Under the gleam of the midday sun in spring, when the blinding light of the sun is softened by the kiss of the green leaves of thousands of trees, Sydney Harbour is a paradise of beauty. When night falls and the city is illuminated with artificial light, the harbour is a dream of romance. We had the happiness of seeing the harbour under the light of the full moon. This, together with the half-million lights from city and steamer and home which danced upon the waters, transported us into fairyland. Darting from one side to the other were the ferry-boats, ablaze with electric light. Lying at the quays were the great liners, studded with stars. And all the lights of harbour, of city and suburbs were multiplied a hundredfold in these waters already made silvern by the beams of the moon. It was a sight never to be forgotten.
For those who love the country, with its broad spaces and its incomparable perfume, the environs of Sydney offer endless attractions. First of all there are the Blue Mountains, with their awesome precipices, cascades, and gum-tree-covered slopes, and the famous Jenolan Caves, an enchanted world of stalactite, fashioned into every kind of fantastic shape. Within an hour of the capital is the vast area of the National Park, covering over 30,000 acres; and, beautiful as any of them, the Hawkesbury river. The railway route to the Hawkesbury passes through lovely scenery. Within an hour of Sydney this “Rhine of Australia” is reached. There is also a touch of Norway—just a touch—in the waterways which run inland like miniature fiords. On the banks of the Hawkesbury, cottages and bungalows are being multiplied, to be occupied by the business men of the capital, who find here a retreat from the bustle of the city.
Sydney is nearer, by 500 miles, to the tropics than Melbourne. Life lived on the verge of the tropical region is not marked by the same strenuousness as that of a more rigorous climate. And Melbourne is a little more rigorous than Sydney, especially in the winter-time. In Sydney there is only a difference of 17 degrees between the average temperatures of winter and summer. The climate is wonderful, Sicilian in its softness. In Melbourne they pass in an hour from midsummer to midwinter. Perhaps this is why Melbourne is more strenuous than Sydney. But, chacun à son goût. Sydney people believe their city to be the best in the world, and nothing will ever convince them to the contrary. There is no need to quarrel about it.
CHAPTER VII
AT BOTANY BAY
Years ago the Christy Minstrels sang a droll song about the adventures of a Chinaman in Botany Bay. London audiences rocked with laughter at the mention of the famous convict settlement. Had they better understood all that was meant by Botany Bay they might well have wept.
Fresh from reading the story of Captain Cook’s travels, and the subsequent story of the penal life in New South Wales, I find myself in an excellent mood to appreciate a visit to the famous spot which is known as the birthplace of Australian history. We go to Sydney upon a fine Inter-state steamer, the Karoola, a boat that for sheer comfort, deck space, saloon and table compares well with the mail liners.
The entry into Sydney Harbour in the early morning is an event to be remembered. There is no other place on earth exactly like this famous harbour. Its innumerable windings offer a fascinating panorama to the visitor who has the advantage of a position on the upper deck of a mail steamer. Sydney does homage to its harbour. The city crowds to the water’s edge. The new suburbs on the northern side are growing at a rapid rate, and soon there will be no plot of land unoccupied. It is difficult to believe that less than a century ago the “bush” came to the edge of the harbour. Where now maritime life reigns, there was formerly a desolation or a wildness which well harmonised with a country still in the possession of the aborigines. The few pictures extant of Sydney Harbour as it was form the best measure of the progress that has since been made.
Botany Bay is eclipsed by Port Jackson. It is the Plymouth Rock of Australia, yet it is not to Australians what Plymouth Rock is to Americans. The present generation “knows not Joseph”—or, rather, James. Captain Cook is, for the many, a mere name; he does not represent, nor evoke, an enthusiasm. One day, when Australia has grown to the dimensions of America, there will be a Cook cult, and Botany Bay will become a shrine. To-day it is merely a place for picnics; an easy lounge from Sydney for persons who have neither historic nor national imagination.
A fourpenny tram ticket from Circular Quay takes one to the village of Botany. Thence a steamer crosses the bay, calls in at La Perouse, and deposits its passengers at the famous spot where, on April 28, 1770, Captain Cook landed from his toy boat, the Endeavour. There is little to see: a large rock, a small jetty, and a monument. The latter—an obelisk—is enclosed within chains. It was erected by the Hon. Thomas Holt. Of Cook monuments and inscriptions there are many. Yet there is only one statue of Cook himself, and that is in Hyde Park, Sydney. The intrepid explorer is depicted with right hand extended, while in his left hand he carries the chart of his voyage. Wherever Captain Cook’s feet trod there the memorialist has certified the fact in a permanent manner. Upon the face of the cliffs at Kurnell, Botany Bay, an inscription is found setting forth the fact that: