THE GOLD-FIELDS OF NEW SOUTH WALES.
-- THE STEAMER.
FROM OUR SPECIAL COMMISSIONER
No. 1.
"THERE'S the second bell!" "Get on board!" "Goodbye!" "Pleasant journey!"
"Pleasant Voyage!"
and at the last of these farewell greetings I turned my eyes
upward to the skies, where the black clouds, banked up heavily in the S.W., gave promise
of anything but a pleasant voyage to me. However, I shouldered my luggage manfully,
and a few minutes found me safely stowed on the deck of the New H. R. S.N.Co.'s vessel
Williams. Captain -- I really do not know, for, as the sequel will show, I had but few
opportunities of making his acquaintance. Now, there goes the third bell; "farewell" is
again wished me by friends on shore, everybody seems to be rushing madly about the
vessel, pulling ropes in every possible direction; then men in the boat and men on the pier
shout wildly at each other, apparently in some unknown tongue; then the steam that has
been roaring everybody deaf suddenly ceases, then a splash from the paddles -- another
-- and another -- and at last we are fairly off.
And now we amuse ourselves by watching the lights on shore, guessing from their
position the localities that they illumine. Miller's Point, Dawes' Point, and Pinchgut are
soon passed, and now we round Bradley's Head. It is evidently blowing heavily outside,
and the motion of the vessel, even here, is not exactly comfortable. I am standing in
conversation with a gentleman who is very amiably pointing out to me all the famous
places in the harbour. We have passed the Lightship, and whilst listening to a
topographical description of the Sow and Pigs, the vessel gives a roll that nearly throws
me off my legs. "Ah,"
says my amiable friend, "We are opening the
Heads."
That first roll cleared the deck of passengers, only my descriptive
companion, a tall melancholy young man, cased from head to foot in caoutchouc, and
myself remaining on deck. We rolled, and rolled, and rolled, till we rolled outside the
Heads, and then my talkative friend, in a state of intense excitement, jumped upon the
seat, and informed me that the --, some steamer -- for I was in no state of mind, or
rather of stomach, to heed names -- was passing. To oblige him, I got up to look, and --
the rest of the passage to Newcastle was a frightful blank, and whether we went round by
Cape Horn or touched at Melbourne, I cannot say; all I know is, that I suffered a six
months' agony intensified into that short passage from Sydney Heads to Newcastle.
Reader, were you ever sea sick? Did you ever feel that absolute prostration of all nerve
and energy that leaves the poor suffering wretch rolling in the scuppers, soaked by the
spray above and by the deck water below, and yet with no wish but to be left alone? But
if you did, you would only laugh, for no misery leaves so light a trace behind it as does
sea sickness; and the man who has suffered yesterday will jeer at his friend to-morrow.
I was lying in a state of semi-consciousness, wondering whether it were one o'clock a.m.,
or noon, and whether there was any probability of our ever arriving at our destination,
when a sudden stillness in the ship and the stoppage of that grinding sensation in the head
that the thump-thump of the paddle-wheels causes, gave me courage to lift up my head.
The sun was shining cheerily down through the skylight windows, and the vessel
appeared to have arrived at something like sobriety of movement; so, though not without
some misgivings as to the result, I once more trusted myself upon my feet, and found to
my amazement that I could stand. This point having been clearly and unmistakably
established, all the rest was easy, and I was soon bustling about the deck as busily as
anybody in the vessel.
"Been sick, Sir?" "Hem! Y-e-e-s, a little!"
Strange that you never can get a man
honestly and straightforwardly to confess that he has been very sea-sick. It is a point I
never could understand, but, so it is that every one denies and utterly repudiates the
possibility of his being very sea sick; and your dearest friend if you press him on the
point, will become irate at the suspicion.
Newcastle -- whether it were by reason of the peculiar state of my nerves and stomach,
or whether the early hour may have had something to do with it, I will not say -- but
certainly Newcastle seemed very sleepy that morning. It looked as if the inhabitants had
gone to bed and forgotten to get up again. The men on shore that the men in the steamer
shouted to, didn't halloo back again, as they did in Sydney; and the casting line was
thrown three or four times before the yawning gentlemen ashore could catch it. It is a
pretty looking town, so far as it could be seen from the decks of the steamer, and from
that point of view it has the appearance of being built on the side of a precipitous hill.
Nobby's-island as it used to be, but now degraded into a mere promonotory by the break-
water or causeway which joins it to the main land, and forms the standing grievance of
the Newcastle folks, from its always wanting something done to it, or from something
that has been done not having been done properly, -- Nobby's is a prominent feature in
the view of Newcastle, and as the vessel draws off the shore, on her departure up the
Hunter, helps to form a very pleasing picture worthy the artist's pencil. Exposed to the
wildest fury of the waves, which burst thundering upon her face, or crawl insidiously up
her crags, and the waves breaking in huge rollers on the sand bank at her foot, Nobby's
forms the left of the picture; Newcastle, with its houses apparently terraced on the face of
a verdant hill, and sloping down at a lengthened angle until joined by the causeway to
Nobby's, forms the centre; whilst to the right are the coal wharves, with the colliers lying
thick as bees waiting their turns to come under the schutes for their loading, and the dark
swampy flats, over which the roofs of the railway buildings are barely discernible, though
the line of rail is traceable by the puffs of steam that rise from some locomotive at work
upon the line. This portion of the picture is backed by dark and frowning ranges,
gradually receding until they become blue and indistinct in the distance.
After waiting the usual time to discharge and take in cargo, the good ship Williams once
more set in motion, and turned her head up the Hunter. Luckily it was close upon high
water, and there was no difficulty about the flats. The banks of the Hunter are the same
all the way up to Morpeth, and are low and swampy throughout. Numerous farms are
visible, many of them having a peculiarly neat and English-like appearance. Slab huts, in
the regular bush style, are erected here and there along the banks on either side. At almost
each of them trolloping women, with flat straw bonnets, were to be seen washing -- I
suppose it must have been on the Hunter River washing-day that I passed -- whilst
troops of children, clad in one garment only (a bedgown or pinafore, I can't say which),
rolled about the house fronts even to the water's edge, or stared open-mouthed at the
passing vessel. The nobler animal -- the males -- at these localities took things much
more stoically; three out of every five I saw were leaning their arms across the rails of a
fence smoking, and lazily watching our progress. This may be called the distinctive
posture of the Australian farming man. In England your peasant delights in sitting upon a
gate, if it will swing with him so much the more eligible, whilst the summit of the
Australian's idea of ease is to lean with his arms across the top rail of a fence and smoke
his pipe. There they I remained as long as I could see them, and there they stopped no
doubt till the next steamer passed, for these men leaning on fences have been seen by
passengers in every vessel that has gone either up or down the river. Farms, huts, ferries,
townships with streets evidently knee deep in mud, and handsome dwellings in the
distance were all passed, and at last we arrived at Morpeth. There I was packed into a
narrow vehicle, called, by courtesy only, an omnibus, and was jolted over without
exception the very worst piece of road in the colony, into Maitland.
Ten years have passed away since I last visited Maitland, and great changes have been
effected in both East and West Maitland during those years, though the latter has
improved to a much greater extent than the former. East Maitland is laid out upon a piece
of gentle rising ground on the right bank of the Hunter.
The streets are regular, but only passable in wet weather in mud boots. There are two or
three good hotels, a court-house, and a pretty church, but the ordinary style of
dwelling-house building is not remarkable for either taste or beauty. Neither are there
any handsome shops, the traffic being confined to stores, where everything in every
conceivable branch of trade is dealt in. West Maitland is divided from its eastern
namesake by Wallis' Creek, lying between that creek and the Hunter, on the very edge of
which many of the houses are built. The high street forms a very nearly continuous row
of houses from Wallis' Creek to the Long Bridge of over a mile in length. In this the
principal street are some handsome shops -- drapers, hosiers, saddlers, chemists -- in
fact, all the different branches of business that are to be found in large towns. There
appeared some little bustle in the streets -- persons passing to and fro, country
purchasers in gigs or on horseback, drays loading at the various stores, with all the signs
of thriving activity. The Episcopalian Church is a neat, unpretending edifice, though
rather small, and stands on the north-west edge of the town. The Roman Catholic chapel
strikes the eye of the stranger immediately on his arrival, from its lofty spire, towering
above all the surrounding buildings. It is erected almost in the centre of the town, and a
short distance to the eastward of the High-street. The Wesleyans have also a commodious
chapel in the High-street. The Mechanics' Institution is a neat and capacious building of
red brick, standing a few yards to the east of the High-street, and nearly adjoining the
Catholic Grammar School, also of red brick. The Benevolent Asylum I did not see, my
stay being so limited; but I paid a visit to the Hospital, which is most delightfully situated
on the rising ground beyond the Long Bridge, and altogether out of the town. It is a
two-storied building, the sick wards being on the upper story, and divided so as to effect a
classification of cases. There were only twenty-three patients when I was there, and I was
informed that the average number on the books was only twenty-five. It is well supported
by subscriptions, and from its cleanly appearance and excellent management, is well
worthy of that support. The hotels here are numerous, many of them being handsome and
extensive buildings. Steam flour mills are also plentiful, forming commodious buildings,
useful if not ornamental, to the town. I counted no less than three of these standing in the
line of the High street, and there are three or four others besides in different parts of the
town. The Long Bridge, a kind of viaduct for carrying the road across a swampy flat that
would otherwise be impassable in wet weather, is also worthy of mention, from the utility
and solidity of the construction. It is rather more than half a mile in length, and was put
up in the old convict times, a fact that renders its present existence in a useful state still
more astonishing. I ought not to omit mentioning that Maitland supports two newspapers;
one the Maitland Mercury, long established, and well known throughout the Hunter River
District, from the admirable style in which it is conducted. This paper is published
tri-weekly, and was deservedly popular with all classes, until on the occasion of the general
elections it gave offence to certain parties, and this led to the establishment of the second
journal, which was originally started in shares, but gradually fell off into the present
Northern Times, published twice a week. Besides the High-street there are numerous
bye-streets, in some very pretty cottages are to be found scattered about, these localities
being confined to private residences as the High-street is to shops.
Leaving Maitland by the Great Northern Road, to which however the term slough might
be more reasonably applied, I waded my way, up to the horse's knees in mud, to
Lochinvar, a miserable little village of some thirty huts, slab or bark, ranged irregularly
on either side the road, but yet supporting no less than four public-houses. Publicans,
blacksmiths, and wheel-wrights seemed the staple of the population, and evidently owed
their prosperity to the wretched state of the road in this vicinity. I don't believe that these
folks will ever petition the Legislature to repair the highway, for if it were but reasonably
passable their occupations would be gone. Between Lochinvar and Black Creek, the next
village, the road made some years back passes over Harper's Hill, a name somewhat
famed in days gone bye for the predatory exploits of bushrangers. In cutting this road
some very beautiful fossils and petrifactions were found in the rocks that were removed.
Whilst on this point, I may mention that very beautiful agates are to be found on a part of
Duguid's old run, near Black Creek; and that at Dr. Blick's farm, in trenching a vineyard,
numerous very curious balls of stone, quite round, and as large as an 8½-lb. shot, were
dug up. These, on being broken with a heavy sledge hammer, were found to consist of a
case of stone, about an inch and a quarter in thickness, enveloping a petrified mass of
mud, shells, sticks, bits of bark, wood, bones of small animals, insects, &c. One of these
balls would be well worth the inspection and study of a geologist. A few miles over a
road of red clay, luckily partly dry, brought me to Black Creek, thirteen miles from
Maitland. This village contains about eighty houses, four or five of which are inns, none
of them of any pretensions, they being all seemingly dirty and ill regulated. One of these,
however, at Anvil Creek, at the entrance of the village, forms an exception. There are two
steam flour-mills here, and several small stores, together with the usual artizans that are
most required in country places, the numerous small settlers that cultivate patches of land
along the banks of the creek and throught the whole of this district causing considerable
demand for their labours. By the way, there is an old bridge over Anvil Creek, that has
the reputation of being haunted, and even the hardiest amongst the Black Creekians will
not venture to cross it after dark for any amount of remuneration. The story goes, and I
believe is true in this one particular, that a woman was murdered there some years ago,
the body having been concealed under the bridge; and ever since then her "ghost
unblessed"
has wandered about the spot where it was separated from its body; but
only after nightfall, and then, with that incomprehensible fancy that sometimes
accompanies ghosts, with a lantern in her hand. Several persons have assured me that
they have seen the light, and the white dress of the ghost -- Why do ghosts
always wear white? -- but on approaching too closely, all have vanished, the ghost
doubtless being ashamed at being caught in such a foolish occupation.
On leaving Black Creek for Singleton the road is somewhat more passable, until it is
confined between the fences of the large and numerous paddocks that extend for eight or
nine miles along the road. Here the soil is alternately red clay, and heavy black loam,
both exceedingly tenacious of water, and consequently anything but a good foundation
for travelling upon in a wet season. The roads improve a little as they cross Patricks
Plains, on to Singleton. The town of Singleton has altered but very little during the last
nine or ten years. There may have been a few additional houses built, but if so they are so
few as not to be noticeable. The town is laid out on the south bank of the Hunter, and
contains between two and three hundred houses, some of them, principally hotels and
stores, being well built of brick or stone, whilst there are also some private residences off
the main road, that bedded in shrubbery and surrounded with gardens, form very pretty
pictures of rural comfort. There seems, however, to be but very little business going on,
the great events of the day being the arrival and departure of the mails. So much is this
the case, that it is now, as it always has been to me, a mystery how the different people in
the town managed to get a living. The settlers around Singleton are owners of large, some
of princely properties, and these draw their supplies direct either from Maitland or
Sydney. There is not here the struggling small settler, whose time is of so much value to
him, that he must seek what he requires at the nearest spot, and until such a class springs
up, by the dismemberment of some of the large properties in its neighbourhood,
Singleton may never expect to thrive to the extent that it ought to do, placed in the midst
of a rich and fertile country.
Crossing the Hunter River at a ford which is sometimes impassable from floods, and was
the scene of a disaster to the last Governor-General, Sir Charles FitzRoy, on his passage
through these districts, the road passes over a steep range, and then through some fine
forest country to Glennie's Creek. Here there is a very comfortable inn, remarkably well
kept, whilst a second is in course of erection, being the only two in the township. There is
a pretty little church across the creek, with a burial-ground attached, consecrated only the
day prior to my arrival by the Lord Bishop of Newcastle. Passing Glennie's Creek, also a
very dangerous spot in time of flood, eight miles of good mountain road brought me to
another inn, situated on the bank of a small creek, which was bridged over, and in the
midst of an undulating lightly timbered country. Seeing this creek, which, if bank high,
would barely carry away a man on horseback, so carefully bridged over, made me
ruminate over the extraordinary system that seems to have been pursued of erecting
bridges where they were but little needed, whilst spots where at times they are
indispensable to the maintenance of traffic, are left without them. However, I only throw
out the point for consideration, and shall not go further into it until I come to deal, as I
shall have to do, with the question of roads as a whole.
From this point to Muswellbrook the road winds up amongst heavy ranges, but is pretty
sound until it reaches the last range that overhangs the town. Here the soil is a thick black
loam, into which the horses and bullocks sink nearly knee-deep, whilst heavily laden
drays plough through it with their wheels sunk half way up to the axle. A sharp turn
through a little lake of water, formed at the entrance of the main street, introduces the
traveller to Muswellbrook.
Muswellbrook is a pretty town of some hundred and fifty houses, with the usual
complement of inns, some eight or ten. I noticed two churches as I passed along, as also
some very comfortable dwellings in the cottage style, surrounded with gardens, looking
as green and luxuriant as the late rainy season could make them. The courthouse is a
brick building, of some pretension, standing immediately on the high road, and erected on
the ordinary colonial courthouse principle, of a main building, as a hall of justice, with
wings on each side for offices. We knew the courthouse at once, from the fact that a
constable was sitting on its steps smoking, and because we never yet saw a courthouse in
the colony that a constable was not to be found hanging about it, and more often smoking
than otherwise. The town itself is a long straggling place, the chief part of the houses
being immediately on the road side, though some few stand back at some distance from it
on what possibly may be meant for streets. A good strong wooden bridge crosses the
brook which divides the town into two parts, the larger being on the Maitland or southern
side of the stream. Though a heavy slushy road, the greater portion of which is the heavy
black soil I have described, diversified with a range here and there, I next reach Aberdeen,
a very small village with only one inn -- though a second is even now in course of
erection. It contains some dozen houses and a church, which is well attended by the
people of the surrounding district. On quitting Aberdeen I had again to cross the Hunter,
though this time at the expense of a wetting. The river had risen considerably and the
water being over my horse's saddle flaps, I could not save my feet and legs, and
consequently had to suffer a partial cold bath, on an exceedingly cold and frosty morning
half an hour before sunrise. However, there was no help for it, and I had to bear up in the
best way I could against the biting cold until I reached Scone, a distance of about eight
miles.
Scone is a long straggling village, about the same size as Muswellbrook, and has nothing
particular about it to render it remarkable. It contains one or two good inns, a courthouse
and lock-up as a matter of course, and two or three stores; the greater part of the
dwellings being of slabs, in the true bush style. It is pleasantly situated in the valley
of the Hunter, the ranges which feed the stream forming a dark back ground to the west. On
leaving Scone, I again crossed the Hunter, but here it had dwindled down to a mere brook,
and then the road gradually mounted up the steep ranges, which now began to gather in
on the right and left, threatening at times almost to impede the path, as some black mass
of mountain steeper than ordinary, came down boldly to the very edge of the rood.
Winding in and out across the points of some edges and round the foot of others, but still
constantly ascending, I at last reached the Highland Home Inn, a snug little spot, the
house almost buried in a mass of vegetation, and nestled down amongst the heavy
mountains that mark the head of the Hunter. The air in this high region came fresh and
scented from the hill sides down which it drew in a steady breeze. The amount of land
available for cultivation is but limited, but what there is is of the richest description from
the deposits that it has been for ages receiving from the ranges around it. Turning my
back with regret upon this beautiful mountain home, its rich vegetation, and its fragrant
air, I again made my way to the northward, and a few miles brought me by good, though
ascending, road to the foot of the pass at Warland's Ranges. Here the road goes boldly up
the face of a precipitous spur of the ridge, at an angle of fully forty degrees at one spot,
whilst it looks so very steep from the base of the hill, as to cause one to wonder how the
bullock-teams, with their load of stores, can get up it, or how, with their loads of wool,
they can get down it without coming down with a run and being crushed to pieces.
From the crest of this pass, which is not above a dozen paces across, I looked on either
side down upon the country. To the south the valley of the Hunter was traceable for some
distance, by the line of lofty ranges that overhang it; but the numerous intervening ridges
prevented a more extended or particular view. This was still more the case to the north,
where range rose over range in such grand and towering masses as to shut out all but
themselves from my curious eye. The road now gradually descended, in gradients far less
heavy than marked the ascent, until at last it reached the valley of the Page.