travellers in the bush.
CHAPTER I.
THE BUSH, ON OR NEAR THE COAST.
All that country, which remains in a state of nature uncultivated and uninclosed, is known among the inhabitants of the Australian colonies by the expressive name of the Bush.[3] It includes land and scenery of every description, and, likewise, no small variety of climate, as may be supposed from the great extent of the island of New Holland. Accordingly, without indulging in surmises concerning the yet unknown parts, it may be safely said, respecting those which have been more or less frequently visited and accurately explored, that the extremes of rural beauty and savage wildness of scenery,—smiling plains and barren deserts, snowy mountains and marshy fens, crowded forests and bare rocks, green pastures and sandy flats,—every possible variety, in short, of country and of aspect may be found in that boundless region which is all included under the general appellation of the Bush. To enter into a particular or regular description of this is clearly no less impossible than it would be tedious and unprofitable. And yet there are many descriptions of different portions of it given by eye-witnesses, many circumstances and natural curiosities belonging to it, and related to us upon the best authority, which are likely to please and interest the reader, who can see and adore God everywhere, and is capable of taking delight in tracing out and following the footsteps of Almighty Wisdom and Power, even in the wilderness and among the mountain-tops. It is proposed, therefore, to select a few of the pictures which have been drawn by the bold explorers of the Bush, so as to give a general idea of the character, the scenery, the dangers, and the privations of that portion of the Australian islands. And, having first become familiar and acquainted with these, we shall be better able to set a just value, when we turn to the state of the colonies and their inhabitants, upon that moral courage, that British perseverance and daring, which have, within the memory of man, changed so many square miles of bush into fertile and enclosed farms; which have raised a regular supply of food for many thousands of human beings out of what, sixty years ago, was, comparatively speaking, a silent and uninhabited waste. When the troops and convicts, who formed the first colony in New South Wales, landed at Port Jackson, the inlet on which the town of Sydney is now situated, “Every man stepped from the boat literally into a wood. Parties of people were everywhere heard and seen variously employed; some in clearing ground for the different encampments; others in pitching tents, or bringing up such stores as were more immediately wanted; and the spot, which had so lately been the abode of silence and tranquillity, was now changed to that of noise, clamour, and confusion.”[4]
And still, even near to the capital town of the colony, there are portions of wild country left pretty much in their natural and original state. Of one of these spots, in the direction of Petersham, the following lively description from the pen of a gentleman only recently arrived in the colony, may be acceptable. “To the right lies a large and open glen, covered with cattle and enclosed with bush, (so we call the forest,) consisting of brushwood and gigantic trees; and, above the trees, the broad sea of Botany Bay, and the two headlands, Solander and Banks, with a white stone church and steeple, St. Peter’s New Town, conveying an assurance that there are Englishmen of the right sort not far from us. And now we plunge into the thicket, with scarcely a track to guide our steps. I have by this time made acquaintance with the principal giants of the grove. Some are standing, some are felled; the unmolested monarchs stand full 200 feet high, and heave their white and spectral limbs in all directions; the fallen monsters, crushed with their overthrow, startle you with their strange appearances; whilst underfoot a wild variety of new plants arrest your attention. The bush-shrubs are exquisitely beautiful. Anon a charred and blackened trunk stops your path: if you are in spirits, you jump over all; if you are coming home serious, weary, and warm, you plod your way round. Well,—in twenty minutes’ time you reach a solitary hut,—the first stage of the walk: you pass the fence, the path becomes narrow,—the bush thickens round you,—it winds, it rises, it descends: all on a sudden it opens with a bit of cleared ground full twenty yards in extent, and a felled tree in the midst. Here let us pause, and, kneeling on the turf, uncovered, pour forth the voice of health, of cheerfulness, and gratitude to Him who guides and guards us on our way. And now, onward again. The land falls suddenly, and we cross a brook, which a child may stride, but whose waters are a blessing both to man and beast. And now we rise again; the country is cleared; there is a flock of sheep, and a man looking after them; to the left, a farmhouse, offices, &c.; before us the spire of St. James’s, Sydney, perhaps three miles distant, the metropolitan church of the new empire, and, a little to the right, the rival building of the Roman church. Beneath us lies Sydney, the base-born mother of this New World, covering a large extent of ground, and, at the extreme point of land, the signal station, with the flags displayed, betokening the arrival of a ship from England. Till now we have met with no living creature, but here, perhaps, the chaise with Sydney tradesman and his wife, the single horseman, and a straggler or two on foot, begin to appear.”
The general appearance of the coast of New Holland is said to be very barren and forbidding, much more so than the shores of Van Diemen’s Land are; and it thus often happens that strangers are agreeably disappointed by finding extreme richness and fertility in many parts of a country, which at their first landing afforded no such promises of excellence. One of the most dreary and most curious descriptions of country is to be met with on the north-western shores of New Holland, quite on the opposite coast to that where the principal English colony is situated. The daring explorer of this north-western coast, Captain Grey, has given a fearful account of his dangers and adventures among the barren sandstone hills of this district. Its appearance, upon his landing at Hanover Bay, was that of a line of lofty cliffs, occasionally broken by sandy beaches; on the summits of these cliffs, and behind the beaches, rose rocky sandstone hills, very thinly wooded. Upon landing, the shore was found to be exceedingly steep and broken; indeed the hills are stated to have looked like the ruins of hills, being composed of huge blocks of red sandstone, confusedly piled together in loose disorder, and so overgrown with various creeping plants, that the holes between them were completely hidden, and into these one or other of the party was continually slipping and falling. The trees were so small and so scantily covered with leaves that they gave no shelter from the heat of the sun, which was reflected by the soil with intense force, so that it was really painful to touch, or even to stand upon, the bare sandstone. Excessive thirst soon began to be felt, and the party, unprepared for this, had only two pints of water with them, a portion of which they were forced to give to their dogs; all three of these, however, died of exhaustion. After a vain search of some hours, at length the welcome cry of “Water!” was heard from one of the party; but, alas! upon scrambling down the deep and difficult ravine where the water ran, it was found to be quite salty, and they were compelled to get up again as well as they could, unrefreshed and disheartened. After following the course of the deep valley upwards about half a mile, they looked down and saw some birds ascending from the thick woods growing below, and, knowing these white cockatoos to be a sure sign of water very near, the weary party again descended, and found a pool of brackish water, which, in their situation, appeared to afford the most delicious draughts, although they shortly afterwards paid the penalty of yet more intolerable thirst, arising from making too free with a beverage of such quality.
The nature of the country near Hanover Bay, where the party belonging to Captain Grey was exploring, is most remarkable. The summits of the ranges of sandstone hills were generally a level sort of table-land, but this level was frequently broken and sometimes nearly covered with lofty detached pillars of rock, forming the most curious shapes in their various grouping. In one place they looked like the aisle of a church unroofed, in another there stood, upon a huge base, what appeared to be the legs of an ancient statue, from which the body had been knocked away; and fancy might make out many more such resemblances. Some of these time-worn sandy columns were covered with sweet-smelling creepers, and their bases were hidden by various plants growing thickly around them. The tops of all were nearly on a level, and the height of those that were measured was upwards of forty feet. The cause of this singular appearance of the country was at length discovered by the noise of water running under the present surface, in the hollows of the sandstone, and gradually carrying away the soil upon which the top surface rests. Formerly, no doubt, the level of the whole country was even with the tops of the broken pillars, and much higher; and hereafter what is now at the surface will give way beneath the wasting of the streams that flow below, and no traces of its present height will be left, except in those places where the power of the water is less felt, which will rear up their lofty heads, and bear witness by their presence of the ruin that will have taken place.
In wandering through a country of this description, how natural does the following little remark of Captain Grey appear! A plant was observed here, which, in appearance and smell, exactly resembled the jasmine of England; and it would be difficult to give an idea of the feeling of pleasure derived from the sight of this simple emblem of home. But, while the least plant or tree that could remind them of home was gladly welcomed, there were many new and remarkable objects to engage the attention of the travellers. Among these the large green ants, and the gouty stem tree may be particularly noticed. The ants are, it would seem, confined to the sandstone country, and are very troublesome. The gouty stem tree is so named from the resemblance borne by its immense trunk to the limb of a gouty person. It is an unsightly but very useful tree, producing an agreeable and nourishing fruit, as well as a gum and bark that may be prepared for food. Upon some of these trees were found the first rude efforts of savages to gain the art of writing, being a number of marks, supposed to denote the quantity of fruit gathered from the tree each year, all but the last row being constantly scratched out, thus:
But, miserable as the general appearance of that part of the north-western coast of New Holland undoubtedly is, yet are there many rich and lovely spots to be found in its neighbourhood; and, further inland, vast tracts of fertile country appear to want only civilised and Christian men for their inhabitants. What is wanting in the ensuing picture but civilisation and religion, in order to make it as perfect as any earthly abode can be? “From the summit of the hills on which we stood,” (says Captain Grey) “an almost precipitous descent led into a fertile plain below; and, from this part, away to the southward, for thirty to forty miles, stretched a low, luxuriant country, broken by conical peaks and rounded hills, which were richly clothed with grass to their very summits. The plains and hills were both thinly wooded, and curving lines of shady trees marked out the courses of numerous streams.” This beautiful prospect was over a volcanic district, and with the sandstone which they were just leaving, they were bidding farewell to barrenness and desolation. It was near this beautiful spot, and in a country no less rich and delightful, that the party of adventurers was overtaken by the violent rains, which occur in those hot climates, and which struck the men with so great chill, that they were driven to make trial of an odd way of getting warm. Some of them got into a stream, the waters of which were comparatively warm, and thus saved themselves from the painful feeling arising from the very cold rain falling on the pores of the skin, which had previously been opened by continued perspiration.