surely never morning contained so many hours as did this one. never before, in all my varied experience, had i felt time to be so leaden-footed. for, do what i would, the thought that at the last moment some hindrance would arise and prevent me from following all my earthly possessions would not be put aside. my good old friend, the steward, noted my nervous condition, and at last called me into the pantry and asked me, in kindly, serious tones, what was the matter. in a few broken words i told him all, so fully did i trust him. he was silent for a couple of minutes, then he said, "well, tommy, my boy, i'm sorry you'se gwine; but i couldn't wish to keep ye here. it's no place for ye. and, alldough i'm 'fraid i'm not doin' de right ting to let ye go, i cain't fine it in me heart to stop ye. i only hope you'll be a good boy an' do well, and i shall pray god to bless ye. i don't s'pose you've got any money, so here's ten dollars for ye. don't let anybody know you've got it, or you'll be sure to get it stole; an' if de times should be bad in sydney it'll keep ye fur a while. good-bye, my son." and with that he kissed me. that broke me all up. i declare that, never since i lost my dear old aunt, had i ever felt the genuine thrill of human affection as i felt it then at the touch of that good old coloured man, whose memory i shall cherish as long as i live.

at last the whistle sounded for dinner, and, almost immediately after, i heard the hoarse notes of the wonga wonga's warning that she was ready to depart. like an eel i glided over the side, and off up the pier i ran, catching a glimpse between the trucks of the grim figure of captain collier as he prowled up and down the sacred limits of his poop. when i reached the steamer, she was in a great state of bustle. a host of passengers with their baggage were embarking, and it was one of the easiest of tasks to slip on board unnoticed. i rushed below to the cook's quarters, finding him in the thick of preparations for the saloon dinner. hardly looking at me, he uttered a few hurried instructions: the purport of them being that i must creep down through a dim alleyway into the chain-locker, and there remain until he should send for me. at the same time he gave me a hunk of bread and meat. then it dawned upon me that i was nothing but a "stowaway" after all, especially as he whispered a final command to me not to mention his name upon any account. it was a shock indeed, but there was no place for repentance; i had burned my bridges. so wriggling through the dark crevice he had indicated, i wormed my way along until i reached the chain-locker, where i made myself as comfortable as the rugged heaps of chain-cable would allow. overhead i heard, as if at an immense distance, the hurry-scurry of departure, and presently, that all-pervading vibration following the deep clang of the engine-room gong that told me we were off. satisfied, so far, that i was unlikely to return, i went to sleep, and, despite the knobby nature of my couch, slumbered serenely. how long i had thus been oblivious of my strange surroundings i don't know, but it suddenly occurred to me that some one was pulling my legs as they protruded beyond the bulkhead of the chain-locker.

"sailor-man, by his boots, sir!" said a gruff voice, answered by another, "all right, rouse him up!" roused up i was accordingly, and, sliding forward, i confronted an elderly man in uniform, whom i took to be the mate, and a stalwart fellow in a guernsey—apparently a quarter-master. in answer to their inquiries, i told them that i had run away from an american ship at sandridge, and, being anxious to get to sydney, had stowed away. "why didn't you come and ask me for a passage?" said the officer. "i didn't dare to risk a refusal," i answered. "don't you know you can be punished for stowing away?" queried my interlocutor, severely. "no, sir," i replied, "an' i don't care much. i'm satisfied to know that, unless you head me up in a beef-cask and throw me overboard, i shall get to sydney anyhow." at this impudent reply he frowned a little; but being, as i afterwards found, one of the best-tempered men in the world, he merely said, "well, come along on deck and we'll see if we can't find you something to do."

thenceforward i was regarded as one of the crew, and very pleased i was to find things turn out so comfortably. on the third day out we arrived off sydney heads, and went up the magnificent bay to the city amid scenes of loveliness that i do not believe can be surpassed by any harbour in the wide world. mr. white had kept me at arm's length all the passage, apparently prepared to deny all knowledge of me should i show any signs of discovering our bargain to any one; but now, as we neared the a.s.n. company's wharf, he called me to him and endeavoured to make me believe that my good treatment was entirely owing to his having interested himself on my behalf. i didn't believe a word he said, but i had thoroughly learned how unwise it was to make enemies needlessly, so i pretended to be grateful for his protection. he inquired what my plans were, and, finding that i had none, offered me the hospitality of his home until he should be able to find me a berth in one of the steamers. this offer i accepted, feeling glad to have somewhere to go to as well as to avoid the necessity of breaking into my little stock of money. so we parted for the time on the best of terms, and i returned to my work until knock-off time, when it was understood that i was to accompany him ashore. while i was washing i was agreeably surprised to be called by the mate, who with great kindness presented me with a sovereign, and promised to do his best to get me a berth as lamp-trimmer. he also gave me some good advice as to the company i got into, warning me to beware of the larrikins that infested certain quarters of the town. i thanked him as earnestly as i was able, telling him that i was going to lodge for the present with one of the crew, and, bidding him good-bye, went down the gangway and through the warehouse to wait for the cook as we had arranged. he soon joined me, followed by his two mates bearing my chest, which was put upon a lorry and conveyed up town. i found his wife a kindly, slatternly white woman, and his home a weather-board house in lower york street, with hardly any pretensions to comfort. still, i reasoned, it would do for the time as well as any other place i should be likely to find, and, from the stories i had heard of "down town" sydney, was probably a great deal safer.

i spent a week ashore wandering wherever i had a mind to, and seeing the beautiful place thoroughly; but i made no acquaintances. one thing was early impressed upon my mind, and subsequent experience only confirmed my belief, that sydney was the most shamelessly immoral place i had ever seen. that, of course, was twenty-seven years ago, so may not be at all the case to-day. at the end of the week i was overjoyed to get a berth, without anybody's assistance, as lamp-trimmer on board a pretty little steamer, called the helen m'gregor, that ran regularly between sydney and the town of grafton on the clarence river, calling at newcastle and sundry places on the river en route. by closely observing the duties of the "lamps" on board the wonga wonga, i had been fairly well prepared to take such a berth; but i thought, with a bitter smile, how little my sailorizing would avail me now. still, the wages were two pounds ten shillings per month, the same as the a.b.'s had been paid on the outward passage, so i was well content.

my lamp-room was a mere cupboard by the side of the funnel, on deck, and just abaft the galley. to do my work i had to kneel on a hot iron plate in front of the said cupboard, exposed to whatever weather was going. but the cook had all my sympathies. in his tiny caboose he had to prepare meals for seventy or eighty people, while all his pastry-making, butchering, etc. (for we carried live sheep and fowls with us), must needs be done on deck. now the vessel, though exceedingly pretty to look at in harbour, was utterly unfit to cope with the tremendous seas that sweep along the eastern shores of australia. somewhere, in one of henry kingsley's books (the "hillyars and burtons," i think), he speaks of a little steamer climbing one of those gigantic seas like a bat clinging to a wall. that was a common experience of ours. her motions were frightful. i have seen every soul on board sea-sick while she crawled up, up, up one mountainous wave after another, plunging down into the abysses between them as if she would really turn a complete summersault. everybody was black and blue with being flung about, and the passengers, who had perforce to be battened down in the sweltering saloon, or second cabin, suffered misery untellable. yet even that wretchedness had its ludicrous side. to see our fierce little hunchback cook astride of a half-skinned sheep, to which he held on with a death-like grip, his knife between his teeth and a demoniacal glare in his eye, careering fore and aft in a smother of foam, surrounded by the débris of the preparing dinner, made even men half dead with fatigue and nausea laugh. but it was terrible work. as for me, i got no respite at all at night. for i had to keep the lamps burning; and she thought nothing of hurling both the big side-lanterns out of their slides on deck, or shooting both binnacle-lights at once into the air, leaving the helmsman staring at a black disc instead of the illuminated compass-card. and often, as i painfully made my way forrard with the side-lights, after a long struggle with wetted wicks and broken glass, she would plunge her bows under a huge comber, lifting a massive flood over all, which seized me in its ruthless embrace and swept me, entangled with my burden, the whole length of the deck, till i brought up against the second-cabin door right aft, with a bang that knocked the scanty remnant of breath out of my trembling body. down in the engine-room the grey-headed chief-engineer stood by the grunting machinery, his hand on the throttle-valve, which he incessantly manipulated to prevent the propeller racing the engines out of their seats whenever she lifted her stern out of the water and the screw revolved in thin air. for the old-fashioned low-pressure engines had no "governor," and consequently, no automatic means of relieving the terrific strain thrown upon them in such weather as this. and the firemen, who had to keep steam up, though they were hurled to and fro over the slippery plates like toys, were probably in the most evil case of all.

she must have been staunchly built, for she bore the fearful buffeting without any damage worth speaking of, except to the unfortunates who were compelled to attend to their duties under such difficulties. and after the gale blew itself out, and the glorious sun mounted triumphantly in the deep blue dome above, the scene was splendid beyond description. we always kept fairly close in with the land, except when crossing a deep bight, and the views we obtained of the magnificent scenery along that wonderful coast were worth enduring a good deal of hardship to witness. we arrived off the entrance to the clarence river just at dark, and, to my great astonishment, instead of going in, sail was set, the fires were damped down, and we stood "off and on" until daylight. as soon as there was sufficient light to distinguish objects on shore, we stood in; all passengers were ordered below and everything was battened down. all hands perched themselves as high as they could on the bridge, upper-deck, and in the rigging, while we made straight for the bar. these precautions had filled me with wonder, for i knew nothing of bar harbours. but when, on our nearer approach, i saw the mighty stretch of turbulent breakers rolling in mountains of snowy foam across the river's mouth, i began to understand that the passage through that would mean considerable danger. every ounce of steam we could raise was on her, and the skipper, a splendid specimen of a british seaman, stood on the bridge, the very picture of vigorous vigilance. we entered the first line of breakers; all around us[272] seethed the turmoil of snowy foam, with not a mark of any kind to show the channel, except such bearings as the skipper knew of on the distant shore. perched upon the rail, a leadsman sounded as rapidly as he could, calling out such depths of water as amazed me, knowing our draught. along came an enormous wall of white water, overwhelming the hull and hiding it from sight. "lead—quick!" yelled the skipper above the thunder of the sea; and joe screamed, "two, half one, quarter less two." ah! a long and grinding concussion as she tore up the ground, then along came another mighty comber over all. when it had passed we were over the bar and in smooth water, only the yeasty flakes of the spent breakers following us as if disappointed of their prey. a very few minutes sufficed to dry up the decks, and the passengers appeared well pleased to be in the placid waters of the river and at peace once more. what a lovely scene it was! at times we sped along close to the bank, while a great stretch of river extended on the other side of us a mile wide, but too shallow for even our light draught. on gleaming sand-patches flocks of pelicans performed their unwieldy gambols, and shoals of fish reflected the sunlight from their myriad glittering scales. turning a sharp bend we would disturb a flock of black swans that rose with deafening clamour in such immense numbers as to darken the sky overhead like a thunder-cloud. and, about the bushes that clothed the banks, flew parrots, cockatoos, and magpies in such hosts as i had never dreamed of. for an hour we saw no sign of in habitants; then, suddenly, we sighted a little village with a rude jetty and about half a dozen houses. all the population, i suppose, stood on the pier to greet us, who came bearing to them in their lonely corner a bit of the great outside world. our skipper, though noted for his seamanship, was equally notorious for his clumsiness in bringing his vessel alongside a wharf, and we came into the somewhat crazy structure with a crash that sent the shore-folk scurrying off into safety until it was seen to be still intact. we were soon fast, and all hands working like chinamen to land the few packages of goods, for we had a long way to go yet and several other places to call at. our discharging was soon over, the warps cast off, and, followed by (as i thought) the wistful looks of the little community of rocky mouth, we proceeded up the river again. occasionally we sighted a homestead standing among a thick plantation of banana trees, each laden with its massive bunch of fruit, and broad acres of sugar-cane or maize. from amongst the latter as we passed rose perfect clouds of cockatoos and parrots, screaming discordantly, and making even the dullest observer think of the heavy toll they were levying upon the toiling farmer. again and again we stopped at villages, each bearing a family likeness to the first, but all looking thriving, and inhabited by well-fed, sturdy people. just before sunset we arrived at grafton, having passed but two vessels on our journey up—one a handsome brigantine, whose crew were laboriously towing her along at a snail's pace in a solitary boat, and the other a flat-bottomed stern-wheel steamer of so light a draught that she looked capable of crossing a meadow in a heavy dew. there was a substantial jetty built out from the steep bank, to the end of which, after considerable fumbling about, we moored. the only house visible was a rather fine dwelling whose front verandah overlooked the jetty from the top of the bank. but, when work was done for the evening and i climbed up the bank, i was surprised to find quite a considerable town, with well-laidout streets and every appearance of prosperity. there was little inducement to remain, however, and i soon hurried on board again to enjoy some grand fishing over the side.

here we remained for a week discharging our cargo and reloading with maize, cases of preserved beef and mutton, and bags of tin ore. just before sailing we received a good deal of farm produce, including several hundred bunches of bananas, for which there was always a good demand in sydney. in order not to miss a tide we sailed sometime before daylight one morning, and, when about twenty miles down the river, ran into the region of a bush fire. as we had to hug the bank rather closely just there, we had an anxious time of it, the great showers of sparks and sheets of flame reaching out towards us as if determined to claim us, too, among their victims. the sight was terribly grand; the blood-red sky overhead and the glowing river beneath making it appear as if we were between two furnaces, while the deep terrific roar of the furious fire so near drowned every other sound. all hands were kept on the alert dowsing sparks that settled on board of us, and right glad was everybody when we emerged into the cool and smoke-free air beyond. after that we had a most humdrum passage all the way to sydney.

i made at least twenty trips afterwards, all very much alike in their freedom from incidents worth recording here—except one, which made a very vivid impression upon me of the hardships endured by settlers in that beautiful country. it had been raining steadily for several days, making our transhipment of cargo a miserable operation; and it was noticed by all of us, as we lay at grafton jetty, how rapidly the river was running. before dark one evening the skipper ordered the warps to be cast off, and we hauled out into the fairway, anchoring there with a good scope of cable. all night long the rain poured down harder than ever. when daylight broke, so thick was the obscurity caused by the deluge of rain, that we could hardly make out the familiar outlines of things ashore, even at that short distance. but we could both feel and see that the river was now a torrent, bringing down with it massive trees and floating islands of débris torn from the banks higher up. towards noon the rain took off, and revealed to us a disastrous state of affairs ashore. the river had risen over twenty feet; so that we now floated on a level with the top of the bank, and might have steamed over the wharf at which we had lain the previous evening. it became necessary for our skipper to go ashore, although it was a most dangerous task navigating the boat through that raging, tumultuous current. but the sight of those[276] poor folks' plight in the town made us forget all else. the turbid flood was everywhere; all the houses standing like islands in a muddy sea, and boats plying busily to and fro, carrying loads of stricken people who had seen the labour of years destroyed in a night. and all down the river the tale was the same: homes, crops, stock—everything that had been slowly and painfully accumulated by years of self-sacrifice—buried under the all-devouring flood. it was too pitiful for words. how terribly true those words of warning returned now which i had read some months before in one of the sydney newspapers, "beware of the rich alluvial soil along the banks of rivers." as far as i remember, but little notice was taken of the matter in sydney; for there had been a great flood on the hunter river, much nearer to them, at about the same time, and that seemed to occupy most of the public attention. so many pathetic incidents were witnessed by us on that trip that it would be invidious to make a selection, even if it were not outside the scope of my purpose to do so; but one scene, from the intensity of its pathos, has haunted me ever since. a certain homestead on the shores of a lovely bend of the river, some twenty miles from grafton, was one of the most familiar of our landmarks. the man and his wife were a splendid couple, full of energy and ability, and they had, by their own unaided efforts, made such a home of this out-of-the-way corner as gladdened the eyes to look upon. whenever we went up or down there the worthy couple would be surrounded by their vigorous group of sunburnt youngsters, shouting greetings to us as if we were all old friends. at this particular season they had a more than ordinarily fine crop of sugar-cane, for which they had already received a good offer from the manager of a new sugar-mill erected in one of the reaches above grafton. when we passed down after the flood, there, on a heap of muddy rubbish, sat the man, his head bowed on his knees and his children crouching near in the deepest wretchedness. blowing our whistle, as usual, we roused him; but after a momentary glance his head fell again. all was ruin and desolation, utter and complete. even the grove of banana trees that used to embower his house had been swept away. and his wife was nowhere to be seen.