The Bushman — Life in a New Country

by Edward Wilson Landor

For fifteen years, at least, the latter have grumbled with violent indignation unless their goods have realised from two to five hundred per cent profit. Resolved, therefore, to be our own boatmen, we moored our vessel at a little wooden jetty below our house, and began to pack up such articles as were designed to compose the first cargo.

I remember well the pleasure with which we stood upon that wooden jetty one summer's evening, looking upon the boat in which we were to perform our first voyage up the river, as she lightly floated before us, scarcely giving a strain upon the rope which held her to one of the posts at the end of the pier. Fig and Jezebel, always intimate friends, were hunting for bandicoots—animals less than a kangaroo-rat—which abounded in the bank below our dwelling.

Upon this bank, Hannibal was to be seen cleaning the tandem harness, suspended from the bough of a tree, and occasionally casting an eye in the direction of the sheep, for whose safety he was responsible. By the river side, our bullocks were busily engaged picking the scanty herbage. The sea-breeze blowing steadily up the river cooled the air, and seemed to bear health and spirits on its wings.

The only sound that met the ear was a rushing noise, which every now and then rose from the water along the shore. It was caused by myriads of little fish rushing into shoal water to escape from some pressing foe.

There are some minds that draw pleasure from things which in no degree affect others; to such, this was one of those seasons of tranquil happiness that leave no regrets behind. The consciousness of independence—the pleasant nature of our duties—the cheerful aspect of all around—the flattering whispers of Hope, though false as usual—all helped to form for the mental eye a picture which it loved to look upon.

And now we were busied in loading our boat. What pride we felt! no shame at being seen performing manual labour; but pride, and pleasure, and exultation. We had always been fond of boating, and now that it was about to be an useful employment, it seemed additionally agreeable. And what a noble scene for this our first adventurous voyage, upon that broad river or rather arm of the sea! We had found out the secret of human happiness, long hidden from us —business had become our pleasure. I was to be the captain, and my youngest brother and Simon composed the crew.

The boat was not loaded until late in the afternoon, and our departure was therefore postponed until the sea-breeze should set in on the following day. Still, we could not resist the delight of making an experimental trip, and so the sprit-sail and jib were set, and we shoved off into the tide-way. A whale-boat goes very fast before the wind, but will not beat, nor will she go about well without using an oar; she is not, therefore the craft best adapted for nautical evolutions, but we were too happy to find much fault with her on that occasion; and so we sailed several times across the river and back again in the very height of enjoyment. Then suddenly luffing up in the middle of the stream, the anchor was let go, and the sail brailed up, in order that we might have the pleasure of sitting still in the very midst of the waters, and rest, as it were, in the plenitude of our satisfaction; and when the anchor dragged a few yards over the sand before it held, and then suddenly brought up the boat with a jerk, it seemed the climax of our pleasure. This, the sagacious reader, in the depth of his gravity, will consider extremely boyish. But should we not rejoice and be thankful whenever we find among the many simple pleasures of our boyhood, a single one which retains the power of gladdening our maturer years? Alas! one after another they die down, and are no more to be revived. We are apt to fancy that when the pleasures of youth have lost their sweetness, and are no longer desired, it is an evidence of our increasing wisdom. But it proves only that our tastes, grown more vitiated, have taken new directions. We have only changed our follies—and for the worse.*

[footnote] *"'Tis sweet to think we grow more wise When Radcliffe's page we cease to prize, And turn to Malthus, and to Hervey, For tombs, or cradles topsy-turvy; 'Tis sweet to flatter one's dear self, And altered feelings vaunt, when pelf Is passion, poetry, romance;— And all our faith's in three per cents." R. R. Madden

The breeze! the breeze! the glorious sea-breeze comes stealing swiftly over the bar; it crosses the first bay. Like a dark shadow it moves along the face of the river, and now it has reached our landing-place and gone swiftly forwards, bringing pleasure and thankfulness on its path. Now, my men, jump in! hand me the grog and provision basket—and now loose the sails, and shove off. There, we are fairly under weigh, and little Fig whimpers his adieu to Jezebel and Nero, who for some minutes accompany the course of the boat along the shore; and then finding we are really going, remain fixed with astonishment, gazing upon their departing friend. Soon, how soon, vanishes from their breasts every feeling of regret! Before we have turned the first headland we perceive them playfully biting each other about the ears and neck: and now Nero scampers off under the trees in the direction of the house, and Jezebel (type of her sex!) hurries after him.

The breeze came rattling up the river, and the boat flew merrily before it. We had occasionally sailed to Perth in the passage-boats, and therefore knew something of the channel. Sand-spits frequently run far out into the river, and those who think only of steering a straight course, are very sure of running aground several times during the voyage.