“We shall cross the river by the ford at the back of the jail,” said Mr Oliphant, “for there’s very little water in the river now.”
“And is this the river Torrens?” asked Hubert, with a slight tone of incredulity in his voice.
“You may well ask,” replied his uncle, laughing. “Torrens is certainly an unfortunate name, for it leads a stranger naturally to look for a deep and impetuous stream. Some gentleman from Melbourne, when he first saw it, was highly incensed and disgusted, and exclaimed, ‘Is this crack in the earth your river Torrens?’”
“But I suppose,” inquired Frank, “it is not always as shallow as now?”
“No indeed,” said the other; “I’ve seen it many a time a real Torrens. When it comes rushing down, swollen by numberless little streams from the hills, it will carry almost everything before it. Bridges, and strong ones too, it has swept away, and you may judge both of its violence and of the height to which it rises at such times, when I tell you that, when a flood has subsided, you may sometimes look up and see a dead horse sticking in the fork of a tree which had for a time been nearly under water. And I’ve often thought that the drink is like this stream; people will scarce credit at first that it can do so much mischief—it’s only a little drop, or a glass or two, but the drop becomes a stream, and the glass a mighty river, and down goes all before it, money, home, love, character, peace, everything. But see, that’s the jail on our left now. If there were more total abstainers, we shouldn’t want such a costly building, nor so many policemen, as we do now. Here, as in the old country, the drink is at the bottom of nine-tenths of the crime. And now we’re just coming up to the top of Hindley Street. Look down it; it’s a busy street; you can see right away through Rundle Street, which is a continuation of it, to the Park Lands beyond. Now, just take a fact about the drinking habits of this colony. You’ll suppose, of course, that this street wants lighting at night. Well; how is this done? We have no gas as yet; no doubt we shall have it by-and-by. Well, then, look along each side of the street, and you’ll see ordinary lamps projecting from houses at tolerably regular intervals. These houses are all public-houses. Every publican is bound by law to keep a lamp burning outside his house every dark night; and these lamps light the street very creditably. I use the word ‘creditably’ simply in reference to the lighting; doesn’t that speak volumes?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Hubert; “I fear it tells of abundant crime and misery.”
“It does. But we mustn’t dwell on the dark side now, for I want this to be a bright day for us all. You see we’ve some nice shops in Hindley Street.”
“Yes,” said Frank; “but what a remarkable variety of style in the houses; there are no two of them, scarcely, alike in size, shape, or height. They remind me rather of a class of boys in our dame school at home, where big and little boys, tidy and ragged, stand side by side in one long row.”
“You are rather severe upon us,” said Mr Oliphant laughing; “but we are gradually improving; there is, however, plenty of room yet for improvement, I allow.”
And now they turned into King William Street, and drew up at the front of a large store.