thursday island — cape york — albany pass — light ships-cooktown — port douglas
on our return to port kennedy we were again thrown upon our own resources. — we could get no work, to beg we were ashamed, and owing to our limited education we had not even sufficient ability to thieve with any likelihood of success. it began to grow upon us that the pleasant expectations we had formed regarding thursday island and the pearl fishery were not going to be realised. we waited and waited, like mr. micawber, ‘for something to turn up,’ but beyond an occasional day’s work among the shipping we were without employment of any kind whatsoever. we began even to envy the lot of the prisoners in the gaol. they were at least certain of a meal.
if ever i want to have a good old lazy time, untrammelled by the thoughts, cares, and anxieties. inseparable from that mysterious occupation known as getting one’s living, i shall commit an offence and get consigned for three months to thursday island gaol. it was my good fortune, one morning, to see two prisoners engaged whitewashing the post-office fence, and i am prepared to assert that never since have i seen anything so lazy and comfortable, as their method of carrying out that particular occupation. to show their position in the social scale they had ‘thursday island’ printed in large letters across their backs, and from the placid and contented fashion of their labour, i gathered something of what a similar sentence to theirs must mean.
allow your fancy, gentle reader, to picture for you a lovely morning, a bright blue sky flecked with white clouds, a merry sea dancing in the sunlight, tropical foliage throwing an inviting shade, a comfortable seat on the ground beneath such shade, a line of unwhitewashed fence, a fascinating brush, a bucket of mixture, and nothing in the world to do but to lay it gently on. all this with the certainty of meal times, an expansive conscience, no prying warders, and unlimited opportunities of obtaining liquor. i would rather, and i assert it unhesitatingly, far rather be a prisoner for a week in humble little thursday island gaol, than work out a sentence of ten years, or even more, in statelier portland. that is just one of my peculiarities. i am of a contented, rather than a grasping disposition.
the proprietress of our hotel is a tender-hearted lady. besides her own family she possesses another and extensive one by adoption. this includes a mauritian nigger and his wife, a sweet little half-caste girl of six, a collection of binghis (aboriginals), a japanese cook, a monkey, a spaniel puppy, and a pelican. the monkey is of a savage disposition, and resides, for the most part, under the house, where he is popularly supposed by the youth of the neighbourhood to represent the devil. the spaniel puppy is bumptious and irreverent, while the pelican combines the dignity of a bank manager with the sustained confidence of a newly — appointed policeman. when the monkey uses the puppy’s woolly coat as a game preserve we smile, but when the puppy, grossly insulted, bites the monkey’s tail, and retreats to be swallowed by the pelican, we laugh outright. having nothing better to occupy our minds, we find pleasure in these simple things, and when one is ‘hard up’ (i dislike the term, but am compelled to use it) strange things present themselves in the character of amusements.
a totally irrelevant incident suggests itself here. not many years ago i was permitted the friendship of a man who came from england to australia, on fortune-making thoughts intent. he was long, lean, lanky, and lazy, and he spent the money his sorely tried parent had given him to start afresh with, in riotous living. as his capital departed, so his state deserted him, and before he had been two months in the colony he had migrated from hotel to boarding-house, and from boarding-house to common lodging-house, until at last he came to sleeping wherever his fancy prompted. this generally took the form of railway arches and public gardens.
one day — and this is the incident i desire to relate — i was hurrying along to keep an appointment, when i felt my shoulder touched; turning, i confronted a thin, haggard, out-at-elbowed individual, whom i recognised as my once too stylish friend.
‘come down this alley,’ he said, softly, ‘and i’ll impart to you some curious information.’
in the seclusion of this by-path he solemnly lifted his right foot, and allowed me to see that the sole of his boot was almost entirely gone. in its place appeared some discoloured substance, looking suspiciously like dirty blotting-paper. i asked what it was.
‘cardboard,’ he whispered, mysteriously; ‘that’s what i want to tell you. i have made a peculiar discovery. you must know that for the last week i have spent my time going round insurance offices begging for old almanacs. the clerks swear a bit, but they generally give’em to me, and then i take’em home, cut’em up, and use’em as you see here! some almanacs last me two days — some only an hour or two! and — hush — (in a whisper) — ‘my boy, you may take it from me that the difference in the stability of the cardboard is a sure guarantee of the stability of the office, sound cardboard, sound business; cheap and nasty cardboard, cheap and nasty business. in the words of the scriptures, “ by their cardboards ye shall know them!”’ then he borrowed a trifle and slunk away. when i was hard up myself, and my boots looked thin, i remembered that strange little bit of experience.
day by day, in spite of the most rigid economy, our reserve fund grew smaller and smaller. we had long denied ourselves everything but absolute necessities, discarded smoking, and given up extraneous refreshments of any kind whatsoever. yet the money seemed positively to melt away. one dreadful morning we found ourselves reduced to a shilling and two pence halfpenny, the whole of which we promptly turned into coppers. it is a strange but solemn fact, that fourteen pence halfpenny in coppers looks a great deal more than one and two pence half-penny in the other way.
do what we would to distract our thoughts, our poverty at last became such a waking nightmare that we hardly dared look each other in the face. then one glorious morning a letter arrived from adelaide, and, enormous relief, it contained funds. it was only just in time; another day would have found us desperate. we trembled when we broke the seal, we gasped when we broached the contents, and we could have wept when we cashed the order.
that night we held a council of war, and determined, as it was no use remaining where we were, to set sail for the mainland, on the chance that fortune would be kinder to us there. it was at this period that the thought first struck us of endeavouring to cross the australian continent from north to south. there was a desperate air about it that consorted well with our position, and it would have gone hard with i any cripple, or confirmed paralytic, who might have laughed at our resolve. with this in view, we decided to sail at once for normanton, but for sufficiently good reasons were eventually persuaded to try the other route down the eastern coast to townsville, visiting cooktown, cairns, and port douglas on our way. accordingly, the following saturday afternoon, from the deck of one of the australian united steam navigation company’s boats, we bade thursday island, its queen, and its multifarious and interesting population ‘goodbye!’ and started off.
so dangerous is the coast from thursday island to cooktown reckoned, that it is compulsory for every steamer proceeding between these ports to carry a certificated pilot. our pilot, besides proving himself as hale and hearty an old seadog as ever drank a glass of grog at any one else’s expense, was a most interesting and obliging individual. by his courtesy and that of the captain, we were permitted a good insight into the difficulties of the navigation.
leaving thursday island, an almost due easterly course was steered. in so doing we passed the queensland leper station, where hopelessness must reign, if it reigns anywhere on earth; sighted the adolphus group, scene of the wreck of the unfortunate ‘quetta’; and at sundown entered the albany pass.
this pass, four miles in length, and in some places nearly 500 yards in width, separates albany island from the mainland, and is a place of exceeding beauty. on one hand rises a tropical island covered with undergrowth of every hue. through the wealth of which look out cliffs of bold outline, the whole girt with saffron sands upon which tiny wavelets ripple with ceaseless music. on the other hand, across the ribbon of blue sea, rise high forest-clad hills, which again seem to soften off almost imperceptibly into the azure sky. on an eminence overlooking the pass, stands the lonely but picturesque residence of mr. jardine, the pioneer of somerset and thursday island, whose cattle station extends for many miles along this bleak and dangerous coast. as a mark of respect, which has become customary since mr. jardine’s humanity to the survivors of the unfortunate ‘quetta,’ we dip our ensign as we steam by.
ere we are out of the pass, the sun is down: a strange weird sunset, lighting up the rugged cliffs ashore, and lending an air of ghostly mystery to a cluster of tall red ant-hills near the beach.
as the sun disappears, a vast number of flying foxes cross from an island to the mainland, in such a cloud as almost to obscure the heavens. and so close to the shore are we steaming that the melancholy cry of a bird comes off to us quite distinctly.
after the evening meal has been partaken of, the pilot, whose duty now commences, invites me to visit the bridge with him, an invitation i am not slow to accept. the sea is as smooth as a millpond, rising and falling like the breast of a sleeping child; but only a few miles to port we know that the great barrier reef is thundering ominously, able at a moment’s notice to rend in pieces the largest ship afloat.
rising like a gigantic coral wall from the uttermost depths of the sea, this reef stretches for more than a thousand miles along an already sufficiently dangerous coast. inside, the water is usually smooth, but outside, the great pacific gales break upon the rocks with murderous violence, and woe betide the unfortunate vessel that finds herself upon those cruel teeth. fabulous must be the wealth of the ships of which this treacherous reef has been the ruin.
taking the pilot at his word, i determine to spend the entire night on the bridge, in order to see all that is to be seen of the intricate navigation hereabouts. and what a picture i have before me!
the western sky, as the sunset fades, gradually fills with a wonderful afterglow. the sea is flecked with the most delicate salmon and pink streaks, which again gradually merge themselves into the deepest of french greys as the darkness thickens.
sometimes we are close in shore., sometimes a long way out; but never for a moment is the voyage without interest and variety.
presently a few stars begin to twinkle dimly, the side lights appear, the look-out stations himself forrard, while the sound of a piano, with a warm glow of lamp-light, comes from the saloon aft. pulling on a thick coat, the pilot falls to pacing the bridge, remarking that it is necessary for him to have all his wits about him. occasionally he draws up alongside me to point out something of interest in the great barren cliff line along which we are steering. but. these conversations become fewer and farther between as the night advances. so hour after hour goes by, the look-out man keeping the tally, until at last i begin to feel drowsy enough to contemplate retiring. this, however, my host will not permit; he bids me keep awake for something that will presently occur.
shortly before midnight we round cape granville and enter temple bay. by this time the wind has risen, and with it the sea; our boat begins to roll ponderously. the pilot is evidently on the look-out for something. presently he points out to me a tiny speck of light ahead, which gradually grows larger until, by one bell, we are slowing down abreast of the piper island light-ship, one of the loneliest situations along this lonely coast. and what a dramatic picture it presents: a dark night, thick driving clouds, an angry sea, frowning cliffs, a straining, pitching light-ship, and a lamp-studded mail-boat. a sailing-boat puts off to us, and our whistle advises her to be quick. she belongs to a beche-de-mer boat in the vicinity, and is manned by black gins. the sea breaks over her many times a minute, ducking everybody on board. one moment she rides high on the crest of a wave, the next she is wallowing deep down in the trough of the sea. it is a difficult business to get her alongside, but eventually she manages to come close enough to catch the mail-bags; the next instant the sea has swept her past us, out into the black night again.
what a strange thing life aboard a light-ship in this desolate region must be! on one side almost unknown country, with tribes of hostile blacks; on the other, the pitiless thunder of the barrier reef. it must be strange to have no interest in life save the passing of the mail-boats, and no knowledge of what is happening in the world save what can be gleaned from letters and week-old papers; yet men are found to undertake it, and for a miserable pittance, of which it will take years of constant thrift to save even enough to retire, in the most modest fashion, upon.
just as day is breaking we open into weymouth bay, famous as the scene of a sad incident in kennedy’s famous exploration journey in 1848.
i do not know why it should be so, but daybreak at sea always strikes me as being more beautiful than daybreak ashore, and certainly it is so on this occasion. first, the eastern stars begin to lose their radiance, and this fading gradually overspreads the entire sky, until low down on the horizon, the palest touch of silver grey appears. then a bar of salmon pink spreads itself along the sky line, followed by a touch of orange, then purple and gold, until slowly and with infinite gradations, the whole sky is suffused with colour. nor is the colour limited to the sky alone, for the sea, once more perfectly calm, has taken to itself a new glory. a strange weird hush holds everything, and it is as though the ship, looking twice her real size in the uncanny dawn, is ploughing her way through a floor of dark green jade, rapidly turning into silver. it is more than a little lonesome, and it seems an eternity before the sun rises. when he does make his appearance, it is without warning; he leaps into the sky like a young god. night is over. a half-awakened steward crawls on to the bridge with coffee and biscuits; and taking a last look round, i go below to snatch an hour or two’s sleep before the passengers render rest impossible.
the course steered all day was an unavoidably dangerous one, reefs abounded in every direction. high precipitous cliffs frowned on us continually, at the bottom of which, huge rollers smashed in surges of white foam. during the day we sighted and slowed down towards another light-ship, the ‘claremont’ ; and here again a boat put off to us for mails, this time bringing our captain, who is a collector of marine curiosities, two fine specimens of coral, and a number of beautiful shells.
by seven o’clock next morning we were alongside the wharf at cooktown, lying under a high, tree-clad hill, and looking up the street of a truly quaint little town. there was a homely air about it all. from my port-hole i could see two small boys fighting on the wharf-head, a man quarrelling with his wife in a garden on the hillside, and the town drunkard waking up under a spreading tree to wonder if our whistle were a creation of his fancy, or the beginning of his usual complaint.
cooktown is situated on the north side of a remarkably fine bay, at the mouth of the endeavour river, and is surrounded by bold granite hills. the river received its name from captain cook’s ship, the ‘endeavour,’ which was beached here to caulk a leak. mount cook, as may be supposed, was named after the celebrated navigator himself.
as soon as things were a little settled, a few of us set off to some baths, situated farther down the bay, and enjoyed an excellent swim, unscared even by the talk of alligators, which are numerous hereabout. the baths are alligator-proof, and it is just our reckless bravery to have no fear for animals which can’t get in at us. personally, i’d pat a stuffed alligator with any man.
returning to the boat, we discovered a bevy of black gins (aboriginal women) — splendid specimens of their race — paddling their bark canoes alongside, and clamouring, like aden and malay boys, for diving silver. they are equally expert divers, and, if tricked into diving by means of bright buttons or pieces of tin, prove equally fluent. ‘all is not silver that glitters’ is a timeworn motto of theirs.
after breakfast we explored the town, beginning with the monument, erected in the main street, to the memory of captain cook and his visit on sunday, june 17, 1770.
from the higher ground at the back of the town, a very good view of both the settlement and the bay may be obtained. the outline of the country is bold, except at the point where the river joins the sea. here dense mangrove swamps exist, which are both uninteresting and unhealthy.
architecturally the town has nothing to boast of. what most strikes the visitor is the number of public-houses met with on every hand. we counted twenty-six on one side of the main street, and had it not been for a sudden indisposition, which occurred while passing the last number, we might have brought the total up considerably.
in this hostelry we made the acquaintance of a character. he was short and thickset, boasted red hair, was also freckled and cross-eyed. he was leaning against the bar, twirling an empty glass, and he seemed to be wondering how he could best induce the landlord to stretch his credit to the extent of one more nobbier. we could not help seeing that whatever else he took would only be for show; for he was already intoxicated enough to suit the most fastidious taste. to prove that he was a professor of the art, not a sign, save a slight glassiness about the left optic, and a twitching of the mouth, betokened his condition.
as we entered he looked round, and for a moment swayed gently to and fro; then, taking his bearings by a grease spot on the wall, staggered towards us, saying confidentially to the landlord:
‘look here, don’t you never say anything more to me about the spirit of prophecy. don’t, for i knew it — i knew i should meet them again before i died. oh, boys, boys! and to think poor uncle anthony never lived to see this blessed day! he’s gone, boys — gone in the hope of a glorious resurrection — passed away in a clean shirt and a bank balance ten days ago. but welcome back! welcome back! even if it does make my old heart bleed to see you. though you’re only just in time, you’re not too late, for i got news today of the biggest thing on earth — the biggest crushings to the ton mortal man ever heard of, and you shall have a quarter-share apiece. no, no ; don’t thank me — don’t thank me; i can’t bear it. i’m poor old uncle bill, and if he can’t help his dead sister’s boys before his grey hairs go down in sorrow to the grave, it’s a worse world than i take it for. what did you say? what will i take? well, well, 1 don’t often drink in business hours, but on this joyful occasion i think i will take a nobbier of the old stuff. no, no water, thank you. the spirit is willing, but with water it’s weak. here’s luck!’
tossing it off with a practised hand, he shed a simple tear, failed in an attempt to borrow half-a-crown, pressed our hands, and, finally, stating that he must go and tell aunt tabitha the joyful tidings, opened the swing door and staggered out. he was a cheerful old reprobate, and had all the makings of an excellent actor. but to return to cooktown.
the country all about is highly mineral. gold, silver, antimony, and tin have been found in promising quantities; but the glory of the district and the fortune of the town has been the palmer gold fields, not many miles inland. the history of this marvellous spot reads like a fairy tale. the value of the gold obtained from it up to the present time equals something like 5,000,000l. but this is not the only treasure-trove in the district. in 1890 a new field was discovered on the starcke river, some sixty-five miles from cooktown, and has, so far, yielded something like 20,000l. worth of the precious metal.
from all accounts, the palmer is now pretty well played out; but as so many new fields have sprung up to take its place, its loss need hardly be taken into consideration. chinamen are, however, still making a good thing out of it, i believe.
apart from the country’s auriferous prospects, the soil is highly fertile. sugar, rice, tobacco, oranges, and cocoanuts thrive splendidly; while mangoes, bananas, pineapples, guavas, lichees, and granadillas flourish almost too luxuriantly. besides all these advantages, cooktown enjoys a lucrative and ever-growing trade with new guinea, while its own beche-de-mer and trepang fisheries are by no means to be despised.
as some proof of the wealth of this hardy little place, it may be interesting to state that the value of the imports for 1891 amounted to no less than 65,340l., while the exports totalled the large sum of 133,711l.
at three o’clock the same afternoon we steamed out of the harbour, rounded grassy hill, as the bold entrance to the bay on the southern side is called, and steered for port douglas. en route we passed cape tribulation, a bleak, desolate headland, quite in keeping with its name; indeed, the whole appearance of the coast, as far as the eye can reach, is stern and forbidding. one can quite fancy intrepid captain cook’s feelings as, day after day, badly equipped, under-manned, scurvy-ridden, his ship ploughed her way through these desolate and almost impossible seas. no wonder he gave the capes and headlands such dismal names, hedged in, as he was, on one side by a barren, rocky coast, peopled with barbarous savages, and, on the other, by the never-ceasing thunder of the great barrier reef.
unfortunately, as it was late in the evening before we sighted port douglas, shoregoing was impossible. a small steam launch put off to meet us, pitching and tossing in a most unpleasant manner, and into her we discharged what cargo we had for the place. then after a stay of under an hour, we resumed our way, bound for cairns.
