My Life in Many States and in Foreign Lands Part 10

I have not mentioned my partner in the Australian venture, since I said that he and our clerks sailed away from Boston for Melbourne on the Plymouth Rock--a curious reversal of history, for the West was going to exploit the East, and it was singular that a vessel with the historic name of Plymouth Rock should have been chosen to bear this new Argonautic expedition into the South Seas. Captain Caldwell, as I have said, was an elderly man, sober and conservative. He had been a sea-captain for many years, and was a man of considerable experience. It was the expectation of the Boston shippers that his conservatism would serve as a check upon my rashness and venturesomeness.

Captain Caldwell, however, did not like Australia, but his presence did not prevent my plunging into whatever speculation or enterprise seemed inviting. The country was full of chances, and I should have been stupid, indeed, not to have availed myself of them as far as possible.

But the rough life did not suit Captain Caldwell, although he was accustomed to roughing it at sea; and he wanted to return to America. So I consented to his return. He went in the same ship with my wife, the Red Jacket, which, by the way, was then to make one of the record-breaking voyages of the world. Although he had been in Melbourne only a few months, I gave him $7,500, which was the share belonging to him of the estimated profit in our business.

There was still another incident connected with this voyage of the Red Jacket which made it memorable in my experiences. I have mentioned that the phrenologist Bridges said, in England, some years before this, that I should become either a great reformer or a great pirate. In Melbourne, one day, I found myself face to face with a charge of piracy! I was accused of trying to make away with some $2,000,000 of gold, which I had put on the Red Jacket for shipment to London.

It happened in this way. It was of course customary to have all bills of lading signed by the ship's captain. But Captain Reid, of the Red Jacket, had been arrested, at the instance of one of the pa.s.sengers, and the ship was libeled on account of a claim. For this reason, Captain Reid had not been present to sign the bills of lading. In Boston, I had often signed bills of lading in the absence of the captain, so I had had no hesitancy as to my course in this emergency. I considered that I had a perfect right to sign the bills, and so I did sign them for the $2,000,000 in gold, putting it "George Francis Train, for the captain."

Now, the English are a conservative people. When they see anything new it "frights" them. They can not understand why there should ever be occasion for any new thing under the sun. When the Melbourne banks saw that I had signed the papers, they were scared nearly out of their boots. They had never heard of such a procedure, and thought their insurance was gone.

But this was not all. The Red Jacket was the fastest clipper that had then visited Melbourne, and it occurred to these bankers that I was going to run off with this gold, and become a Captain Kidd or a buccaneering Morgan. They grounded their fears upon the facts that my wife was aboard, that Captain Caldwell, my partner and friend, was also a pa.s.senger, and they believed that Captain Reid was on board, although under arrest. To suspicious bankers, here was a really strong case against me.

In the meanwhile, the Red Jacket, with her trim sails bellied with the wind, and sweeping along in a way of her own that nothing in the South Seas could imitate or approach, was pa.s.sing down Hobson's Bay. The Government and the Melbourne authorities despatched two men-of-war after her. There was no possibility of her being overhauled by these craft, and I gave orders to make for Point Nepean. The sheriffs from Melbourne, who thought Captain Reid was aboard, stayed on the ship, but I ordered them put off at the Point. They were furious, but could do nothing, since they could not act for Melbourne at sea under the Stars and Stripes. Accordingly, they were put on a tug and taken back to Melbourne. Immediately after the sheriffs left the boat, a little yacht, the Flying Eagle, with Captain Reid aboard, came alongside, and the captain was put on the Red Jacket, just outside the jurisdiction of Australia.

The Red Jacket caught the wind again, and showed her clean heels to the slow-sailing men-of-war giving chase. She made the run to Liverpool in sixty-four days.

The authorities and the bankers of Melbourne did not like the proceedings at all, but saw that they could do nothing. There was great anxiety in Australia for two months and more. When it was learned that the $2,000,000 of gold had been landed in Liverpool without the loss of a farthing, I was heartily congratulated, although the British spirit never forgave the taking of matters into my own hands and making the best of a bad situation. Their conservatism had received a shock.

CHAPTER XI

THE GOLD-FEVER IN NEW SOUTH WALES AND TASMANIA

1853-1855

During my stay in Melbourne the gold-fever was at its height. I was particularly interested in the mines, and went to Ballarat to see how the British managed these things. It was while I was there, as it happened, that the great "bonanza nugget" was discovered. I shall never forget the impression that this discovery and its tragic ending made upon my mind. It is a story that the world has heard many times, perhaps, and as many times forgotten; but for one who felt its terrible lesson stamped hot upon his heart, it is unforgettable.

There were lucky and unlucky miners in Australia, as there have been everywhere else in the world's gold-fields. Many found great nuggets that contained fortunes--"infinite riches in a little room"--while many more found nothing but infinite hardship and heart-breaking misery.

Among the army of broken men, there was a "hobo" named Hooligan who had not found any gold, could no longer find even work, and was starving.

One day he went to the owners of a mine or shaft that had been worked out, and asked permission to go down to try his luck. They consented.

The desperate fellow took his pick and descended to the bottom of the shaft. In a few minutes he was worth a fortune. He had found the biggest nugget ever taken out of the earth's treasure-house. Two hundred feet below the surface of the ground, he had driven his pick, by merest chance, against a lump of gold that would have trans.m.u.ted Midas's wand into better metal.

He came up out of the shaft, knowing that he had found a pretty big sum, but did not realize how much it was. The nugget was brought up and weighed. It had exactly the weight of a barrel of flour, 196 pounds. He was rich. That morning he had been a beggar, and now he was the richest miner in the fields. They weighed the gold carefully, and told him that he was a rich man.

"Is--all--that--mine?" he asked, as if the words were as heavy as the big nugget and as valuable. They told him it was. "It doesn't belong to the Government?" "No." "All mine," he said in a whisper, and dropped to the floor, dead.

No one knew him. His name even was not known. He was a mere restless wanderer upon the face of the earth, and had broken his heart over the biggest nugget, the richest piece of gold, on the globe. And so the nugget became the property of the Government, after all.

Capt. David D. Porter, who was afterward admiral of the United States navy, visited Melbourne while I was there, and I gave him a reception, at which he met the prominent people of the colony. He was a relative of mine. I was very proud of him then, though more so later. He was in command of the Golden Age, which was afterward famous for the Black Warrior incident. He invited my wife and myself to go with him in his ship to Sydney, New South Wales. We had a delightful trip around the island. The ship made as great a sensation in Sydney as it had made in Melbourne. The American flag had rarely been seen above a man-of-war in those waters. At Sydney we met Sir Charles Fitzroy, Governor of New South Wales, as well as prominent people in civil and official life. Sir Charles Fitzroy was a survival of the old "beau" days of the court of the last of the Georges, and had the heavy courtesy of that time, when everything said or done was accompanied by a low bow and a gracious smile. He entertained us handsomely at Government House. We were also entertained by Sir Charles Nicholson, at his beautiful country seat. I had the peculiar pleasure, while in Australia, of fulfilling one of the prophecies of Sidney Smith, made when he had been editor of the Quarterly Review some forty years before. He said, I remembered, that in half a century cargoes of tea--the luxury that England of his day and ours regards as an infallible evidence of civilization--would be landed at the docks of Sydney. He referred to Port Jackson, which is now dominated by the thriving city of Sydney, and was then one of the most promising ports of the South Seas. I was, at that time, receiving tea on consignment from Nye, of Canton, China, called the "Napoleon of tea trade," and it occurred to me that Australia should be a good market for it. Three cargoes came from Canton, with instructions that if the market at Melbourne proved unfavorable, one of the cargoes should be shipped to Sydney. It was accordingly sent there, fulfilling the prophecy of Sydney Smith, and opening the tea trade of that portion of Australia.

Sir Charles Nicholson, before we were there, entertained Commodore Wilkes, who was visiting Australia, and who afterward stirred up Great Britain by removing forcibly from the British mail-steamer Trent the Confederate States' agents, Mason and Slidell. I was surprised to find in the harbor two of our old packets, the Anglo-American and the Washington Irving, Captain Caldwell's packet, under changed names. They had been sold to English ship-owners.

Sydney was not a large place at this time, although it was growing fast.

It may be well to recall here that it had been founded as a penal colony, the effects of which had not entirely pa.s.sed away at the time of my visit, although no convicts had arrived since '41, I believe. The influence of Botany Bay had also been felt by Sydney. I was struck by the beautiful, narrow, rock-bound entrance to the harbor. It gives to the port many miles of seash.o.r.e, and is so winding that when Captain Cook, who discovered it, sailed in and anch.o.r.ed in Botany Bay, some of his sailors reported that they saw from the masthead a large inland lake in the interior. The "lake" proved to be only an apparent one, produced by one of the many windings of the beautiful, sinuous arm of the sea, eventually to hold in its embrace the fine city of Sydney.

We returned from Sydney to Melbourne after a short but delightful visit.

Shortly after leaving port we ran into one of the most terrific storms I have ever experienced. It was the right time of the year for gales to appear, and this one, as is characteristic of the wild nature of the South Seas, seemed to spring from a clear sky and unruffled waters. If our boat had been one of the usual type of merchantmen, it must certainly have gone down. But the Golden Age was stanch and strong. She battled with the seas as with a human foe. In spite of her seaworthiness, however, almost every one aboard thought she could not withstand the repeated shock of waves that tumbled in mountains against her bows.

In the midst of the storm, I saw one of the most prominent and richest merchants of Sydney coming across the deck, thrown hither and thither by the tossings of the ship, and carrying in his hands a very heavy package. "For the love of goodness, what have you there?" I asked in amazement. He made no direct reply, and I thought him too much terrified to speak, but he finally came close up to me and said: "Mr. Train, I know you have some influence here on the ship. I have brought with me one thousand sovereigns. They are here"--and he tapped the bag he carried in his hands. "I want you to go with me to the captain and give him this amount for putting me off in a small boat." "A small boat would not live a minute in this sea," I said. "I am prepared," he replied, "to take my chances, as it would be better there than here, for the ship may go down any moment." I refused to go to the captain with so foolish a request, and urged him to be calm, as the ship was stout and would weather the storm. He could not calm himself, but fretted and fumed in terror. As fortune favored us, the gale suddenly stopped, sweeping on away from us as swiftly as it had come. The rich merchant soon took his thousand sovereigns back to his room.

I have stated already that I was the agent for Boston insurance people.

This, of course, made me somewhat solicitous about the safety of all vessels in those waters. One morning the entire city of Melbourne was startled by the news that a great clipper had gone down or ash.o.r.e on Flinder's Island, off Point Nepean. Later we learned that she was ash.o.r.e, and that signals of distress were flying from her masthead and rigging. Of course, I was much alarmed, and began at once to see what could be done to save the ship and crew. I got a tug, and was soon taking a rescue party down Hobson's Bay. We steamed as fast as the tug's engines would carry her through the driving seas. As we neared the wreck, we saw that the ship was the Whistler from Boston. She seemed to be a complete wreck, and with our gla.s.ses we could not discover any sign of life aboard her.

I did not give up the venture there, however, but directed the captain of the tugboat to make directly for the island. I had a vague hope that the crew had somehow managed to get ash.o.r.e in the boats or on floating timbers. The captain did not relish this part of his work, and his fears were soon justified, for we very narrowly escaped shipwreck ourselves in the wild seas. We had, finally, to wait until the waves went down a little, before attempting to land on Flinder's Island. We got up as near as we could, however, and then we saw signals flying from sh.o.r.e. We signaled in reply, and the wrecked crew understood that we were waiting for the sea to run less wildly before attempting to reach land.

The wind died down slowly, and it was hours before we could approach the coast. As soon as possible, I got out with a crew in a small boat and went to the island. We had a most difficult time in getting through the surf and avoiding the breakers, but we finally reached sh.o.r.e. There we found Captain Brown with his wife, the ship's officers and the crew, all alive and well. They had managed to live on sh.e.l.l-fish and wallaby--the small bush kangaroos. They had not been able to take anything from the ship, and could not, of course, reach her after she had been abandoned. We got them all aboard the tug, and carried them safely to Melbourne. The American consul afterward sent them all home by way of Liverpool. This was the second rescue of shipwrecked crew and pa.s.sengers that I had made, and I felt a little too proud of it, I suppose.

About this time the British and Colonial Governments decided to settle Tasmania with free emigrants. The idea was to pay the expenses of all who wanted to go to that island, and the Governments made a contract with the White Star Line to transport the settlers. The British Government was to pay one half the expense, and the Colonial Government the remainder. The contract was signed by Henry T. Wilson, manager of the White Star Line, the sailing-ship pioneers of Morgan's mammoth steamship combination, who sent all the papers to me at Melbourne, as representing the company, to see that the terms of the agreement were carried out. He also requested me to go to Hobart Town (now called Hobart) to be there when the first ship-load of emigrants arrived to collect the money for the pa.s.sage. I immediately took steamer for Hobart Town, and I shall never forget the pleasure of that voyage. It was a revelation. The trip up the estuary to Hobart Town was delightful, and the scenery, I think, was altogether the most charming I had seen in the Southern world. At Hobart Town I was received by Mr. Chapman, a shipping merchant, to whom I had written in advance, and he made me stay with him at his beautiful bungalow, on the crest of a high hill, commanding a fine view of the city.

The emigrants arrived in excellent condition. They were the first free settlers of Tasmania. There had not been a death aboard ship, and the moment the newcomers arrived they were employed, for the city of Hobart Town was very thriving, and there was an abundance of work to be done. I again had the pleasure of feeling that in this, as in other enterprises, I was an argonaut and a pioneer.

I was astonished to find so many persons of prominence, especially in the world of letters, settled in this far-away colony of England. At Hobart Town I found the Powers, the Howitts (whose books were then tremendously popular), and Thorne, the author of Orion. Then, as now, this colony was regarded as the most pleasant portion of the vast possessions of Great Britain in the South Seas. The climate and the aspects of the country were far more pleasant than those of Australia, some fifty miles distant across Ba.s.s Straits.

At the time of my visit the whole world was talking about the various efforts being made to discover the remains of the ill-fated expedition to the North Pole that had been led by the former governor of Tasmania, the much-beloved Sir John Franklin. He had gone to the north in 1845, and nothing had been heard of him since. His wife was supposed to be mourning for him in solitude.

Curiosity led me to the house where this famous governor and adventurous explorer had lived, and the janitor, a trusted old servant, showed me over the building. It was one of those enormous structures which the English build for the edification and amazement of the natives in their colonies. I had heard and read a great deal about Sir John and the lovely woman that was mourning his long absence, and I entered the silent house with a feeling that I was trespa.s.sing upon a great and unutterable grief. Imagine my astonishment--I may say, horror--to learn that Lady Franklin, or Lady Jane, as she was generally called, had for years lived at one end of the long house, while Sir John had lived at the other, and that, as the story went, they had not spoken to each other for years. She seemed certainly to have had the grace to a.s.sume a virtue she did not possess, and apparently mourned her lost lord for years, and spent much of her time in liberal charities. This is the first time I have referred in any way to this unknown unhappiness of Sir John Franklin. It was not known to many people in Tasmania at the time, and I suppose that it is known now only to members of the two families, the Franklins and the Griffins.

As I had come half around the island of Tasmania, approaching Hobart Town from the sea, I had seen nothing of the interior of the country, so I determined--after finishing my business in Hobart Town--to cross the island to Launceston. There is now a railway running directly across, but at that time there was only a stage route. Stages ran every other day. I engaged pa.s.sage in the mail-coach, the same style of coach that had been used for hundreds of years in England and Scotland, still as rough and c.u.mbersome as when first devised. There, too, was the old Tudor driver and the Restoration guard. Nothing was wanting. The coach looked to me as if it had been taken from behind the scenes of some old comedy--a piece of stage property.

But if the stage was antiquated and out of touch with the modern stir of the world, the driver was not. I asked him what he thought would be the proper thing in the way of a "tip," as I did not know the ways of Tasmania. "That depends, sir," he said, "upon whom we are riding with."

That settled the business for me, for my tip then had to be a sort of measure of my self-esteem. I was literally cornered, and had to give him a big tip, in sheer self-defense.

The road to Launceston was an excellent one, a macadam built by convicts, and the scenery was the most beautiful I had seen in Australasia. When I arrived at Launceston I had to get a pa.s.s to leave the country, as it had been necessary to have a pa.s.sport to enter it.

The British were very particular whom they permitted to leave Tasmania, and whom they allowed to go there.

Near Launceston I saw the room in which Francis, who was afterward a member of the cabinet of the colony of Victoria and one of the ablest and most energetic men of Australasia, had his famous and terrible fight with a burglar. This fight has become a tradition all over the colonies and is still recalled as one of the thrilling experiences of early days.

One night Francis heard a noise in his dining-room. He was up late, studying in his library, and as the country was infested by desperate convicts who had escaped from the camps, he at once went to the room to see whether a burglar had broken in.

Peering through the keyhole, he saw a man with a dark lantern putting the family plate into a bag. Francis came to a decision at once as to what to do. He would enter the room, and fight it out with the robber.

Silently opening the door, he entered, and then quickly locked the door and threw away the key. Immediately there was a desperate fight. The burglar finding himself entrapped, turned upon Francis and tried to kill him with a huge knife. Francis caught his arm, and a struggle to the death began. Several times the burglar wrenched his hand free and slashed at Francis, but the plucky fellow did not flinch. He fought until he had conquered the robber, threw him to the floor, and bound his hands behind him. Francis was himself so badly cut that he was in sight of death for weeks.

The exploits of the convict Tracy out in Oregon remind me of a far more terrible case in Australia that occurred while I was there. The country was a sort of frontier, in the Western sense, from one end to the other.

It was quite possible that a desperate convict lurked in every patch of bush, who would as soon kill you as ask for bread. But news came to Melbourne one day that a convict had escaped in a peculiarly terrifying manner. He was no ordinary man. He had coolly killed two jailers, or guards, having taken from them their own weapons. Then, going to the water, he ordered a boatman to row him out to a vessel so that he might escape from the country. The boatman, not knowing the character of the man he was dealing with, refused, and was shot dead instantly. The fugitive then rowed out to the vessel in the dead man's boat, and demanded of the captain that he take him aboard and carry him to Melbourne. The captain refused, and he also was shot dead, and with loaded pistol the convict then compelled the mate to take him to Melbourne. After he landed he began a forlorn attempt to save himself from his pursuers.

This beginning in his career of murder was sufficiently terrible to give the entire region a shock, when it became known that he was at large and headed for Melbourne. He was next heard of when he reached Hobson's Bay at Sandridge. Here he found a farmer plowing in the field. The convict needed his horse, and shooting the farmer, rode away. Another farmer followed him, and in turn was killed.

By this time, of course, the whole country was aroused--even the police--and parties were hurriedly formed to capture the murderers, for no one at the time could believe that it was only one man who was committing all these crimes. When he was last seen, he was heading, apparently, for Ballarat, where, perhaps, he hoped to be joined by other men as desperate as himself. Ballarat was about one hundred miles distant, and a posse started in pursuit. Nothing was heard or seen of the convict for fifty miles, when one of the party saw a man near a squatter's hut carrying another man in his arms. This seemed to be a somewhat curious proceeding, and the posse immediately closed in about the man. Just as did Tracy, this man shot the leader of the party. The others then pushed ahead and captured him before he could kill any one else. In the hut they found nine men, tied with ropes. It was not understood what use the convict expected to make of them. All were uninjured. At the time of his capture, the convict had killed fourteen men.

CHAPTER XII

OTHER AUSTRALIAN INCIDENTS--A REVOLUTION