‘Just let John alone, we’ll have our cabbages yet. Why Chinamen can raise peas out of a bed of salt in a baker’s oven.’ So John was encouraged by a smile and toleration. Many of the older hands on the island hadn’t tasted fresh vegetable for three years, and they regarded John’s efforts with great interest. Now and then a resident who had taken an evening stroll past Ah Foo’s patch, would, whilst taking his tot of square face, casually refer to what he had observed. ‘That garden up there ain’t doing much,’ one would remark. ‘Exactly as I was saying to Smith, here,’ was the reply. ‘Plenty of stones and dirt; I reckon he’s waiting for the rain.’ By-and-bye John’s garden became a joke—in fact a sort of bye word for a bad spec. Still John pegged along. Now and then he could be seen toiling up the hill with two baskets filled with sea weed suspended at the end of a stick. This was manure for the garden.
Six months passed and still there had not been a sprinkle, and John had never produced a single vegetable. Thursday Island was as brown as a baked apple. ‘Curious folks these Chinee,’ said the old resident, ‘always industrious. Why if we had their perseverance we’d been millionaires by this time.’
People next began to speculate as to what would be the price of John’s cabbages when they did grow.
‘I wonder how he lives? Why it’s half a year since Ah Foo came, and he hasn’t sold a copper’s worth of stuff as yet. I suppose the other Chinamen help him along.’ We heard that they are terribly clannish in their country. In the midst of all the speculations as to the source of Ah Foo’s income, there was a clap of thunder, and the rain fell in buckets’ full. Everybody looked up towards the Chinaman’s cabin as if they expected to see cabbages rising like the magic mango.
A week or so after this down came Ah Foo from his patch boiling over with tribulation. He said, the birds had taken his seeds, and, while all Thursday Island was putting in a coat of green, Ah Foo’s patch remained as brown as a saddle. ‘No makee garden up that side any more, more better look see nother place. My flend talkee that island overside can catchee number one land. I make look see.’ For two months after Ah Foo was heard of cruising round about the islands. And as there were a good lot of shelters knocking about it was surmised that John got his tucker free. At last he returned still looking fat and healthy let it be remarked, with but an expression more woebegone than ever. More better my go away. Spose flend pay my money I go China side. No catchee chancee this side. The rumour that Ah Foo was busted, quickly spread, and a good deal of sympathy prevailed. Hadn’t he tried to benefit them, and, in the endeavour, been ruined. The argument appealed to the feelings of Ah Foo’s sensitive sympathizers, and as most of the residents on Thursday Island are generous and tender hearted, a subscription was raised to send Ah Foo back to his fatherland. And he left us.
Two months afterwards what do you think we discovered. Why we discovered that Ah Foo had never had a garden at all, and he never intended to have one. All the time he was here he was buying up pearls from the black divers which ought to have come to us. If Ah Foo took a penny out of Thursday Island he took at least £30,000, and we raised a subscription to get him carried off.
When I turned out next morning, I found that we were steaming along past a place called Somerset. So far as I could see Somerset consists of one house. Many years ago it was intended that Somerset should be the capital of this part of the world. Experience, however, showed that a better location might be had on Thursday Island, and thus Somerset was deserted, and Thursday Island adopted. The solitary house which now remains at Somerset was originally the habitation of the Resident. How deceptive atlases often are! The owner of Somerset ought to pay Keith Johnston pretty handsomely for making the world believe that his bungalow is of equal importance with New York or London. What the Russians pay for having the Urals represented as a great big black caterpillar equal to, if not bigger, than the smudge which represents the Alps, I can’t say, but they ought to pay at least as much as the owner of Somerset. I heard that Somerset was a good place to stay at, and get sport amongst the blacks. Usually you can rely on getting two or three brace per day. The great thing to attend to is to see that they don’t get you. After a careful inquiry as to the population of Somerset, I could only hear of one white man. His isolation has made him famous, and the name of Jardine is known throughout Australia. As we went south, the coast got lower and lower, until it finished as a country of white sand hills. The Queensland Government regard these hills as a future source of revenue. It is here, when trade becomes more localized, that the glass works of the universe are to be erected.
Beyond the sand hills we came to some rocky capes. One of them called Cape Melville was made of boulders, each of which was from the size of a college to a cathedral. It is one of the best bits in the world of rockery work.
All the way down this coast we had smooth water, in fact I believe that everybody has smooth water. The reason for this is, that between us and the open ocean, there is a range of coral reefs running parallel with the land, so that we were sailing down what was equivalent to a huge canal. The length of this canal is about 1,200 miles, and its width from 10 to about 60 miles. If you get into one end of the canal there is but little chance of getting out of it, unless by sailing straight ahead or by turning back. There are certainly one or two openings leading to the ocean, but, those who try to find them, usually find themselves landed in a maze of channels formed by the parallel lines of reef, which together build up the one great reef, which is marked on maps as the Barrier Reef. An old gentleman on board, whom we picked up at Port Darwin, gave us a thrilling account of his adventures in the barque Mary Ann, which was wrecked on the outside of the great reef in 1864. After the vessel had become a total wreck, he and his companions were fifty-five days in a boat, sailing from reef to reef. At first they subsisted on the few provisions saved from the wreck. These being exhausted, death from starvation seemed to look them in the face. From time to time they obtained a little moisture by licking the dew which during the night was precipitated on their sails. Having eaten their last boot, they felt their end was close at hand, and each one, hoping that their remains would be discovered, scratched a tender farewell to his nearest relatives on his pannikin. They were then encamped upon a rocky reef.