Читать книгу Tales of the Colonies - Charles Rowcroft - Страница 7

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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.