Busselton—Napoleon’s Grave—Cattle Chosen—“All aboard”—Karridale—Touring the Forest—King Karri—The Sand Patch.
Starting from Greenbushes railway station, I made my return journey as far as Boyanup Junction, where I changed trains for Busselton, or, to call it by its first name, “The Vasse.” This was one of the earliest settlements of the colony, and is one of the most picturesque. It has a beautiful bay, which, like Bunbury, was at one time a great whaling place. There are about 30 fishermen there, and most of the fish caught is sent every day by the Perth Ice Company to the metropolis. The bay is nearly always calm, and English people say that it resembles Bournemouth in old England. The lovely beach, with its hard white sand, is a favourite place for cycling.
In the afternoon I sallied forth to inspect the beauties of this place and was quite delighted with this ideal town. Everything is sweet and clean; the grass and the trees seemed to me to have a more tender green than in other places. The beautiful sky, with white fleecy clouds, was reflected in the sparkling sea; dear little boats were dancing on the water, and at the jetty, which is a mile long, two ships were moored, while another had just spread its white wings to fly to fresh seas. It was a perfect afternoon for fishing, which accounted for the number of fishing-boats out.
The morning sun shining in all its glory awoke me early. I strolled down to the pier, and met some boys coming along laden with fish that they had just caught. I wanted to buy some, but the boys would not hear of that, and presented me with two for my breakfast, which I took to the hotel to be cooked, and no fish, I think, ever tasted sweeter.
Looking one way from the top of the lighthouse at the end of the jetty one saw an exquisite carpet of green stretching for miles, white houses nestling in shrubberies near the winding river, and sleek cows in the pasture, nearly up to their knees in the waving grass; out at sea the fishing-boats were dancing on the waves; a big steamer in the distance was on its way to the East; a white-winged ship was just disappearing from sight on the horizon; and all these, with flocks of birds soaring across the sky, formed a picture pleasant enough to charm any eye.
There are some remarkably fine old houses about Busselton; Fairlawn, the old Residency, for one. The immense China tree in front of the house was a favourite spot with the late Colonel Molloy, when resident magistrate. Under its shade he sat many a time transacting the business of the Residency, and soldiers of the Queen have often passed beneath its shady branches. Colonel Molloy was with Sir John Moore’s army, and also fought under Wellington at Waterloo. A magnificent willow-tree, planted by the Colonel in 1862, a few years before his death, from a slip growing over Napoleon’s grave at St. Helena, is now 12 feet in circumference. I asked for a slip as a memento, and it was graciously given to me. Fairlawn now belongs to Mr. R. Gale, who has a nice dairy, with all the latest improvements, stables and stockyards. As much as 380 lb. of butter, from 60 cows, is made weekly by the Laval cream separator, worked by horse-power. This part of the beautiful country is so noted for its fine milch-cows that there would be great scope for a large butter factory, since real nice country butter is seldom to be obtained in Perth at any price; and I am sure housekeepers would hail the advent of fresh pats of butter from the country with delight.
Mulberry-trees were loaded with their luscious fruit, and the bees were hovering around and sipping the sweets from them. Honey is very plentiful. In some orchards at Busselton there are as many as 130 hives, yielding four tons of the sweet commodity.
Mr. J. Bussell’s estate has a singular name, “Cattle Chosen,” and it was a strange chance that named it so. Mr. Bussell, the oldest settler in these parts, had taken up land at Augusta, nearer the coast, but was not entirely pleased with the place, and while driving some cattle to the Swan Settlement lost one of his cows. On his return journey he saw cattle-tracks, and following them up found not only the lost cow, but a beautiful calf also, on the richest pasture he had seen. Considering the circumstance as an omen of good luck, and delighted with the locality, he applied to have his grant, 6000 acres, transferred to the Vasse, and named the place “Cattle Chosen.” The town was afterwards called Busselton out of respect to his name.
The homestead of Cattle Chosen is a pleasant place. Willows grow over the pretty brooks and white bridges. An avenue of palm-trees leading to the house, and an old cannon in the garden in front of it, add romance to the scene. I was shown some marvellous ears of wheat grown by Mr. Tanner near here, 12 inches long by 8 inches round; also cabbages 12 lb. in weight. Tomatoes grow by the ton, and as to potatoes, 11 tons have been taken off one patch of two acres. There is some swamp land near Busselton which it is said would produce as many potatoes as the whole of Ireland.
In Mr. Pries’ orchard apples and pears load the trees so heavily—some of the trees yielding 16 cases of fruit each—that the boughs actually break beneath the weight. Wax models of some of the pears grown here are to be seen at the office of the Agricultural Bureau, St. George’s Terrace, Perth.