At this part of our journey, we were joined by Mr. Edward Cox, of Mulgoa, who, travelling partly in the same direction as ourselves, had agreed to accompany us. We ascended “Lapstone Hill,” where the road commenced over the extensive Blue Mountain range, and soon after arrived, in a heavy rain squall, at the Pilgrim Inn, where we enjoyed, from the bleakness of the weather, a blazing wood fire and an excellent dinner. The view from Lapstone Hill, on gaining its summit, was very splendid: a large extent of country appeared from this elevated site: the Nepean river was seen winding its course through lands rich for pasturage, as well as in the cultivation of grain. During the harvest season, the prospect must be much increased both in richness and beauty. The situation of Windsor was pointed out; but a haze being over the distant village, the houses were not distinguishable. Regent Ville, the beautiful residence and farm of Sir John Jamieson, was included in the view.
About this place there was a great variety of flowering shrubs, among which the Dianella cærulea, and a variety or species with white flowers, were abundant; but the season (particularly on this bleak range) was not yet sufficiently advanced for Flora to distribute all her beauties, without the bright sun to enliven them. The rapidly advancing summer will, however, soon strew the earth with a thicker carpeting of floral beauties, which the earlier spring about Sydney had already brought forth in such an infinite profusion. It is difficult to eradicate from our minds early impressions; thus we find those who have been accustomed to regard plants from foreign climes, nursed in the conservatories at home, with a certain degree of veneration, even here still retain their former feelings towards them; until by a residence in a country where they constantly meet the eye, and from their profusion, become annoying weeds, early impressions pass away, and they are regarded as valueless because common. Thus we may say it is with mankind, both in a civilized and savage state of society; most things are estimated for their rarity.
I recollect, when at the Cape, riding to Constantia; on the road, flowers gay and magnificent in colour, were passed, and I thought there would be no termination either to their number or variety. On arriving at that little paradise of nectar, an invitation was given me to view the garden. I accepted it with pleasure, thinking that many rare specimens of the Cape Flora would now be laid before me; but such an expectation, was not, however, to be realized. The beautiful and fragrant rose, the simple pink, or the brilliantly coloured carnation, the sweet scented scabious, the mignonette, and the Digitalis purpurea, or Foxglove, (which latter having flowered for the first time in that country was held in very high estimation,) as well as many of the hybrid productions so abundant in Europe, were alone prized here; the others, so much admired by the stranger, were regarded only as weeds. All this, however, thought I, on reflection, is perfectly natural; here, our plants are rare, and theirs, worthless to them, are new to us, and, consequently, nursed with care in the green-houses at home. But a lady just arrived from England at the Cape, could hardly be persuaded that she might gather the flowers seen growing in such profusion and beauty around, and which she was accustomed to regard as exotics at home.
The inns in the Australian colony are neat and elegant, well supplied, and charges very moderate. We left the “Pilgrim Inn” about three o’clock, P.M., and proceeded on our journey through an excellent road over the Blue Mountains, which is formed upon a dividing ridge of this mountainous range; on each side thick forests, deep romantic glens, occasionally enlivened by beautiful flowering shrubs, formed the landscape scenery around us. After passing a great number of “forest oaks,” (Casuarina torulosa,) whose dark green filiform foliage had a peculiar appearance, and “turpentine trees,”[41] (Tristania albicans,) which lined the sides of the road, and extended into the interior of the forest, intermingled with other trees and shrubs, we reached “Springwood,” at which place a corporal’s guard was stationed, principally for the purpose of escorting prisoners attached to the iron gangs from one station to another.
As we made the gradual ascent of this mountainous but excellent road, the scenery began to develope itself, until the prospect before us had assumed a romantic and in a high degree picturesque appearance: there was a distant view of the Appin, Windsor, and other districts, like a sea of country in the distance; near us were wild deep-wooded glens, to the bottom of which the eye could not reach. On another side were mountains heaped on mountains of various forms, and for the most part densely wooded, all combining to form a landscape of a grand and impressive character. There was, however, a deficiency of water in the view, an element which adds so much to the natural beauties of all landscape scenery; by its presence the picturesque as well as fertile appearance of the country would have been much increased. The atmosphere upon this elevated range was colder and bleaker than we had experienced on the low land; it seemed as if we had been removed to another climate, and the wind, which blew fresh, was so piercingly cold, as the sunset approached, as to render our warm cloaks of much service.
As we advanced on our journey, by the continued gradual ascent, the cold increased; even the shrubs had a stunted and miserable appearance, which gave a desolate aspect to the country about us, indicating a great difference of climate in this spot in comparison with the lower part of the range from whence we had departed only a few hours before. The sunset brought a still keener air, and with joy we hailed the bridge and habitations of a station called the “Weather-boarded Hut,” our place of rest for the night, and a termination to our journey of thirty-six miles this day. On hearing the tramping of our horses, the door of a neat little inn (which now supplied the place of a rude bark hut) was opened for the travellers, and a blazing fire cheered us by its appearance in this desolate-looking spot.
It was not long before we were happy to find ourselves seated in the warm room, and busy preparations making for our supper, for which we were prepared, as we found that “the keen air is a marvellous provoker of appetites;” and as, when seated snugly within this dwelling, we heard the cold wintry blast, which in this elevated region is felt through the greater part of the year, passing in gusts, we congratulated ourselves on the contrast we experienced in our present comfortable situation. The “Weather-boarded hut” is a military station for a serjeant’s guard, placed to escort prisoners of road and iron gangs, as they are removed from one station to another. It was formerly very unhealthy for the troops, occasioned by the bad construction of their habitations, and the bleakness of situation; but since more commodious dwellings have been erected, fully capable of resisting the severity of the weather, it has become more healthy.
We enjoyed a plentiful supper of tea, toast, bacon, eggs, &c., but there was no milk; the excellent reason given for its absence being the death of the cow a few days previous, not that I was surprised at the animal’s death, but only how any living creature could subsist even for a few days in such a place. When we asked our attendant why he did not get another cow, he replied, “Because it would not survive long!” No wonder, thought I; for where in this desolate place could sufficient provender be found for the unfortunate beast to sustain life?
After seeing our horses fed, and placed in a warm and comfortable stable, with a good bed for the night, (for in the stables at the colonial inns, horses require as much to be looked after when travelling as at home, for ostlers are in this country much of the same species, or perhaps a worse genus, having similar peculating habits,) we retired to our beds, and slept soundly, in spite of the strong gusts of wind which swept furiously by our little dwelling.