Three days later the ship sailed, and McGill went on through England to America. This ended the whole affair of the revolution, the chase of the leader, and my chance of being President of the Five-Star Republic!
One day a man, wearing a jaunty silk hat, came into my office. "I see you bring in rum from New England," said he. "How much have you on hand?" I went over the invoices, and told him. He then asked if I gave the same terms as other dealers in Melbourne. "Yes," said I; "cash." "Oh, no," said he. "I get three months' time." He showed me a contract he had just signed with Denniston Brothers & Co., of New York, represented in Melbourne by McCullagh & Sellars, for £3,000 payable in three months. I was astonished. The house had branches in all of the great cities of the world. I told the gentlemanly-looking fellow who wanted the rum that if Denniston could afford to trust him for $15,000, I thought we could trust him for $3,000. I took pains to see, however, that our paper bore an earlier date than that of Denniston. But this precaution amounted to nothing against this shrewd manipulator. He gave his name as John Boyd.
By the end of the week, I began to grow a little suspicious, and sent my clerk to the office of Mr. Boyd early on Monday morning. The office was closed, and there was no Mr. Boyd there. He had gone to Sydney, and that was the last seen of Boyd in Australia. He had "buncoed" us and Denniston & Co. in the easiest sort of way. I really felt cheated, it was done so smoothly. I had not got the worth of my money, as I should have done had I been harder to deceive. There had been no sport in that.
I next heard of Boyd at Singapore; but I was to run up against him later. In '61, when I was giving a junketing trip to some people on the Union Pacific road, and a party of us were on the steamboat St. Joseph going to Omaha, a man came up to me and claimed an acquaintance. Although more than twelve years had passed, I recognized him at once as the John Boyd who had got the better of me in that little trade in Melbourne. I pretended not to know him. I suppose he assumed that the matter had passed out of my mind and that his face was no longer familiar to me. He coolly gave me his address on a card, and when I looked at it I saw "Noble & Co., Bankers, Des Moines, Iowa." I knew him by his broken nose, that would have betrayed him at the ends of the earth.
Perhaps the thing I enjoyed most in Australia was the introduction of American articles—"Yankee notions," the people there called them—into Australia, even against the prejudice of the colonists. They would fight hard against everything that was new or American, but I took a delight in overcoming their bias, and forcing them to accept our ideas. I made a calculation once of the things that I had introduced into Australia, and they amounted to something like fifty. Among these were such common things as the light wagon, the buggy, shovels, and hoes, and—wonderful to think of when one hears and reads so much in these days of the "tins" that the British army consumes—tinned, or canned, goods. These had not been heard of, and I saw at once that there was a fine chance for some profitable business. English packers could not begin to compete with us. On one cargo that I brought in from New London, Conn., we made a profit of 200 per cent. And now "Tommy Atkins" lives on the "tins" that we introduced as a method of carrying provisions from one end of the world to the other.
I suppose that it was from a part of the returns from this profitable shipment that the owners of the goods founded the Soldiers' Home at Noroton, Conn., during the civil war. I must record here a curious incident. It was in this home that a soldier carved a most elaborate design upon a cane which he gave to me, showing in brief outline the whole of my history. It was a wonderful piece of work, and I have kept it as a souvenir of the regard of this soldier in the home that was probably founded in part with the proceeds of the first great shipment of canned goods into Australia, and of my part in introducing this new trade into the South Seas.
I had the opportunity of meeting some famous and curious people in Australia. On one of the celebrations of the 17th of March, I met a great many Irish patriots, among them Smith O'Brien, John Martin, and Donohue. I was an invited guest, and sat down with more than two hundred of the most prominent Irishmen of the Australasian colonies. When Smith O'Brien was in an Irish jail in '48, I asked him for his autograph. I have made it a point to collect the autographs of all the famous men and women I have met, and now have, perhaps, the finest collection of autographs to be seen in this country. O'Brien immediately wrote on a card the following verse:
"Whether on a gallows high, Or in the battle's van, The fittest place for man to die, Is where he dies for man."
This sentiment of the Irish poet was peculiarly appropriate for men, who, like the patriots and "rebels" about me, were facing prison or death at every hour.
I shall bring together here some incidents of my life in Australia that are not closely connected with other events there. We made some tremendous profits in Melbourne, the sort that makes one's blood tingle, and transforms cool men into wild speculators. I have already mentioned the profit of 200 per cent on the cargo of canned goods. On a cargo of flour from Boston, 7,000 barrels, we made a profit of 200 per cent, the flour selling for £4 sterling the barrel. This flour had been shipped to us through John M. Forbes, of Boston, for Philo Shelton and Moses Taylor, the millionaire of New York.