At meal times also “Uncle” was a regular picnic all to himself, and a chop trying a wrestling match with the “old un” invariably came off second best, for, seizing it by the shank end, it would disappear down his capacious maw with a rush, the bone reappearing immediately afterwards as bare of meat as a black gin’s shin-bone; whilst he would dive the fork he was using into the dish of spuds and impale one with unerring aim, to the great “amusement” (?) of his nearest neighbours. As for the dessert, particularly the oranges and bananas, the way it disappeared was a caution to boa constrictors. And as Uncle was never sick or sorry, but always on hand whenever the saddling bell rang, I am afraid the purser did not get much the best of the deal.
However, the old boy was a jolly good old sort, able to give a joke or take one with perfect good humour, and the last we saw of him was going over the side and down the companion ladder into the ship’s boat for delivery in Cooktown, with the following label secured firmly to his coat:—“I am out for the night; when full, take me home; address, Uncle John, Cooktown Gaol.” And one of our passengers who went ashore in the same boat says the old chap was safely landed, the last words he heard him utter being, “Stand up, lads; my shout this time!” in the bar of Poole’s hotel.
We also had on board Mr. B. Cribb, who was on his way to Croydon to act as P.M. and assist the Warden at that place in getting through the vast amount of work caused by the large influx of diggers, attracted by the reports current throughout the colonies of the richness of the field; together with Messrs. Hassall and Waddell, members of the N.S.W. Legislature, who were taking advantage of the recess to pay a visit to the field; and many others, including a brother of Mr. Cribb’s, Charley Street, a well-known expert telegraph operator, who had been told off to help the unfortunate post and telegraph master at Croydon (who was nearly worked to death) pull through the enormous amount of business which was being done since the opening of the office; Mr. Wilson Le Couteur, the possessor of a magnificent voice and an extensive repertoire of songs, with which he whiled away many a pleasant hour, who had been instructed by the A.U.S.N. Co. to proceed to Normanton and report upon the best means of doing away with the delay that now exists in landing and lightering the vast quantities of goods shipped to that port.
It was high time some decisive steps were taken in reference to this important matter, affecting, as it does, the future welfare of nearly the whole of the residents of the Gulf country, who are at present, and will be for years, mainly dependent upon outside supplies for the necessaries of life; the country around here which has come under my observation being totally unfitted for agriculture. And in view of the immense increase in business which has taken place since the discovery of the Croydon goldfield, of which the A.U.S.N. Co. are reaping the direct benefit, it was a good stroke of policy on their part to send a gentleman of Mr. Le Couteur’s ability, knowledge, and tact to discover and report upon the best means to be adopted in order to attain the end in view; and, speaking for myself and many others who have made this trip more than once, sincerely hope that suggestions made by him to the company he represents may be carried out in their entirety, and without any unnecessary delay.
The rest of our passengers were of the usual mixed order found on board most coasting steamers—a fairly representative collection of the various trades and professions incidental to colonial life, who fraternised together in the usual way, and, as a rule, did their best to entertain each other during the voyage; the number being largely increased on our arrival at Townsville by an influx of miners, machine owners, and speculators from Charters Towers, some of them accompanied by their wives and children, and evidently intent upon settling down at Croydon and giving the place a fair trial in a thoroughly practical way. We arrived at Townsville on Monday morning, and cast anchor in the bay shortly before eleven o’clock, but it was some little time before the steam tender came off to convey mails and passengers ashore; our captain, Mr. Cribb, Mr. Le Couteur, and one or two others being accommodated with a seat in the Customs’ boat, which had come alongside in the meantime. The usual inconveniences of landing at Townsville were experienced on this occasion, for, notwithstanding the large sums of money spent in trying to improve the port by erecting jetties and by dredging, it is almost as difficult to land now as it was years ago, when the first rush took place to Charters Towers.
The steam tender took us as far as the bar at the end of the jetty right enough, but there the trouble commenced as we had to tranship into the steamer’s boat, which the officer in charge had taken the precaution to tow behind us, and from that we were transferred or landed on the northern jetty, climbing up the blocks of stone of which it is composed as best we might, winding up with a fairly long walk under a glaring sun over a pretty rough track with a heavy patch of sand to wind up with, and finally pulling up at the Criterion Hotel for a refresher, where I met several old and valued friends, including Mr. Fred Johnson, who looks as well and hearty as when I met him nearly ten years ago, Mr. Hubert, Tom Coyle, and many others.
As we had about eight hours to spare I utilised the time by having a look around the city, and found that many improvements had been made since my last visit, and from all appearances the place has every prospect of a prosperous future, although just at present matters are as dull as the proverbial ditch-water; Townsville, like many other places throughout the colony, having suffered severely from the effects of the late drought, but signs of improvement are visible in consequence of the present really good season, and the beef and mutton exhibited in the shops of Messrs. Castling and Johnson would compare favorably with anything in Australia.
Townsville has long been noted for the excellence of its hotel accommodation, and years ago when the Queen’s Hotel was under the management of Mr. and Mrs. Harry Boulton, now of Pfahlert’s Hotel, Wynyard Square, Sydney, the name was a household word amongst all travellers whom business and pleasure took northwards, for the excellence of its arrangements; and under the present supervision of Mr. and Mrs. Cran it has lost none of its former prestige, whilst the “Imperial,” established by Mr. D. Buchanan, and now conducted by Mrs. W. Eaton, late of the Criterion Hotel, Rockhampton, will compare favorably with anything of the kind in the colonies.
The news of the good crushings at Croydon had created quite a stir, and many of the old pioneers of the north were thinking of paying a visit to the new “El Dorado,” in order to ascertain from personal observation what the future prospects of the gold-field were likely to be, and their opinions will doubtless be looked forward to with a great deal of interest by their immediate circle of friends and acquaintances, as well as many others who will rely upon it before making a start for this as yet comparatively unknown country.
We had been instructed by the “Skipper” to be at the Company’s wharf about 4 o’clock, and about that hour crowds of people are congregated in that locality—the majority of them being passengers, attended by their relatives and friends, who have come to wish them God-speed on their voyage—and on the tender putting in an appearance and making fast to the wharf quite a rush took place to secure seats on board, the little vessel being crowded to its utmost capacity with passengers and luggage. As the tide is making we get out safely, and without any delay, are shortly aboard the “Rockton,” the anchor being weighed a few minutes after 7 p.m., and with a fair wind and smooth sea we continue our voyage, taking the outside track round Magnetic Island, obtaining a splendid view of it and the Palms as we steam along. Nothing occurs to break the monotony until we arrive at Cooktown, where the anchor is let go about 5 p.m. on Tuesday, the ship’s boat being very quickly in readiness to convey the captain, purser, mails and passengers, ashore, but as it is pretty rough I prefer staying on board, giving our genial old friend, “Uncle John,” a parting salute as he goes over the side with about as much ballast aboard as he can carry.