There are some very nice buildings and residences visible from the beach, the Queensland National Bank and the private residence of Messrs. Burns, Philp and Co.’s manager shewing out prominently; there are also two hotels, which are very fairly conducted and look extremely cool and comfortable, but I can hardly understand why customers have to pay a shilling for a drink, as they surely ought to be able to land liquors as cheaply here as they can in Normanton, where the price is only sixpence. We had a stroll round the place, but it does not take long to encircle the settlement, and I was more interested in a visit paid to Messrs. Burns, Philp and Co.’s Stores under the guidance of Captain Pearson, an old resident of this locality, than with anything else I saw upon the Island. The front store abounds with supplies of every description required in the Island trade—a large business being now done with the natives of New Guinea, whose curios and implements of warfare form a conspicuous and very interesting exhibit, the Company having a large stock of them for sale.
In the back stores they showed us tons of pearl shell, some of which, recently discovered in a patch off the coast of New Guinea, was of excellent quality, several specimens of the golden-lipped variety that were submitted for our inspection being something magnificent in size and appearance; whilst ranged in bags round the walls were the different species of beche-de-mer, first and foremost being the teat fish, which realises a high figure in the Chinese market, it being esteemed by the disciples of Confucius as one of the rarest of delicacies when served at table in the form of soup.
Having fairly explored the settlement, which certainly is one of the most picturesque and interesting spots on the eastern coast of Australia, and has a resident population of about four hundred souls, embracing, of course, the islands in the vicinity, as well as a floating population of about twelve hundred, comprising whites, blacks, Malays, Lascars, Coolies and Chinese, we signal the boat, in order to return to the ship, and on our way witness a rather novel sight.
A number of fat bullocks had been shipped at Townsville on board the Rockton to the order of the only butcher at Thursday Island, and as the ship was as previously described, lying at some distance from the shore, it proved a matter of some little difficulty and danger to land the stock without running the risk of loss by drowning; so to minimise the risk as far as possible, the following plan was adopted:
A rope with running noose at one end was first placed round the horns of each bullock as they stood in their stalls on deck, when the slings were placed under them, and one at a time they were hoisted into mid-air, and then gradually and gently lowered into the water alongside the ship, where boats were lying in readiness to take them in charge, in order to tow them ashore. The ropes round the horns were grasped and secured to a ring in the stern of the boat, whilst two stout rowers pulled with might and main towards the shallow landing, the butcher, or one of his assistants, being seated in the stern of the boat to steer and watch that the cattle did not come to grief on the journey.
Thus, partly swimming and partly towing, slow progress was made, until eventually the cattle struck the sandy beach—when the fun commenced—as, finding they had foothold and something to charge at, they madly plunged at the boat, necessitating the exercise of considerable skill on the part of the boatmen in keeping out of harm’s way; but what with the confinement on board ship and the resistance offered by the water, the poor animals were soon exhausted, and seeing a few green bushes and some tempting green grass at the edge of the water, they slowly made their way ashore, and under the welcome shade of the trees, stood ruminating, no doubt upon their novel experiences of the last twenty-four hours.
On board again once more, where all is hurry and bustle in order to save the tide, Captain Leggett being anxious to get through the passage that night if possible, and in the meantime we are favoured by numerous visitors from ashore and afloat, if I may use the term, “everybody who is anybody,” making it a point to avail themselves of the hospitality of our worthy skipper whenever he drops his kellick in these waters—to say nothing of the opportunity afforded to these convivial and thirsty souls of “interviewing the alligator” at the, to them, moderate charge of sixpence, when compared to their own island tariff of a “robert.” We had the brave Baron Wilkins, the bold commander of the “Von der Sluyt,” as grand a hulk as ever stored a cargo of coal, accompanied and supported by a true specimen of the British Tar, in the person of Captain Williams, of the equally celebrated clipper “The Star of Peace,” now, alas, also condemned to the ignoble but useful role of storing coal and cargo for the ships of the A.U.S.N. Co.
A SHARK STORY.
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