In another adjoining hut we found a Chinaman whom we knew,--a man who comes to the bank occasionally to sell us gold. He was cooking his supper, squatting over the fire, with an old frying-pan containing something that looked very like dried worms frizzling in fat. "Welly good" he told us it was; and very good he seemed to be making it, as he added slice after slice of cuc.u.mber to the mixture. John showed us the little worm-like things before they were put in the pan, and he told us they came "all the way Canton." He offered us, by way of refreshment, his very last drop of liquor from a bottle that was labelled, "Burnett's Fine Old Tom," which he kept, I suppose, for his private consumption. John's mates shortly after came in to their meal, when we retired--I with a cuc.u.mber in my pocket, which he gave me as a present, and a very good one it was. I often afterwards went over to see the Chinamen, they were so quaint and funny in their ways.

I observe that in the cemetery the Chinamen have a separate piece of burying-ground apportioned to them. There their bodies are interred; but only to be dug up again, enclosed in boxes, and returned to China for final burial; the prejudice said to prevail amongst them being that if their bones do not rest in China their souls cannot enter Paradise. Not only are they careful that their bodies, but even that bits of their bodies, should be returned to their native land. There was a Chinaman in Majorca whom I knew well, that had his finger taken off by an accident. Shortly after, he left the township; but, three months after, he one day made his appearance at our bank. I asked him where he had been, and why he had come back to Majorca? "Oh!" said he, holding up his hand, "me come look after my finger." "Where is it?" I asked.

"Oh! me put 'em in the ground in bush--me know." And I have no doubt he recovered his member, and went away happy.

My greatest pleasure, while at Majorca, was in riding or walking through the bush--that is, the country as Nature made it and left it--still uncleared and unoccupied, except by occasional flocks of sheep, the property of the neighbouring squatters. North of Majorca lies a fine tract of country which we call the high plains, for we have to cross a creek and climb a high hill before we get on to them.

Then for an invigorating gallop over the green turf, the breeze freshening as we pace along. These plains are really wonderful. They look like a large natural amphitheatre, being level for about fifteen miles in every direction and encircled all round by high hills. There is very little timber on the plains.

The bush covers the ranges of hills between Majorca and these plains or lower grounds, amidst which the creeks run. Here, in some places, the trees grow pretty thickly; in others, the country is open and naturally clear. There is, however, always enough timber about to confuse the traveller unless he knows the track.

Shortly after my settling in Majorca, having heard that one of my fellow-pa.s.sengers by the 'Yorkshire' was staying with a squatter about fourteen miles off, I determined to pay him a visit. I thought I knew the track tolerably well; but on my way through the bush I got confused, and came to the conclusion that I had lost my way. When travellers get lost, they usually "_coo-ee_" at the top of their voice, and the prolonged note, rising at the end, is heard at a great distance in the silence of the bush. I _coo-ied_ as loud as I could, and listened; but there was no response. I rode on again, and at length I thought I heard a sort of hammering noise in the distance. I proceeded towards it, and found the noise occasioned by a man chopping wood. Glad to find I was not yet lost, I went up to him to ask my way.

To my surprise, he could not speak a word of English. I tried him in German, I tried him in French. No! What was he, then? I found, by his _patois_, a few words of which I contrived to make out, that he was a Savoyard, who had only very recently arrived in the colony. By dint of signs, as much as words, I eventually made out the direction in which I was to go in order again to find the track that I had missed, and I took leave of my Savoyard with thanks.

I succeeded in recovering the track, and eventually reached the squatter's house in which my friend resided. It was a large stone building, erected in the modern style of villa architecture. Beside it stood the original squatter's dwelling. What a contrast they presented! The one a tall, handsome house; the other a little, one-storied, shingle-roofed hut, with queer little doors and windows.

My friend, as he came out and welcomed me, asked me to guess what he had been just doing. He had been helping to put in the new stove in the kitchen, for the larger house is scarcely yet finished. He told me what a good time he was having: horses to ride, doing whatever he liked, and enjoying a perfect Liberty Hall.

The host himself shortly made his appearance, and gave me a cordial welcome. After dinner we walked round and took a view of the place.

Quite a little community, I found, lived about; for our host is a large squatter, farmer, and miller; all the people being supplied with rations from the station store. There is even a station church provided by the owner, and a clergyman comes over from Maryborough every Sunday afternoon to hold the service and preach to the people.

After a very pleasant stroll along the banks of the pretty creek which runs near the house, I mounted my nag, and rode slowly home in the cool of the evening.

CHAPTER XI.

AUSTRALIAN WINTER--THE FLOODS.

THE VICTORIAN CLIMATE--THE BUSH IN WINTER--THE EUCALYPTUS, OR AUSTRALIAN GUM-TREE--BALL AT CLUNES--FIRE IN THE MAIN STREET--THE BUGGY SAVED--DOWN-POUR OF RAIN--GOING HOME BY WATER--THE FLOODS OUT--CLUNES SUBMERGED--CALAMITY AT BALLARAT--DAMAGE DONE BY THE FLOOD--THE CHINAMEN'S GARDENS WASHED AWAY.

I was particularly charmed with the climate of Victoria. It is really a pleasure to breathe the air: it is so pure, dry, and exhilarating.

Even when the temperature is at its highest, the evenings are delightfully cool. There is none of that steamy, clammy, moist heat during the day, which is sometimes so difficult to bear in the English summer; and as for the spring of Australia, it is simply perfection.

It was mid-winter when I arrived in Majorca--that is, about the end of June, corresponding with our English December. Although a wood-fire was very pleasant, especially in the evenings, it was usually warm at midday. The sky was of a bright, clear blue, and sometimes the sun shone with considerable power. No one would think of going out with a great coat in winter, excepting for a long drive through the bush or at night. In fact, the season can scarcely be termed winter; it is rather like a prolonged autumn; extending from May to August. Snow never falls,--at least, I never saw any during the two winters I spent in the colony; and although there were occasional slight frosts at night in the month of August, I never observed the ice thicker than a wafer. I once saw a heavy shower of hail, as it might fall in England in summer; but it melted off the ground directly.

In proof of the mildness of the climate, it may further be mentioned that the Australian vegetation continues during the winter months. The trees remain clothed in their usual garb, though the leaves are of a somewhat browner hue than in the succeeding seasons.

The leaves of the universal gum-tree, or Eucalyptus of Australia, are pointed, each leaf seeming to grow separately, and they are so disposed as to give the least possible shade. Instead of presenting one surface to the sky and the other to the earth, as is the case with the trees of Europe, they are often arranged vertically, so that both sides are equally exposed to the light. Thus the gum-tree has a pointed and sort of angular appearance, the leaves being thrust out in all directions and at every angle. The blue-gum and some others have the peculiarity of throwing off their bark in white-grey longitudinal strips or ribands, which, hanging down the branches, give them a singularly ragged look, more particularly in winter. From this description, it will be gathered that the gum-tree is not a very picturesque tree; nevertheless, I have seen some in the far bush which were finely proportioned, tall, and might even be called handsome.

The fine winter weather continues for months, the days being dry and fine, with clear blue sky overhead, until about the end of August, when rain begins to fall pretty freely. During the first winter I spent at Majorca, very little rain fell during two months, and the country was getting parched, cracked, and brown. Then everybody prayed for rain, for the sake of the flocks and herds, and the growing crops.

At last the rain came, and it came with a vengeance.

It so happened that about the middle of October I was invited to accompany a friend to a ball given at Clunes, a township about fifteen miles distant; and we decided to accept the invitation. As there had been no rain to speak of for months, the tracks through the bush were dry and hard. We set off in the afternoon in a one-horse buggy, and got down to Clunes safely before it was dark.

Clunes is a rather important place, the centre of a considerable gold-mining district. Like most new up-country towns, it consists of one long street; and this one long street is situated in a deep hollow, close to a creek. The creek was now all but dry, like the other creeks or rivers in the neighbourhood.

The ball was given, in a large square building belonging to the Rechabites, situated in the upper part of the town. The dancing began about half-past nine, and was going on very briskly, when there was a sudden cry of "fire." All rushed to the door; and sure enough there was a great fire raging down the street, about a quarter of a mile off. A column of flames shot up behind the houses, illuminating the whole town. The gentlemen of the place hastened away to look after their property, and the dance seemed on the point of breaking up. I had no property to save, and I remained. But the news came from time to time that the fire was spreading; and here, where nearly every house was of wood, the progress of a fire, unless checked, is necessarily very rapid. Fears now began to be entertained for the safety of the town.

The fire was said to be raging in the main street, quite close to the princ.i.p.al inn. Then suddenly I remembered that I, too, had something to look after. There was the horse and buggy, for which my friend and I were responsible, as well as our changes of clothes. I ran down the street, elbowing my way through the crowd, and reached close to where the firemen were hard at work plying their engines. Only two small wooden houses intervened between the fire and the inn. I hastened into the stable, but found my companion had been there before me. He had got out the horse and buggy, and our property was safe. Eight houses had been burnt down along one side of the street, before the fire was got under.

After this excitement, nothing remained but to go back and finish the dance. Our local paper at Majorca--for you must know we have "an organ"--gave us a hard hit, comparing us to Nero who fiddled while Rome was burning, whereas _we_ danced while Clunes was burning. But we did not resume the dance till the fire was extinguished. However, everything must come to an end, and so did the dance at about five o'clock in the morning.

Shortly after the fire, the rain had begun to fall; and it was now coming down steadily. We had nothing for it but to drive back the fifteen miles to Majorca, as we had to be at business by 10 o'clock.

We put on our heaviest things, and set off just as the first streaks of daylight appeared. As we drove down the street, we pa.s.sed the smouldering remains of the fire. Where, the night before, I had been talking to a chemist across his counter, there was nothing but ashes; everything had been burnt to the ground. Further on were the charred timbers and smoking ruins of the house at which the fire had been stayed.

The rain came down heavier and heavier. It seemed to fall solid, in ma.s.ses, soaking through rugs, top-coats, and waterproofs, that we had before deemed impervious. However, habit is everything, and when once we got thoroughly soaked we became comparatively indifferent to the rain, which never ceased falling. We were soon in the bush, where there was scarcely a track to guide us. But we hastened on, knowing that every moment increased the risk of our missing the way or being hindered by the flood. We splashed along through the mud and water. As we drove through a gully, we observed that what had before been a dry track was now changed into a torrent. Now hold the mare well in! We are in the water, and it rushes against her legs as if striving to pull her down. But she takes willingly to the collar again, and with one more good pull lands us safely on the other side, out of reach of the ugly, yellow, foaming torrent.

By the grey light of the morning, we saw the water pouring down the sides of the high ground as we pa.s.sed. It was clear that we must make haste if we would reach Majorca before the waters rose. We knew that at one part of the road we should have to drive near the bank of the creek, which was sure to be flooded very soon. Our object accordingly was, to push on so as to pa.s.s this most perilous part of our journey.

On we drove, crossing dips in the track where foaming streams were now rushing along, while they roared down the gullies on either side. It was fortunate that my companion knew the road so well: as, in trying to avoid the deeper places, we might have run some risk from the abandoned shafts which lay in our way. At last we got safely across the water, alongside the swollen creek, now raging in fury; and glad I was when, rising the last hill, and looking down from the summit, I saw the low-roofed houses of Majorca before me.

I found that we had been more fortunate than a party that left Clunes a little later, who had the greatest difficulty in reaching home by reason of the flood. At some places the gentlemen had to get out of the carriages into the water, up to their middle, and sound the depths of the holes in advance, before allowing the horses to proceed.

And hours pa.s.sed before they succeeded in reaching their destination.

During the course of the day we learnt by telegraph--for telegraphs are well established all over the colony--that the main street of Clunes had become turned into a river. The water was seven feet deep in the very hotel where we had dressed for the ball! All the back bed-rooms, stables, and outbuildings had been washed away, and carried down the creek; and thousands of pounds' worth of damage had been done in the lower parts of the town.

A few days later, when the rain had ceased, and the flood had subsided, I went down to Deep Creek to see something of the damage that had been done. On either side, a wide stretch of ground was covered by a thick deposit of sludge, from one to four feet deep. This was the debris or crushings which the rain had washed down from the large mining claims above: and as it was barren stuff, mere crushed quartz, it ruined for the time every bit of land it covered. The scene which the track along the creek presented was most pitiable. Fences had been carried away; crops beaten down; and huge logs lay about, with here and there bits of furniture, houses, and farm-gear.

I find the floods have extended over the greater part of the colony.

Incalculable damage has been done, and several lives have been lost.

The most painful incident of all occurred at Ballarat, where the miners were at work on one of the claims, when a swollen dam burst its banks and suddenly flooded the workings. Those who were working on the top of the shaft fled; but down below, ten of the miners were at work at a high level, in drives many feet above the bottom of the claim. The water soon filling up the drives through which they had pa.s.sed from the main shaft, the men were unable to get out. They remained there, cooped up in their narrow dark workings, without food, or drink, or light for three days; until at last the water was got under by the steam-pumps, and they were reached. Two had died of sheer privation, and the rest were got out more dead than alive.

The poor Chinamen's gardens down by the creek, under Gibraltar, had also suffered severely by the flood. MacCullum's Creek, in ordinary seasons, is only a tiny stream, consisting of water-holes communicating with each other by a brook. But during a flood it becomes converted into a raging torrent, and you can hear its roar a mile off. Within about five hours the water in it had risen not less than twenty feet! This will give you an idea of the tremendous force and rapidity of the rainfall in this country. Of course the damage done was great, in MacCullum's as in Deep Creek. A heavy timber bridge had been carried quite away, not a trace of it remaining. Many miners'

huts in the low ground had been washed away; while others, situated in more sheltered places, out of the rush of the torrent, had been quite submerged, the occupants saving themselves by hasty flight in the early morning; some of them having been only wakened up by the water coming into their beds.

One eccentric character, a Scotchman, who determined to stick to his domicile, took refuge on his parlour table as the water was rising.

Then, as it got still higher, he placed a chair upon the table, and stood up on it, the water continuing to rise, over his legs, then up and up; yet still he stuck to his chair. His only regret, he afterwards said, was that he could not get at his whisky bottle, which he discerned upon a high shelf temptingly opposite him, but beyond his reach. The water at last began to fall; he waded up to his neck for the bottle; and soon the water was out of the house; for its fall is almost as sudden as its rise.

I was sorry for the poor Chinamen, whom I found, two days later, still wandering about amidst the ruins of their gardens. Their loamy beds had been quite washed away, and their fences and some of their huts carried clean down the creek. One of them told me he had lost 30_l._ in notes, which he had concealed in his cabin; but the flood had risen so quickly that he had been unable to save it. I picked up a considerable-sized stone that had been washed on to the Chinamen's ground; it was a piece of lava thrown from one of the volcanic hills which bound the plain,--how many thousands of years ago! These volcanic stones are so light and porous that they swim like corks, and they abound in many parts of this neighbourhood.

CHAPTER XII.

SPRING, SUMMER, AND HARVEST.

SPRING VEGETATION--THE BUSH IN SPRING--GARDEN FLOWERS--AN EVENING WALK--AUSTRALIAN MOONLIGHT--THE HOT NORTH WIND--THE PLAGUE OF FLIES--BUSH FIRES--SUMMER AT CHRISTMAS--AUSTRALIAN FRUITS--ASCENT OF MOUNT GREENOCK--AUSTRALIAN WINE--HARVEST--A SQUATTER'S FARM--HARVEST HOME CELEBRATION--AURORA AUSTRALIS--AUTUMN RAINS.

After a heavy rainfall, the ground becomes well soaked with water, and vegetation proceeds with great rapidity. Although there may be an occasional fall of rain at intervals, there is no recurrence of the flood. The days are bright and clear, the air dry, and the weather most enjoyable. It is difficult to determine when one season begins and another ends here; but I should say that spring begins in September. The evenings are then warm enough to enable us to dispense with fires, while at midday it is sometimes positively hot.

Generally speaking, spring time is the most delightful season in Australia. The beautiful young vegetation of the year is then in full progress; the orchards are covered with blossom; the fresh, bright green of the gra.s.s makes a glorious carpet in the bush, when the trees put off their faded foliage of the previous year, and a.s.sume their bright spring livery. In some places the bush is carpeted with flowers--violet flowers of the pea and vetch species. There is also a beautiful plant, with flowers of vivid scarlet, that runs along the ground; and in some places the sarsaparillas, with their violet flowers, hang in festoons from the gum-tree branches. And when the wattle-bushes (a variety of the acacia tribe) are covered over with their yellow bloom, loading the air with their peculiarly sweet perfume, and the wild flowers are out in their glory, a walk or a ride through the bush is one of the most enjoyable of pleasures.

I must also mention that all kinds of garden flowers, such as we have at home, come to perfection in our gardens here,--such as anemones, ranunculuses, ixias, and gladiolas. All the early spring flowers--violets, lilacs, primroses, hyacinths, and tulips--bloom most freely. Roses also flower splendidly in spring, and even through the summer, when not placed in too exposed situations. At Maryborough our doctor had a grand selection of the best roses--Lord Raglan, John Hopper, Marshal Neil, La Reine Hortense, and such like--which, by careful training and good watering, grew green, thick, and strongly, and gave out a good bloom nearly all the summer through.

By the beginning of November, full summer seems already upon us, it is so hot at midday. Only towards the evening, when the sun goes down--as it does almost suddenly, with very little twilight--it feels a little chilly and even cold. By the middle of the month, however, it has grown very warm indeed, and we begin to have a touch of the hot wind from the north. I shall not soon forget my first experience of walking in the face of that wind. It was like encountering a blast from the mouth of a furnace; it made my cheeks quite tingle, and it was so dry that I felt as if the skin would peel off.