Many others came, amongst them being Captain Anderson, an old sheller in the waters of Torres Straits, and the owner of a complete plant and station on Friday Island. He has in his possession a splendid collection of pearls obtained by him in the pursuit of his avocation during the last ten weeks, their value being about £300, one of them weighing 8¼ carats, an egg-shaped pearl of remarkable beauty and lustre, and without a flaw, being valued by him at £150; and as he also collected three tons of shell worth £140 per ton at the same time, his venture was, to my mind, pretty successful. On my making a remark to that effect, he said the life was not all beer and skittles, having its full share of dangers as well as its pleasures; and as an illustration he related to me one of his diving experiences, when he had a fight with a shark. He said “I was working at the time with my boat’s mate and crew, about 15 miles from Captain Hovell’s Shoal, out to the westward from here, and was down in my diving dress, in about twelve fathoms of water. As I was walking along I espied a shark lying on the bottom close to a coral cup or sea fungi, and apparently fast asleep, so walked over towards him, and lifting my foot, shod with the heavy leaden sole which it is necessary to use in connection with the dress, I kicked him fairly in the head. But I made a great mistake that time, for in about three seconds my noble shark came at me like a bulldog. I was carrying a bag with about ten shells in it, which partly hid my right hand; but, unfortunately, my left hand was exposed fairly to view, and the monster descrying it came towards it with a terrific rush, and succeeded in touching it with his nose. Before he had time to turn and seize upon it I managed to wrap the bag around it. I moved backwards and the shark struck me twice with his tail, nearly knocking me over, when it would have been all u. p.; but I managed to keep my feet, and obtaining a little room, kicked him fairly in the teeth with my diving boot, which gave him a start, and to my intense relief he turned tail and cleared at the rate of 40 miles an hour. I can assure you that no one was more pleased than myself at the termination of the encounter, as I was fairly stunned with fright, and was totally unable to draw my dagger, which, in order to keep bright and useful, is inserted in a watertight case, and has to be turned four times in the sheath before it can be withdrawn.”
We weighed anchor on Friday morning, having, after all, been delayed longer than we expected, got safely through the passage in a strong ripping tide, and after an uneventful voyage down the Gulf of Carpentaria, we sighted, about midnight on Saturday, a light that pointed out the anchorage off the mouth of the River Norman.
We steered a course as straight as an arrow for the lightship, shewing that our captain and his officers must have kept a very good reckoning, and I cannot close my remarks upon this part of our journey without bearing ample testimony to the kindness and courtesy of Captain Leggett throughout the voyage, and to the care and attention bestowed upon the passengers by one and all connected with the ship.
We cast anchor off the Norman River bar between twelve and one a.m. on Sunday, and the steam tender “Dugong,” under the command of Captain Campbell, came alongside in the small hours of the morning to convey passengers and luggage up the river to Normanton, so that we had to turn out pretty early in order to save the tide, and partake of a seven o’clock breakfast before starting, the transfer of luggage being rapidly and safely effected in the meantime, after which the whole of the passengers are transhipped without delay, and we bid good-bye to the good ship Rockton, which has carried us so far safely on our journey.
The anchorage at Kimberley is a wild dreary looking waste of water as viewed from the deck of the small steam tender, it being fully fourteen miles off the shore with scarcely anything visible to break the monotony of the scene, the land lying very low and fringed with the mournful looking mangroves so prevalent on the northern coast of Queensland; but steam is up and away we go, shaping our course by means of the buoys laid down to mark the course of the very circuitous channel which we have to follow, bounded on either side by shallow sand banks covered with sea birds of various kinds, who here find a congenial home, the only land in view being on the starboard side and only just discernible above the water’s edge, whilst some few miles off lies a ship which has brought out a cargo of rails for the Gulf railway, but has made the mistake of keeping too far out, she having anchored in five fathoms of water and unbent her sails preparatory to discharging her cargo, but as it was almost impossible for the lighters to lay alongside in such an exposed position, her captain was making preparations to bring her a few miles closer in and nearer to the lightship, in order to enable them to get through the work. We cross the bar safely and shortly afterwards sight the Telegraph Station at Kimberley, and as the Dugong is making fair progress we are not long before entering the mouth of the river, and a blast from the whistle brings off old Bob, the boatman, to receive a few telegrams, conveying the fact of our arrival to the Normanton agents of the Company, who have to make provision for our conveyance from Baffle Group to the town, as the Dugong, drawing six feet of water, is unable to proceed any further than that point in the present state of the tide.
The Telegraph Station is situate on the left hand bank of the river as we enter, and seems a lonely enough spot in all conscience, but I am told the old man in charge has been there for years, and seems fairly contented with his lot; his immediate neighbours consist of a tribe of aboriginals to whom he is very kind, but they all received a terrible fright during the hurricane that almost destroyed Burketown, as it came tearing across here with terrific force sending a wave of water right across the point, reaching half way up the little house with the red door, situate on a sandbank a short distance from the beach, and making the darkies believe their last day was at hand. The river here is a noble looking stream carrying about five fathoms of water, the depth from the bar to the mouth averages about four, and is nearly a mile in width, and taking into consideration that not one pound of public money has been spent in its improvement, it is, in its natural state, one of the finest rivers in the colony; but the bar sadly wants dredging in order to allow ocean-going steamers to enter the river, where they could obtain safe anchorage in all weathers and discharge cargo without risk, damage, or delay. Old Bob comes oft in obedience to the signal whistle, seizes the line thrown to him and hangs on until the telegrams are handed over, when he clears for the shore, off which are lying the old pilot cutter, the new steam launch which has superseded it, and a lighter belonging to the rail ship before mentioned. The bank on the right hand as we steam up being very low and densely covered with the everlasting mangrove, forming a splendid breeding ground for the Gulf mosquito, but the land on the left is of much superior character, consisting of lightly timbered forest country, well grassed, and of fair fattening capacity, and now in the occupation of a small syndicate, who, by means of a butcher stationed at Mrs. Armstrong’s old selection, supply the pilot and Telegraph Stations, together with the various vessels calling at the port, with beef of excellent quality, both horses and cattle keeping in grand condition, more especially after the old grass has been burnt and young green feed springs up, which it does in about a fortnight after the fire has died away.
Here we observe the blackfellow in all his native dirt and ugliness—numbers of both sexes, many of whom are clad in the costume of the Greek slave—standing on the bank watching us as we steam rapidly by, and shortly afterwards we pass Messrs. Burns, Philp and Co.’s steam launch undergoing an overhaul on what Captain Campbell calls his gridiron—a slip invented by himself for the purpose of occasionally having a look at the bottom of the vessel he commands.
About ten miles from Kimberley we pass the Red Bluff, a low-lying red ridge, situate about a mile back from the river, and chiefly remarkable for the agitation that has lately sprung up with regard to the construction of a railway from there to Normanton; but one can hardly recognise as sound economy the idea of running a railway over flooded country, on a course parallel with a navigable river, especially as the surrounding land seems to consist entirely of swamps and salt clay pans, which could never be made available for any useful purpose.
Fifteen miles up we pass the mouth of Walker’s Creek on the left hand, on which there are some good waterholes about twelve miles back from the river, near where the telegraph line to Kimberley crosses it, as well as some very fairly grassed country of decent quality; and some distance further on we pass the mouth of Wells Creek, also coming in from the same side, whilst on either hand we pass numerous mangreve-lined small inlets; in fact, one could almost call them ditches so narrow are they, whilst the country is so level that the windings of the river itself are something to be remembered, our boat’s head being pointed to nearly every quarter of the compass during the passage; and some idea may be formed of its twistings and turnings by the knowledge that it is fully 50 miles from Kimberley to Normanton by the river and only 20 in a direct line by land.