indeed it was right and politic to do, for it was precisely the class
that was wanted in the colony to form its inhabitants of the interior, to
raise food for the colony, and to create establishments for relieving the
government of the expense of maintaining the convicts. It aided the plan,
also, of reforming the convicts, by removing them from the temptations of
the town, and of habituating them to healthy work in new positions, where
they would be removed from old habits and associations. Being one of this
desirable class, I was told by the governor that he considered me
entitled to as large a grant of land as was consistent with his general
instructions; and that he should allot to me twelve hundred acres. Well,
I thought, this was a good beginning. Twelve hundred acres of land of
one's own has a good sound and is a pleasant contemplation; but the next
thing was where to find them. There was plenty of land unappropriated in
the colony, but very much of it was bad land and in unfavourable
situations. On this point the governor said I must decide for myself;
"that there was much bad land in the colony, and that the good land near
the town, in any quantity at least, was nearly all taken up; but that if
I thought of turning my attention particularly to the breeding of sheep,
he should advise me not to be afraid of penetrating into the interior,
for that he judged, from his communications from England, that emigration
to these colonies would soon so much increase, that the difficulty of
stock-owners would be to get far enough off from the influx of new
settlers, so as to find sufficient range near their homesteads for the
feeding of their flocks and herds." And so I afterwards found it. At that
time, when land was granted, it was a free grant, or gift, from the crown
to the emigrant. This acted as a great encouragement, and I think the
various plans that have been adopted since, although well adapted to
raise the value of the land in the colony among the colonists, have had
the effect of preventing many persons of moderate means, but of practical
knowledge, from venturing to these distant regions.

As I shall have to speak of this subject hereafter, I shall not dwell on
it further in this place, but I have thought it right to say thus much,
as I was on the subject of shewing how I got possession of my own grant
of land. I got the order easily enough, as I have said, but I found I had
difficulties enough to contend against, and my first difficulty in
respect to land was where to fix on it; for I heard so many contradictory
accounts of the various parts of the country, every one praising his own
district, as fancy or interest dictated, that I was fairly bewildered,
and almost at my wit's end which way to turn my steps. But as the choice
was one that must be made, and that quickly too, I set heartily about it.
Leaving my wife and children, and her mother, who, though old, had the
excellent quality of being trustworthy, as comfortable as I could make
them in their lodgings in the town, and having arranged with a resident
family to have an eye to their safety in my absence, I put my gun over my
shoulder, and started up the country.



CHAPTER III.

RESOLVES TO LOSE NO TIME IN GETTING OUT OF THE TOWN AND ON TO HIS
FARM--HIS JOURNEY UP THE COUNTRY IN SEARCH OF GOOD LAND--HIS TALK WITH AN
OLD HAND--HE MEETS WITH A STRANGE PERSON AND MAKES A NEW
ACQUAINTANCE--MODE OF FARMING IN THE COLONY--AN ADVENTURE.

HOBART TOWN was quite still when I left it about five o'clock in the
morning, but the sun was getting up beautifully. There were only one or
two stragglers about. I fancied the air was beginning to feel warm
already, and the summer sun in Van Diemen's Land is no joke in a hay
field, though I don't remember that I was ever inconvenienced by it more
than in England. When I rose the little hill going out of the town I
stopped and turned back to take a look at the town I was leaving. I
certainly was much struck with it. It looked so like the BEGINNING of a
town, there could be no mistake about it. It was all interspersed with
the poles and scaffolding of houses being built, and it looked almost as
if a lot of people had come only the night before and had begun to set up
a city to dwell in. On my right hand, as I stood on the hill looking down
upon the town, was Mount Wellington, with thick, white fleecy clouds
hanging down from its top and concealing its head. All the space between
the town and the mountain was covered with trees and shrubs, having for
the most part a dusky green foliage. Nearly fronting me stood the
Government House, unfinished, and towards the left was the broad river
Derwent extending as far as the eye could reach to the south till it
joined the sea. Lying at anchor close in shore were two merchant vessels
and a few boats. It certainly was a magnificent sight: the noble river;
the fine harbour, allowing ships of five hundred tons burthen to anchor
within a stone's throw of the end of the jetty; the tiny patches of
cultivated land here and there, which seemed to give a hint of the
treasures lying unclaimed around, and requiring only tillage to reveal
them; and, above all, the air of sleeping enterprise which the quiet town
in the early morning seemed to be invested with formed together a
remarkable picture. I stood looking at it a good while, and wondering
what it would come to, when suddenly the bell of the convicts' barrack
yard was rung to summon the government-men to work; and it served to
summon me too, for I fancy that without being aware of it I was a little
loth to leave human habitations and plunge into the bush among the
natives. However, I was on a high road as yet, though not a very good
one, so after giving a little look at the spot where I knew my wife and
children were dwelling, I cast a glance at the priming of my
fowling-piece and marched on.

I met nothing between camp, as Hobart Town was then called, and New Town,
about three miles. I remember I felt very lonely; I had not warmed into
the work, and I felt all the hesitation which a man feels when he sets
out to take a journey without having first determined where he intends to
go. I was in fact a-seeking where to go, and looking out for some
information to guide me as to the point whither to direct my steps, with
the impression on my mind, from my experience in the town, that every one
would endeavour to deceive me as to what land was vacant, and which was
the best part to settle on. With all these anxious thoughts I continued
my way, passing one or two miserable-looking cabins by the road, till I
reached the ferry on the right, about ten miles from camp. Here the river
is still broad; about as broad as the Thames at Chelsea. At this place I
made a halt, in order to decide whether I should continue my road to New
Norfolk, about twenty one miles from camp, or cross over and take the
high road, such as it was, leading from the one side of the island to the
other, that is, to Launceston, on the banks of the river Tamar. I walked
down to the edge of the water, and talked to the ferry-men who were busy
about their boat. They all advised me to go on to New Norfolk, where
there was plenty of fine land, as they said, and a settled district. The
master of the ferry and of the inn belonging to it hard by, came up, and
I asked him what he thought. He looked at me a bit as if to measure what
I was worth, and shook his head in a very wise manner:

"You're a new settler?" said he.

"Yes," said I, "very new; and should feel much obliged if any one would
direct me a little which way I had better go to look for land."

"Much land?" said he.

"Twelve hundred acres."

"Not much for a sheep-farm, but enough to make a tidy homestead."

"I think it is; but where can I find a good bit of land?"

"Breakfasted?" said the landlord.

"Before I set out."

"Oh!--Well, I tell you what I should do if I was you; you had better take
up your quarters with me for a day or two and then I'll see what can be
done."

"And then?" said I.

"And then you can cross the ferry, and--"

"Thank ye," says I; for I saw which way the wind was blowing; the
ferry-men would have me go to New Norfolk to save themselves the trouble
of pulling me over for their master, and their master would have me spend
my money at his inn, and I doubt not advised every one, as he advised me,
to cross his ferry whether or no. So, thought I, I see I must depend on
myself; now if New Norfolk is already settled, that argues that it was
considered a good place to settle in when there was plenty of good land
to pick and choose, so I'll go and see what the place is made of.

"Good morning," said I to the landlord, who was standing looking at me,
and his ferry-men looking at him: "I shall see what sort of land they
have at New Norfolk."

"You had better wait till evening," said the landlord, "you'll find it
precious warm."

"I don't like to lose time."

"Take a glass of rum?"

"No, thank you, I never drink it." (The ferry-men grinned.)

"Or a glass of brandy?"

"No--much obliged."

"I've got some whiskey, real farantosh--: or Irish, with the true smack
of the turf in it? Or--"

"Thank you, I never drink spirits in the morning, but I should like to
have a drop of beer. Although it's early, I've had a longish walk--and a
little mild ale..."

"Beer!--mild ale!--Lord love ye, why you haven't come out here to drink
beer! and mild ale! have you? You'll find no beer up the country. Rum's
the stuff; that's our drink in this colony."

"Why, you have water, I suppose?"

"Water? Water! Oh! yes to be sure we have water; we always use it for
tea; and I can tell you, a cup of tea, with a glass of rum in it, is very
refreshing."

"I had rather have a drop of milk in my tea," said I.

"Why, maybe some would; but you see use is every thing, and it isn't so
easy to get milk in these parts, so that rum is mother's milk to us now.
Ha! ha! you'll get used to a settler's life by-and-by, rum and all."

"Well," said I, "barring the rum, I hope I soon shall;" and so I took my
leave, not over pleased with the conversation nor with the landlord of
the Ferry. However, it was his business to make people spend money at his
inn, and cross his ferry, and we are all somewhat selfish, I take it, in
our own vocations.

The sun began now to be pretty warmish, and my watch told me it was ten
o'clock. Thought I, if it is warm at ten, I shall be melted at mid-day;
but to New Norfolk I must go; so I put my best foot foremost, and strode
away manfully. In about an hour's time, however, the sun's rays became so
powerful that, not yet having recovered my habits of walking, I began to
give way; and I looked to the right and left for a likely place to rest
in. As I cast my eyes about, I spied a rough-looking man seated on the
ground at a little distance from the road, near a little rocky mount,
drinking water from a spring which oozed over the shelf of a little
platform of stone. Thought I, this is not one of your rum drinkers, as he
is soaking in the pure element with such gusto; but he's a queer-looking
chap too. It was the first of the species that I had occasion closely to
observe, so I may as well describe him.

His feet were enveloped in a pair of old mocassins made out of a sheep's
skin, with the wool outside, but much worn, it seemed, with travel. His
legs were bare. A pair of very old knee breeches, which once had buttons
and strings, but which now had none, encased his nether person. The
principal part of his dress was a frock coat of kangaroo-skin, or rather
of many skins, dried with the hair on, and presenting a curious variety
of shade from wear and dirt. On his head he wore a hat, if hat it could be
called, which once seemingly was black, but now was of no particular
colour, the crown whereof was ingeniously fastened to the body with the
fibres of the stringy bark tree, albeit that it permitted to peep forth
the ragged ends of some dry native grass, which its owner had thrust
within it (seeing that it was too large, not having been originally made
for him), to maintain it in a becoming and convenient position. A grizzly
beard, of a fortnight's growth, gave a finish to his ferocious
appearance. I surveyed this hairy individual with much curiosity, as I
advanced towards him, and with some mistrust, for there were bushrangers
abroad, and although this was not a likely place to meet with them, I was
strange to the country, and thought it best to be on my guard. I kept my
hand therefore convenient to the lock of my piece, with the muzzle before
me, careless like, but quite ready. My precaution, however, did not
escape the observation of the kangaroo man, who now turning his face to
me and looking up, said in a country-like tone:

"You needn't be afeeard o' me, Master. If you want water, come and drink.
Thank God, there is water in the country, plenty and sweet enough--except
where it's brackish. Drink, (seeing that I hesitated) well--I'll go
farther off; no wonder perhaps you're timid a bit.--If you'd a gone
through what I've gone through in this wretched country, you'd have
reason enough for it."

There was something about the man's manner and about his face too, though
the sourest-looking I ever saw, that made me feel there was no harm in
him, so I stooped down and had the most delicious draught I think I ever
tasted. I had learnt the value of water by my long voyage from England,
but I think I never, even as a schoolboy, enjoyed a drink of water so
much before. This mutual draught from the same fountain established at
once a sort of companionship between me and the man of skins, and we sat
down together by the side of the spring.

I could not help gazing at my new acquaintance with a sort of wonder, and
thinking in my own mind that he formed a queer figure in the foreground
of the arcadian scenery of the new country.

"You look at me."

"I can't help it," said I: "I don't mean any offence, but pray, do all
the people in this country dress in your style? I don't mean to say that
it is not a very proper dress, and (fearing to anger him) very becoming
and suitable to the country; but I only arrived a fortnight since, and
every thing seems strange to me."

"Not stranger than it does to me," said the man. "How do you think I came
by this dress, as you call it? Well--you needn't guess; I'll tell you,
I'm dressed by voluntary contribution."

"Voluntary contribution! How's that?"

"Why, you see, about ten days ago I was met by the bushrangers on the
other side of the island, and they stripped me of every thing."

"The devil they did," said I, and I clapped my hand on my gun.

"Oh--you needn't be afeeard--there's none on 'em here, and I hope you
won't meet any in this horrible country. Lord forgive me--I wish I was
well out of it. Fool that I was to leave my old master in Shropshire to
come out here to get land of my own. Ah--well--go farther and fare worse.
These rascals, these bushrangers, took every individual thing I had about
me, and kept me for three days to carry their baggage for them. The one
that took my coat, and a prime velveteen one it was, with plenty of
pockets, chucked his kangaroo skin jacket to me; 'here, my hearty,' says
he, 'is something to remember us by. You can't say we haven't treated you
well, for you have shared of the best with us, and we have shewn you all
the country.' These mocassins I got at a stock-keeper's hut, who let me
fit the sheep skin warm to my feet, and they were comfortable enough at
first, but now they are dry, they get unpleasant. But it's not long that
I'll wear 'em, for I'll go back home again to England, if I have to work
my passage. Heaven send that I was out of this horrible place! I do
really think it was made before the other countries were begun, and found
not to answer. There is nothing in it like anything anywhere else, and
what's worse, there's nothing in it to eat."

"Nothing to eat! that's a bad job; how do people subsist then?"

"Oh! I don't mean there's nothing to eat exactly; though I don't know
what one can get all over the country but mutton chops and dampers; but I
mean that the country furnishes nothing of itself: no animals, no fruits,
no roots. Now I thought before I came here, there must be plenty of fruit
in a warm climate; but, bless your heart, you may look a long time in the
woods for anything to eat, I can tell you. The only thing like a fruit
that I've ever seen, is a cherry wrong made, with the stone growing
outside. I did eat a lot of them one day when I was hard run, as I
observed the birds eat 'em, and a pretty curmuring they produced in my
inside; but that's neither here nor there. What I say is this: this is
the worst country, and the most dreadful place that ever man was in, and
all I wish is that I was out of it."

"I am sorry," said I, "to hear you give so bad an opinion of the country
I have come to settle in, Mr.---; you have not told me your name."

"Crab--Samuel Crab; that's my name, and that was my father's name. You
see I'm a Shropshire man, and for five-and-thirty years I was head
ploughman to Squire Dampier, at Dampier Hall. A good master he was to me,
and a fool was I for leaving him; but it all came from reading and
writing."

"From reading and writing!--how was that?"

"Why, you see, one day I was at the blacksmith's about a plough, and as I
had nothing to do, I took up a newspaper that was there (od rot the
writers on 'em) and began reading about the colony of Van Diemen's Land,
of all places in the world, what capital land was there, and what high
wages were to be got, and how much farming men were wanted, and
particularly ploughmen, and how you were sure to make your fortune there
quite out of hand like. Well, if ever I longed for anything in my life,
it was to have a bit of land of my own, but I never could get hold of it
any how, nor saw any likelihood of it. So, in short, I was seized with a
sort of fit to go to Van Diemen's Land, and go I would, spite of what
master could say. I had saved a matter o' 'bout a hundred and fifty
pound, and so go I did, and now I'll go back again."

I was a little damped to hear this talk from a real farming man, and one,
too, who had seen a good deal of the country, and I began to have
misgivings of the prudence of what I had done in leaving a rich and
settled country like England, for a new and wild region such as Van
Diemen's Land. My new acquaintance seemed rather of a dull and obstinate
nature, like most farming men in the middle counties of England, and was
likely enough to be prejudiced against the country after the mauling the
bushrangers had given him; but still I thought he could tell me what he
had seen, so as he seemed inclined to talk I went on to question him for
the sake of information.

"What system of farming," said I, "do they follow most in this country?"

"System? Bless you, you don't suppose they follow any system here. The
way they go on is quite disgusting to me; they know no more of farming
than a Londoner. They don't know how to grow anything."

"No wheat?"

"Yes, they do grow wheat--such as it is."

"Barley?"

"Yes: barley."

"Oats?"

"Not seen much oats: however, I believe they can grow."

"Potatoes?"

"Oh--plenty of potatoes."

"Vegetables? cabbages, peas, beans, and such like?"

"Yes: I can't say but they can grow'em; but they're too large to please
me, and I'm sure they grow too quick; besides, it stands to reason that
things can't grow properly with the soil just disturbed as it's done
here. A man in my country would be ashamed to call it digging. And then
to see what they call a field of wheat! I call it a field of stumps! And
where there's no stumps they don't do much better. They just put the
plough once through it, and there lies the sod turned up with the grass
growing on it; and then a weaver chap, or a London pickpocket, comes with
the seed in a bag, and oh, my eyes, how I laughed! he flings it about as
if he was feeding the chickens; and then another chap comes with a large
branch of a tree, drawn by a couple of oxen, and he sweeps the grain
about, and that they call harrowing! and when that's done they just leave
it."

"And what becomes of it?"

"Oh, first the cockatoos get a good bellyful, and then the parrots and
magpies have a peck at it. But it comes up at last."

"Well, that's something."

"Yes--maybe but it oughtn't to come up done in that slovenly way. It's a
shame to waste good seed so. And then when they do get a bit of land a
little--no not in order--but out of disorder, how they do work it, dear
me! What do you think a sort of cockney chap said to me at Pitt-water,
for I've been over there? Says I to him, 'Friend,' says I, 'how often do
you let your land lie fallow in these parts?' 'Fallow,' says he, 'what's
that?' 'You're a pretty chap to be a farmer,' said I, 'not to know what
lying fallow means. Why lying fallow means letting the land rest a bit to
recover itself for another crop.' 'Oh,' said he, 'our land in this place
never lies 'fallow' as you call it; we just put the same crop in every
year. There--that field has grown wheat for eleven years.' 'What, have
you had the cruelty,' said I, 'to put wheat on that bit of land for
eleven years?' 'To be sure I have,' said he, 'and shall grow wheat on it
for eleven years longer, if I live.' Master, you might have knocked me
down with a feather; I never before heard anything so horrid. I felt sure
at once, that no good was to be done in a country where creatures harrow
with branches of trees, and treat their land so cruelly. But it was worse
than that when I came to look more into it. I know you won't believe it;
they'll never believe it of me when I get back to Shropshire. This very
bit of land, that I've told you of, that the creature grew corn on for
eleven year without stopping, never had--no--not so much as a handful of
manure the whole eleven year. What do you think of that? Would any
Christian farmer in England treat his land so? Why, it's against nature!"

I now began to understand the sort of man I had to deal with; one of
those obstinate sons of the soil who cannot be made to understand that it
is possible to carry on farming in any other way than the way which they
have been accustomed to; and whose prejudices against innovation are so
strong, that they will not believe in the truth of what they see with
their own eyes, and wring everything from its true bearing to the backing
up of their own notions. Now that I felt at ease with my new friend, I
began to be amused with his oddity and obstinacy, and I thought perhaps,
as he had had some experience in the colony, and knew the country, he
would be a useful companion to me, though not very prepossessing in his
personal appearance.

"Well, Mr. Crab," said I,--"what do you mean to do now?"

"Oh, I shall make the best of my way on board-ship, and get out of this
miserable country as fast as I can."

"But to my certain knowledge no ship will sail for six weeks; what would
you do in the town all that time?"

"Ah--there's another horrid thing against the country; when a poor man
has been enticed over by all the lies of the captains and ship owners,
and book-writers, here he must stay till some captain gets as sick of the
country as he. What's to become of me for six weeks I'm sure I don't
know! To live in that wretched town is horrible, where all the people are
convicts, or worse than convicts, with their wickedness and extortions.
Only once did I go into a public house while I was there.

"And how did you fare there?"

"Oh! I'll tell you: 'Glass of beer,' said I.

"'Nothing under a bottle,' said the landlord.

"'How much does your bottle hold?' said I; for I knew it was necessary
to be cautious in dealing with these town chaps.

"'Just the same as in England,' said he, showing a bottle with Barclay's
bottled stout marked on the label. It's true--my heart did warm to the
beer, and quite forgetting to ask the price I said, with a sort of glee,
'Out with the cork.' It was out in a twinkling; that drink was a prime
one, I must say, if I never have another. 'Take a glass yourself,
landlord,' said I. 'With pleasure,' said he, and filling it slowly to the
brim, 'Your very good health,' said he to me. 'The same to you,' said I,
filling another. He filled his at the same time, without waiting to be
invited. 'How do you like it?' said he. 'Never drunk better in my life,'
said I. 'What's to pay?' 'Half-aguinea,' said he. 'Half-a guinea,' said
I, 'for a bottle of beer!' 'Yes,' said he, 'and cheap too; there's only
two dozen left in the colony, and you've just drunk one of them.' The
beer seemed to move in my stomach at this charge, as if it had got down
there by mistake and wanted to come up again. I said nothing; I couldn't
speak; I felt I was done. Had I paid the money in their paper shillings
and sixpences it might have taken off the edge of the mishap a bit. But I
laid down two silver dollars. The landlord took 'em up. 'Another
sixpence,' said he. I pulled out another silver dollar, he gave some bits
of dirty paper for the four-and-sixpence change, and I made a vow that if
ever I had the opportunity I'd sarve him out for it. But that's nothing
to what I've suffered in this abominable country, which is fit for
nothing but convicts and kangaroos to live in."

"Seeing how ill you've been treated in the town," said I, "and it seems
that the bushrangers have not treated you much better in the country, I
hardly know what to say to you. I'm going up the country to look for
land, but sadly in want of some intelligent person to advise me how to
proceed. It is difficult to get sincere information, I fear, from people
already settled, all being interested in advising you to take land either
near them or far from them as the case may happen to suit them. It is a
difficult matter for a stranger to know what to do."

"You're a farmer, I take it, by your look?" said Mr. Crab, inquiringly.

"I can't pretend to be a farmer like you," said I, "because I am sure
you're a thorough-bred one, but I know something about it."

"That's very properly said," replied Mr. Crab. "Well--I don't know,
master,--may I ask your name?"

"Thornley," said I; "William Thornley, late of Croydon, in Surrey: some
good farming there."

"Why, for London-farming, perhaps there may be; but you Londoners can't
be supposed to understand farming like us in Shropshire. However, master,
I'm thinking, that if you like it, I'll go with you over the country a
bit; and perhaps I shall be able to persuade you not to stay in this
villanous place, but go back to the old country, where people farm their
land like Christians. I suppose you don't mistrust me?"

"Not a bit," said I. "There's honesty in your face; so now, if you have
rested long enough, let us be moving."

"Come along then," said Mr. Crab, "and I can show you a way through the
bush, where, although rougher than the road, we shall be screened from
the rays of the sun."

One soon gets acquainted with one's fellows in the bush, where there is
not much picking and choosing of companions, and I and my grumbling
friend soon got pretty well used to each other. We strolled on leisurely
through the bush, and were within a short distance of New Norfolk, when
our ears were suddenly assailed by a confusion of sounds that startled
the quiet wilderness, and made us wonder what outbreak or disorder could
occasion such a furious outcry; presently we descried a horseman riding
with all his might through the trees beside us, now jumping over fallen
timber, then ducking his head to avoid the branches of trees, but in
spite of the dangers which he seemed ever to avoid by some special
miracle, still keeping at the top of his speed, and urging on his horse,
which seemed to be as much excited as the rider. Presently the cracking,
it seemed, of innumerable whips, making sharp reports like small
fire-arms, was heard around, and a straggling multitude began to encircle
us. We were lost in amaze at these strange proceedings but as this was my
first introduction to a curious branch of the agricultural economy of a
'Settler,' I shall defer the explanation of the disturbance which
confounded us to a new chapter.



CHAPTER IV.

HOW TO MILK A WILD COW--PICTURE OF A SETTLER'S DWELLING----MUTTON-CHOPS
AND DAMPERS--A SPARE BED "IMPROVISATISED"--NIGHT ALARM--SHEEP-STEALING.

IN the meantime the tumult increased, and the shouts of men and the
cracking of whips drawing nearer and nearer betokened a speedy
catastrophe. My kangaroo-skin friend seemed to regard with a sort of
scornful glee the burly burly around us. His sour visage became puckered
up into a knotty contexture, expressive of the most intense disdain,
coupled with a secret satisfaction. "Now," said he, "master, you'll see
how they manage some matters in this beautiful country."

"What can the matter be?" said I.

As I pronounced these words, a sudden crash of dead boughs and dry bushes
at no great distance from us excited in me apprehension of danger.
Instinctively I turned to the quarter whence the threatening sounds
proceeded, and stood ready with my fowling-piece against accidents. I saw
my friend Crab give a grim smile at this movement, as I was inclined to
do myself, had I not been, I must confess, rather frightened; for at this
moment I beheld a mad bull, as it seemed to me, making right to the spot
where we stood. The animal appeared to be in a state of the most intense
excitement, with its mouth covered with foam, its nostrils dilated, eyes
wild, and its tail twisted into that cork-screw figure indicative of a
disposition to mischief. I jumped aside as the creature made a plunge at
me, glad enough to escape.

"It's a mad cow," said I. "I suppose this climate makes cattle very
savage when they get worried?"

"Not madder than the people that are after her," said Crab; "however,
wait a bit till you see the end of it."

By this time we were in the midst of the crowd which was chasing the cow,
but I could not yet divine their particular object.

"What do you want to do with her?" said I to a tall thin man who had
ceased for a moment to crack his whip; "she seems terribly wild."

"Wild!" said he, "the brute is always wild, but she's one of the best
milkers I've got, and have her in the stock-yard I will this blessed
evening, if I raise all New Norfolk for it."

"I shall be glad to lend a hand," said I, "but I'm not used to the ways
of the country yet, and perhaps I might do harm instead of good."

But my aid was not wanted on this occasion, for at this moment a general
shout in the distance proclaimed that the victory was won. I and Crab,
with the tall thin man, the proprietor of the vivacious cow, immediately
set off at a rapid pace for the scene of triumph. There were about thirty
people assembled, among whom were one or two women. I observed that some
of the men were provided with ropes made of bullock's hide twisted
together, of great strength. I was still puzzled to know what was
intended by all these preparations. Presently, a farming man appeared,
with a tin pannikin of a half-pint measure, and a stool with one leg. The
stool with one leg looked like a design to milk the animal, but what the
tin pannikin was for was a mystery to me. Had there been a milk-pail, I
should have made out their object at once; but this piece of machinery
was as yet but little known in the colony. I continued to watch the
proceedings with great interest, when presently a man advanced with a
stoutish long stick, or small pole, with a hide rope forming a large loop
at the end of it; the other part of the rope he held in one hand in a
coil. Climbing over the rails of the stock-yard, which were formed of the
solid trunks of trees placed lengthways, about six feet high, he stood
within the space. The cow eyed him as if she was used to the game, and
without waiting to be attacked, made a dart at him ferociously. This did
not disconcert the man with the pole and loop, who, stepping aside with
the most perfect coolness and with infinite agility, let the animal knock
her head against the rails, which she did with a force that made the
massive pile tremble. This process was repeated several times, to the
great amusement of the spectators, some of whom applauded the
pole-bearer's nimbleness, while others were inclined to back the cow.

"That was a near go," said one, as the beast made a sudden plunge at her
tormentor, tearing off with her horn a portion of his jacket; "she'll pin
you presently, Jem."

"Never fear," said Jem, "a miss is as good as a mile. She is the most
cantankerous varmint I ever see'd: but I'll have her yet."

"What are you going to do," said I; "kill her?"

"Kill her!" exclaimed my tall friend; "what! kill the best, the nicest,
and sweetest-tempered creature of the whole herd: she's so tame, she'll
almost let you pat her, only she doesn't like to be milked; that always
puts her out. Now for it, Jemmy, that's the way; haul in quick, keep it
up--don't slack--hold her tight, now we've got her. Where's the foot
rope?"

Watching his opportunity, the man with the pole had succeeded in throwing
the loop over the animal's horns, and two or three men on the outside of
the yard, quickly gathering in the end of it, hauled it taut, as seamen
do a cable in getting up the anchor, round the thick stump of a tree. I
looked at Crab at this stage of the proceedings, and I admired the
expression of scornful enjoyment which his sour face exhibited. He gave
me a glance which said, without the necessity of words, "This is the way
they milk a cow in this country." The cow, however, was not milked yet;
to arrive at that conclusion, some further steps were necessary. The
animal was now standing with its legs firmly planted before it, its neck
elongated, its tongue hanging out of its mouth, and kicking with its hind
legs continuously. These refractory members were now secured by a loop,
into which they were dexterously insinuated, and half a dozen men
catching up the end, hauled it out, and kept it on the stretch, to
prevent her from plunging about. The creature, it seems, was now in a
correct posture to be milked. Crab gave me another look.

The man with the one-legged stool and pannikin now advanced, speaking
soothingly to the animal to be operated on, and using much ceremony and
caution in his approach. Seizing a favourable opportunity, he contrived
to squeeze a few drops of milk into his pannikin; but the sensitive cow,
outraged, it seemed, at this indignity on her person, gave a sudden
plunge, which upset the heel-rope holders, and, recovering her legs, she
kicked man, stool, and pannikin over and over. Shouts of laughter
proclaimed the amusement of the bystanders, and numerous were the gibes
and jeers lavished on the occasion. And now, the pride of the stockmen
being roused, and their honour piqued by the presence, besides, of two
strangers the witnesses of their manoeuvres, they set to again to manacle
the almost spent animal; and he of the pannikin, discarding the stool as
a womanly encumbrance, boldly kneeling down, with the determination of a
hero, and undaunted by the moanings and writhings of his victim,
contrived to exude from her about half a pint of milk. This triumph
achieved, the cow was set at liberty, the poles of the gateway were
withdrawn, and the animal bounded into the bush.

"Well, master," said Crab, "did you ever see a cow milked that way
before?"

"Surely," said I, "they might manage better than this."

"Ah!" said Crab, "this would be a tale to tell in Shropshire. It's worth
while to go back only to tell this much. But you'll see more curiosities,
master, as you go on."

"Come with me," said the proprietor of the cow, "and see my house, and my
farm, and my wife and children. I see you're a stranger (addressing me);
as to you," looking at Crab, doubtfully, "you seem to have settled down
into the habits of the place, to judge by your dress, though it is a
little queerish even for the bush. Where are you come from?"

"I am come from camp," said I, "to look for land, and this--(gentleman,
I would have said, but as I looked at my companion the word stuck in my
throat)--this settler--"

"Don't call me a settler," said Crab, "I arn't going to settle, as you
call it; the bushrangers and the convicts and the thieves of people have
settled me.

"Well," I said, "I met my companion by the way, and he has had the
kindness to offer to show me the country."

"You've come to the wrong place," said the New Norfolk man, "to look for
land; there's none to be had here. The land hereabouts is but poorish,
after all, and we settled on it more for the sake of the water-carriage
than for the quality of the land. But there's my house, just on the other
side of the water; cross over with me, and at any rate you shall have a
hearty welcome."

The river Derwent is but narrow at New Norfolk, but deep just below the
town, and very rapid. Its navigation ceases at New Norfolk, as through
the town and above it there is a succession of falls, and the country
becomes very mountainous. This settlement had been formed by the
immigration of about a hundred and fifty settlers in a body, from Norfolk
Island, which experience proved to be inconvenient for a colony, from the
difficulty of approach and of landing. The Government, in consequence,
had effected the removal of the colonists, and had granted to them
proportionate allotments of land on the banks of the Derwent, where the
emigrants had rounded the incipient town of New Norfolk. It was to one of
the farms thus called into existence that I was now introduced.

I cannot easily describe the feelings of interest and curiosity with
which I approached the place. I regarded it as a mirror into which I was
about to look for the reflection of the condition which in a little time
I was myself to assume. The golden visions in which I had indulged on
ship board had already begun to vanish before the rough realities of
settling in a new country, and it was not without a tincture of sadness
that I prepared myself for a view of a settler's farm. I will endeavour
to describe it as it existed twenty years ago, and as it may still be
found, in its material resemblance, in some parts of the colony.

I beheld before me a low building, which I afterwards ascertained was
built of the logs of the stringy-bark tree, split in half, and set on
end. The building was about thirty feet long, and whitewashed. Its roof
was composed of shingles; that is, of slips of wood about nine inches
long, four inches broad, and a quarter of an inch thick. These shingles
had acquired a bluish cast, from exposure to the atmosphere, and had a
slatish appearance. At one end of the house was a rough-looking piece of
stone-work, formed of irregular pieces of stone procured near the spot,
and forming the end wall and chimney. At the back of the building was a
tolerably large stack of wheat, enclosed with trunks of trees, forming an
occasional small stock-yard. At one side was a garden, paled in with
palings of the stringy-bark tree split into irregular rough boards or
pales. I could see in this garden the aspect of the most luxuriant
vegetation. In front of the house a small tree was left standing, from
one of the boughs of which was suspended a sheep newly killed.

At the sight of our approach, it seems, an attack was instantly made on
the carcase, as a man was busily employed in cutting it up. At the same
time, a sun-burnt, but very pretty face became visible at the door of the
house, and instantly disappearing, a hissing sound was immediately heard
within, proclaiming that some culinary preparation was put in progress.
At a little distance was heard the bleating of a small flock of sheep,
for evening was now set in; and from another quarter a team of bullocks,
urged on by a strange-looking driver, with an immense cracking of his
whip, and a prodigious deal of expostulation, slowly drew near with a
huge load of wood for fuel. We were in the act of entering the house,
when our passage was impeded by a tiny swarm of little children, the
eldest about seven--the youngest of the six being held up by the eldest
to greet its father. Each was provided with a thick lump of "damper,"
which had been served out to amuse them until the more substantial repast
should be prepared. The clothing of these urchins was of the lightest
possible description consistent with decency, and mocassins seemed to be
the prevailing fashion. They were clean, however, and cheerful, but
inclined to have a lanky appearance, like little weeds running to seed.
This, I ascertained afterwards, was the general appearance of the
children born in the colony.

"Any milk, father?" said a little lisping girl.

"Just a drop, my dear, for your mother and the baby. Where's your
brother?"

As he spoke, a slender lad, of about ten years of age, made his
appearance, with a grave and tired air. He came up to greet his father.
"Sheep all right, Ned?"

"Yes, father; we should have left them on the Green-hill all night, but
Dick saw two men watching the flock in the early morning, and he came
upon them again in the afternoon. He doesn't half like their looks. But
the sheep are safe enough now in the little yard."

"Now, Sir," said the New Norfolk man, "if you're inclined for supper,
come along."

We entered the habitation, which consisted of one spacious apartment,
opening into the air. At the end opposite the chimney a space was divided
off into two small bedrooms. Opposite to the entrance of the house a door
led to a skillion, which served for a kitchen; and it was from that spot
that the hissing sounds, now become more violent, proceeded. In the
middle of the principal apartment was a rough table of boards, on which
were disposed sundry tin pannikins, a few plates, with some odd knives
and forks. A gigantic green bottle, containing rum, graced one corner of
the table, and in the centre was set, as a place of honour, the pannikin
of milk which had been obtained by the united efforts of the
establishments within reach.

And now the hostess emerged from the back recess, bearing in her hands an
enormous dish of mutton-chops, which was quickly followed by another
dish, in which appeared a sort of doughy cake.

"I thought," said the lady of the house, "you would like a cake in the
pan better than a damper; so here it is. Edward, help the gentlemen; they
have had a long walk, and must be hungry."

This hospitable intimation was responded to by her husband, who forthwith
thrust out of the large dish three or four of the chops into a plate, and
handed them to me. "Help yourself," said he to my companion; "you're used
to the ways of the place. Where's the salt? No mustard?"

"The mustard's out; we must have some more from camp. And the salt! Well,
that is unlucky. I declare there's not an atom left. Well, you must do
without it, or we can send to Conolly's farm, not three miles off. I know
they've got salt there, for they were to salt down a bullock to-day."

"Don't trouble yourself," said Crab; "I've got some salt in my pocket--in
this kangaroo jacket, which the bushrangers gave me for mine. I dare say
they've missed the salt before now, confound them." With this he inserted
his fingers into a recess of his hairy garment, and produced a small
quantity of a blackish and gritty substance.

"Ah!" said our hostess, "that's come from Saltpan Plains. Well, any is
better than none. And so, friend, the bushrangers have had hold of you;
did they treat you ill?"

"They just stripped me of every thing I had got--luckily, my money was
left in camp--and made me carry their baggage for three days. No joke
that in the sun, I can tell you. But I saw a good bit of the country with
them. It's a dreadful country; all up hill and down dale. Scarcely a good
bit of land to be seen anywhere. I do believe that there isn't any twelve
acres in the country that would feed a single sheep for the whole year."

"You don't seem to like the country," said mine host, addressing Crab.

"Like it! How can any one like it? Who would live in it that could get
out of it? There isn't one single thing to stay for. Poor land; where
it's better, it's covered with trees, and they must be cut down before
you can get at the soil to do anything with it. And then the stumps!
Impossible to drive a plough in a straight line. And then, suppose you
have stock; if you have cattle, they start away into the bush, and catch
'em again when you can! And if you have sheep, they're driven away by the
thieves, and find 'em again if you can; let alone being shot at when
you're looking after them. As to the bushrangers, it's very pleasant,
isn't it, to have your house broken open in the middle of the night, and
every thing cleaned out of it, while you have the satisfaction of looking
on with your hands tied behind your back, and a blackguard pointing a
cocked musket at you head? Oh--the fools that come here deserve to be
robbed, and starved, and murdered. I say, serve 'em right for being such
fools as to come, and bigger fools to stay!"

The pile of mutton-chops was now discussed, and the ponderous cake in the
pan had nearly disappeared under the vigorous attacks of the party. Mine
host now turned to the bottle of rum.

"If we only had a lemon here, we would cook up a bowl of punch. But,
never mind, we must make the best of what we have got."

With this philosophic remark, he poured into his pannikin about a quarter
of a pint of rum, qualifying it with what seemed to me an exceedingly
small modicum of water out of a pail that stood by, and invited me and my
companion to do the same. Not being used to the liquor, I declined, much
to the astonishment of the New Norfolk man; but Crab, without any
hesitation, poured out for himself a stiff portion of the stuff, evincing
that in this particular he had condescended to conform with the customs
of the colony. I must not omit to mention that while our banquet of
mutton-chops was being enjoyed by the elder portion of the company, the
good dame of the house served out tea to the juveniles from an iron
tripod boiling on the hearth. A handful of tea was thrown into this
receptacle, and set to boil. The tin pannikin of each was then
successively inserted in the decoction, to which was added some very
dark-looking brown sugar. The unusual luxury of milk added an especial
zest to this refection, the imbibing of which was interspersed with
frequent and unceremonious attacks on the pyramid of mutton-chops, not
forgetting the cake in the pan and the eternal damper, the never-failing
accompaniment in those times of a farmer's meal.

Symptoms of drowsiness now began to appear. The young fry had long since
been stowed away in their various dormitories, and our worthy hostess
bestirred herself to contrive some place of rest for myself and my
companion. With this intent, her husband was dislodged from a sort of
wooden sofa or bench, and Dick was called in to assist in the
preparations.

"Have those kangaroo skins been sent into camp?"

"No, missis--they're in the hut--and they'll make a capital bed for the
gentlemen. I'll get 'em in a minute."

A heap of crackling skins was presently produced, which Dick, acting as
chambermaid, proceeded to arrange for my accommodation. A contribution of
blankets and rugs was levied on the premises to make up our beds, my
friend Crab being accommodated with a heap of sacks spread on the floor.
In this manner, after the usual compliments, we prepared to take our
rest. Crab, I observed, flung himself on the sacks without the ceremony
of taking off his clothes, and presenting the appearance of a huge hairy
animal of a nondescript character, soon gave indications of being sound
asleep. As for myself, fatigued as I was, the novelty of the scene, and
the excitement of the day's journey, kept me awake for some time. I
pondered on my first day's experience of a settler's life; the rudeness
of the cottage; the roughness of the materials about it; the coarseness
of the food, in the manner of serving it, as well as in its substance;
the slovenliness and uncouthness of the farming establishment, so far as
I had been able to inspect it; and a feeling of disappointment and of
insecurity which I could not shake off, all tended to sadden me. Every
thing was quiet within and without; the very dogs, watchful as they are
in this country, seemed to be buried in sleep. Gradually my thoughts grew
more and more confused as weariness overpowered me, and I fell asleep.

My rest, however, was not destined to be of long duration. About three
o'clock in the morning, I was dreaming that I was in Hobart Town with my
wife and children, and that we were exclaiming against the annoyance of
the ceaseless barking of the dogs. The barking grew louder and louder,
and my children, it seemed to me, began to cry, frightened at the
fierceness of the uproar. I started up to still them, and in so doing,
awoke. The dream, however, had been suggested by a present reality. My
host's dogs were barking violently outside, and the children were joining
in chorus in aid of the general out cry. The door of the house was now
vehemently assailed by Dick, the shepherd, and my host, roused from his
slumbers, was quickly on the alert.

"Master!" cried out Dick, "the sheep are out of the yard--there's
mischief abroad. You had better look to yourselves inside. The stranger
gentleman has got a gun with him--is he waked up?"

"All ready," said I, jumping up in the dusk, "gun and all; but what's the
matter; have the bushrangers attacked us?"

"Of course they have," said Crab, who had risen from his couch of sacks;
"of course! what else could you expect? Bushrangers, ah, to be sure! this
is a pleasant place to live in. But I suppose you won't give in, master,"
speaking to our host, "without a bit ofscrimmage?"

"Hope not," said the farmer, "it's bad fighting with the bushrangers when
you have a wife and children to defend. But I don't think it's them; it's
only some chaps after the sheep; but they must be cautiously dealt with,
for they don't mind giving you a shot when they're close run."

"What's o'clock?"

"It's a quarter past three."

"Ah--then it's not far from daylight. Rouse up the men, Dick, and call
the dogs in. It's not much use to follow till there's light enough to see
the tracks. Keep close, my dear (to his wife, who had huddled on her
clothes), while I'm away, and don't let the children stray about. This is
no bushranger's affair, but it's an audacious trick to drive away a man's
sheep under his very nose, I must say. I and Dick will follow the track.
Give me my musket. Where are the cartridges? That's right; I'll take that
half damper with me; we may want it before we come back. Dick, we'll take
Hector and Fly with us; let the other dogs be kept back. I wish the mare
had not run off to the bush just at this time. Well, perhaps we are
better on foot, as it's sheep we are after. Now, Sirs, I must wish you
good bye."

"Good bye!" said Crab; "not a bit of it. You don't suppose I'm going to
eat your meat and drink your rum, and desert you in this strait
No--no--I'll lend you a hand. Just give me a good thick stick, that's
what I'm best used to, and I'll stand by you. And you, master," speaking
to me, "you'll come too, won't you? Your barrel may be of use to us."

"I'll go with you with pleasure," said I. "I know nothing of the bush
yet, but I'll do what I can to help."

"Thank you both," said our host; "we shall be four men with two barrels,
and three men left behind to take care of the farm. We may have a long
journey before us, so prepare yourselves for it. Wife, get out a bottle
of rum; Dick, you'll have no objection to carry it, I'm sure; but play
fair, my man."

"Better take a couple of pannikins with us," said Dick.

"Right," said our host. "And, Dick, take a light tether rope with you--we
may want it. And now let no one speak; and don't let it be known, if we
can help it, how many have left the farm."

"I think it would be the best way," said the practised shepherd, "for two
to go to the right and two to the left, and meet at the Green Hill, so
that we shall be sure to cross the track; no doubt there will be plenty
of tracks; that's the trick of the rascals, but we must try to get on the
main one."

"Take the man with the kangaroo-skin jacket with you, then," said the
farmer, "and go to the left, and I and the gentleman will take the right.
And here, take the musket, that there may be a barrel with each party. We
must make the best use of our time, or we shall have no chance of coming
up with the rogues."

The day now began to dawn, and there was light enough to see where to set
the foot. Each party proceeded to its destination without further delay,
and I soon found myself with the farmer at a considerable distance from
the homestead. We kept near the banks of the river for about half a mile,
and then, turning to the left, the farmer began diligently to search for
the tracks of the stolen flock. I assisted him in his search as well as I
could, and we were both so absorbed in our examination that we did not
perceive, till we came suddenly upon them, on turning round an eminence,
a mob of natives, seated by a fire. They started up at our approach, and
the farmer laying his hand on my arm, paused, with some signs of alarm,
to reconnoitre them.



CHAPTER V.

PURSUIT OF THE SHEEP-STEALERS--MEETING WITH THE NATIVES--THE BLACK MAN'S
INSTINCT IN TRACKING--WALK OVER THE COUNTRY--FINDS LAND TO PLEASE
HIM--RETURNS TO HOBART TOWN WITH HIS NEW ACQUAINTANCE, CRAB--PROCEEDS
WITH HIS FAMILY TO THE CLYDE.

"THERE'S no harm in them," said the New Norfolk man, after having
examined the natives for a little time; "this is a town mob; you see they
have got blankets among them; but it is always well to be on one's guard,
for they're treacherous devils. Don't let your gun out of your hand, and
don't show any fear of them. Now we'll go among them; if I could make 'em
understand that I am looking after strayed sheep, they could be of use to
me I don't doubt."

While he was speaking, we advanced towards the fire, the natives standing
near us here and there, and gazing at us with a sort of cold, lazy,
idiotic look. Near the fire was the log of a tree, and my New Norfolk
friend motioned to me to sit down.

"Sit opposite to me--there--face to face, so that each may see what is
going on at the other's back, without seeming to take particular notice.
I'll try if I can make anything out of these fellows."

Three or four of the natives, meanwhile, re seated themselves at the fire
and resumed the meal which, it seems, our approach had interrupted.

I was a little curious to observe how these grave-looking black
personages were pleased to conduct the ceremony of their morning's
repast, and my curiosity was presently gratified. Being satisfied, I
presume, that we had no hostile intentions, they continued their culinary
preparations. A tall and slender young lady, with a ragged blanket
gracefully festooned about her person, appeared with a net slung round
her neck, in which was a large lump of gum. She handed this lump of gum,
about the size of a small cocoa-nut, to one of the men. Another lady
produced an opossum, which looked to me something between a dead cat and
a squirrel. The gum and the opossum were thrown on the fire, the hair on
the outside of the latter and whatever it had in its inside helping to
its relish. After the gum and the opossum had fizzed and crackled and
smoked a little time, one of the party snatched out the opossum from the
fire, and plunging his face into its entrails, enjoyed himself with the
delicacy for a brief space, and then threw back the remains on the fire;
another of the party snatched it up, and tearing the limbs asunder and
picking off the choicest bits, chucked the half-picked bones to the
ladies of the community, who stood behind them, and who received these
testimonials of affection with much submissiveness and respect, and with
considerable gratification.

"They don't seem to have much respect for the ladies," said I to my New
Norfolk friend. "These black fellows take the lion's share of the
breakfast."

"Oh, that's the way they always treat their gins."

"Their gins! what are they?"

"Oh, they call their wives 'gins'. You see, a native will have three, or
four, or five, or perhaps more wives, according to accident--sometimes
more, sometimes less; I rather think it's according as they can find
food. They make their gins work for them, and collect the little bits of
gum from the trees, such as you saw in that one's net just now. And
they're capital hands to catch opossums! I've seen a black gin get up a
stringy-bark tree after a 'possum as well as any one of the men could.
But they seem to have done breakfast. I must try now to get them to help
me after the sheep."

It is to be observed that the repast which I have slightly described
passed in utter silence, the natives eating voraciously of the singed
opossum and the hot lumps of gum without speaking or noticing us. On the
principle that it is ill to come between a fasting man and his meat, the
farmer had refrained from asking any questions or making any proposals
about his lost sheep, until the natives were free to attend to him. He
looked out, therefore, for the chief of the party, and the following
colloquy took place:--

"Much kangaroo?"

"Kangaroo gone."

"Opossum good?"

"Good."

The correctness with which these few words were pronounced by the black
man surprised me.

"Do they speak English?" said I to my companion.

"Only a word or two; but they are capital mimics; they catch hold of a
word and repeat it very correctly, even when they don't understand it."

"Sheep many?" continued my companion to the chief.

"Sheep many."

"Sheep gone," said my friend, pointing to a hill in the distance. The
black man shook his head.

"Find sheep?" said the farmer, accompanying the words with the action of
a man searching for tracks on the ground.

The black man turned to his companions, and said something to them which
we could not understand. The group gathered nearer to us, and chattered
together doubtfully.

"They have not seen the sheep driven away," said the farmer to me; indeed
they could not, as the job was done before it was light, and the natives
never move about in the dark; "but I think they understand what I mean,
and are considering about it in their way. See, the black chief with the
red cotton handkerchief round his neck is going to speak. I suppose it's
about the terms."

"Sheep gone?" said the black man.

"Gone!" said my friend; "can't find;" and he repeated the gestures of
looking for tracks on the ground.

"What give?" said the native.

"Now what shall I offer the rascals?" said my friend. "They are too
knowing by half; I don't know which are the worst, the wild or the tame
ones. It's astonishing how soon savages learn our Christian ways of doing
nothing for nothing. By the look of that black villain's face, he's
determined to make a bargain of it."

"I've some dollars in my pocket," said I; "I'm sure they are much at your
service."

"It's not dollars they want; they don't understand the meaning of money
yet; but they want what's as good as money."

"What give!" said he to the black functionary; "give bottle of rum."

The words "bottle of rum" seemed to be perfectly well understood by the
black creatures, but they looked to their chief; their chief looked at
them, and seemed to consider in his mind how much, after sharing the
contents of the bottle among his tail--to the number of about
twenty--would remain for himself.

He shook his head.

"One bottle," pointing to the group, "little."

"The old rascal," exclaimed my companion; "he's as hard to deal with as a
camp storekeeper; but he can do what I want if he likes, I'm sure; I'll
try him with another bottle."

"Two (holding up two fingers), two bottles of rum."

"Two," repeated the chief to his gang, pronouncing the words very
correctly. The natives looked irresolute; but the chief decided. "Two
bottles--little."

"We had better make a pretence of going," said the farmer; "then,
perhaps, they'll agree."

"Two bottles much. Good bye."

"Good bye," said all the natives together.

"Why they seem all to talk English," said I.

"They've all caught that word up. But we must have that old fellow to
help us. Confound him! But, however, I can water the rum, that's
something."

Turning round, we observed the natives still looking at us, as if waiting
for a last bid.

"Three bottles," said the New Norfolk man, holding up three fingers.
"Three big bottles of rum."

We were turning round to continue our way, when the black negotiator,
concluding that he had now arrived at the limit of the reward, called
out--

"Tree bottle--good!"

We stood still upon this; and presently four or five of the men joined
us. A consultation now took place between them, and after some
considering, the chief pushed forward a young slim native. "Good," said
he; "find sheep."

The farmer not approving of this substitution, shook his head.
"Pickaninny not good to find sheep. You," pointing to the chief, "you go."

"No go--gins!"

"Ah," said my friend; "he says he can't leave his gins. Well, I suppose
we must take the young one. Come."

The young native immediately stepped forward. He was completely naked.
The weather, to be sure, was very warm. His hair was woolly and frizzled;
his limbs clean and straight; but his whole body was very slender, with
the exception of that portion of his person which served as a receptacle
for the opossums and gum-balls with which he had recently regaled
himself. I could not help remarking on its extraordinary protuberance.

"These chaps are made to carry a good lot of provender," said I.

"They do eat enormously," said my companion. "Perhaps it is, that, as
their food is very precarious, they think it prudent to lay in a good
stock when they can get it; and so it swells 'em out a bit. But which way
is the fellow taking us? Why, he's going back again. Ah! I see he's going
back for the first track. Well, he knows what he's about; that's some
encouragement. Look--he's going to speak. No; he can't do that. But I
understand him; he wants to know where the sheep were driven from. Let me
see--where are we? Oh! there lies the farm, over that little hill.
There," said he, speaking to the native--"sheep there"--and, throwing his
arm away from it--"gone?"

The native considered a few moments, and then, without any attempt to
make his intention understood, led the way over a low hill that was to
our left.

"This will bring us near the place where we appointed to meet the
shepherd and your friend," said the New Norfolk man; "they will be
wondering what has become of us."

While he was speaking, we heard a distant sound, as of some one
hallooing, but with a cadence that was strange to me. The peculiar mode
of the country--whether hit on by accident or scientifically designed, I
know not--of throwing the voice to a distance in the bush, was new to me;
but I could make out the sounds easily enough. "Coo-oo-ee!"

"That's Dick and your friend," said the farmer; "they think we have
missed them, and they are trying the chance of our hearing them coo-ee.
I'll answer them."

With that he put his hands to his mouth, and replied with a loud and
shrill "Coo-ee!" His cry was answered, and, standing still, the native
seeming perfectly to understand the reason of the proceeding, presently
two dogs came bounding towards us through the trees; and in a little time
the bulky form of my kangaroo-skin friend Crab and the blue jacket of the
shepherd were visible to us in the distance. They soon joined us. "What
luck?" said the farmer.

"I think I've found the tracks," said the shepherd; "but I suppose we
shall be sure now, as I see you've got one of the natives to guide you. I
saw a smoke over the hills, and thought it was likely there was a mob of
'em about. Well, master, we had better put the black fellow on the track
that I've found, and then he can go right ahead."

The black man, however, refused to proceed in any other than his own way,
and continued to lead us straight to some spot that he seemed to have
fixed on as a favourable starting point.

"I suppose we have nothing to do but to follow him?" said the shepherd.

"Follow him!" said Crab, who had hitherto continued silent. "Follow him!
Now, isn't it a pretty thing to see us following a black fellow, to find
a whole flock of sheep that's been driven off in the night? Here's a
country to live in! A man lies down in his bed with a flock of sheep in
his yard, and when he gets up the next morning he finds all his sheep
driven off, the Lord knows where! And then he must get a black fellow to
find them for him! Well, if this won't make a man sick of the country, I
don't know what will. What do you think of it, master?" turning to me;
"you came out to look for land, and now you are looking for sheep; and
you'll find about as much of one as the other, I'm thinking."

It was very odd--but I must confess the truth, the excitement that had
taken possession of me had put out of my head my own particular business,
that of looking for a piece of land to settle on; and I found myself
embarked in an expedition with the New Norfolk settler after his lost
sheep, with as much keenness and eagerness as if it was an affair of my
own; so apt are we all to be acted on more by the pressing and immediate
circumstance than by the distant consideration. But I felt I was in for
it, for better or worse, and that I was bound in honour to go through
with it. I could not help, however, letting the thoughts that came across
me break out in words to my New Norfolk acquaintance.

"Well," said I, "I did not contemplate this sort of fun when I came to
New Norfolk; I came to look for land, and now it seems I'm turned
sheep-hunter or sheep-finder; but I suppose this is a part of the usual
adventurous life of a settler?"

"I'll tell you what, my friend," said the farmer; "I am much obliged to
you for your company and assistance in this matter, and the more so,
because it was done readily and good naturedly; but if you want to see
the country, you could not have a better opportunity than this; for you
are very certain to be led a pretty dance before we have done, and that
over parts of the country that neither you nor I perhaps would think of
penetrating into, unless compelled by the necessity of following the
track. So don't suppose you are losing time; rather you are gaining time,
for you are seeing, if you will make use of your eyes, more of the
country than most strangers do."

"Well," said I, "I was told before I set out, that a settler's life was
one of adventure; and this is a pretty good beginning."

We had now arrived at the margin of a little rivulet, of which there are
many in this country, a foot or two broad, and of the depth of a few
inches only. The native paused here, and seemed to ponder for a while.
Not being used to the bush, I had no notion where we were, and I felt,
for the first time, how easily those unaccustomed to the bush get
bewildered. There was the sun to go by, to be sure, and we could see
it--and feel it too. But wandering in the bush, and becoming lost in it,
seems to produce some specific emotion of the mind, by which the
faculties become actually stupefied and the wits lost. But I sha'll have
to speak of this in another place. The black fellow soon made up his
mind; pointing backwards and shaking his head, to signify that the sheep
were not in that direction, he continued his way to the left, keeping
near the little rivulet, and searching, as I observed by his eye, for the
tracks of the sheep. We continued to this line for some miles, till we
began to feel tired. Crab called a halt.

"This seems to be rather a wild-goose chase. Here we have followed this
black rascal for I don't know how many miles, and not the tail of a sheep
have we seen--and in my opinion never shall; for I'm quite sure he's only
leading us to a proper place for a mob of these devils to set on us, and
devour us,--the Lord help us! To think that this should be the end of my
mother's son! To be eaten up by those black villains--just chucked on the
fire, and before we're half done, to have them set their teeth in us.
Well, to be sure! master, what do you think of it? I'm for going back
again before it comes to worse."

"Go back!" said the shepherd; "never think of it. We must come on the
tracks some time. Why! you would never go back without the sheep! Three
hundred and fifty sheep must leave their marks behind them."

"But they don't," said Crab.

"Come on," said the farmer, motioning to the native to move forward. "It
would be a pretty joke to go back without any of the flock. Ah! the black
fellow has got scent of them--see, he is pointing to something on the
ground."

We now hastily followed the native, who, after rapidly continuing on the
track, suddenly stopped, and seemed to require some information, which he
did not know how to ask for.

"Go to him, Dick," said the farmer, "you know their ways better than we
do. Try to make out what he wants."

The shepherd approached the native. The native pointed to the tracks.
"Sheep," said he.

"Sheep, sure enough," said the shepherd; "but he means something that I
can't make out."

The native now, throwing his arms about so as to describe a large space
of land, said in an inquiring tone, "Sheep? sheep? sheep?"

"Ah!" said Dick, "I see what he's at now; he wants to know if there were
many sheep; he has come upon fresh tracks, but only of a few, and he
fears being led away after the wrong lot."

"Many," said he to the native; "little," pointing to the present tracks,
and shaking his head. The native, it seems, understood him, for he
immediately turned off at an angle to his left, and in about a couple of
miles we crossed the track of a number of sheep, which we now found had
been driven parallel to the river for some distance; the sheep-stealers
then turned sharply to the left, and crossed a part of the river where it
was easily fordable. On the other side of the river the tracks were plain
and fresh, and we proceeded at a rapid pace in pursuit. We continued our
course for several miles, when the tracks suddenly assumed the appearance
of a fork, part towards the right and part towards the left.

In this dilemma it was resolved that the farmer, with the shepherd and
the native, should proceed to the left, and that I and Crab should follow
the track to the right, and act according to circumstances. To this
arrangement Crab made no objection, as there was "as good a chance," he
said, "of finding them one way as another, although he had no doubt they
had been driven away by this time where nobody would find them; and if
they were found, so that nobody could know them, as they would be all
fresh marked and firebranded." And so we parted on our respective
expeditions.

I afterwards learned that the New Norfolk man recovered nearly all his
sheep, but I shall not stop here to relate the particulars. I want to
show how I got on my farm, and by what means a settler arrives through
difficulties and dangers to independence and fortune.

"Well, master," said Crab, "you have seen something of the country now;
what do you think of it?"

"It's a beautiful country to look at," said I; "but beauty of scenery is
one thing and goodness of land is another. A settler can't live on a fine
prospect; he must get his living out of the fatness of the soil under his
foot; but just at this moment, Master Crab," continued I, "I would rather
look on a good breakfast than any thing else."

"In that case," said Crab, stopping and speaking softly, "you have a
chance of something--look there, just over that log of a tree--don't you
see his head? it's a brush kangaroo. There, he's hopping off; now you've
a good shot at him."

I fired, and the animal gave a bound forward. "You've hit him," said
Crab; and, tired as we were, we set off at a run after the wounded
kangaroo.

The animal, however, hopped away at an amazing rate, and it continued its
course for more than a mile before it fell. Crab quickly cut it up, and
lighting a fire of the dead wood which lay in plenty about, we made a
bush breakfast and dinner all in one. The water of a spring close by
supplied drink; and Crab armed himself with the tail of the defunct, as a
supply, as he said, against accidents.

The chase of the kangaroo caused us to lose the track of the sheep, and
Crab proposed that we should cross over the country till we came to the
high road uniting the two extremities of the island. I assented to this
scheme, and after a toilsome march of thirty hours, we found ourselves on
the main road. A settler's bullock cart fortunately was proceeding to
Norfolk Plains, on the northern side of the island. We availed ourselves
of its convenience; and partly riding and partly walking, we arrived at
the large tract of level land known by that name. From thence we
proceeded to Launceston, and returning by the high road, we arrived at a
place called "Green Ponds," in the district of Murray. Here, at a little
public-house, newly set up, I heard of a tract of country lying westward,
on the banks of the Clyde, particularly suitable for cattle and sheep
feeding, which was the line I had a mind to follow. I crossed over, with
the persevering Crab, and lighted on a spot, which pleased me at once,
from the back run for sheep and cattle which it afforded.

Having fixed on my land, I hastened back to Hobart Town, that I might be
the first to apply for it. I had been away seventeen days, and it was
with not a little delight that I saw my wife and children again, for I
seemed to have been absent a much longer time. The very next day I got an
order from the governor to take possession; and I was informed the land
would be regularly surveyed and marked out for me by the government
surveyor, as soon as his engagements would permit, and that in the
meantime I might take possession and erect my buildings. My next care was
to provide myself with two bullock-carts, and two teams of four bullocks
each, to carry up such utensils and things as were absolutely necessary.

On consulting with my wife, I found that she preferred going on the land
with me at once, with the children, to staying in the town until I had
got some accommodation for her. Fortunately we had brought out with us
two good tents, one a pretty large one; these served us in good stead. We
were in a pretty bustle, it may be supposed, packing up and getting ready
for our journey. It was about fifty miles from the town to the spot I had
chosen. All our goods and traps being ready--and having had assigned to
me two government men, a bullock-driver and a farming-man--my wife, her
children, and her mother, occupying one cart, with the woman servant, and
all sorts of articles for bedding and use; and the other cart being
filled with utensils and tools, and provisions, we commenced our journey
on the 26th February, 1817, with anxious thoughts, but full of spirits
and of hope, for the river Clyde.



CHAPTER VI.

JOURNEY UP THE COUNTRY WITH FAMILY, BULLOCK-CARTS, AND CRAB--A STEEP
HILL--A NIGHT IN THE BUSH--ARRIVES AT HIS LAND--HIS FIRST CHOP AT A GUM
TREE.

IT is more than twenty-one years since I set out on this memorable
journey, but the whole scene is present to me as if it was an affair of
yesterday; and I remember well my sensations at the sight of my wife
perched on the top of a feather bed in a bullock-cart, with her old
mother sitting beside her, and the children higgledy piggledy about her,
enjoying the novelty and the fun of being dragged by bullocks in a cart.
There was something so droll in the set-out, and at the same time the
occasion was so serious, that my poor wife did not know whether to laugh
or to cry; but the tumblings that the roughness of the road gave the
children soon made them merry enough, and their joyous mirth set the rest
of the party a-laughing, so that the journey was a merry one in the
beginning at least. The old lady sat very quietly in her place, a little
frightened, but resigned to her fate. She owned, afterwards, that she
never expected to get to the end of the journey alive by such an
outlandish sort of conveyance, and she was like to be right in her
forebodings at one time.

We got on very well till we arrived at the ferry, for many years known as
Stocker's Ferry, about nine miles from camp. The bullocks behaved
admirably. These were all fine animals. I gave forty pounds a pair for
two pair. The other two pair I got for thirty-five pounds a pair; but one
of the bullocks was rather old and weak, but a steady worker, and a prime
fellow to break in the young ones; it seemed to me he took a pleasure in
it. Bob, who lived with me for many years afterwards, had the honour of
conducting the principal team, the first cart being committed to the care
of my other servant. I walked, helping the one or the other, as the
occasion happened, with Will, my eldest boy, now nearly ten years old,
for my companion. We had not gone more than a mile from the town when we
heard some one calling after us, and who should it be but Crab, who
joined us, terribly out of breath, and with an uncertain expression of
countenance which represented an odd appearance of habitual sourness and
present concern, which induced me to stop the whole cavalcade for a
moment, wondering what could be the matter.

"Well, Mr. Crab," said I, "nothing wrong, I hope?"

"Nothing wrong yet that I see," said Crab; "but I'm thinking, master,"
said he hesitatingly, "you're rather short-handed for what you're about.
You see, when one of the bullock-carts turns over, you'll hardly be
strong enough to set it on its legs again..."

"Oh, gracious! Mr. Crab," said my wife, "don't make things worse than
they are; you will always look on the worst side so."

"Why, ma'am," said Crab, trying to look gracious, "I don't like to
frighten the ladies; but it's always best to be prepared for what's to
happen, then when it comes it isn't so bad. So I thought I might be able
to help you a bit, as I'm used to the ways of the country, and see you
safe on your land; and I don't doubt that when you get there, you'll be
glad enough to get back again; and then it would be a consolation to me
to see you safe in the town again, and aboard ship, so that you may go
away home from this horrible place, which it's a shame to entice people
to,--poor, deceived, wretched, miserable creatures! Besides, I've taken a
sort of liking to your good man here, and the long and the short of it
is, if you like, I'll go along with you to your land, and lend you a
help, for you'll want it bad enough. What do you say to it, master?"

There was a real good and honest feeling in the man, which, in spite of
the rough husk that covered it, had given me a liking for him, and I
readily agreed to his proposal; telling him that I was heartily glad of
such a valuable addition to our company. He gave a nod, to intimate that
he considered the social compact as concluded, and then eagerly relapsed
into his accustomed sourness and sarcasm. He immediately began to
complain of the state of the roads, of their ruts and unevenness.

"Did ever mortal man," said he, "conceive the stupidity of these
road-makers? Here they take you right over the hill, when it would have
been no further, and much easier, to go round it. But no--the road must
be carried in a straight line, and so the poor cattle must be murdered in
dragging their loads over it. And then look at the stumps of trees left
in the middle of the road. A nice place, isn't it, for a gentleman to
travel in?"

"But you can't expect," said I, "to find things in a new country all
ready made to your hand; there must be a beginning to every thing."

"Then why do you come to a new country? Why can't you wait till it's an
old one, and fit for Christians to live in? Not that this place will ever
be fit for anything to live in but a convict or a kangaroo."

By this time we had arrived at Stocker's Ferry.

"What do you intend to do now?" said Crab.

"Cross the ferry."

"How?"

"How! why, in the ferry boat, to be sure."

"You'll be capsized--bullocks, carts, and all."

"We must take our chance of that."

After a good deal of trouble, we crossed over safe.

"Well, Crab, that job's done well," said I.

"Better the other way, and so saved worse," said Crab; "but, however, as
we are on this side, Heaven help us! we had better get on to where there
is water for the bullocks, for they begin to be distressed in the heat of
the day. They'll never be able to get these loads to the end of the
journey; that's my opinion."

With these pleasing prognostications as an accompaniment to our toil, we
reached Brighton Plains, where we made a halt, in a sheltered spot, by
the side of a little stream, and let loose the bullocks to graze. Crab
assured us that we might make up our minds to stay where we were for some
weeks, or days at least, as the bullocks would be sure to stray away into
the bush.

We laughed at his talk; and the children, glad to be released from the
confinement of the cart, made the little valley ring with their shrieks
and their merriment. My wife was as merry as any of them; and the old
lady was pleased to have proceeded so far, and to have accomplished the
much dreaded crossing of the river without accident. I thought even the
furrows of Crab's rugged features once or twice nearly relaxed into a
smile, as he witnessed the frolicsome mirth of the children, but he shook
his head with much gravity "Ah," said he, "poor things! let them enjoy
themselves; they little know what's in store for 'em."

We now called a council of war, and it was determined to wait till the
cool of the evening, and then make a vigorous push for the Green Ponds,
where a little public-house had been recently established. We arrived
there just at dark; and as the house was small, and the night fine and
warm, we preferred passing the night under our tents, which were quickly
set up. We secured the bullocks in a small stock-yard, close by the
little inn; and, with the exception of Crab, the whole party was soon
fast asleep. That indefatigable individual insisted that we should be
attacked by the bushrangers; and he remained therefore on watch, to give
the alarm.

Nothing occurred, however; and, by four o'clock in the morning, we were
all a-foot, and ready to start. We proceeded in due order for about four
miles on the high road. We had then to turn to the left, westward, on our
way to the place of our destination. Crossing the narrow river Jordan at
an awkward ford, which would have been of difficult accomplishment at any
other than the summer season, we continued our way with much precaution,
as there was no marked road, and the track was not always very plain.

After a few miles' progress, we arrived at the foot of the Den Hill--part
of a ridge of mountainous hills, extending to the left. On the right
was a smiling valley, watered by a little stream. The appearance of the
ascent before us was very formidable; it is not very much better now; but
at that time the country was little known, and an untravelled road always
appears, the first time, longer and worse than it is. Here we made
another halt, to gather up courage to face the ascent, and to recruit the
strength of the cattle and their drivers. Crab loo