CHAPTER VIII

SYDNEY : NEW SOUTH WALES

Short tack again - Our literary tastes - Stormy petrels and their mysterious ways - Sea marvel of "white water" - Amsterdam Islands - The Skipper's wig - Sydney Harbour - Insiders and outsiders - Difficulties social and other through want of decent clothing - Sir William Denison and his family - Alfred of that ilk - Adventures on horseback - Disastrous archery - "Young ass and young fool" - Sympathy with assassins.

OUT on the rolling sea again - blowing a gale of wind, as is usual, off the Cape of Good Hope - the frigate staggering along under reefed topsails and reefed courses, main-deck ports secured, guns with their muzzles lashed up to the ring-bolts overhead, and a hawser stretched along behind their breech. On the lee quarter the grim, precipitous Cape towers up against the red light of an angry evening sky, and, near at hand, a column of water shoots upwards - fifty or a hundred feet high - as the mighty waves crash down on the Bellows Kock, that outpost of the great African Continent, standing like a solitary sentinel in the ocean.

Down in the midshipman's berth the old life again - weevily biscuit, ship's pork, salt horse, ship's cocoa with rings of cocoa-fat floating over its surface. Lying on the lockers are any who can find room, reading Boccaccio or Kabelais, in English, or racy bits of the Old Testament ; " Humphry Clinker," " Roderick Random."

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Outside the mess, skylarking or fighting, the midshipmen make merry, whilst every now and then some one comes down from the quarter-deck and reports that it is "blowing like blazes," the glass going down, and everything looks "beastly," and that the "wind-jammers" cannot play tonight because the ship's fiddler has come off drunk. My thoughts fly back to Stellenbosch ; to the charming old Dutch farmhouse, where I had spent two most happy days, and rode with a girl, who sat a horse like Hippona. I even envy my multi-bred Malay friend and his half-sister; for they, at least, will have food they can masticate ; will sleep on dry, sweet-smelling grass and not in a hammock half soaked with salt water. Nor will they be roused out at midnight to go on deck and tramp about in the wet with bare feet, until four in the morning, nor be ordered to go aloft to see a reef taken in ; or heave the log, when the knots on the log-line run out and cut your fingers like a knife; or worry about with a sextant for the Altitude of the Southern Cross.

It was during these gales off the Cape that I first made the acquaintance of that curious little bird, the Cape pigeon, stormy petrel, Mother Carey's chickens - all the same bird - whose choice of a home on tempestuous seas seems incomprehensible. For these birds rarely visit the land, except during the breeding season, but are practically for ever on the wing, just touching the water for a moment with their feet, but not long enough to rest their wings. Nor is this their only peculiar habit. I have seen their nests in small holes in rocky islands in the South Pacific, and noticed that neither cock nor hen ever leave them by day, but as night approaches they fly out and get their food out of the sea. There are hundreds of different sorts of petrels, some nearly as big as an albatross, some hardly larger than

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STORMY PETREL ETYMOLOGY

a swallow. They are exquisitely shaped; their flight resembles a swift's, and their colouring is much the same, slatey grey trending off into steely blue. We caught some with hooks, but I look back now with horror on that and similar barbarities, for no one on board cared two straws about the beautiful creatures from an ornithological point of view. Petrels have a strong, sweet smell, like musk, or the patchouli one smells in Piccadilly, and the only purpose for which this has been acquired would seem to be to protect them from some land animal. I have seen numbers of rats on an islet off Norfolk Island - the home of millions of sea birds - and as those rats must live on birds or birds' eggs, it has struck me that the strong smell may make the rats sniff, and that this sniffing noise gives the sitting birds timely warning. Or perhaps the cock-birds like the smell, which is not improbable, as the hens smell far stronger than the cocks. More patchouli !

The derivation of the name Petrel is curious, and is also rather a misnomer, for the bird has been so called after that Apostle who attempted to walk on the Sea of Galilee, but failed, whereas these inhabitants of the stormiest seas seem to walk over the waves without risk. Sailors call them Mother Carey's chickens, also a Biblical derivation, for in French they are called Oiseaux de Notre Dame, and in Latin Mater cara. It is a strange sight, these small birds flying through the sprays of mighty waves, borne up by a motive power hitherto unknown to science ; vanishing as night comes on, and reappearing with the first streak of dawn from God alone knows where. Sometimes at night one thinks one can catch their lonely cry - like that of a peewit - rising over the bulwarks close to one's ear, but, strain your eyes as you will, you see no sign of the phantom that produced the sound.

Fruitful of marvels are those wide expanses of ocean,

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and truly may it be said that those who go down to the sea in ships see the wondrous works of God. Once we passed through a great patch of what we call "white water," traversed by broad lanes of dark sea, sometimes straight for miles, sometimes crossing and re-crossing like lines in the human hand. At night the spectacle is astonishing, the sea alive with millions upon millions of water fireflies, darting about like swarms of gnats, all bent on their own mysterious business : creatures born perhaps to live for only a few minutes, so minute as to be individually invisible to the naked eye, but distinctly to be felt by the hand. With the microscope, however, they can be seen, looking like attenuated hairs, or like globules of jelly, round, oblong, all shapes and sizes, with smooth or serrated edges, expanding and contracting with rapid pulsation. But these patches are not always white ; in parts of the Pacific I have seen them red, and in the China Seas quite yellow. The nature of these creatures varies greatly, sometimes appearing more vegetable than animal, dwellers of that undiscoverable border land, where seaweed and the infusoria meet. So bright is the light reflected from these floating masses that on a dark night the sky above the horizon will be illuminated for several degrees with a curious glow, such as one sees above ice-fields and floating bergs.

We sighted St. Paul's Island, one of the Amsterdam group, passing within a mile or so of the eastern end, where the sea has broken down the outer wall of what was once a great volcano, and has thus formed a small, sheltered bay. Wrecks - leaving castaways, and sometimes marooned men - have been so frequent on this solitary spot that many ships call in, on passing, to see if assistance is required. The neighbouring island, Amsterdam, some fifty miles off, is devoid of any

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THE AUTOCRAT AND HIS WIG

indigenous life, but castaways have from time to time been found there also. Numbers of rats and cats, who must live by eating each other, swarm over the land, whilst a few goats manage to get a living off the scanty grass, and seem to get on with their brother islanders. It is the home of millions of sea birds - puffins, penguins, petrels, albatross, gannet, frigate-birds, and all the host of ocean's feathered inhabitants.

There being no sign of human life on St. Paul's we stood on, and little occurred - according to my barren log-book - but the usual reefing and furling of sails, holystoning of decks, and flogging a man or two by way of variety, or just to remind the crew they were serving Her Majesty. But even out of elements so little calculated to produce merriment as flogging, mirth may arise. For one Cummings, a marine, had been duly seized up to the gratings to receive a trifle of forty-eight lashes, with the Skipper, officers, and men assembled to witness it. On these occasions the particular Article of War relating to the crime to be dealt with is read out by the Captain, and - in token of respect for these semi-divine ordinances - every one uncovers his head. At the right moment off came the Skipper's old and battered cocked hat, but alas ! the irreverent wind playfully blew his yellow wig all on one side, necessitating on his part a violent clutch to prevent it going overboard, which, with one pious and simultaneous wish, we all hoped might happen. But, so stern is the sense of discipline, that not a smile was visible on any face except that of Cummings, who had turned his head round and was looking at the Skipper, and knowing that he could not order one single extra lash to be laid on his back - over and above the regulation maximum of forty-eight - burst out into a loud guffaw. This was the first official intimation we received that our autocrat wore a wig, though every

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one knew it unofficially half an hour after he had joined the ship at Chatham.

* * * * *

It was the 1st of July when we sighted those grand cliffs - the Sydney Heads - which guard the entrance to Port Jackson, the harbour of Sydney. What memories of my early youth are conjured up by the name of the capital of New South Wales ! happy days, kindness from total strangers, curious adventures, life-long impressions. For - for the next four years - my ship was frequently in and out of Sydney Harbour, sometimes making long stays - swinging round our moorings in Farm Cove, the man-of-war anchorage - and sometimes only making a flying visit.

In Sydney Society there were more than the ordinary class distinctions, arising from the partial taint of convict blood. A broad social generalisation was known as " Insiders and Outsiders," the last word having since been generally adopted in England, though, no doubt, it originated in Sydney. But even the Insiders had their still more exclusive "insides" - the very ganglia of the Body Social - whilst "Outsiders" had "insides" as well. These distinctions seemed arbitrary and often ridiculous, for to any one approaching these sets without bias there appeared nothing to choose between them. Again the Official class stood aloof from people just as good as themselves, which further produced cleavage, whilst the privileged Squatters held the Urban classes to be chiefly robbers. But as far as the bulk of naval men were concerned these distinctions made no difference, for the women, the all-essential portion of the community to them, were equally lively and jolly, whether their fathers owned sheep-runs or kept warehouses. But, to be candid, I cannot say that we viewed their fathers, brothers, and male cousins with such all-embracing impartiality as we did their female

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"SARTOR RESARTUS"

relatives, for, as in all new countries, increased opportunities for culture and the feminine aptitude for acquiring good manners more rapidly than do men, placed their women far ahead of them.

At that time there was a large leaven of "lag" blood in New South Wales; the sins of the fathers being, however, visited on the children in exact ratio to the money these children had either inherited or had subsequently made. But taint stuck closest where the crime had been against property, and, whilst it was rather a social distinction to be descended from some notorious highwayman of Bagshot Heath who had "come out" amongst the first convicts to Botany Bay - say in 1788, with Governor Phillips - it conferred none to have a father who had been "lagged" - in 1850 - for forgery or theft.

At this period of my life - and in many stages since - want of money was the chief thorn in my flesh. I was always hard up and yet did not like to come down on my father for more money, knowing full well how tight that commodity was at home, with my elder brothers going into the Army, my younger ones at school, and with governesses for my sisters.

Looking back I see what the want of good clothes did for many of my messmates, quite apart from personal vanity. Hunger - to a right-minded lad - is less of a trial than shabby and shrunken garments. Many youngsters go to the dogs - some temporarily, some permanently - simply because they have no decent uniform or plain clothes to appear in ashore, or have, perhaps, too rapidly grown out of the things with which they have left home. The World primarily judges us by our clothes, and Society is never disposed to be lenient to persons with frayed cuffs and trousers bagged at the knee. But even with the strictest self-denial I never had enough money

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at this time to keep up decent appearances, much less to accept invitations to dinner at houses, say, five or six miles distant, entailing a cab. Pinch and starve as I would, sixpence or a shilling for washing a shirt, two shillings a pair of trousers, and fourpence a pocket-handkerchief, made a lamentable hole in my resources, whilst �2 10s. for a pair of new shoes spelt bankruptcy and rendered life a puzzle. How fondly I nursed my uniform, and how we struggled on together ! - No. 1 suit never seeing the light of day if by any possibility No. 2 would answer the purpose ; No. 2 stowed away if No. 3, shabby and greased-stained, with patches of tar on the knees from running the rigging, could pass muster without my leave being stopped for being untidy. Had it not been for wearing white ducks in summer I cannot imagine to what straits I should have been reduced, for my cloth trousers were visibly climbing up my legs by inches every six months, and but for my ducks I should have exposed my shins. But ducks were my salvation, thanks to the thoughtfulness of my outfitter, who appeared to have originally designed them for a man of six foot six, so that as they shrank and shrank with frequent washings, by the time I was eighteen they had reached about the right length for my 5 ft. 8� inches.

In spite of these heavy social disabilities I was very happy in Australia. I got to know numbers of people - besides my family connections, the Deas Thompsons - such as Dumaresques, Russells of Ravensworth, Sir William Maclean, Sir Daniel Cooper, Holyoak-Bayleys, the Mitchells, Allens of Toxteth, and a host of others, and especially Mr. Mort, the pioneer of the iced meat industry, who very nearly made iced meat of himself by entering one of the refrigerating chambers - which only opened from the outside - when the door closed on him. He was alone, and was only rescued just in time by

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A PRIVATE SECRETARY

some one, out of mere curiosity, opening the door to look in. He used to lend me a fiery grey steed which invariably ran away with me, and frequently kicked me off; once, notably, in a crowded street in Sydney, when the wheel of a large dray passed over my hat as I lay in the road with it still on my head ; rather a narrow shave.

Sir William Denison, a kind, courteous man, was then Governor of New South Wales. He had two daughters, one of whom, years older than myself, I adored, because I knew by some boyish instinct that she did not care that my trousers bagged at the knees and that my jacket shrank up under my arms. The Governor's Private Secretary was an overpowering swell, and I always felt uncomfortable when his supercilious eye fell on my ragged attire or on the patches on my shoes. He was the first of his type that had risen on my horizon, and I took him at his own valuation. He was immeasurably more haughty and condescending than the Governor, and I do not remember that Sydney loved him. At the same time he was distinctly absurd in himself, got up usually in a white waistcoat with little pink flowers on it, his handkerchief reeking in perfume, his broad flat feet half hidden by snow-white spats. He thought that outside the light of his smiling approval all was social darkness, and indeed this was the effect he produced on people generally in New South Wales, as if he alone could confer distinction, and as if the six or seven hundred thousand persons on whom his smile never shone, were of no more account than as many fleas on the back of a Laplander. He was, however, not an uncommon type of officialdom abroad, rude to those below, and servile to those above them.

Riding parties, archery, and dances were frequent at Government House, and to all of these many of us were

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constantly invited. On one of these riding occasions a very absurd disaster befel me, under circumstances when Julius Caesar himself would have appeared ridiculous. I had been invited to ride with Miss Denison, Sir William's eldest daughter, and had duly presented myself at the House at the appointed time. I was certainly not an expert rider, nor had I ever pretended to be, for my father only once owned a horse of any kind, and that some fifteen years before I was born, so, beyond an occasional mount at some of my cousins' places, and rides on donkeys at Boulogne, I had not had very great experience in the saddle. In consequence when an extremely frisky little animal, dancing round from the stables on its hind-legs, presented itself as my mount, I had some misgivings as to how long it would be before we parted company. Miss Denison's pony was a far quieter animal, and having hoisted her into her saddle, with difficulty and much awkwardness, I prepared to get into my own. This was still more difficult, but aided by the groom and an orderly, I finally succeeded. But the instant his head was let go, away flew my beast, with what seemed to me the speed of a wolf and the action of a kangaroo, springing and bucking out of sheer devilry. I managed to stick on somehow, though the smooth, slippery saddle made it anything but easy, but turn him or stop him I could not. Then he got his head down, and to my horror I saw he was going straight for the archery targets, round one of which was a group of three or four people. As I drew near I saw one of them was the Private Secretary, and he, seeing the peril of being run down, skipped behind some trees, with what nimbleness his never-absent foppery would permit, where he crouched down, the ladies also taking shelter, for it was clear that the pony and I were just as likely to go through the targets as anywhere else. But an orderly - there were always orderlies about, picking

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TWO MISHAPS

up arrows or holding the Secretary's poodle by a blue ribbon - stepped out and made a grab at my steed's reins, bringing him up with so sudden a jerk that I flew over his head, from the acquired momentum, turned a complete somersault in the air - and landing in a sitting position on a bit of spiky grass - continued to slide along the ground in this posture like a clown in a pantomime. Unfortunately the grass was tougher than my very tight trousers, and before I had gone very far I was painfully aware how prickly grass can become. But in this supreme predicament my presence of mind did not desert me, for, though one of the girls, thinking I was hurt, came running up to my assistance, I sat still. Fortunately the girl was as sharp as a needle, her instinct telling her that something was wrong as I did not get up, and she turned away and went back to the others. Here some very excusable giggling took place, and at once she and the other girls left, so I was able to get up and make my retreat towards the wicket which led down to Farm Cove - where lay my ship - with the Secretary roaring with laughter behind me. I got on board : a gig just happening to be going off, and it is not difficult to imagine the chaff which greeted me when the terribly dilapidated state of my garments, which my short jacket did not suffice to hide, was discovered. The adventure became one of the Secretary's stock stories, embroidered beyond recognition.

My next adventure at Government House was, however, far less pleasant. It was at an archery party, my partner the girl who had come to my rescue when I went over the pony's head. Somehow or other, an arrow slipped out of my hand, and, with the eccentricity often displayed by these missiles, flew off at a tangent and inserted itself in an arrow-collecting orderly, who immediately flung himself on the ground, and began to

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SYDNEY: NEW SOUTH WALES

bellow : the arrow having gone through his calf, the point protruding several inches on the other side. Of course there was a panic, for no one at that distance could see where he had been hit. An old lady fell all of a heap on the grass, Sir William tried to catch her and fell over her, the Secretary put his arms round the waists of the two nearest girls he could reach, and our Skipper set to work damning me roundly. However, I did not stop to listen to those old familiar expressions - which had so often saluted me in the main-top - but flew off to where a group was already forming round the wounded man, consisting of a gardener or two, and some of the coachmen from the carriages waiting in the avenue. The orderly, a big, red-faced Irish artilleryman, was on the ground, still bellowing and imploring the Mother of Heaven to come down and save him, and begging the bystanders to "fetch a dochther, for the love of God" ; all the while refusing to let any one touch the arrow. I, however, who had often stuck a pin into my own arm and calf, and knew it did not hurt much, even if imbedded several inches, felt no commiseration for him, and before he knew what I was about I stooped down, snapped off the head and drew out the other piece, which, by the way, I have kept to this day. It happened to be one of my partner's arrows which she had lent me. The orderly was none the worse for his wound. It healed up in a few days, but alas ! I was wounded far more deeply, a wound nullâ medicable herbâ, for when I returned to the targets the Skipper had had time to work himself up into the proper state of indignation befitting the occasion. There and then, in the presence of all those people, he showered on me a torrent of abuse, " Young ass, young fool, why did I dare to come and shoot ? Go on board immediately, sir, and tell the First Lieutenant to stop your leave ! " So I had to slink away, once more through the wicket,

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MODERN BUNYANISM

conscious that all the eyes of polite Sydney were on me, with an uncomfortable feeling that as I obeyed this brutal, insulting, and altogether unnecessary order, I was stumbling over tussocks of grass, with my back humping and my ears blood-red. How closely akin are some of us to many a poor wretch who has swung at Newgate !

I could have shot this old man at that moment with great pleasure, and shall never forget the indignity as long as life lasts.

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