‘Well, here you all are, safe and sound, except poor Gyp Warleigh!’ said that gentleman, after the ceremony of greeting and hand-shaking had been most cordially performed. ‘Most melancholy occurrence—terrible, in fact—heard of it at Port Phillip—all the news there, of course—very rising place. Ran down in the Rebecca, brig—nearly ran on shore too. Thought I’d come on and see you all; find out if anything was to be done. Nothing like first chance, at a new settlement, eh? Queer fellow, our captain; too much brandy and water. Catch me sailing with him after we get back.’
Mr. Rockley added new life and vigour to the infant settlement. His practical eye fixed upon a spot more suitable for a township than The Port, which he disparaged as a ‘one-horse’ place, which would never come to much. Indifferent anchorage, with no protection against south-east gales. Might be made decent with a breakwater; but take time—time. A few miles up the river—fine stream, deep water, and good wharfage. He should run up a store, and send down a cargo of odds and ends at once. Fine district—good soil, splendid climate, and so on. Must progress—must progress. Never seen finer grass, splendidly watered too. You’ve fallen on your feet, I can tell you. All through Gyp Warleigh too. Poor fellow!—awful pity!
Mr. Rockley borrowed a horse, rode inland and visited the stations, being equally encouraging and sanguine about their prospects. ‘Can’t go wrong; lots of fat cattle in a year or two; make all your fortunes; can’t help it; only look out for the rascally blacks; don’t allow yourselves to be lulled into security; have a slap at you again some day, take my word for it. Know them well; never trust a blackfellow; always make him walk in front of you—can’t help using a tomahawk if he sees a chance; keep ’em at arm’s length—no cruelty—but make ’em keep their distance. Glorious rains at Yass and all over New South Wales. Season changed with a vengeance! Stock rising like mad; ewes two guineas a head and not to be got. Cattle, horses, snapped up the moment they’re offered. Everybody wild to bring stock overland to Port Phillip. By Jove! that is a wonderful place if you like; fine harbour—make half-a-dozen of Sydney—thirty miles from the Heads to the town. Not so picturesque of course; but splendid open country, plains, forests, and fertile land right up to the town. Great place by and by. Nothing but speculation, champagne, and kite-flying at present. Bought town allotments; buy some more as we go back. You’d better pick up two or three corner lots, Wilfred, my boy. Money? Never mind that! I’ll find the cash. Your security’s first-rate now, I can tell you.’
And so their guest rattled on, brimful of great ideas, large investments, and goodwill to all men, as of yore.
Wilfred, who had indeed now no particular reason for remaining, but on the contrary many motives to draw him towards The Chase, was only too glad to avail himself of a passage in the Rebecca, the truculent captain notwithstanding. That worthy, who appeared to be a compound of sailor and smuggler, with a dash of pirate, swaggered about the beach for a few days, and after a comprehensive carouse with such of his late passengers as he could induce to join him, announced his intention of sailing next day—and did so.
Arrived at Melbourne, as the infant city had just been christened, Wilfred was astonished at the life and excitement everywhere discernible. On the flats bordering the river Yarra Yarra had been hastily erected a medley of huts, cottages, and tents, in which resided a miscellaneous rout of settlers, storekeepers, speculators, auctioneers, publicans, Government officials, artisans, and labourers.
He witnessed for the first time the initial stage of urban colonisation. What he chiefly wondered at was the restless energy, the sanguine spirits, the dauntless courage of the miscellaneous host employed in founding the southern metropolis.
The situation had been well chosen. The river which bisected the baby city, though not broad, was yet clear, deep, and, as its aboriginal name implied, ‘ever flowing.’ Large vessels were compelled to remain in the bay, but coasters came up the river and discharged on the banks of the natural basin, which had decided the site of the town.
Around—afar—stretching even to the distant horizon, were broad plains, park-like forests, hill and dale. The soil was rich for the most part; while a far blue range to the north-east pointed to an untried region, beyond which might lie (ay, and did lie) treasures yet undreamed of.
‘All truly wonderful,’ said Wilfred. ‘The world is a large place, as the little bird said. We have got outside of our garden wall with a vengeance. How slow it seems of us to have been sitting still at Lake William, ignorant of this grand country, only five hundred miles off—not to mention “Gyp’s Land.” I wonder if this will ever be much of a town. It is a long way from Sydney, which must always be the seat of Government.’