During the stay of the Galatea in Sydney, in 1870, H.R.H. the Duke of Edinburgh, to whom I related the man’s history, became very much interested in the sad case; and although it has often been said that the sailor Prince lacked in kindness of heart or liberality, I feel great pleasure in stating that even the dreadful shock he sustained when he was foully shot at by O’Farrell at Clontarf, did not make him forget old Mr. Viret. When the Galatea was about leaving the port, I was summoned to Government House. The Duke was in the midst of his packing up prior to leaving. He met me most cordially, saying—
“I have not forgotten your blind friend, Mr. Joubert. Please send me the name and address of his friends in London. I shall send for them and see if I cannot prevail on them to make him an allowance. Meanwhile I wish you to give him my best wishes, together with this small present,”—which consisted of a five-pound note. The message, I must say, caused the poor old fellow even greater pleasure than the munificent donation, which, nevertheless, proved very acceptable. The poor man died whilst I was away from the colony, but to the last he was carefully looked after by the members of my family, and the circle of friends who had rallied round him since he had been enabled to resume the outer appearance of gentility, and been honoured by a Royal Duke. Such is life!
II.
A LAND SPECULATION.”
ALL All these, and many other stories of the kind, certainly did not improve the market value of this land for suburban villa sites. It had, however, the effect of keeping the price low—there laid the speculation. I bought the place with a perfect and thorough knowledge of its foul reputation, and set to work in real good earnest to redeem it—the position being good, the proximity to town an advantage, and above all the fact that this peninsula, with a main thoroughfare on the top of the hill, running from Ryde to Onion’s Point, admitted of sub-divisions giving deep water frontages to every allotment. All that was needed was some easy mode of access to and from the city, and, if possible, the closing up of the Field of Mars common, which, besides being a harbour for questionable characters, cut off the settlement from Ryde, Pennant Hills, and Parramatta.
The only road to Sydney was a circuitous one involving a crossing of the Parramatta river by means of an antiquated punt ferry at Tarban—a distance of eleven miles; as the crow flies the actual distance from Hunter’s Hill to the Sydney Post Office is barely four and a-half miles.
But in order to carry the bee-line from the one point to the other it was necessary to cross the water twice—first from Pyrmont to Balmain, then again from Five Dock to the northern side of the Parramatta River, near the Tarban Creek Lunatic Asylum. These two bridges, and the formation of the road, I estimated at £60,000. To raise that amount I proposed that the Government should re-assume the Field of Mars common; issue debentures bearing 5 per cent. interest, payable in 20 years; build the bridges, and, when the thoroughfare was open, survey and cut up the common, which I felt convinced would, besides benefiting all parties concerned, leave a fair margin of profit, and open up a large area of Government land now entirely locked up owing to want of access.
The first meeting to discuss this scheme I called at the end of 1853. Like all such matters, it met with most violent opposition—first of all from John Bull and his rights. The common had been given to the people—what right had the Government to take it back? Then every man wanted the bridge at his own door. The thousand and one difficulties raised against the scheme—the dead-set opposition, in and out of Parliament—far from deterring me from my object, acted as a stimulant. The fight was a long and bitter one to the very end, but the end came at last.