I LONELY LANDS Wetiwlale, Shoosmith and Co., Printers, Sydney FRANCIS E. BIRTLES. LONELY LANDS THROUGH THE HEART OF AUSTRALIA BY FRANCIS E. BIRTLES With Portrait, Map, and 84- Photographic Illustrations by the Author. SYDNEY N.S.W. BOOKSTALL CO. 1909 Copyrighted, 1909, by ALFKKD CECIL ROWL.ANDSON, "Montana," Harbour Street, Mosman, and ^76 George Street, Sydney, Australia. Stack Annex 1 04 PREFACE To a m;ui whose motto is (- Actions not words," the compilation of sufficient material to make a book is no easy task, and I have often felt that 1 would rather ride a hundred miles than write about it. Probably my gentle readers may wisli I had given expression to my feelings in the former fashion only, after they have sampled my w;ires, but the deed is done no\v, and the book may, at least, serve as a warning to the cobbler to stick to his last. I would crave some indulgence on behalf of the photographs contained herein; but, when the untowjird conditions under which they were snapped are taken into account, I am sure some allowance will be made. There were many others, taken, but the exposure to damp and dust ruined them, so the residue represents the survival of the fittest. The economic questions dealt with so cursorily must, in time, become matters of great moment to 1188800 viii. PREFACE Australia, but, whereas they may be mentioned here, in passing, the proper place to discuss them is Parliament. The holiday aspect of the ride may not appeal to every one, although, I can safely say that, while the hardships were many, they were more than compensated by the pleasures. THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS CHAPTKR l'A:K I. --THE REASON OF THE RIDE 1 I [.-THE OUTFIT 7 III. -SYDNEY TO BRISBANE, 658 MILES 17 My Send-off from Sydney A Bolt An Unexpected Dip My First Snake. IV. BRISBANE TO CHARTERS TOWKRS, 1200 MILES - -29 Contrasts Through a Bush Fire A Beastly Bump On Trek A Good Samaritan Camping with a Swaggie Mosquitoes. V. -CHARTERS TOWERS TO CROYDON, '250 MILES 51 A Lonely Grave Tramps Reduced to One Eye A Relation at Georgetown Feathered Fish Native Companions Cyclones Crocodiles. VI. -CROYDON TO BURKETOVVN, 350 MILES - 71 Yellow Jack Around the Gulf Trouble- some Blacks Black Tracking A Bit of Baccy The Rifle Fish Bush Photo- graphy. x. CO\TK\T> CHAPTER PACK VII. BURKETOWN TO CAMOOWEAL, via VVOLLOGARANG, 800 MILES - 91 A Wild Pig Hunt A Run on tlie Bank Inhospitable Whites Ants The Timely Mailman A Bush Dance Heroic Teamsters Flies Barcoo Sickness Heavy Rainfall Strong Tea Boots in Bogland. VIII. -CAMOOWEAL TO BRUNETTE, 240 MILES 115 A Shivoo The Philosophic Teamster- Friends in Need Beef and Beetles Padding the Hoof Down with the Fever. IX. BRUNETTE TO NEWCASTLE WATERS, '280 MILES 126 The Carriage Drive Overlanding Drovers Language- The Order of the Bath A Narrow Escape from Hostile Blacks. X. NEWCASTLE WATERS TO PORT DARWIN, 650 MILES 143 Lonely Lands Qualifying for the Bar One Mad Fellah Chow Land Chinese " Language " A Social at Port Darwin In Hospital. XI. PORT DARWIN 160 A Chinese Artiat Opium Fishing The Aggressive Celestial Settlement in the Northern Territory. CONTENTS xi. CHAPTER PAGE XII. PORT DARWIN TO TENNANT'S GREEK, 890 MILES 178 The Transcontinental Railway Iguana Hunting Fowling A Big Snake Native Burials- Fish in Central Aus- tralia Surprising a Native Camp The Stranded Motor. XIII. TENNANTS CREEK TO ALICE SPRINGS, 330 MILES 201 I.azy Niggers Iguana Stew The Overland Telegraph Uuttnn and Aunger Afghan Camel Corps Bush Burglary. -ALICE SPRINGS TO ADELAIDE, 1-200 MILES- ADELAIDE TO MELBOURNE, TOO MILES MELBOURNE TO SYDNEY, 570 MILES VARIOUS CROSS RUNS ON JOURNEY, 18-2 MILES 218 Rare Accommodation Rabbits The Stony Desert Home Again. ILLUSTRATIONS PACK FRONTISPIKCK FUANCIS E. BIKTLES iv MAP xvi THK START FROM SYDNKY 8, 9 PHOTOGRAPH OP SKLF AND OUTFIT - 11 WISEMAN'S FKRHY, HAWKKSBURY KIVKR, N 8 W. 20 TRAVELLING OUT BACK IN NEW SOUTH WALKS 24 A LAGOON, QUEENSLAND - 26 F. BIKTLES LKAVING BRISBANE 30 THB HAUNTS OF THE ALLIGATOR, QUEENSLAND 33 AN EIGHT-FOOT SNAKK, GYMPIK, QUEENSLAND 35 BAFFLE CREEK, QUEENSLAND - 37 CROSSING PLACK, CALLIOPE RIVER, QUEKNSLAND 39 CARTING SUGAR CANE, MACKAY 41 SUGAR-CANE CUTTERS' DWELLINGS, MACKAY 43 SELECTORS TEAM ON THE LAND IN QUKENSLAND 45 THE ROAD TO THE STATION, MT M'CONNELL, Q'SLAND 47 INDIAN HAWKERS IN QUEKNSLAND 49 A LONELY GRAVE, QUEKNSLAND 52 A CORROBORKE, NORTH QUKENSLAND 54 THE COPPKRFIKLD, ElANKSLKIGH, NORTH QUEENSLAND 5l) MUSTERING IN QUEENSLAND STRAGOLERS - 58 ILLUSTRATIONS xiii. PAGE QUEENSLAND HORSKS AT HOME 60 YOUNG WAYBACKS, QUEENSLAND 63 CHINESE SHOPKEEPER IN CHINATOWN 65 A YOUNG ALLIGATOR, LKICHHAKDT RIVEK, N.Q. 67 A CAPTIVE ALLIGATOR 69 BURKRTOWN 72 STATION BLACKS, WOLLOGARANG 77 FATHER AND SON, N.T. STATION BLACKS- 79 NATIVE COMMERCIALS, N.T. xl Wor.LOGARANG CATTLE STATION, N.T. 83 SHADFORTH'S DROVING PLANT, WESTMORELAND, N.T. So ' WILD FELLAHS," GREGORY, N.T. S7 FLOODED ROADS 95 MITCHELL GRASS COUNTRY BOGGED ON THE BLACK SOIL PLAINS 97 CAMOOWKAL IN THE WET SEASON 100 TEAM CROSSING THE BLACK SOIL PLAINS, NEWCASTLE WATERS, N.T. 104 THE BORDER VERMIN-PROOF FENCE, Q'NSLAND & N.T. 107 MITCHELL GRASS COUNTRY, N.T. 11.0 BLUE BUSH COUNTRY 113 THE RANKINE STORE, N.T. 116 CONNELLY'S LAGOON, N.T. 119 CORELLA (DESERTED HOMESTEAD) SCENE OF " ROH- BERY UNDER ARMS" 127 THE CARRIAGE DRIVE, BRUNETTE, N.T. 129 OVERLANDING CATTLE ON A CREEK - 132 xiv. ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE A TERRITORY DROVKR'S PLANT "WATERING" 134 FRKW'S PONDS, CENTRAL AUSTRALIA 138 GOVERNMENT WELL ON THK OVERLAND TELEGRAPH LINE, NEAR DALY WATKRS, N.T. 140 ^LUBKAS DANCING 142 DALY WATERS TELEGRAPH STATION, N.T. 145 MY CAMP (A CALICO FLY AND CHEKSE-CLOTH MOS- QUITO NET) 148 THE GARBAGE MAN - 150 His EVENING STROLL 152 ADELAIDE RIVKR, N.T. 154 A STREET SCENE, PORT DAKWIN, N.T. 156 TYPICAL DAKWIN STREET POYS, NT. 158 DARWIN JETTY, PALMKRSTON 161 FRUIT MERCHANT DARWIN STUDIES 163 TOWN CRIER, PALMERSTON, N.T. 165 THE GOVERNMENT KKSIDENCY, PALMERSTON, N.T. 1H7 KARLS BKACH, PORT DARWIN - 169 A CHINESE INVASION, DARWIN JETTY SEARCHING FOR CONTRABAND 171 PRAYING SHRINK, Joss HOUSE, PALMKRSTON 173 SUBMARINE TELEGRAPH STATION, PALMERSTON, N.T. 175 THE CLUB HOTEL, PALMERSTON, N.T. 177 HOMEWARD A CHINESE STUDY IN PALMERSTON, N.T. 179 A CHINESE GARDEN, N.T. 181 PORT DARWIN RAILWAY STATION, N.T. 183 LEAVING PORT DARWIN - - 185 ILLUSTRATIONS xv. I'ACK A DKSKRTKD TIN MINK, YAM CKKKK, N.T. 187 ELSKY RIVER STATION, N T. 18;) A NICK BEDFELLOW 191 A CAPTIVK ALLIGATOR, PALMKRSTON, N.T. 1'.).'] TYPICAL ROCK HOLKS, CENTRAL AUSTRALIA 1115 A (5 1 ANT ANT HILL, N.T. 197 ANT HILLS, BURKKTOWN ROAD, N.Q 199 BAUUOW'S CRKKK TELKGRAPH STATION, N.T 202 CROSSING TIIK SANDY DKSKRT, CKNTHAL AUSTRALIA 204 A NORTH QUKENSLAND TELEGRAPH STATION 20f> THE BIKE AND MOTOR IN CKNTIJAL AUSTRALIA 20s CAMKL MAIL, ALICK SPRINGS, CENTRAL AUSTRALIA- 210 A TYPICAL CAMKL WAGGON, CENTRAL AUSTRALIA 212 BORING FOR WATER (JUNCTION BOKK) CKNTRAL AUST. 214 THE FINISH AT SYDNEY - 2 Hi, 217 CROSSING THE STONY DKSKRT, NEAR OODNADATTA S.A. 220 OVER THE BLUE MOUNTAINS N.S.W. 222 r"< DONNEURANUS ;;',',',','A'4AIJC SPRINGS . CHARLEVIUE o v ; --. ij rHARCOMINDAM / '"-^CYMPIE^ ' ' NEW PROPOSED TRANSCONTINENTAL RAILWAY _ CHAPTER I. THE REASON OF THE RIDE. A FEW centuries ago the adventurous spirit who felt the gall of the home harness eating into his flesh had little difficulty, if he had enough pluck, in finding an outlet for his restlessness. North, south, east or west lay unexplored lands that lured the man whose quest was gold or gnme, diamonds or discovery. Expeditions were organised under leaders who sought fame in opening up new territory, in founding oversea colonies, and extending the area of their country's influence. Thus. Columbus, in 1492 set out from Pal os in the south of Spain, on that famous voyage that resulted in the discovery of America, and the ultimate founding of that great nation which to- day exerts such a powerful influence upon the world's destiny. The names of men like Drake, Raleigh. Cavendish and Cook come rapidly to our recollection in the matter of oversea discovery ; Livingstone and Stanley explored the depths of the Dark Continent. 2 LONELY LANDS just as Burke and Wills, and many another intrepid traveller, laid bare the heart of Australia. But those deeds were done before science and civilisation had put their girdle round the earth As our poet Lawson puts it : " When the North was hale in the march of Time, And the South and the West were new, And the gorgeous East was a pantomime, As it seemed in our boyhood's view ; When Spain was first on the waves of change, And proud in the ranks of pride, And all was wonderful, new and strange, In the days when the world was wide." We atre inclined to think that, nowadays, there are no new worlds to conquer and that the restless spirit of the twentieth century must e'en grin and bear it; but in the short story I, Francis Birtles, have to tell in the following pages, it will be seen that the days of dis- covery are not yet at an end and that a fair field lies right within the confines of our own Australian Continent. We know but the fringe of our vast island home, while the immense tracts that compose the hinterland, the millions of square miles in the Northern Territory, and the regions remote from civilised centres are comparatively unknown. But the days of organised expeditions seem to have vanished, and, if one should happen to be inspired LONELY LANDS 3 with the same splendid spirit that prompted the explorers in those days "when the world was wide," he must needs carry out his project on his own initiative. No Ferdinand and Isabella will be found to equip him with men and money; no Queen Elizabeth will furnish him with the sinews of war; no generous "government" will offer to pay his expenses should he propose, singlehanded, to face the dangers of hunger, thirst, accident and probable death in an endeavour to cross those waterless wastes and dreary deserts that lie between the north and the south of Australia. Why the idea should ever have occurred to me to risk a ride on a bicycle over eight thousand miles of territory, much of which was practically pathless, it would be hard to explain, excepting that the old roving spirit of my English forefathers may have reasserted itself after lying dormant for several generations, and awakening the desire to do and dare something out- side the hum-drum limits of city life, urged me to blaze the trail. For, although born in Melbourne twenty-five years ago, of parents whose ancestral home was in Cheshire County, England, the love of adventure had carried me twice round the world before I was seventeen and 4 LONELY LANDS precipitated me into the late Boer war, where I served my country in the Field Intelligence Department and afterwards drifted into the Native Constabulary. No doubt my experience in the South African Police has been of much service to me in my recent ride, for in the course of three years there, I covered twenty thousand miles on horseback, besides crossing the great Karoo on a bicycle. Returning to Melbourne I settled down for a time to my profession of lithographic artist, until once more the nomad in me got the upper hand and I essayed a bicycle ride right across Australia, from the Indian Ocean to the Pacific but that is another story, as Rudyard Kipling would say. Since the Immigration Movement, the Defence of Australia, and the Peopling of the Northern Territory became live questions, the thought had often occurred to me that it would be a good thing if someone would bring the matter down to a practical basis by ex- ploring the districts under discussion, and finding out the possibilities of planting a white population in the northern lands that lay between us and those Asiatic hordes who might at any moment swarm across the Torres Straits and invade our unguarded shores. So, after a time, I arrived at the conclusion that, partly by LONELY LANDS 5 way of a holiday and partly by way of settling a vexed question, I would ride around on my bicycle and note every turn of the wheel. Perhaps I ought to contVvSS that the idea of doing my country a service was not paramount in my mind, for I was neither retained by the Government nor re- freshed by the Opposition. I set out as a free lance, paying my own expenses and looking 1 for no reward beyond the satisfaction of enjoying myself in a some- what unique fashion, and, incidentally, of contributing a quota, from personal observation, towards the solving of the "White Australia equation. When my intention became known the truth of the biblical saying about a "multitude of counsellors" became pathetically apparent. Some encouraged, others commiserated, a few derided, many gave me what they called "a bit of good advice," and nearly every one called me affectionately, "old man." It was, "Look here, old man!" and, "I'll tell you what, old man !" until I began to feel quite patriarchal notwithstanding my twenty-five years. But there were others who came along with some- thing more practical. Not that I wish you to infer that the good advice party was despised by me; far from it, for I heartily appreciated the kindly inten- 6 LONELY LANDS tion, although it was utterly impossible for me to accept such diverse advice as was tendered me. Having previously gained some little fame as a cyclist, Messrs. Bennett and Wood came forward with an offer to "mount" me on one of their Royal Speed- well road racers, fitted with Armstrong's three speed gear, free wheel, front hub brake, and Dunlop canvas- lined tyres. This I gladly accepted and the fact that this machine has been my trusty companion through- out all my vicissitudes speaks volumes for the excel- lence of its manufacture. Again, Messrs. Harringtons Ltd., knowing that I dabbled a little in photography, presented me with one of their Post-Card Cameras, No. 3 Ensign, and Ensign roll films, and I trust I have not disappointed them in the use I have made of their gift. It has been my privilege to contribute from time to time short articles and photographs of points of interest en route to THE AUSTRALIAN PHOTOGRAPHIC JOURNAL pub- lished by this up-to-date firm. CHAPTER II. THE OUTFIT. T)Y reference to the accompanying map it will be seen that my projected journey started from Sydney ami proceeded north through Newcastle, Bris- bane, Townsville, Cairns, Normanton and Burketown. Thence around the Gulf of Carpentaria, across the Roper River to Port Darwin, through the heart of Australia from north to south via Alice Springs, and Oodnadatta to Adelaide. Then south by east, through Mount Gambler,. Hamilton, and Warrnambool to Melbourne, then north by east, through A 1 bury to Sydney, a circuit of over eight thousand miles. Now a journey of this kind cannot be undertaken without a lot of forethought and careful preparation. Under ordinary circumstances the amount of luggage one takes is decided by the distance to be traversed and the time to be taken ; the bulk does not weigh on one's mind and it will be noticed that the less ex- perience the traveller has the greater the amount of 7 Lonely Lands. THE START FROM SYDNEY, AUGUST, 1907 10 LONELY LANDS his "traps," whereas old campaigners invariably travel light. But when you are compelled to carry your house on your back, like the snail, you soon learn the things you can do without, and so the cyclist setting out on a lengthy tour must reduce his wants to a minimum and exercise not a little ingenuity as to his packing powers. My kit consisted of a bronze metal tank fitted to the frame of the bicycle and capable of containing a gallon and a half of water; a light waterproof sleep- ing bag, lined with beaver; a Winchester repeating rifle (32 calibre) with 200 rounds of ammunition; a camera and two hundred exposures, sealed and water- proofed; films, post-card size; waterproof canvas bags for flour, tea, sugar, &c. ; compass ; folding double billy can, one for cooking and one for tea; concentrated foods, bovril, grapenuts, soup tablets, peasoup sausages, chocolate; medicines, permanganate of potash, cayenne pepper, quinine, boracic acid; charts, aneroid barometer, cyclometer and compass ; matches in water- proof cases; clothing, such as wide lelt hat, flannel singlet, woollen guernsey, woollen racing knickers, woollen cycling hose, and long topped boots to stay the legs and help keep sand or water out. The approximate weight of my outfit was 851bs., of which my machine accounted for 25 Ibs. 1 PHOTOGRAPH OF SELF AND OUTFIT. Lonely Land*. , Page 10. 12 LONELY LANDS Now perhaps I owe my readers a word of explana- tion regarding some of the items in the foregoing out- fit, and, as they may some day aspire to follow my example, I wish them to benefit by my experience. The water tank is preferable to the canvas water bag, because, at many parts of the route, the evapora- tion from the bag is so great that your supply lasts no time and the salt dust from some of the lakes pene- trates the canvas and renders the water quite brackish. Many of the lakes in the interior of Australia do not contain water, but are covered over with a thick, white coating of salt frequently extending for scores of miles and the glare and salt dust cause the eyes to smart and produce a painful inflammation. Boracic acid comes in handy under these circumstances, for, when used in solution, it makes a cooling and effective eye wash. At other times, say when crossing hot sand, to powder the feet with boracic keeps them from scalding. Permanganate of potash, or pot. pcrmang. as the wholesale druggists call it, is most efficacious for clear- ing muddy water, as well as being an excellent antidote for the bites of poisonous insects or venomous reptiles. A very little goes a long way : for a few crystals, dis- solved in water, will provide you with a plentiful LONELY LANDS 13 supply of good Condy's fluid. (I hope the Australian Drug Company will not accuse me of giving away a valuable trade secret.) The aneroid barometer need not necessarily form part of the ordinary traveller's equipment, but. as I had arranged with the Government Map Compiler to test and correct the heights of the various mountains I passed over, to me it was a sine qua non. The cyclometer, for measuring distances, was of great .service, as there never seems to be any agreement, out back between any two people as to the actual dis- tance between any two points. They say that, as a class, land agents are certain sinners in this respect, and that when their advertisements mention "ten minutes from the railway station" you may rely upon the distance being doubled. The little pocket compass is a veritable vade mecum. and as necessary to the overlander as the ship's compass is to the mariner. The clothing part of the outfit can be readily adapted to the special circumstances of each case, but the food portion Avill always be a difficulty to a cyclist, as he can rarely carry more than a four days' supply, and he is never quite sure where he may be when his supply runs out. He may be miles away from any 14 LONELY LANDS chance of replenishing his slight store and may be com- pelled to take a tuck in his belt as a substitute for tucker. Before setting out on an overland ride one has to sit down calmly and count the cost. It is not pleasant to have your name associated with a failure, and, if you are not prepared to go right through with it, better leave the journey alone. For, as the miles are many so also are the difficulties, but, as forewarned is fore- armed, it may pay to parade them and be prepared to overcome tjiem. One of the worst enemies to be encountered is the wide, waterless wastes, of which there are several en route, and, as the little tank only holds a gallon and a half, the risk of doing "a perish," as they say in desert parlance, is great. Again, there are hundreds of miles of black soil country to be crossed and should it happen to rain you may find yourself bogged in black mud, and, instead of your bicycle carrying you, you have to carry it. Just as trying are the vast, sliding sandhills which you must plough through day and night in order to reach the rockland by a given time. The sand is so hot and so fine that it penetrates every seam and crevice, sneaking in over your boot tops until you feel as if your legs were encased in molten lead. LONELY LANDS 15 If it should be your misfortune to be marooned in such a sea of sand you may look for a lively time, for the night is made hideous by the howling of wild dogs and demented dingoes until you are in danger of being driven to the depths of profanity. Sleep is impossible owing to the attacks of small, black ants that simply take possession of you and overrun you. regardless of the sacredness of your person or the rights of your property In by your ears and out by your mouth, They travel in every direction, They run over your nose, from the north to the south, Till you're tortured beyond recollection. You haven't even the remedy of the American Colonel who lived in a mosquito-infested locality, but who, nevertheless, used no nets on his bed. "For," said he, "when I go to bed I am so intoxicated that I don't mind the mosquitoes, and, when I awake, the mosquitoes are so intoxicated that they don't mind me." No, the man on the wheel must lead the simple lifa if he would win through, and, to keep fit, he must shun the flowing bowl and stick strictly to water. As for the water one meets in some parts of this outlying region, the most that can be said for it is that it w moist. The "crystal spring" of the poets would 16 LONELY LANDS be a sad misnomer here, for there isn't any crystal and there isn't any spring, and it is wise, if you can, to filter the liquid through your teeth. It is no un- common occurrence to have to drag out the carcase of some animal that has jumped into a waterhole and been too far gone to climb out again. Should you happen to miss the waterhole altogether you get an experience that ought to satisfy you for life. Head winds are the overland cyclist's curse, for, by seriously retarding his progress, they cause him to run short of provisions and oftentimes bring him to the verge of disaster. On the desert plains blinding, stifling dust storms blow for days, enveloping and en- gulfing many a man and beast, and altering the face of the landscape beyond recognition. But no matter what happens, be it rain, dust, wind, missed waterhole, breakdown or sickness itself, the overlander must keep moving, for delay may mean death. Is it any wonder then that I caution intend- ing travellers to think well before they rue, to get to know the difficulties that may beset them and the best means of overcoming them ? For, truly, the man who attempts, singlehanded, to dare the dangers of the desert, must take his courage in both hands and be prepared to take his chance. ClIAPTUR IT I. SYDNEY TO BRISBANE, (558 MILKS. .]/// Srnd-o/}' from Sydney A Bolt An rnt.r peeled Dip My First Snake. X the 21st of August. 1907, I awoke from a rather restless sleep and remembered that on that day I was about to set out on my lonely ride to the com- paratively unknown North. I was not without confidence that I would be successful, ns my previous rides hfid put me in good form, but still there remained that slight tremor around the heart that footballers know, just the moment before the kick-off. The time of my departure had become known to quite a number of cyclists and camerists, and accordingly there was a goodly gathering outside Messrs. Bennett and Wood's cycle works, Market Street, Sydney, shortly before three o'clock to give me a send-off. I was snapshotted from every point of the compass R 17 18 LONELY LANDS by the knights of the camera; I was shaken by the hand by men I had never seen before, as well as by mine own familiar friends, until I began to wonder if these demonstrations were meant for me personally or merely intended to honour British pluck and en- durance of which I happened, for the moment, to be the representative. I assure you I appreciated these signs of enthusiasm and determined to do my best to justify the faith that produced them; and, many a time afterwards, when circumstances saemed to be making me their plaything and hope had given place to despair, the recollection of that eager crowd and the remembrance of their parting cheer sent a thrill of new life through me and won me out. But it had been reserved as somewhat of a surprise to me that a small band of brothers of the bike had determined to convoy me as far as Parramatta a dis- tance of fifteen miles. Now in every quarter or the globe I have found the amateur cyclist to be the prince of good fellows, a friend in need and a jovial one at that; but, nowhere in my travels have I met with a finer spirit of camaraderie than amongst the cyclists of Australia. I felt genuinely proud of that little procession as it passed down Brickfield Hill and, when I said good- LONELY LANDS 19 bye to them at parting, I went on my way without the slightest sense of loneliness, realising that the good friends who had accompanied me so far would remain by my side in spirit until me met again. To them, no doubt, it seemed a small thing, conceived in goodwill and carried out so lightheartedly, but it left an im- pression on my heart that shall never be effaced. For although I am sometimes termed "a hard case" and a beggar to fight when my back is up against the wall. I become as weak as water under the influence of a kindly action, and never miss an opportunity of repaying. After leaving Parramatta I turned my wheel towards the Hawkesbury district, which is an ideal hunting ground for the artist and the photographer. At every turn of the road and river one can find the most exquisite pictures; nooks, reflections, mountains, creeks, separately and collectively, in such picturesque profusion that the chief difficulty is where to begin. From Wiseman's Ferry to Brooks' Ferry the man of artistic tastes may hold high revel and still leave a feast for those who may follow. Mounting the ranges above the Ilawkesbury one remarks upon the splendid roads, and, those who are historically inclined, may remember that these same LONELY LANDS 21 roads Avere built in the early clays by convict labour and stand as monuments of a system of slavery which was a disgrace to British civilisation. There were no "Labour Members" in those days and no minimum wage. Hut of course in a route like the one I had mapped out for myself there were bad roads as well as good and these had to be negotiated as they came. Crossing the black soil plains subjected my outfit to rather a severe strain, and the camera, which I carried on my back for safety, got such a shaking that I ex- pected to find every plate in pieces. Thanks, how- ever, to the use of cotton wadding in the case there were no breakages. At first I was not so^sure of my back against which the camera had been bumping with the enthusiasm ol a young sledge hammer, but ; wheu 1 came off and tested it. I was glad to find it also was unbroken. It was a close thing, though, and I would advise my friends to use cotton wadding on their backs as well as on their plates. Still pressing north T passed through Singleton, Tamworth, the Moonbi Ranges. Armidale and Glen Innes with varying luck but no serious mishap. Coming down the big hill at Ben Lomond, 22 LONELY LANDS for instance, the wire of my brake slipped and the machine bolted with me. Now, a bolt is bad enough if you happen to bo on a good road whose turns and twists you are conversant with, but, on an unknown road constructed chiefly of big blunt boulders and short sharp curves, my plight is more easily imagined than described. I was travelling at the rate of about twenty-five miles an hour with my hat balanced on my upstanding hair and my hands clenched over the handle bars looking for the worst but praying for the best. I had done a little buckjumping in my day, but, for pure cussedness and dirty tricks, commend me to a bolting bike on a bouldery road. If the cycling authorities should ever introduce bicycle hurdle-racing I feel confident that even after that short experience, I could qualify and win. Still, as the immortal William has said, "All's well that ends well" and the end of that ride was well, although I could not say as much for some other ends. On another occasion I was coasting down a steep incline with my brake well under control and my mind at ease, when I spied an innocent-looking creek lazily crossing the road at the foot of the hill. From appearances it seemed about six inches deep, so I de- termined on letting her go, hoping to get well across LONELY LANDS 23 with the rush. Alas for my knowledge of creeks-, this one was about two feet deep and before I had gone half way through I had come a cropper in mid stream and was struggling violently to keep my machine up- right. You might suppose I was in for a hot tim? ; but, if you will be good enough to recollect that it was midwinter and a frosty morning, perhaps yon will be able to feel for me. When I stood upright I could hardly feel myself. I mention these little incidents merely to dispel the false notion that a journey like this is dull and monotonous. Hut we must be moving again, for we are a long way off those unknown fields that we hope to find most interesting. At Wallangarra I said farewell to Xe\v South Wales and crossing the Queensland border, mado straight for Warwick and then took the short cut over tli: 1 ranges to Ipswich. Xo'W short cuts are proverbially the longest way round, but, as this particular short cut saves nearly seventy solid miles, it was worth risking. The road has not been used for twenty years and is consequently in a vile condition ruts, or watercourses rather, ten feet deep cross the road, whilst boulders are the rule rather than the exception. I had my first taste of LONELY LANDS 25 a bush fire when taking this cut and my secret sorrow was that I had not met it the day I fell into the creek. The grandeur of the scenery over these ranges well repays one for rough riding over rutty roads, but, as the light was fading and I dreaded being stranded for the night without water, I did not get as many photos as I would have liked. Every day's journey was now bringing me into warmer weather and the presence of stately palms, denser foliage and darker greens indicated the ap- proach to sub-tropical climes. Big, stagnant lagoons covered with water-lilies and resounding with the bass boom of the bull-frog are common as you proceed northward and great stretches of country, covered with rank, dead grass three or four feet high, are met with, affording splendid harbourage for snakes. More than once a rustle in the grass reminded me creepily that my shins were unprotected, and, I am afraid, I saw more snakes that day than really existed. Once, however, I came across the real thing. I was riding along a narrow wheel track when I noticed a snake, as thick as my wrist and as long as my leg, lying right across the line of march. Needless to say. my machine started to shy like a young filly and shot past that scaly cuss like a boh LONELY LANDS 27 from the blue. But, after pulling hard at her head for fifty yards or so I sueeeeded in bringing her to a standstill, and then started hunting for a big stiek with which to give that snake what for. I crept stealthily back, like an Indian on the warpath, and was pleased to find the enemy still there. I had never killed a snake before, but I knew the theory of the short, sharp stroke that breaks the back and I hastened to put it into practice accordingly. I am afraid, however, than any one looking on would have come to the conclusion that I was an apprentice at the job, for I brought down that .stick with a welt that would have floored an ox, at the same time emitting a blood-curdling yell that would have done credit to one of Fenimore Cooper's dusky chieftains. I struck him fair in the middle of the back and he doubled up and performed a wriggling somersault in the air, whilst I jumped back a do/en yards or so, nervously clutching my club lest he might require another bludgeon stroke to finish him. But, as he fell, so he lay, and on risking a nearer approach, I noticed that his head had evidently been crushed by a waggon wheel and that he had been dead for days. Was I relieved ? You bet ! 28 LONELY LANDS . After successfully negotiating the short cut to Ipswich, I made haste to reach Brisbane, which I entered on September 10th, having covered six hundred and fifty-eight miles since leaving Sydney. My travel-stained bicycle was exhibited in the window of Messrs. Harrington and Co., Ltd., Bris- bane, and attracted interested crowds during the morning. No doubt they would have enjoyed seeing me standing beside it, but my retiring disposition shrank from such publicity. CHAPTER IV. BRISBANE TO CHARTERS TOWERS, 1200 MILES. AGGREGATE 1858 MILES. Contrasts Through a Bush Fire A Beastly Bump On Trek .1 (Jood Samaritan Camping with a 8 waggle Mosquitoes. T EAVING Brisbane again on the 13th of September with Xormanton as my objective, I met with rather a rough time. A ride like this is a long series of contrasts and one must be prepared to take it as it comes. To-day you may find yourself in a land flowing with milk and honey; of the good things of life there is a positive plethora and you revel in that fine, full feeling that follows a feast. To-morrow you may be forced to the conclusion that you are pedalling through a land afflicted with famine. Sunday finds you in the heart of hospitality; Monday sees you, tired and hungry, toiling along with a tightened belt. And how sharply the contrast asserts itself and what 29 30 LONELY LANDS a different outlook on life the feast or the famine gives to the lonely traveller. Curiously enough the attitude of the people one meets out back furnishes the greatest F. BIRTLES LEAVING BRISBANE. Page H9. contrast of all. In some parts the visitor is welcomed with open arms and treated to the best of everything. In other parts he is looked upon as an intruder. LONELY LANDS 31 treated with cold suspicion, refused food, and some- times even the cup of cold water, notwithstanding the fact that he proffers payment for the things he asks. Another great contrast that strikes the observer is the vastness of the country and the paucity of the people. Millions of acres are crying out for occupation whilst Britain herds her poor in slums where pure air and sunshine are almost an unknown quantity. But so long as the dog-in-the-manger policy obtains in Australia, so long will the people pray in vain for population, and so much longer will the fulfilment of their dream of destiny be deferred. One cannot help these thoughts obtruding them- selves at inopportune moments, but as this is merely a tale of travel we must keep moving. I noticed that as I proceeded northwards the day- light became more intense and much "faster," speaking photographically, and T had to stop down or use a greater speed with the shutter. Indeed I found one-hundredth of n, second exposure in these northern latitudes of the same value as one-fiftieth around Sydney. Developing was a surprise also, owing to the warmth of the water. So far I had been very fortunate with my glasses, for notwithstanding all 32 LONELY LANDS the bumps and spills, only two glasses have been cracked. I worked glasses and films alternately as an experiment and came to the conclusion that the best results are obtainable from films, which I intend to stick to on -future journeys. To me they have been a positive luxury. But this is a digression. After passing Yaamba, you begin to get into alli- gator country and must be chary of your camping place. The hideous monsters are endowed with a keen sense of smell and scent their prey a long way off, lying in wait amongst the reeds and long grass ready to rush upon unwary birds, beasts or reptiles and make a meal of them. A stray cyclist would be considered in the light of a tit-bit; but I doubt if they could bolt the bike. I should advise that a hammock be added to the outfit and slung well up out of reach, as a precau- tionary measure, because you may be camping near water without being aware of it. Just before reaching Gympie I rode plump into a bush fire. Towards evening I noticed a dense volume of smoke rising up before me, away to the right, but I could not make out if it were receding or advancing towards the road ahead. Before long, however, it 33 34 LONELY LANDS became apparent that I must put on steam if I hoped to beat the flames in the race for the road. The fire fiend belched and bellowed as he flung his flaming chariots through the long dry grass, licking the tree-tops with his myriad tongues, until the whole hillside resembled a city illuminated by night, forming a spectacle that fascinated the beholder as a snake fascinates a bird. Though I knev, r I was riding with a heavy handicap. I could not but admire the grandeur of the scene which presented spectacular effects that would have been at once the envy and the despair of the scenic painter. Still, with the fire gaining on me at every turn of my wheel, there was little time for lingering, as the hot breath of my opponent was already beginning to tell upon me. and I felt fagged and faint before I was half way over the course. Rounding a turn of. the road I was dismayed to see that I had only won a second place 1 , for the fire already held sway over fifty yards of the track. Red hot cinders were everywhere, and I had not gone far before one stuck to my front tyre and burned it through. Still I drove on, but a few ininutes later my back tyre burst and I was forced to dismount and review the situation. Turning back was hopeless, for there the path had been entirely swallowed up, and 36 LONELY LANDS burning limbs were crackling and falling in all direc- tions. As I pushed my machine in front of me the soles of my boots began to pick up, and hold lumps of glowing charcoal; a thirst, that, at another time, would have been priceless, parched my tongue and t must admit I felt scared. Still, you can understand there was less time to think than it takes to read this. In moments like these thought either comes as a flash or becomes paralysed, and, if the latter, the consequence is disaster. Luckily I realised that I must "stand not upon the order of my going, but go at once," so, mounting my bike and riding on the rims I made a dash for liberty. Fear lent wings to my "Speedwell" as I drove it frantically over every obstacle in my en- deavour to get through that fifty yards of blazing trail. My clothes were scorched, the hair on the exposed parts of my arms and legs had disappeared, and the hair of my head was singed to the roots. This was "scorching," with a vengeance, but I don't believe the hardest-hearted policeman in the world would have taken me up for it. Just as I was beginning to smoke at all points the ground seemed to get softer and then I understood why the fire had only command of that short stretch of road, for, just 38 LONELY LANDS beyond the fifty yards, I bumped into a swamp and was safe. I fairly wallowed in it until my clothes were soaked and then I fancy I must have lain for some considerable time oblivious to things in general. 1 was quite done up and so was my poor mount, with fifty miles between us and Gympie and no tyres. Still there were other things to think about, among which were the making of a camp and the baking of "Johnnie Cakes." After enjoying an al fresco supper I fell asleep with the howling of wild dogs for lullaby. Next morning I tried the experiment of filling what remained of the covers with grass, but the result was a failure, so there was nothing for it but to ride a bit and walk a bit and philosophise to the best of my ability. After twenty miles of this go-as-you-please style I struck a metal road and mounting the machine again drove her for all she was worth until I arrived at Gympie. My entrance into the town must have been quite comical, for, \\lin1 \\i1h riding on the rims and the rattling of my kit and camera, it was small wonder that the people mistook the turnout for a tinker's waggon. I should have felt annoyed at their unconcealed mirth had not my saving sense of humour come to my rescue. 40 LONELY LANDS After a delay of two days I was furnished witn fresh tyres and a general straighten up and was able once more to face the music and get a few days' march nearer my goal. Those of my readers who have had the patience to accompany me so far may be under the impression that my journey up to date has been mostly a series of disasters, but that is chiefly because I have passed over the pleasanter parts as a matter of course, leaving them to be taken for granted. Again, one does not require any special warning against the good things, but the bad things must be provided against. Still, dilemmas have often com- forting compensations, as you will see from the following incident which took place on the journey from Mackay to Charters Towers. Bowling along with a good breeze behind, enjoying to the full the glorious weather, I became a little careless, as the good road, free from ruts, lulled me to a sense of indifference. At length I came to a spot where a tree trunk had fallen across the path, forcing me to turn off into the grass and ride up a sloping shelf of rock, and, before I had time to jam my brake down, my machine and myself were taking a flying leap through space with a drop of over three feet. The bike landed squarely upright, but the impact with the ground buckled the front wheel into a figure eight. 42 LONELY LANDS I sat down on the soft grass and said ah, well, never mind, it was nothing religious. Another tight corner : a lonely track miles from the station I was striving to reach, short of food and dark- ness not far off. So much for the dilemma; now for the compensation. Somewhere out in the scrub I could hear the music of distant horse bells and, as the sounds came nearer, I could distinguish what looked like a Boer family on trek. There were two waggons piled up with house- hold effects with an admixture of children, poultry, cats, and caged cockatoos. Accompanying 1 this mixed cargo were some half-dozen men and youths, while three females, wearing the big Queensland sunbonnet and riding astride, brought up the rear beside an old ramshackle buggy in which were seated two old ladies of uncertain age. I waited dejectedly to watch them pass, but such was not their intention. Perceiving my plight they offered me the right hand of good fellow- ship, although we had not been introduced, and "outspanning," as they used to say in South Africa, they soon had the billy boiling and I spent one of the pleasantest nights of my life around their camp fire. It was then that I learned that they were selectors moving down south, having been three weeks on the 44 LONELY LANDS road when my misfortune gave them the opportunity of acting the good Samaritan. Next day, with their kindly assistance, I fixed up my buckled wheel, photographed them in a group, and, with many expressions of friendship (and almost a week's supply of provisions wliich they had insisted on my taking), we parted company and went on our several ways rejoicing. I had learnt a lesson in bush hospitality that was a revelation to me. On reaching Charters Towers the Massey-Harris people made my machine as good as -new, and for three days I just lay back and enjoyed myself, and, at the end of that time, I was thoroughly recuperated and ready for the road again. To those worthy citizens who helped to make my short sojourn in the golden city of the North so enjoyable I wish to tender my best thanks. Although Gympie was perhaps the earliest important goldfield discovered in Queensland The Towers (called after Charters, the first gold warden of the district) has long since taken the lead and is now the second city in the State and as up to date as Sydney or Melbourne. Leaving Charters Towers on the morning of the 17th October, 1907, I made such good headway that by nightfall the town was but a memory. 46 LONELY LANDS I wonder if any of my readers has ever camped out on the rolling plains on a tropic night, and how far his experience resembled mine. Many people will tell you that to enjoy such things you must be half a poet, half an artist and half an idiot, the "third half" being the product of the other two; but I contend that the man who is not touched by thn beauty of such a situation has not yet learned to live. When the frugal fare has been discussed and the dying embers of the camp fire are glowing with a dull, ruby red, what more fascinating than to lie back and listen to the sounds of the bush while gazing at the jewelled canopy of heaven? If you cannot feel at peace with all mankind under these circumstances, I am afraid your case is hopeless. When travelling over sandy country it is a good thing to know that although there seems to be no water in sight, if you dig down in the bed of a creek you will frequently strike cool, clear water that will well repay you for your trouble. It is at times like these that you are inclined to become poetical and speak of the refreshing draught as nature's nectar. Sandy, rocky and grassy country are found alternately as one journeys north ; good sheep land in many parts, but, alas, no sheep, nor any other of the 48 LONELY LANDS aninials useful to man. At this time I travelled for two whole days without encountering a single soul. One night I met a poor swaggie who had got dowa to his final crust and his last drop of water. With- out much ceremony we entered into partnership for the night and soon pitched a comfortable camp. Curiously enough I was still drawing upon the store that my good Samaritan settler friends had showered on me and I was right glad of the opportunity of "doing as much for a mate." Although humping his bluey my camp friend was a man of many parts and, while he looked upon me as a godsend. I was certainly indebted to him for a very pleasant night, for his " yarns " were decidedly entertaining and wer-3 mainly personal reminiscences. When we dissolved partnership next morning I was able to add a load to his larder and thereby lift a load off his mind. For unless the inner man be satisfied the outlook on life is apt to be dull and dreary. I find the strenuous outdoor life conducive to good appetite and robust health, for I am as hard as nails and eat my simple meals with relish, although there are times when I fancy I could enjoy a good plate of roast beef and a deep, deep draught of the good Rhine but there ! I was nearly poetic again. Those of my .50 LONELY LANDS readers who remember the song will know that 1 hadn't milk in my mind. The mosquitoes in these parts are both big and bad. They reminded me of "the rale ould Irish gintleman" who used to revel in a row and who " Would dance and sing and hurl and fi>jht, And make the spalpeens roar " I shouldn't at all wonder if these mosquitoes were Irish too: they hud all the characteristics, and seemed to be celebrating a wake every evening. They had the faculty of making me join in the revelry and keep awake too. The worst was, however, that they evi- dently intended me to supply the corpse. But I did not go entirely unavenged. CHAPTER V. CHARTERS TOWERS TO CROYDON, 250 MILES. AGGREGATE 2108 MILES. A Lonely Grave Tramps Reduced to One Eye A Relation at Georgetown Feathered Fish Xat i-vc Co mpa n io ,s v Cyclo n cs Crocodiles. HplIROUGIIOUT my travels I have found the eamera a veritable friend in need It has kept me ever on the alert for "subjects." and has enabled me more elearly to present impressions of the trip to my many friends. I would have been lost without it. Fortunately, notwithstanding all my bumps and bruises, I have only broken a few plates. Must of my subjects, it will be noticed, make pleasing photographs, but here and there one comes across the pathetic side of the picture. For instance, it is not uncommon out in the heart of the bush to come across a lonely grave; untended, unfenced, overgrown and forgotten, with never a name to indicate who sleeps 51 LONELY LANDS 53 so silently beneath. Sometimes the spot is marked by a rude cross; more often by a solitary slab, and the story of the sleeper lies buried with his bones. I took a photograph of one of those pathetic little places, and. while doing so, I was hardly surprised when a film of mist came clouding over my eyes, and my heart was filled with a fervent hope that the poor wanderer who had fallen by the wayside had found rest at last. A rough rail ran round the sacred spot and a friendly hand had rudely carved the words, "To the memory of Poor Jack." Possibly his mourn- ing mate had never known him by any other name Such cases are not uncommon out back. May his soul have gone aloft. Within a day's ride of Georgetown I found my tucker gone and my water tank dry, so went through the usual performance of taking a tuck in my belt. It is an exceedingly economic way of having a meal, for, as certain food advertisements say, there is "no cooking required"; but you must take a grain of grit with it. Later on in the day I came across a rocky waterhole and simply saturated myself, from the inside out. It is astonishing what an amount of water is required to irrigate such a small area as a man's body. When 54 LHNKLY LANDS I was able to breathe I blessed the all-wise Providence that had made such provision for poor, thirsty souls like me. Perhaps the preceding thirst was necessary to fully appreciate the virtues of clear, cool, spring water. A CORROBORKK, NORTH QUEENSLAND. As I came near Georgetown I met a Chinaman riding in his trap, and, as I make a point of passing 1 the time of day with every one I meet when in these LONELY LANDS 55 lonely latitudes, I saluted him in the time-honoured way by saying, "Good day, John, how you getting on?" To which he replied without stopping his trap, "Me gettee on welly fast, no time talkee tramps!" Doubtless I was travel-stained, but "tramps!" I felt hurt. As I rode into Georgetown I was reduced to one eye, as I had the other closed the night before in a scrap with a bulldog ant. Although I had the advantage of him in reach he got under my guard and with his dirty left planted me one on the right peeper and knocked me out of time. It was another case or science getting the better of brute strength. Speaking of eyes reminds me of a story that is told of Sir W. S. Gilbert, the famous librettist, of "The Pirates," "Patience" and "Pinafore" fame. One day when standing on the steps of his club another member rushed out excitedly and said to him : "Did you see a man go down these steps with one eye of the name of Jones?" "Er eh what was the name of his other eye?" said the imperturbable Gilbert, to the utter disgust of the clubman, who, in his excitement, was quite beyond a joke. You should have seen the reception I received from LONELY LANDS 57 the sports of Georgetown. They fairly dragged me off my bike and treated me like a modern prodigal son. When I had removed the traces of travel and re- plenished the inner man the whole sporting com- munity made a bee-line for the bar and fairly toasted me brown. One individual in particular claimed to be a relation of mine and insisted on honouring the acquaintance. I was too tired to dispute the point, but. when he introduced me to a few more relations of his. I retired as gracefully as possible. In the seclusion of the parlour I was informed that it was only Jim So-and-so knocking down his cheque and that whoever cared to claim relationship with him -and there were many was welcome to assist him in the knocking down process until his fifty or a hundred pounds had been transferred to the publican's pocket. They "knock down" their cheques on The Kthcridge to-day just as was done in the days of yore. The gold diggers from "outside" come into town after six months' hard labour and. after settling outstanding accounts at the store, proceed to make things lively until the last penny is spent. There is a story told of one of these diggers who awoke one morning on the empty bottle heap in the back yard of the pub. and, after rubbing his eyes LONELY LANDS 59 to assure himself, said, in mingled pride and awe, "My oath, what a time I must have had." The Etheridge, of which (Georgetown is the nominal capital, is an old and most interesting goldfield, which seems to suffer from chronic ill luck. Capitalists are shy of developing it. although, even as it is, over 24.000 ounces of gold per annum are produced. Still the people are happy and contented and quite confident that some day the merits of the place will be recognised. Perhaps the fact that to get there re- quires a railway ride from Cairns to Mareeba 46 miles, and a coach journey of 216 miles, via Herberton tin mines, over a rough road, may have something to do with its backwardness. 1 left Georgetown riding behind the mail coach to Croydon, which was 70 miles ahead. Coachie had the reputation of being much averse to be passed on the road and of having a fine disdain for motors ; bikes, and all who use them. Should a breakdown occur to "the enemy" he chuckles for all he is worth, possibly having never heard of the scriptural injunction to "rejoice not when thine enemy falleth." If you re- minded him he would probably exclaim. "Their troubles." As many of the lagoons up north are well stocked LONELY LANDte 61 with fish and water-fowl I found my tackle and gun very useful in furnishing me with many a hearty meal. One day I met a swaggie who, when the suhject of fishing tackle came up, informed me that liix best fish had feathers on them. 11 is mode of fishing was to camp near a homestead and at an opportune moment approach the fowl run. scatter a handful of breadcrumbs over the fence and drop his well-baited line among the "hurley." Then he uttered an entic- ing "chook, chook, chook" and rarely had long to wait for a bite. A sudden yank, a smothered cackle and a stuffed sugar bag completed the operation, and the net result was a poultry supper. The grey monotony of the Australian bush has been the theme of many a glob:' tr;>tter, who has either never lived in it or has been deficient in observation and the sense of humour. I will back a couple of "native companions" to provide more genuine amusement than most turns at "The Tiv." If only that enterprising entrepreneur. Mr. TTarry Rielcards, could induce two of thes: 1 comical birds to dance a few of their wonderful steps he would be sure of a full house inside and "Standing Room Only" ouc- side. 62 LONELY LANDS They dance best in pairs and seem to have many different kinds of set dances. A shot fired in their vicinity will start them off in a most ridiculously defiant dance. With wings outspread they prance around in a most fantastic manner, bowing and setting to partners and winding up by striking their beaks on the ground with a sort of " don 't-tread-on- the-tail-of-my-coat " flourish and a "d'ye-moind-me now" expression in their eyes. Sometimes they double up their legs and hop about like kangaroos, clearly showing that they possess the faculty to observe and the power to imitate They are the bush comiques and artistic acrobats and always provide a good "bill." From Georgetown to Croydon is about seventy miles along a sandy road that takes the coach a day and a half to traverse it. Croydon is about the fourth largest town I have seen in Queensland, built entirely of wood and iron, and utterly devoid of picturesque- ness, unless we except the huge mounds of "tailings" that surround the town, like the earthworks of a fortification. The streets are wide but poorly planned, and the place has the appearance of a mush- room growth. Two years ago a cyclone laid the town flat, but LONELY LANDS 63 although iron roofs were whisked about like sheets of paper there were comparatively few accidents. I am in a position to understand the cyclone because during YorNi; \v.\Y HACKS, QUEENSLAND. my short stay here I saw a "willy willy" and think it may interest my readers. A tall, thin column of dut. sucked up like a waterspout at sea. came career- 64 LONELY LANDS ing down the centre of the street, playing pranks with every loose thing that it met on its way and causing considerable commotion amongst the terrified shop- keepers. It remained for some few minutes dancing a hornpipe in front of my hotel, at a cross street, as if undecided which way to go, all the while whirling like a dancing dervish, sucking up straw, paper, dust, &c.. and gaining in volume every minute. It was most fascinating to watch, but woe betide those who may be caught in the maelstrom. Down the street it went, forming a thin, yellow column a couple of hundred feet high and carrying everything before it. By this time the whole town was on the qui vive and crowding in its wake to watch its career. It went up another street at right angles and then made a straight dart for ' 'Chinatown." I followed as quickly as I could and got on to an hotel verandah where I had an uninterrupted view. As it passed the back premises I got a fair idea of its power. It just seemed to touch a stable and up went the roof expos- ing two terrified horses inside. The great sheets of iron, gyrating and whirling, were sucked up like paper, threatening death or destruction to anything they might meet. With a roar like a furnace the column swept on- wards towards the miserable Chinese tenements on the LONELY LANDS 65 outskirts of the town. No one there seemed to be aware of the approaching fury, for not a soul was about. Suddenly roof after roof went up in the air, CHINESK SHOPKKKPER IN CHINATOWN. the alarmed Chinese flew hither and thither dis- tractedly, believing their last hour had come. They were too far off for us to hear their screams, but I was E 66 LONELY LANDS told that they were heartrending. In less time than it takes to tell, the "willy willy" had completely devastated the place and passed on to the bush, leaving a trail of wreck and ruin behind it. I remained four days in Croydon pulling myself together and studying human nature, and, let me tell you, there are some shining specimens in this vicinity. Taken as a whole the people are a sturdy, well- conducted lot, with that spirit of independent manli- ness typical of the fighters against circumstances so frequently met with on the frontiers. Jack has no master here, so there is no subservience and no arrogance. The miners are hospitable to a fault and every handshake carries with it an invitation to "give it a name." Drink and dust are the two commonest commodities in the town; the one the consequence of the other, and the simple citizens accept the situation with a philosophy worthy of a better cause. Water is rarely used except as a diluent, a bath being a luxury during the dry season, and the want of it is apt to become a habit. Here, on the fringe of the mighty Northland, it is surprising how little the people know or care about that land that is a puzzle to the rest of Australia. In 68 LONELY LANDS my travels I have had it brought home to me that the North does not know the South, and the South is, to a great extent, indifferent to the North, that wonder land of spinifex and mystery. Reports reached me that the "niggers" were bad all along the coast line and that drovers were having trouble with them. A recent arrival" told me that he had several times had a brush with them and that they had a mania for killing the horses for their tails, so as to get hair for their fishing lines. I fancy my horse's tail would have been too many for them. Crocodiles were numerous along the way and I was told that those found in fresh water were harmless, but as the Scotchman sometimes says, "A hae ma doots." The harmless kind live principally on water grasses and have pointed snouts, whereas the danger- ous reptiles of the tidal rivers and the sea, which, rightly or wrongly, they call "alligators" up here, have a square nose, and are the nastiest things that man, beast or bike can encounter. The story is told of an Englishman up here. who. knowing the danger of bathing where sharks fre- quented, asked his black boy if he could show him a spot where he might enjoy his swim without fear of 70 LMNKI.Y LANDS sharks. The boy conducted him to a sequestered pool and the visitor plunged in and enjoyed his swim. On the way home he casually asked the boy why the place was free from sharks and was astounded when he replied : ' ' 'Cos plenty big pf eller all 'gator there. ' ' That was his first and last visit to that pool. CHAPTER VI. CROYDON TO BURKE TOWN, 350 MILES. AGGREGATE 2458 MILES. Yellow Jack Around the Gulf Troublesome Blacks Black Tracking A Bit of Baccy The Rifle Fish Bush Photography. A I A IIE journey west from Croydon to Burketown. a distance of 350 miles, was anything but interesting and nothing- happened worth recording except some solid hard work. Melancholy tracts of stunted gutta percha in turn give place to vast plains which, after the wet season, become covered with a wonderful growth of Mitchell grass, wild sorghum and all kinds of herbage admirably suited for cattle; but the capital and enterprise that might place the cattle there are evidently amissing. Burketown, situated right up at the head of the Gulf of Carpentaria, is a queer place with a queer history, and was founded in the early sixties when 71 LONELY LANDS 73 "Bobby" Towns and Sir John Robertson were hot on the "Far North." As a first instalment towards a settlement. Sir John sent a ship round to the Albert River, containing 1 so many different kinds of birds that he himself declared "Noah's ark was a fool to it." In its early days Burketown was, perhaps, the hardest drinking place in the world and it accordingly became the rendezvous of the scnm of Australia; the hard cases, the deadbeats, the loafers and the ne'er-do- wells turned to Burketown as the needle to the pole. Luckily there were others, for some of the best and most enterprising men in Queensland, attracted by the possibilities of the place, also migrated thither and before long there was a prosperous, if mixed, com- munity in the little town. When things were humming and money was as plentiful as mosquitoes in the port, there came a ship from Java which left behind it somo mysterious disease which was not long in making its presence known and its baleful influence felt. Some said it was "Yellow Jack." others thought it was typhoid, but, whatever its name, it killed almost every man it laid hold of. for, once the disease was contracted, it was allowed to run its course, as there were no doctors and the only medicines were Holloway's Pills and 74 LONELY LANDS rum; both good in their way, perhaps, but utterly powerless when pitted against this mysterious ravager. But though grim death stalked triumphant through the town, the sporting proclivities of the Australian were not to be denied and the usual programme was races in the morning, funerals in the afternoon and debaucheries at night. Bets were freely made as to whose turn it would be next, and the familiarity that breeds contempt was extended even to Death. Then followed a flood that washed the half of the cattle of Carpentaria out to sea and sent most of the settlers up a tree, not metaphorically, but literally, there to remain until the waters subsided. Whether the flood had anything to do with "Noah's Ark" or not it would be hard at this late hour to determine, and I scarcely think that the flood was arranged in order to give the history of the place a scriptural flavour, for, I am morally certain, that few in Burke- town in those days could be accused of doing anything religious. For a time the little town was quite deserted, but by and by a fresh lot of sturdy adventurers came alonr* and rebuilt it on better social lines. Still its vicissitudes were not yet over, for, at different periods later, it was blown down by cyclones, and, on another occasion, destroyed by fire. It almost seemed as if ail LONELY LANDS 75 irate Providence were visiting the iniquities of the fathers upon the children ; but, as London, after being ravaged by plague and fire, arose, phoenix-like, from its ashes, so plucky little Burketown came up smiling every time to "breast the bar" and "face the music," as the local language so pithily expressed it. Leaving Burketown on November llth, I took the coastal track around the Grulf of Carpentaria. The country has a certain park-like appearance, but is very sandy and totally unfit for stock, having a damp, oppressive atmosphere, not unlike th r t in tropical South Africa. There is a general idea "down south" that Queens- land is tropical in appearance, with ferns, wild flowers and palms in profusion. But this is not the case and it is only on the banks of rivers that anything approaching tropical vegetation is to be found. Most of the country is as dry and barren as the other dry parts of Australia, and I must confess to a feeling of disappointment. Around the (J-ulf the climate is decidedly unhealthy. A white person only lives here by stress of circum- stances, dosing himself regularly with quinine to avert the danger of dengue or (Julf fever, and making his escape as soon as circumstances will permit. From 78 LONELY LANDS freely-expressed opinions gathered around this locality I am afraid the "White Australia" idea will never reach fruition. The people that promulgate this doctrine are all the time thinking of "the other fellow"; grand thing for him, patriotic sentiment, white man paramount, draw the colour line, &c , &c. ; but, if you suggest that they themselves try the experiment, they are indignant at your effrontery and amazed at your want of comprehension. By all means let us endeavour to ke FELLAHS,'' (iKEOOKY, N.T. Lonely Land*. 88 LONELY LANDS south to the sweet-tasting waters of the Gregory River. The water is full of magnesia and lime and the more you drink the more you want. A little pinch of tea goes a long way with this water. I spent an after- noon fishing here and found the Gregory one of the best rivers for sport I have come across. But don't be afraid, for 1 haven't a solitary fish story in my whole collection. Besides this is a book of facts. Fish of many kinds abound here and the water is so clear that you can look down and gaze into a natural aquarium. Big black cod, black bream, gar- fish, catfish, salmon, trout and rifle fish are all to be seen: The rifle fish gets his name from his method of getting his food. He is by no means a big fellow, rarely over half a pound, but his speciality is "spitting." No Yankee who could expectorate clean through a keyhole or dowse the glim of a candle at long range would be any match for him. For pre- cision of aim not even the smartest Sydney larrikins could hope to prevail against the rifle fish of the Gregory. Any insect flying within a yard of the surface takes his life in his hands, for, pausing a second to take aim, this expert suddenly shoots a little ball of water from between his teeth in the most approved fashion and the fly is floating on the surface LONELY LANDS 89 preparatory to being "taken in and done for " At first when I was told this yarn I took it cum grain) sal in. hut on watching the little beggar I found his tale to be true. For real good sport, however, commend me to the black bream, as lie is found in this northern river. lie generally weighs between five and six pounds and tights to his last ounce. Ere the bait has touched the water he is rushing down stream with it, and it requires much careful play and some patience to land him. There is no lying on the bank with your line tied round your toe in this stream. Tin; fish take the bait with a rush and you have to look slick to catch them. Sometimes a crocodile will shove his ugly snout above water and shed a tear for the loss of his "mate," but beware of him, for his intentions are far from honourable. The weather at this time was so bad that I had to be careful of getting my camera wet, as there was no means of drying it and my stock of films was running low. Everywhere I called the people wanted me to "take them" and more especially was this the case where there was a baby. The camera was a sure road to their good graces and their larder. On one occasion parents brought their little invalid girl a 90 LONELY LANDS distance of thirty miles to be photographed and, although I was short of films and had yet a long way to go, I could not refuse the pleading of the mother, who evidently saw that her little one was not long for this world. I took the little angel face by herself and with her parents and forwarded the negatives to Messrs. Harringtons Ltd., of Sydney, who were good enough to print them and forward the photo- graphs to the thankful parents. CHAPTER VII. BURKETOWN TO CAMOOWEAL, via WOLLO- GARAXG, 800 MILES. AGGREGATE 3258 MILES. .1 \Yild Pi(j Hunt A Run on the Bank Inhospitable Whit.es Ants The Timely Mailman A Bush Dance Heroic Teamsters Flies Barcoo Sickness Heavy Rainfall Strong Tea Boots in Bogland. TJUTTERFLIES abound on the banks of the Gregory; all colours, shapes arid sizes, many of them as big as the two open pages of this book. For beauty of design and wealth of colouring the\ would be hard to beat. Botanists, specimen hunters and curators of museums would be well repaid by a visit to these parts. Wild turkeys are plentiful and I have ridden my bicycle to within three yards of them. I had also good sport chasing wild pigs on foot, but the porkers were too nimble for me, although I was not too nimble 91 92 LONELY LANDS for them. Once I thought I had a little chap, but, just as I would make a grab at him, he would give a little squeal and an aggravating twirl of his tail and elude me again. In despair I made a final rush at him, but this time he turned right round, and, making a dash between my legs, sent me flying on my back. It was indeed a coup dc grace. Very little of the "grace" attached to me; but a good deal of the grass did. After that I took to fish, as pork proved too ex- citing. After following the Gregory for one hundred miles I branched away to the south-west and enjoyed fairly good going, though occasionally muddy from recent rains. Once more I was in open scrub country and compelled to carry water. I was now travelling up the slopes of the tableland country where there was no chance of being flooded out. The rivers may run a banker to-day, and to- morrow, so steep are the courses, one may have to walk miles up or down stream to get a drink. Three times in a ride of a hundred and sixty miles I had to sit down on the banks and wait for the waters to go down. One evening I camped with a teamster on a hill ear a dry river. While we were having tea a strange LONELY LANDS 93 murmur could be hoard in the distance, a little later the murmur gave place to a gurgling roar and the river was "up." We went down to watch its rise and, oven while looking on, our retreat was nearly cut on" ard we only reached the higher ground by wading knee deep. In the morning the road looked exactly 'ike a river with trees hanging over the sides. For half a mile T could see this view and I enjoyed a swim along the road in the still hack waters, the current being a few hundred yards away. I had to wait here two days and then wade through muddy silt and water, carry- ing the bike and outfit in two separate loads. Going down the steep, greasy bank I slipped with my load, sat down suddenly and slid for twenty yards before landing in a couple of feet of water, leaving an alligator-like trail to mark my descent. The teamster and his boy were delighted. T am afraid T could not truthfully say that 1 was. No doubt it was funny seen from the top, but that was not my point of view. This is a sample of the "cycling" I had. Some days T was as much off the bicycle as- on. Like the learner whose friend said to him: "How are you getting on?" "Oh." replied he. "it's not the getting on that troubles me, it's the getting oft'.' 94 LONELY LANDS My ease exactly. In between rivers there are seas of black mud. sticky as glue. On many occasions I have had to carry my bike across first and then go back for my kit. Lack of food and sometimes lack of water make me keep travelling. I have been bogged on the black soil plains, and, strange to say, have had to go back for water. The country is like a sponge for soaking up moisture. At a place called The Thornton I expected to get provisions, but was sadly disappointed and my next chance was fully fifty miles ahead. Now under ordinary circumstances fifty miles would be a mere bagatelle, but here it meant about four days' hard travelling. Luckily I overtook a team, bogged to the axles, and got a few supplies. On arriving at the "fifty miles" (the O'Shanessy River) I found the inhabitants inhospitable and it was with difficulty I managed to get a couple of cups of flour for which they demanded sixpence a cup. No doubt this will be hard to understand, for you would fajicy that in such out of the way places people would be glad to welcome a stranger from the outer world ; but these folks must have been exceptions. 96 LONELY LANDS They reckoned, all the same, that they were "white." Give me blacks next time. I'll risk it. I went straight on with thirty miles of black soil mud ahead of me. After going about two miles I camped hoping that, by daybreak, the road would be drier. Barely had 1 made my damper when the rain began ? to come down in torrents and it was damper still. I spent a wretched night. I was hungry and tired, my clothes were damp and the bedding was ditto, and I had just come to the conclusion that nothing could be more miserable when a school of small, black ants swarmed my citadel and then 1 recognised that, by comparison, I must previously have been happy. Shifting the location of my camp was of no avail, the ants had evidently telepathic communication with their relations, for they were ready to receive me and their antics were positively indecent. The very recollection makes me blush. I got up about three in the morning, had a drink of cold tea and a few spoonfuls of sugar, of which I had plenty, and then got under weigh again. But things were no better than before and, as the rain had evi- dently come to stay, I hung my harp no, I mean my bike on a bush, covered it with a waterproof and went back to the O'Shanessy. A teamster was camped here 97 98 LONELY LANDS with his wife and family and they treated me mast kindly. He was going north with an empty waggon and. I am afraid, with an empty store of provender also. But what he had he gave gladly and I can tell you I was very thankful for even small mercias. He left two days after for the next waterhole three miles away over some stony ridges. That night the heavens opened and seeking around for an ark of refuge I struck the outer shed of a "farm" and camped there for the next three days. The old man was cleaning out his well and he offered me my tucker if I was willing to wind the windlass. "Barkis was willin'." Late one afternoon I made a fresh start, went back for my bike, crossing the river waist deep, and, after making everything tight and compact, started out to push all night, as it was utterly impossible to ride. I was getting up an excellent appetite, but had nothing to appease it with except sour damper, when, miles away on the horizon, I espied a mounted man. who afterwards turned out to be the mail man with packhorses his buggy having been bogged along the road. I told him of my plight and he unearthed the LONELY LANDS 99 proverbial half-loaf that is better than no bread, some corned beef and a piece of cake. These he set before me. and. like the prophet of old, I did eat. My feeling for mail men almost approaches reverence now. Many an old maid has uttered similar sentiments, but, doubtless, the "spell" was different. After travelling all night I reached the Chester Creek just before daybreak, having covered eighteen miles, and. by this time, I was "dog tired," so I lay down and slept, I hope, the sleep of the just, for about four hours, until the blazing sun woke me again to continue my walk to Camooweal, a distance of twelve miles. Camooweal, when I struck it, was a mud-bound tin hamlet about two hundred and forty miles from no- where, near the Queensland border and just on the fringe of the Never-Never. It was also perilously near the borders of starvation, as the teams bringing supplies were bogged and pro- visions were at low tide. There were some hundred and fifty souls waiting anxiously for the arrival of the "overland ships," as the teams are called, and there would be a celebration when they came The local constable "took me up" on arrival and I LONELY LANDS 101 was sheltering under the roof of the local barracks for over a week. Perhaps I ought to mention that it was a friendly arrest, for without my kindly "Bobby" I might have found it difficult to get any supplies at all. Being so far out back this place is a little world in it- self. Christmas celebrations were observed in the usual out-back fashion while I was here and the strenuous- ness of the proceedings struck me with amazement. Everyone rode in from the outside on horseback, the women as well as the men riding astride, and it was considered the proper thing to get "well away" before starting. This may seem paradoxical, but those who have been "there" will understand. The "dancing," a.s they were pleased to call it, was a rough kind of horseplay in which brute force predominated and where the weakest went to the wall and generally remained there unless taken to the hospital. You had no need to trouble about "steps," unless you took steps to get out of the melee. All you needed to join in the dance was abundance of energy, generally the outcome of bad whisky, and the ability to yell so as to be heard above the frantic strains of a concertina. A native corroboree was not a circumstance to this "civilised" dance and yet nobody there would miss it for anything. 102 LONELY LANDS At the function I attended the company danced till daybreak to the elemental accompaniments of wind and rain and left for their homes in the morning soaked both inside and out. At Camooweal whilst waiting for the flood waters of the river to go down I spent most of my time shoot- ing kangaroos and wild turkeys out in the ridgy, gravelly scrub desert at the back of the township As there are no bogs nor swamps there, I rode out on horseback, accompanied by the local police boy (aboriginal), who by the way was a splendid stalker. I have seen him walk up, step by step, to a mob of kangaroos, in plain sight all the time. If the 'roos looked up he would be as still as a stump, but when they started to feed again he would advance a little further until at length he would come within twenty yards of them and then fire. One day he got two full- grown bucks in one shot with his rifle. Stalking turkeys was a difficult matter. We used to ride around and around them in ever-narrowing circles until within range, when one of us would dis- mount and lie concealed in the grass whilst the other would continue circling, leading the spare horse, until the turkeys were slowly worked up towards the con- cealed hunter, who generally managed to bag a few. LONELY LANDS 103 This so-called turkey is really a bustard, of a grey or brown tint, with a tuft on his head and weighing from twenty to thirty pounds. The genuine scrub turkey is black in colour, but I have come across him very seldom. When the river was up it was over a mile wide. A team camped on the banks one night was nearly over- taken by the flood waters, which, without any warning, came roaring down in a solid wall. The teamster had the greatest difficulty in getting his horses together in the darkness, but, by almost superhuman efforts, he managed to haul up on to higher ground just as the cataract swept everything before it. Had he been caught there would have been absolute starvation on the station to which he was bound. Oftentimes the heroism displayed by these teamsters is worthy the Victoria Cross; for, by their dogged perseverance and their strenuous exertions against fearful odds, they time and again save the lives of the exiles on the outstations. Those who know will readily admit that this is no mere figure of speech, but the sternest of stern realities. Flies are a source of great annoyance in this district and seem to be more trying than great hardships, and the more you worry about them the more they worry LONELY LANDS 105 yen. All the same it is hard to grin and bear it, the more so that even as you grin they take a mean advantage and walk right into your mouth. Some- times they come out; sometimes they don't. They get so mixed up with one's food, too, that blanc mange is often mistaken for currant pudding until you stick your spoon in and the "currants" begin to emigrate. But emigration is dealt with as a separate chapter, so we shall wait. Barcoo sickness, so common about here, is caused by the tiies getting into the system and causing severe retching, which sometimes continues for weeks and is a very serious matter. These obnoxious little wretches will find out every tiny scratch on the skin, and will irritate it until they cause inflammation. The poor horses are often driven nearly mad and in some instances the little foals have actually died from the tormenting of these pestilential plagues. As they attack the heads chiefly the horses form in single file and the swish of the first horse's tail keeps the flies off the head of the second and so on, each doing something for the one that comes after. 1 suppose that they must form a circle so as to give the leader some relief from the last one's tail. Fully ninety per cent, of the animals, both cattle and horses, have large 106 LONELY LANDS holes eaten round their eyes and the poor brutes live such a life of purgatorial torment that death must often mean relief. It is no uncommon sight to see horses standing in water with nothing showing but their heads and every now and then they dip right under and stay thus as long as they can. They have trying times. As soon as the river went down a little I waded across and started out for Avon Downs station, some fifty miles ahead. The country was frightfully boggy and several times I got cramp in the muscles of my legs owing to the severe strain of walking through the bog with a big load of mud and grass on my boots. The old proverb says, "A rolling stone gathers no moss." What about "A boggy boot gathers 'much mud?" This made the fifth time I had crossed the border between Queensland and the Northern Territory be- fore I got away to Darwin. I think I bore all this crossing with wonderful equanimity. The government rabbit-proof fencing, erected between these two States, starts twelve miles out from Camooweal and. as it is already over three thousand miles long, I fancy it should be the longest in the world. It cost about 46 per mile to erect and would be well worth it if it 108 LONELY LANDS were effectual in keeping Master Bunny out. He has not yet appeared here, but has been met with two hundred miles to the south-west and also in the heart of Central Australia. Owing to the big floods, it is difficult to see how the rabbit is to be kept out of Queensland, for he is almost sure to float over the wires when the waters rise above them and, when they settle down well, so will he. Avon Downs cattle station is splendidly grassed and would make an excellent sheep station. As it is there are a few sheep there, but the chief difficulty is the scarcity of wood for fencing posts, although now that so many kinds of iron standards are on the market it becomes merely a matter of money. There are many sub-artesian bores about the place, that is, bores that require pumping by windmill or steam. Local rumour has it that artesian (self-flow- ing) bores could be got by sinking deeper, but the rental of the land would probably go up and, as land in the Northern Territory is leased at from ninepence to one shilling per square mile, it probably pays to leave things as they are. I am not applying this to one station but to nearly all in the Territory, especially in the tablelands country, which is, I consider, the finest pastoral land LONELY LANDS 109 in Australia, as far as grass is concerned. If only water from the bores could be obtained the land would carry a hundred times more stock than at present. In the dry months the animals are kept in very poor condition, not for lack of grass, but because of the distance they have to travel between watering and feeding grounds. Naturally they eat out the grass country around the permanent water holes first, and then keep extending further afield until they are miles from water, but, by a system of bores, this would be unnecessary. As an example of what the rainy season is like I may mention that here, at Avon Downs, during the last wet season seventeen inches of rain fell in twenty- four hours on one occasion, and, at another time, twelve inches fell in five hours. Leaving Avon Downs, I next set out for The Ran- kine, and the very first night out I got into a horrible bog and had to camp without water. I must say I felt very feverish. Lying on the damp ground, the steamy heat and thirst made me feel very ill. and, I assure you, photography nor films did not interest me much that night. I kept thinking of a clump of trees I had seen away in the distance to the left of the track, and, in my half delirious state, I was several LONELY LANDS 111 times on the verge of going towards that clump. I am glad now that I didn't, for to wander away here would mean losing the already faint track and being swallowed up in the unexplored Never-Never country. Breakfastless and feeling gone in the legs I get under Aveigh next morning and half an hour afterwards came to a small "gilgi" (waterhole) which was nearly dry I was quite dry. The little water that remained was filled with a kind of water beetle, locally known as "wee woggies, " so I had to use the strainer before I could use the water. I managed to get enough sticks to build a fire and make some tea. I may tell you I made it strong for sanitary reasons. Nevertheless I enjoyed it, but the peculiar circumstances were contributory towards that. Soon after tea it began to rain again, but this was an improvement rather than a disadvantage, for the mud was not quite so sticky and the bike wheels were enabled to go round instead of sliding along with me tugging at it as a man tugs an unwilling ass. Twelve miles ahead I knew I had a fourteen mile desert to negotiate, but the desert provides better going than the swamp, so I was rather glad. However, before reaching the ridges I encountered about three miles 112 LONELY LANDS of blue bush swamp, the worst I have had to contend with throughout my long journey through these lonely lands. Before I had gone ten yards I sank knee-deep in white clay and water, and, on endeavouring to ex- tricate myself, I found that in getting out of the bo? I had also got out of my boots, leaving them eighteen inches under the surface. With considerable difficulty I pushed my machine over to a blue bush near, and, laying it down, returned to fish out my buried boots. But this was more easily said than done, for the tighter I tugged, the deeper I sank, until it seemed to me that it would be better to lose my boots than my body, for I was fast going down to perdition. At last with a final effort I managed to dredge the oozy deep and bring up my bluchers, filled to the brim with clay and water. It took me some little time to scoop out the filling, and then, for further safety, I tied the salvage round my neck and fairly floundered to- wards my bike. Words fail to express the situation at least good words do and bad ones are barred in a book of this kind, for one may be had up for "language" as well as libel in this land. Only those who have been bogged in blue bush swamp can appreciate the self restraint exercised under these exciting circumstances. For I went from LOXELY LANDS 11:5 bad to worse, unlil. at last. I went j)lump up to my chin in slimy, lukewarm water, holding on to the handles with dilu'culty. But to my credit be it said T never even whispered IJLUE BUSH COUNTRY. "damp" --nor anything like it I had got beyond that. T tiptoed along for a hundred yards or so with lips tightly closed and nose just al>ove the bog, when, to H 114 LONELY LANDS my delight, I felt my feet on firmer ground and. carefully crawling up a sudden rise, with difficulty reached the "ridges." Everything on the machine was wet camera, food, and clothing whilst I found my legs bleeding from the attacks of leeches and my feet cut with sharp sticks. I covered these wounds with clay to keep the flies off, but the heat of the sun soon cracked the clay and I suffered from festering sores for weeks after. After three miles of good travelling I struck heavy sands and went ploughing along for eleven miles with the machine in front and me following the effect in this instance going before the cause until I came to Lawn Creek, where I camped for the night, feeling tired, weak and feverish. CHAPTER VIII. CAMOOWKAL TO HRUXKTTK, 240 MILES. AGGRKGATK 8498 MILKS. A tihiuoo The Philosophic Teamster Friends in Xced Beef and Be dies Padding the Hoof Down with the Fever. \TKXT morning, when T had time to estimate the damage done by that dip in the bine bush bog, I found that my camera had suffered considerably, and I was correspondingly cut up, for I had been in debted to it for much good material for my book. After four days of heavy travelling T reached the Rankine River and rode right into Mr. Hull's store, which is built up of tents and bough "mia-mias." It was here I met a party of station hands out on what is termed locally a "shivoo." In other parts this function is called a jarnberoo, a beano, a bender; but, as Shakespeare has assured us that "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet." so, I fancy, it is not the name but the result that lends the charm to 115 LONKLY LANDS 117 the institution. Instead 5 new suit and fresh shoes. I also had a meal of vegetables and fruit, the first for five months, and I again regretted I had upset the Chinaman, for the products of his garden were good. After living on weevilly tlour and salt meat the green food was a most \veleome change. After dinner numerous wires of congratulation came up from Port Darwin and 1 wa.s asked to keep myself open for Saturday night, three days ahead, as the Darwin Athletic Association had arranged to tender me a welcome social. As I had lost my engagement hook in that same hlack bog that ruined my camera. I was unable to say definitely whether I was engaged for that evening or not. but I risked it and wired back an acceptance. The following Saturday afternoon I was within a few miles of my northern destination, and the fresh, salt air from the ocean seemed to put new life into me. Four miles out a party of cyclists met me and escorted me into Palmerston. or Port Darwin. It is a town of alternatives in more ways than one. On our arrival we were welcomed by the other members of the club. and. after "severial washing-the-dnst- downs," we disbanded for dinner. As it was then six o'clock in the evening and dinner LONELY LANDS 157 was at seven I had a great scramble to get ready. First I was taken to a Chinaman's store, where a suit of khaki and some shirts were purchased ; then we pro- ceeded to another (/how store for other commodities, and last, hut not least. T had my hair cut by .John in his best style, finishing up with a "scrape," which was sorely needed. Not that \ had neglected myself alto- gether on the way. fur I have given you instances of times when I had many a close shave: hut this was d i fferent. The dinner was good, the company excellent and the soft-footed, dhow waiter had evidently served his apprenticeship at Fillemupagain, for he was a past master in the art of sweet persuasion. Jlis bland smile made you feel that you could trust him with your watch. The social at night was most enjoyable after my roughing and the complimentary speeches, especially that of Mr. Justice Herbert, made me feel quite proud. l$ut. as the things that were said of me may be found reported in The Xorfhern Territory Times, you must excuse me mentioning them here. When the caterer counted the "empties" in the morning he assured me it had beeii a decided success, and he was a man of probity and experience. In any case my best LONKLY LANDS 159 thanks are due to the local snorts for their warm welcome to Palmerston. Next morning I started shivering and. though it was a hot day. I could tot get warm, even with three heavy blankets over me. A couple of hours later I could not get cool, and then T knew that my old enemy, fever and ague, had downed me again. Every other day for eight days 1 was unable to walk and latterly [ wa.s unfit to get up at all. For days I was delirious; for forty-eight hours I was blind, raving, singing, shouting and behaving generally in a way that, in other circumstances, would have earned me seven days without the option. But. under Dr. Strangman's clever treatment I was able to get up after eleven days in the hospital, and although T have had a couple of fever bouts since I hope soon again to be well and strong. It was -somewhat humiliating to me to break down just at the apex of my journey, so to speak, but better there, where T could get scientific treatment, than in the depths of the desert where the end might have been death. Xo doubt "There's a Divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will." CHAPTER XI. PORT DARWIN. A Chinese Artist Opium Fishing The Aggressive Celestial Settlement in the Northern Territory. T) ORT DARWIN or, more properly, Palmerston, is the most northerly seaport town of any import- ance in the Northern Territory. The harbour looks like Port Phillip bay, with its large expanse of water; but the surrounding banks are similar to those of Sydney Harbour. The water is not navigable for large steamers, except through the main channel, and there is poor shelter for shipping. The S.E. wind, which blows for about five months after the wet season often blows so strongly as to make things hum. This is the "fever wind," but as it passes over the harbour it doubtless becomes purified to a great extent, filtered through tlie ozone, as it were, and Port Darwin gets the benefit. The town is situated at the head of the harbour on 160 101 162 LONELY LANDS a small cape or headland. The white popula- tion resides at the "back" of the town, which is the best residential portion of the cape. A minute's walk away is the beach, or rather a series of beaches, broken by stony ridges jutting out into the sea, but covered at high tide. On the lower side of the cape is Chinatown, which, to the visitor from the steamer, appears to be the principal portion of the Port, although it consists of but one long street, with galvanised iron shops, un- painted and ugly. Over the shop doors are various brilliantly-painted signs, with little flags flying, and what seems, but for the bright colouring, to be wax funeral wreaths. There is little of the gaudy Asiatic splendour about this Chinatown, but there is sufficient of the Asiatic squalor. There are approximately three thousand Chinamen in the country and about eight hundred white people. Definite information about population is difficult to get, as the people here seem to have acquired the usual tropical dislike for details. But even this indefinite estimate shows that the number of whites is altogether out of proportion to LONELY LANDS 163 the number of Chiue.se, and, as the disproportion is growing, it behoves those in authority to see to it. FKUIT MERCHANT DAKWIN STl'DIhS. At a Chinese fruit and pork shop a common com- bination, though a curious one to our Southern, civilised ideas I noticed a group of Chows reverently 164 LONELY LANDS and gently poking with a stick a small piece of pork that hung about six feet above the window counter. On enquiring I found that a guessing competition was in progress. On payment of sixpence the Chow hands in his guess as to the weight of the pork, which becomes the property of the winner, who immediately shoves his stick through it and goes home to have a good time. This is repeated daily and crowds of Chinese are to be seen there every day, as the sport appeals to their gambling instincts. Around Darwin the Chinese have all the good land, which they till in a primitive way, producing chiefly bananas and pineapples. Fruit, however, is very dear ; ninepence for a pineapple, and sixpence a dozen for bananas are prices that John asks without a blush and, as there are no middlemen, the profits must be handsome, if the vendors are not. It is just the same in the shops ; the Chows demand big prices for every- thing, while they themselves live on the proverbial "smell of an oil rag." No wonder the steamers are always crowded with prosperous celestials going "home" for a holiday. They can afford it. If any- thing particular is wanted one must go to the Chow store for it. The three European stores seem to be unable to stock up sufficiently to capture the local Luuuly Land*. Tl)\VX CKIKK, 1'AI.MKKSTON, N.T. 166 LONELY LANDS trade. There are about twenty Chinese stores, and here is a typical sign of one of them "Wim Lung: Baker, Photographer, Fishing-boat Owner." I was examining the portraits exhibited in the window of a Chinese brother artist, and puzzling out how it was possible to tell one face from another they all looked as if turned out of the same mould- when the artist strolled out and asked: "You wantem plicter taken? Me takem all plicter! Welly good, eh?" "How much do you charge," I asked. "One pong one dossen. Welly cheap, eh?" "All right, by-and-bye, maybe." "All li. You wantem blead, you wantem fish, you wantem plicter, all li, you come see me, all li. Goo- bye." Some of the "fishing" boats do precious little fish- ing, I fancy, when the China steamers are nearly due. The opium traffic is, to all intents and purposes, as brisk as ever, in spite of strict and watchful observa- tion on the part of the Customs officials. There are numerous ways in which the prohibited article may be smuggled in, which are known only to the "Celestial Ray." One way is to drop the opium overboard near 168 LONELY LANDS a pre-arranged spot, the "fishing boats" being near at hand to recover it. Another way is to drop the parcel, weighted, over- board perhaps even alongside the jetty. Attached to the case is a long string with a small float on the end a cork perhaps. This is wrapped in a piece of paper with a weight sufficient to sink the float also. In two or three days' time the paper bursts and the float comes to the surface, and would easily pass unnoticed, especially if under the jetty, which is deserted when the steamer leaves. The placid-looking Chow, "fishing" from the jetty with a hand line, has something to do with the opium trade. At any rate he is never there "fishing" when the steamer is away. The guileless heathen is to be reckoned with in mining also. As he is not allowed to have the owner- ship of a claim, he gets a white man to act as owner, while he finds the capital and working expenses. There are many mines about the country absolutely controlled by Chinese, though popularly believed to be white men's property. Indeed, there is scarcely a paying business of any kind but what has Chinese capital behind it, and this will be a serious factor in the future development of the country. It looks very much like a ' ' combine ' ' amongst the Chows to exclude 170 LONELY LANDS the white man as far as possible. They can do it, too. especially to the man without capital. People in Darwin would probably scoff at the idea, but, from what I have seen, there is more in it than meets the eye. The Chow is very clannish and determined when he makes up his mind. If you speak against him in Palmerston, you will be told that he is indispensable. The state of affairs, as far as the Celestial invasion in concerned, should cause our statesmen to look around for a remedy and, if necessary, appoint a Commission to inquire into the problems connected with whits settlement in the tropics. The peopling of the far north is really one of our most pressing national questions, and we may well wake up to the fact that it is a question beset with many and peculiar difficulties. Very shortly the Commonwealth will, I suppose, be assuming control of the Northern Territory, and the work of settlement there will then have to be seriously entered upon. From every point of view it is desir- able that the initial steps should be taken in the full light of the best knowledge the experience and sricntific research of the world can furnish, and it is my opinion that any money spent in obtaining this knowledge would be a cheap investment, if it were 172 LONELY LANDS the means of saving large subsequent waste of funds and possibly of human life. The settlement of the right kind of people on the land will be a matter of particular moment, for no doubt it will be largely a question of the survival of the fittest. Some authorities are of opinion that the whites of the Mediterranean littoral the Spaniards, the Italians, and the Greeks are better adapted for this purpose than the inhabitants of countries further north, because, it is argued, they are already acclima- tised to tropical conditions, whereas they are nothing of the kind. As a matter of fact, Australians living anywhere between Brisbane and Rockhampton, not to mention further north, are subjected to greater heat than is to b3 met with in the Mediterranean; and we have abundant evidence that the Anglo-Saxon is better fitted to withstand the sub-tropical climate than these others, chiefly because of the fact that he has a larger stock of latent energy to begin with. Amongst the various nationalities I came across in my hasty run through the Territory, the Briton, the German, the Dane, and the Swede seemed to me the most successful settlers. Still some may say I was only a bird of passage and therefore not able to give an opinion, but it must not be forgotten that I en- countered and conversed with men of all classes who I'KAYIXG SHRINK, .KISS HOUSK, 1'ALMEKSTON. Lonely Land*, 174 LOXKIA LANDS have lived in those northern lands all their lives, and who were therefore well able to speak from experience. True, some of them were drovers or miners or team- sters, but they were nevertheless men of keen observation and natural ability, whose intelligence often made me -inclined to hide my ignorance. But if we turn from these humble observers and weigh the opinions of the trained thinker in the person of the resident medical man, we find such an overwhelming testimony in favour of the white man that there is hardly any room left for doubt. At the recent medical congress held in Melbourne (October, 1908) such men as Dr. Macdonald. of Geraldton, North Queensland, .and various others of equal note men who had given years of intelligent study to this Northern Territory question unhesita- tingly declared that there was no shadow of doubt in their minds but that the Australian or the Britisher could thrive and rear a race of hardy descendants there. Of course there are patches of country to be found there that are unsuitable for colonisation; but why trouble about these wlien there are so many other parts eminently suited- to a white population? Failures, so far, of white men to maintain health SUBMAKINK TELKGKAI'II STATION, 1'ALMKKSTON, N.T. Lonely Land*. 176 LONELY LANDS in the tropics has been due principally to the non- observance of the rulas of personal, domestic, and public hygiene. The discoveries of modern times indi- cated that tropical countries had their special diseases that required special means for their prevention. The adoption of such means had enabled France and America to accomplish in their tropical possessions that which a few years ago would have been regarded as impossible. There are many industries that could be established with success in these regions, such as mining, agri- culture, cattle rearing, the growing of rice, tobacco, cotton, coffee, tea, and other commodities too numerous to mention. Of course, in order to compete with the open markets of the world, some form of cheap labour other than white would be necessary, but that is not inconsistent with a White Australia, for, properly regulated, the white would always remain master of the situation, supplying the mental portion of the organisation, while the "native" supplied the manual. Brain and muscle have formed successful combinations in other similar situations; then why not here? 177 CHAPTER XII. PORT DARWIN TO TENNANT'S CREEK, 890 MILES. AGGREGATE 5318 MILES. The Transcontinental Railway Iguana Hunting . Fowling A Big Snake Native Burials Fish in Central Australia Surprising a Native Camp The Stranded Motor. OOME of my readers may have come to the conclu- sion that they would rather I went on describing my journey than waste time talking on subjects of such a serious nature as Northern Colonisation, but they must bear with me a little further while I touch en passant upon the Transcontinental Railway. Having covered the ground with a view to gleaning reliable information on this point, I am of opinion that if the railway route from Pine Creek to Oodna- datta be made it will be a huge failure. There is no pastoral nor agricultural country worth talking about on this route, as it would practically run through KOMKWAttD A CHINESE STUDY IX Lunely Lan Is. I'Al.MKKSTOX, X.T. 180 LONELY LANDS desert land. The Pine Creek to Bourke (N.S.W.) is the most direct, and only about three hundred miles of the whole route would be poor country. All the proposed routes I have examined seem faulty some of them are planned to run through terrible bog country, while others run along tableland ridges through two hundred miles of country where even a goat would require to be a bit of a Blondin. No doubt these routes are all right when drawn on the survey map, but if there had ever been an actual survey the engineers would have seen at a glance the absurdity of the proposals. In my poor opinion the line should travel south to Renner Springs, approximately east to Camooweal, south-east to Boulia, Eulo, Cunnamulla, and Bourke. Two hundred and fifty miles would link up Adelaide; ninety miles link up Melbourne with the overland trunk route. Brisbane would join at Cunnamulla. To link up all the Queensland lines with the main trunk would not be necessary, as the country would be opened up from east to west, and the same would apply to New South Wales. It is not intended to lay down the law on this matter, but merely to throw out a hint or suggest a caution lest a plan that has not 182 LONELY LANDS been thoroughly proven should be adopted and end in disaster. And now I shall resume my ride, craving your indulgence for a few pages further. It is well known that an ass goes faster when he thinks he is going home, and there is a good deal of the donkey about many authors, in so far as they often rush their readers over the final chapters at a breakneck pace, in order to reach finality. Leaving Port Darwin on 18th June, 1908, accom- panied by some local sports, who came out a few miles just to see me off the premises, as it were, I set out for the journey down through the heart of Australia to Adelaide. Owing to my recent illness I found that ten miles a day was quite enough travelling in the hot sun, and it just began to be borne in on me that I had hardly the fitness of the proverbial fiddle. Still I was gaining strength every day and had hopes that after a little training "Richard would soon be himself again." Through the fever-belt I found the going much better, as the long grass was broken down by the strong S.E. monsoon and in some parts the natives had burnt a lot of country whilst hunting for iguanas. At a station on the Elsey River I replenished my 184 LONELY LANDS larder with poultry in rather a doubtful manner. An old gin had been left in charge, but, like other brands, she was easily "squared" if taken the right way. The fowls were wild and could fly a huudreJ yards at a time, so that I was utterly unable to catch them. The advice of our grandmothers about putting salt on their tails was out of date, but a bit of "baccy" placed in the hands of the gin worked wonders, and soon I had enlisted the sympathy of a willing band of lubras, piccaninnies, and dogs, who, after a few miles of cross-country work, brought in a fair supply of fowl. Added to that the fowls had lost most of their feathers in the rough and tumble, which saved me the trouble of plucking them. So I wrung their necks, strapped them on to the bike, and, after dis- tributing a little more largesse amongst the hunters, rode jauntily away. There may be some doubt in the minds of my readers as to whether the means of acquiring the birds were fair or foul, but in an ex- pedition like this, the etiquette of "the twelfth" is apt to be forgotten. At Daly Waters I was getting well out of the fever country, but between there and Newcastle Waters I was unfortunate enough to contract Barcoo sickness, LONELY LANDS I sf, which pulled me down considerably and left me ex- ceedingly weak. For days the only food I could hope to retain was damper and tea without sugar. Crossing the Black Soil Plains I had terrible trouble I.KAVIM; PORT KAKWIN. Pane ist. getting the bike over the big fissures that open up in the dry season. Horses have a rough passage in cross- ing at such times, as their weight breaks down the 186 LONELY LANDS edges of the cracks and their legs are continually being caught. These fissures extend to a considerable depth, and are so continuous that well, here is a "yarn" as it was told to me : A man crossing that part lost his dog one day, and, being unable to find it, went on his way. After travelling all day he made his camp and presently was surprised to hear a muffled whining, which reminded him of his lost doggie. Looking down one of the cracks he espied poor Fido, wagging his tail and looking up appealingly for help. Needless to say there was a glad reunion. The animal had fallen down a fissure in the morning, but by following the scent, had travelled underground and kept pace with his master. Well, I am not responsible for the truth of that story, but it is no steeper than many a stiff snake yarn. Snakes, death adders, and centipedes were plentiful around thase parts. Whenever an opening offered I killed what I could. I had learned a lot since my first adventure in the snake line and could now execute commissions with promptitude and des- patch. The biggest shake I bagged was a nine-footer, which I met near Murrundi and which I snuffed out with half a railway sleeper. I "snapped" him as soon as I got him to remain steady. The head rest 188 LONELY LANDS was not necessary. It is remarkable that every snake I encountered made for the bicycle. Perhaps the glitter and silent running appealed to them. 1 sur- rendered the machine to them every time by hastily dismounting on the opposite side and hunting for a stick or a stone with which to settle the question of ownership. At Newcastle Waters I felt comparatively well and strong again. The country around here is splendid and well watered. On my run through to Powell's Creek I found the water-holes fast drying up, and around them all sorts of game were congregating, and tossing each other for drinks. The scramble re- minded one of a Lady Mayoress's function when there are more guests than good things, or of the supper rush at a charity ball. When Hearing the overland telegraph station a splendid view of the unknown desert country away to the west is to be seen from the top of some mountain- ous ridges. At Powell's Creek I got an idea of how much the bush nigger is afraid of pig. The telegraph master and operator had occasion to kill a pig, and the screams of the porker made every nigger within hear- ing disappear into the scrub, from which they did not 190 LONELY LANDS return for days. Territory niggers will neither kill nor eat a pig, and although wild pigs are numerous they are never meddled with. Up the ereek is to be socn the burial ground of the natives. It looks like a bough shed built up in the trees. The body is placed on top of this and covered over lightly with boughs. The crows are often among the chief mourners at a funeral. They come to "scoff" and remain to prey. I came back over the same country to Renner Springs, thence on to Tennant's Creek. Here th.3 travelling was bad, as the route was principally over heavy sand and spinifex. At one part I was all day doing thirty-three miles, which I had to traverse with- out a drink of any description. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth and I was in a pretty parlous condition. One night I ran right into a camp of blacks who had been setting fire to the country in tlieir search for game, chiefly iguanas. These reptiles burrow in the ground, and, after a fire, are always to be found concealed in the burrows. The natives dig them out with sticks, and it is at this part of the performance that the fun is to be had. Sometimes the iguana, after fighting "with his back LOXELY LAXDS 191 to the wall," will dart out suddenly between the logs of his would-be captors, at the same lime snapping A Xlf.'K JlKDFKI.l.ONV. right and left at everything in the way. But the ever-watchful half-bred dingo dogs are always on the 192 . LONELY LANDS alert, and, before yon could cough, there is to be seen the most wonderful mixture of iguana, dogs, and dust that could possibly be imagined. When the "gins" join in and add their harsh, split voices to the din, you could fancy yourself at a wool sale. The dogs are evidently under the impression that the mixture has been labelled "to be well shaken before taking," and they shake things up most vigorously until they are hauled off by the hind legs by the piccaninnies. When the dust has gone down the iguana is taken up, and this performance is repeated until the last iguana has been baited and slain. Very heavy travelling fell to my lot on the way to Attack Creek. Stony ridges intermingling with spinifex did not produce an ideal track, and as a con- sequence the going was "vile." It was here, in Central Australia, that I saw fish. A large rock-hole was teeming with them, from four to five inches long. The hole was well clear of all i, watercourses, so the puz/le is how the fish came there. The only feasible solution I can think of is that fish spawn had been swallowed by birds and deposited there by natural causes. Between Attack Creek and the Gilbert Creek I spent a blazing hot day without a drink. I mean, of 194 LONELY LANDS course, a drink of water, tea. anything moist. Cyclists who have been riding all day know that on account of the free perspiration in hot climates like ours the balance of liquid matter in the body must be made up or intense thirst supervenes. But few find themselves in such awkward circumstances that they have not the certainty of a drink at the end of day. When, however, you have to "carry forward" your thirst over night and into the next day you feel as if an ocean would be too small to supply the balance. Although the distance between the two creeks was only thirty-three miles, it took me all my time to accomplish it in a day and a half. On getting near the waters I saw a fire; getting nearer I saw another, then another, and before T quite understood my position I was right in the middle of a blacks' camp. As I swept into their midst, the flames gilding the bright parts of my bike and making them flash fire, the niggers threw courage and common sense to the winds and took to their heels as one man. They are horribly afraid of anything that travels silently. "Kidicha" (quiet devil) they call the bike, which may account for their consternation. From their cover behind the trees, however, they saw me begin to unload my traps, and, plucking up 196 LONELY LANDS courage again, they began to approach and watch the process of unpacking. I took good care to let them see I had nothing that would be of any use to them, and, not feeling too sure of their attitude towarda me, I began to act up to my reputation of "mad fellah." I talked to myself, I laughed and I sang. I struck various dramatic attitudes whilst I recited a verse of "The boy stood on the burning deck" (I remembered the deadly effect of that piece in my Sunday school days), and, after showing them my agility in a few steps of the Highland Fling. I wound up with the tra- ditional "Hooch" with which Scotchmen generally bring this fascinating dance to a close, and once again the niggers took to the bush. My impersonation of the " rnad fellah " had been a decided success and I was left master of the situation. Now, although I have about the average sense of humour, I assure you I did not feel as funny as this appears, for, all the time I was "fooling." I was apprehensive lest they might penetrate my "disguise," in which case I might expect a rough time. If I had not been dog tired and utterly exhausted, having fasted for nearly twenty-four hours, I should have ridden right on, but 1 had reached that stage when I must rest, no matter what the consequences. Lonely Lands. A UIANT ANT HIM 198 LONELY LANDS So I took up a bundle of dried leaves and boughs that I found near one of the fires and dropped them on the glow. In the glare that followed I saw a snake dart out from amongst the boughs. I had actually lifted him with the firewood, but though I could hear him drawing himself about in the grass I was unable to find him. Coming back to the fire I drew upon the water resources of the enemy and boiled the billy. Tt was not a restful meal, but it served. Nor was my attempt at sleep a .huge success, for, what with the niggers on the one hand and the snake on the other, I hardly closed an eyelid. Needless to say I was up with the dawn and away before further trouble overtook me. Just after leav- ing this place I came across hundreds of ant hills, some of them standing eight and ten feet high. They are sometimes called "magnetic" ant hills, owing to the fact of their pointing due north and south. They are decidedly "electric" if you happen to sit on them unawares. At Tennant's Creek I was mast hospitably received. I had a good "clean up," which was a longed-for luxury, and a splendid meal of beef and vegetables, after which I had a look at the garden. The vegetables were< growing as well as ever I had seen them any- 200 LONELY LANDS where, and I came to the conclusion that even the desert will grow anything when water is obtainable. Forty miles south of here I passed the stranded motor car in which Messrs. Dutton and Aunger made their first attempt to cross the continent from Adelaide to Port Darwin, but which had to be abandoned on account of heavy rains. She seemed to be in splendid trim, and, although a bit rusty-looking, seemed quite capable of still crossing the continent. CHAPTER XIII. TENNANT'S CREEK TO ALICE SPRINGS. 330 MILES. AGGREGATE 5u'48 MILES. Lazy Xiyyers lyiiana Stew The Overland Telegraph Dntton and Aunger Afghan Camel Corp* Bnxh Burglary. ~VT (.) one would ever dream of accusing the Aus- tralian aborigine of being a "hustler," but for down-right laziness the niggers of the Northern Territory take the cake, and those between Tennant's Creek and Barrow Creek are facile prince pus. They seem too la/y to move about and are always going about with their hands in their pockets (metaphori- cally). Some people may .say that that is better than having their hands in other people's pockets a certain sign of civilisation but the latter at least shows a spirit of enterprise. The buck nigger would scorn the idea of working he won't even hunt he just throws himself down and lies, and lies, and lies. 201 LONELY LANDS 203 The gins do whatever is necessary by way of providing for their lords and masters, and some of their efforts are nothing short of wonderful. A favourite dish of theirs is a mixture of iguana and leaves, served in "eoolamons" (native dishes). As it looked all right I ventured to taste a little of it and I ean sacredly swear I ean taste it yet. "Strong" was no name for it: it ate its way into my vitals like aeid, and flavoured everything I ate for months after. I rinsed my mouth again and again, but it was of no avail. 1 had acquired that taste and it meant to stick to me. I had never fully understood what an "acquired taste" really meant. Now I know ; and the knowledge is mine for life. I had previously eaten iguana tail roasted and found it not too bad (N.T.B. we Australians say) ; but I hope I '11 be dead when next I eat iguana and leaves. Between Tennant's Creek and Barrow Creek grows the giant miilga of Central Australia. The wind sweeping through these trees makes a wonderful, fascinating " sigh," which charms, while at the same time suggesting a threat. It is the spirit of the desert wind speaking, but only the man who has heard it can quite understand. Most of the "creeks" in this part have no water in LONELY LANDS 205 them. Barrow Creek is one of that kind, and is mentioned here because some years ago it was the scene of a terrible tragedy, a number of post officials having been foully murdered by hostile blacks. The graves of the unfortunate men may be seen about a hundred yards away from the telegraph station. The "hands" on an overland telegraph station generally consist of the telegraph master, an operator, and one or two line repairers. These men lead a life of lonely monotony ; the work is not hard, but the dull- ness is terribly so. Most of them become students of nature and know their surroundings like a book As a class they know more about onr native tribes than any "learned" body of savants to be found in Aus- tralia, and a more kindly lot of men does not exist They were of infinite assistance to me, for they gave me most valuable information about the route, advising me what to avoid and what to avail myself of, besides wiring down from station to station that I was on the way, with the happy result that on reaching the next stage I was an expected and welcome guest. When a "break" occurs, pack-horses are brought in, food and water supplies strapped on, and in a few hours "the flying gang" is well under weigh. It often happens that the repairers have to inspect scores LONELY LANDS 207 of miles of line before the damage is located, and they may be away from headquarters for weeks at a time. The telegraph line does not run straight, a,s many people imagine, but follows along the top of the ridges as far as possible, in order to avoid the boggy country, which in the wet season is practically impassable. Below Barrow Creek the South Australian Govern- ment has put down some splendid wells, where hundreds of head of cattle can be watered. The water is drawn up by means of a "whim" and a big bucket worked by an old whim horse, whose daily round is confined to a circle of about sixty feet or so. Along- side each well is a big steel-plate tank capable of holding some thousands of gallons of water, which can be run into long troughs. It is a most wonderful sight to watch the thousands of birds that water here; shell parrots, torn-tits. Java sparrows, finches, small grey doves no bigger than sparrows, and cockatoos of all kinds. Hovering over all might be seen the ever-hungry hawk, waiting his opportunity to swoop down and annex any small bird that exposed himself to his fury. I was glad to note however, that the weaker birds were 1 adepts at keeping cover, and. although Master TIawk made many feints and artful ruses, he rarely succeeded in getting a LONELY LANDS 209 bird to fly out and give him a chance. Whilst I was having a meal there some of the smaller birds came and took shelter under the kit on my bicycle. They evidently trusted me. (I know some people who won't.) It is a humane rule of the road always to draw a few bucketfuls of water for the feathered friends of the bush. If you can stop a white cockatoo's screeching he makes a very fine dish, either roasted or stewed. A small rabbit trap used with discretion brings in many a meal. If the same plan were pursued in some of our suburbs where cockies are "kept" it would be appreciated by many a long- suffering neighbour, although it might end in a law- suit instead of a meal. On the way down to Alice Springs I had splendid fast cycling. About thirty-five miles north of the Springs I met Messrs. Dutton and A linger on their second attempt to cross Australia in a motor car, a feat which they happily accomplished. It might seem rather a singular thing that we couldn't miss each other in the heart of Australia, but we really met by arrangement made over the wires. The popular idea about Alice Springs is that it is in the middle of a desert, whereas it is right in the N LONELY LANDS 211 heart of the Macdonnell Ranges. The township, called Stuart, consisting of a few houses, a store, and the inevitable "pub.," is on a. scrub and grass flat, surrounded and overtopped by high mountains on every side. It is approached through a wonderful gap on the north side by following the steep, winding path of a dry creek, which, in course of ages, has carved its way through the mighty rocks on the moun- tain side. A day's journey by bike are the famous Arltunga gold fields, which, in spite of high freights from the south, still manage to pay their way. There are approximately a thousand camels carry- ing goods up, most of them driven by Afghans and, in some cases, owned by them as well. These Afghans are allowed to carry firearms and have their revolvers stuck conspicuously in their belts. Relying on their arms they treat the natives badly, and more than once the white people have had to interfere to stop trouble. The chief cause of the trouble is that the Afghan lures the nigger's gin away from him and very often leaves her stranded hundreds of miles away from her own tribe. When captured by another tribe she is, according to aboriginal custom, subjected to all sorts of indignities and becomes a slave and a chattel amongst her captors. LONELY LAXDS 213 There are others than Afghans who are far from blameless in their treatment of the native women, and they are not blacks. Right through the Territory the blacks are unprotected from a moral point of view, and it is time that South Australia passed some effective legislation to protect the native races. 1 have known of native women kept against their wishes, and. if they ran away, they were "tracked" down by "boys." brought back, and beaten for try- ing to escape. Such things to my knowledge do not happen in Queensland or elsewhere in Australia. As soon as the borders are reached the gins are either sold or bartered. After leaving Alice Springs the rain started again, and for three days and three nights I had to camp out in a continuous dri/xle and go on short rations to boot. On the first night I managed to make a fire and steamed alongside it all night. Yet in this sandy country I could get no water for the billy. The next night I camped inside a large rock cave, and noticing that it was damp I swabbed down the sides of my shelter and succeeded in wringing out as much as did for a drink. I drank th it water reverently, with my eyes closed. On reaching Ooraminna Hocks, and just after hav- ing had my larder replenished. 1 had the misfortune BORING FOB WATKH (JUNCTION BORE), CKNTKAL AUSTRALIA. Lonely Lands. LONELY LANDS 215 to have my premises bin-fried by a wild dog. f had left my bike and gone for a little excursion off the track, when the brute came along and tore open my "blanket" and collared a bit of meat that was wrapped in it, and which I had been husbanding with a view to a tit-bit tea. On returning, I found that he had dragged bike and all that belonged thereto right into the scrub and was having a right royal time. He had just eaten down to the bone when I surprised him, but one good blow with a stick was all I could get in, although I chased him through the scrub for half .1 mile. But he knew his way about and bested me at every turn. I retraced my steps a wiser and a sadder man. and went to bed without that bonne bouchc tea I had talked of. It was my turn to be wild and I was so. This happened on a Friday, but I don't suppose that had anything to do with the final disaster. 1 am not superstitious as a rule, but it is rather a coin- cidence that this should come to be told at the end of chapter thirteen. Perhaps some of my readers who have devoted their leisure to the study of the occult sciences may be able to enlighten me. Lowly Landt THE FINISH AT -SYDNKY, SEPTEMBER, 1908. CHAPTER XIV. ALICE SPRINGS TO ADELAIDE, 1200 MILES. ADELAIDE TO MELBOURNE, 700 MILES. MELBOURNE TO SYDNEY, 570 MILES. VARIOUS CROSS RUNS ON JOURNEY, 182 MILES. GRAND AGGREGATE 8300 MILES. Rare Accommodation Rabbits The Stony Desert- Home Again. ^T A HE depot sandhills were heavy travelling, as the surface had been broken up by camels, but sitting down to bemoan the state of the "roads" was of no avail, so I just kept plugging along. At one of the mail changes I camped for the night, and you ought to have seen the "accommodation.'' It is certainly indescribable, but nere are the dry facts. The only erection in the vicinity was a two-roomed hut, in which were found two gins, a few piccaninnies, two bucks, about thirty goats, and six canine mothers with their litters, all huddled round the fire in what we might term, for want of a better name, the kitchen. 218 LONELY LANDS 219 I bargained for the room, "with the use of the kitchen," as the advertisements have it, for there was no other shelter of any kind about and the wind was blowing bitterly eold. So I entered into possession and made arrangements to cook my evening meal, whilst the other lodgers looked on in abject in- difference. All except the goats, who crowded round me and impeded me to such an extent that I had to use both my boots and my frying pan to ward them oil'. Perhaps they noticed that my pan was a bit dry and. as every goat there considered himself a good butter, lie desired to offer his services. Be that as it may, 1 was not long in getting warmed up, for, be- tween the heat of the small room and the heat of my temper, I was like toast before I reached my supper. I can conscientiously say I never ate a meal surrounded by so many noisy claimants for a scrap in my life before. What with the dogs, the goats and the little piccaninnies I was in a fair stew ; but the bucks and the gins held themselves aloof. And it was well that it was so, for. if I had had two gins thrown in. my case would have been desperate indeed. It would have been a strong in- centive to sign the pledge. When I "retired" to my room I found it quite impossible to sleep, for the goats LONELY LANDS 221 were huddled against the partition and kept up a con- tinual scuffling, bleating, and clattering of hoofs on the stone floor, whilst the dogs fought them for the warmest corners. After vainly trying to compose myself to this music. T gave up the unequal contest and cleared out before daybreak. Rabbits began to be numerous now, and spills were common on account of my bike breaking through the surface over their burrows. The first I had met up north was eighty miles above Alice Springs, after that they were everywhere. At Charlotte AVaters I was out on to the " gibber ' r country; big, open, stony plains stretched away as far as the eye could see the "Stony Desert" of the early explorers. The general colour of the country is a blood-red, and the glitter of the sunlight on the stones is very trying to the eyes. At Oodnadatta I wavS once more into civilisation and on to the railway line. I passed across the southern end of Lake Eyre, with its white, gleaming expanse of salt. Here I gathered some petrified shells (one of the curiosities of this country) and inspected the natural artesian mineral waters. Some parts of the country are twenty-eight feet below sea-level. I passed through, a heavy sand storm, and then with LONELY LANDS 223 a gale and a half behind me, rode into Hergott Springs. From thence I passed through the beauti- ful, snow-clad mountains around Beltana, doun to Petersburg, with its smiling valleys, and on to Adelaide. Along the road that ribbons round the coast of Victoria from Adelaide to Geelong and Melbourne one meets such easy going, by comparison with the "wilds." that very little happens to disturb the even tenor of one's way, and the route is so well known that further description is superfluous. It was the comparatively unknown country that appealed to me and that T have attempted, in most meagre manner, to describe. But ns there is little mystery about the road from Melbourne to Sydney, and, as many cyclists have traversed the route before, giving descriptions more or less graphic, it is sufficient for the pin-pose of this book to say that I duly covered the ground that was necessary to complete my record round and arrived in Sydney on the afternoon of AVednesday, September 23rd, 1908. 1 had thus covered a distance of eight thousand three hundred miles and been thirteen months on the trip. Before closing this chapter 1 would like to express my gratitude to those cyclists who came out as far as 224 LONELY LANDS Liverpool and Bankstown to welcome me home again. There were too many of them for me to mention individuals, and the nearer we came to the city the greater grew the procession, until we made quite an imposing spectacle as we swept up Brickfield Hill and along George Street to Market Street, and thus completed the circuit. The members of the Sydney Bicycle Club and the Cyclists' Union entertained me in their rooms on the afternoon of my arrival, and assured me, in various voices, that they considered me "a jolly good fellow," which nobody could deny. It was a sentiment that I was pleased to hear, although, had some of these gentlemen seen me when things were " otherwise," they might have altered their adjectives and changed their tune. To those readers who have accompanied me right through I offer my sympathy and my thanks. They deserve both. Selected List of Boohs Published by the N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 GEORGE STREET, SYDNEY. THE POOR PARSON The Poor Parson, By Steele Rudd. Author of " Sandy's Selection," " On Our Selection," dec. Illustrated by Leading Artintt. PRICE, 3/6; post free, 5d. extra "The Poor Parson" is by no means a religious book in the ordinary acceptation of the term; it is brimful of humour and full of fun, written in Steele Rudd's happiest vein, and deals with the oftentimes hard lot of the Australian bush parson in such a way that, while you enjoy the predicaments in which the parson often finds himself, you sympathise with him and acknowledge that the labourer is worthy of his hire. "The Poor Parson" breaks fresh ground and shows the author at his best amongst entirely new surroundings. His Scotch passages are inimitable. The Bulletin "Australia especially the Australia of the backblocks likes this sort of book; it is just the sort of book that the backblocks would write itself if it had the ability and energy." N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 George Street, Sydney. AND ALL. BRANCHES CHEAP EDITION. Sandy's Selection, By Steele Rudd, Author of "On Our Selection" and " Our New Selection." With 40 illustrations by the leading Black and White Artists of Australia. Demy 8vo. , Illustrated paper cover, Is. (postage 4d.) 500 was paid for the rights of this book, and the sales have proved that the expenditure was justified. The cream of the author's undeniable humour finds expression in these pages, and the reader simply must laugh. The country reader will find many of his own experiences mirrored here, while to the town-bred man the book will be an education in things "out- back." Good old Dad, after his struggle on the selection, comes out on top, and is elected to Parliament with startling results. It is a pleasure to meet him again. "As a lively, crisp statement of an Australian selector, it rings true." The Daily Telegraph. '"Sandy's Selection' will be read with interest by the many admirers of this promising author." The Sydney Morning Herald. "The reader will laugh almost to exhaustion over the absurdities presented but he will understand that there is something beneath the fooling." Melbourne Leader. '"Sandy's Selection' does 'Steele Rudd' credit, and is a worthy successor to his earlier books." The Bulletin. N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 George Street, Sydney. AND ALL BRANCHES. SLTTI.l.R S\\Mil. CHARLES DEBOOS Settler and Savage In Australia Out Hundred Years Ago. By Charles De Boos. Cloth, 3/6 ; Paper, 2/6 (postage, 5d.). This is a reprint of a book (published in 1867) entitled " Fifty Years Ago," which for graphic description of the relationships existing between the blacks and the whites in the early days of Aus- tralian settlement is unrivalled. The interest starts in the first chapter with the massacre of a white settler's family and never flags throughout the entire book. The terrible oath of vengeance taken against the murderers, and the fulfilment of that oath, make up one of the most thrilling stories ever written. Eunning side by side with the scheme of revenge, and incidental to it, are various phases of early colonial life, depicted in language that is tense and strong in every line. Few of the books of to-day can equal this in vivid colouring, desperate adventure, and dramatic situa- tions. It holds the reader spell-bound to the end. N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 George Street, Sydney. AND ALL BRANCHES. On the Fringe of the Never Never, By H. K. Bloxham. With Frontispiece. Crouin 8vo., Paper I/- (postage 3d.) A plain, unvarnished tale of the back blocks during the early forties. A tale whose characters ' - . : live and move in such a way as to bring conviction to the reader. And the secret of it all is that the principals in the story did actually enact the parts allotted to them, for most of them are well known to many an old resident. But life in those days was not wanting in its dash of daring, and accordingly we have an exciting race for land, a scrimmage with the blacks, and a "Bail-up" by a noted bushranger, who in turn is out- witted and captured by the heroine. Send a copy up to the pater at the old homestead he'll enjoy it, and thank you for remembering him. Sydney Morning Herald: "A vivid story of stirring times, well told." Daily Telegraph: "A capital book for those who care about the romance of the old pioneering days." Melbourne Age: "Written by a man who knows his subject thoroughly, and can use his experiences to some purpose in the field of fiction." The Leader (Melb.) : "A bright and readable story, which will be read with pleasure." Town and Country Journal: "A most graphic account of the early pioneering days." The Bulletin: "Congratulation to the author The kind of Australian fiction we have been wanting for a long time." N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 George Street, Sydney. AND ALL BRANCHES. CHEAP EDITION. The Selector, By James Green. With 12 full-page illustrations by A. J. FISCIIKK. Illustrated paper cover, is. (postage 4d.) This story is an eflort to portray the life of the settlers in the North and North-western wheat districts. It presents some types and some impres- sions which may help readers to understand and appreciate the pioneering settlement now going on in the interior of the Mother State. It abounds in incident humorous, pathetic and tragic and it has the added merit of being true. To those who are contemplating going on the land, we should say "Read 'The Selector.' It will be money well spent." The Sydney Morning Herald: "In 'The Selector' the author has written a book which is genuinely true in regard to conditions in the backblocks 'Dummying' also comes in for harsh treatment, and so does the way in which holders of land they did not particularly want were able to arrange matters with persons who desired that land." The Town and Country Journal: "The book is vigorously and graphically written, and the descrip- tions are obviously taken from life by one who is not only familiar with the various phases of the 'out-back,' but has a warm sympathy for all who are engaged in the pioneering settlement of the interior of the Mother State." The Daily Mail (Brisbane) : "Altogether, the book is a capital one, and while faithfully delineating bush life, avoids portrayal of the unlovely characters to be found in the back tracks. . . .' . 'The Selector' is a clean and patriotic Australian book, and makes out of prosaic bush life a pleasant romance." The Australasian: '"The Selector' is an interesting story." N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 George Street, Sydney. AND ALL BRANCHES THIRD EDITION. The Bulletin Reciter. Price I/-. Post Free 1/3. 'Ihis volume contains the cre;mi of the recitations that have appeared in the columns of The Bnllftin for the past twenty years. Originally published at 5/-, this book commanded a very large sale. By arrangement with the proprietors we are enabled to place this edition before our clients at the popular price of ONE SHILLING. Note Some of the Authors: Will H. Ogilvie Thos. E. Spencer Kdward Dyson E. J. Dempsey G. Essex Evans Victor .1. Daley E. J. Brady Arthur H. Adams W. T. Goodge John Farrell Hugh McCrae A. P>. Paterson Henry Lavvson ..and hundreds of others. The whole illustrated by the leading artists of the Commonwealth of Australia. N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 George Street, Sydney. AND ALL. BRANCHES. Budgeree Ballads, Humorous Verses, By Thos. E. Spencer. Author of" How McDougall Topped the Score," " The Spring Cleaning." With 6 full-page Illustrations by J. F. SCOTT. Illustrated Paper Cover, Is. (post free, Is. 4d ) The author of " How McDougall Topped the Score " has again vindicated his title to be considered one of Australia's best versifiers. The " Budgeree Ballads'' ripple with clever merriment all the way through, and should be welcomed by those on the lookout for good humorous recitations. Three Yean Thunderbolt Three Years with Thunderbolt. Edited by Ambrose Pratt. With illustrations by PKRCT F. 8. SPRNCB. Crown 8vo, Cloth, 2/-( postage 5d) Paper, is. (postage 3d) Bushranging stories, like far-off fields, are ever green, and when the bushranger has a noted personality and is not a mere robber, there is an added charm attached to the tale. The World's News: "The publishers are to be congratulated on this essentially Aiw- traliun work, which cannot fail to meet the success it deserves." N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 George Street, Sydney. AND ALL BRANCHES. Steve Brown's And Other Stories By Arthur John Barry. Author of" In the Great Deep," "A Son of the Sea," dec. With introductory verses by KIPLING, and 6 full-page illustrations by LIONEL LINDSAY. Cretan 8vo, Cloth, 1/6 (Postage 6d.). This is a new edition of an Old Favourite that has been out of print for some time. The fact that the once famous stories have been republished in response to numerous enquiries speaks volumes for their merit. Everybody used to say "Have you read 'The Book Canvasser at Barracaboo'" ? and if you haven't, let us advise you to. Then you'll want to pass it on to your best friend. But lest you should think this is just a bit of publisher's puff, take a look at the Press notices below they ought to convince you. The Sydney "Bulletin" says :- "So many 'Australian' stories are just now seeing the light that it is a real pleasure to welcome a collection of tales by an author who knows what he is writing about. Barry's stories are by sea and land, and, if there is a difference, we incline to the sea tales. They are fully equal in picturesque detail to anything of Clark Russell's, without the some- what ostentatious vulgarity which so often disfigures that author's works. Moreover, Barry's bushmen and diggers are not cowboys or Californians masquerading in Australian dress, but such Aus- tralian types as are to be found. All the others are racy and interesting. We are also in a position to assure the reader that there are neither convicts nor bushrangers in these stories. We quote the best two verses out of Kipling's introductory poem : But the faith o' men that have proven men By more than willing breath, And the eyes o' men that ha' read wi' men. In the open books of death. Sydney Morning Herald. "The stories are always interesting, and permeated by a characteristic humour, which bubbles up on every convenient occasion." The Daily Telegraph. "All thoroughly interesting, and brighter, brisker, and more original than the generality of Australian Bush Stories." N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 George Street, Sydney. AND ALL BRANCHES The good wife's sons come home again With little into their hands, But the lear o' men that ha' dealt wi' men, 9 For Life AND Dad in Politics By Steele Radd, Author of " The Poor Parson," " On Our Selection,'' ' Our New Selection," "Sandy'i Selection,' " Back at Our Selection." Each Book has 12 Full-page Illustrations Illustrated Paper Cover. PRICE I/- each; Post Free 1/3 Or combined in Full Cloth, 3/6; Post Free, 3/10. FOR LIFE Is the story of a suspect accused of a triple murder, who is required to prove his alibi under police escort. The Law has made up its mind that the man under arrest is guilty, and his Fight for Life, against overwhelming odds, makes one of the most interesting tales imaginable. DAD IN POLITICS Is the same good old Dad that we met so long ago On Our Selection, with this difference, that, in his new surroundings, he is infinitely funnier than before, and his antics in "The House" make you laugh till you cry. The illustrations are all by that well-known artist, H. J. WESTON, and form a feature of the Books. Nearly the whole of the first edition was subscribed by the trade before publication. N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 George Street, Sydney. AND ALL BRANCHES. 10 Thos-E Sptnccr. NEW KDITION. How McDougall Topped the Score and Other Verses, By Thomas E. Spencer. With 6 full-page illustrations by LIONEL LINDSAY. Paper Cover, Price I/-. Post Free, 1/3. This series of recitations is, beyond question, the most popular collection that has yet appeared in Australia. The majority of the pieces are delightfully humorous and specially adapted for the platform or the social gathering The first edition was a decided success, and the issue of this cheap edition should make the name of Spencer a household word. The Australian press was unanimous in praise of "McDougall," and he ia to be found in splendid company. World'f> News. "This admirable work is of a very high standard." Sydney Morning Herald. "A fine collection of first-class recitations." Daily Telegraph. " Sure to be popular." N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 George Street, Sydney. AND ALL BRANCHES. i I NEW EDITION. The Spring Cleaning, By Mrs. Bridget McSweency (Thomas E. Spencer) Author of "How McDongall Topped the Score." With 6 full-page illustrations by Cotton. Paper Cover, Price I/- Post free, 1/3. Mr. Spencer's versatility is one of his chief charms, and Mrs. McSweeney is his happy medium. Her experience, told in her own inimitable way, keep you rippling with laughter from cover to cover, and although the book contains 174 pages, one is inclined to ask for more. Each sketch is complete in itself and admirably fitted for reading or recitation. Sydney Morning Herald. " Mrs. Bridget McSweeney is a delightful old lady, and her surprising adventures are told with much dramatic power." Daily Telegraph. " The breezy humour is always appreciated." Note. - The Spring Cleaning " and " How McDougall Topped the Score " may be had in a combined volume, bound in full cloth, for 3s. 6d. Suitable for presentation. N.S.W. BOOKSTALL COMPANY, 476 George Street, Sydney. AND ALL BRANCHES. 12 The Luck of the Native Born, By Arthur John Barry, Author of " Steve Broim'x Bunyip, "In the Great I)te/>," out getting from Darwin to Adelaide on one set." CDep're sood enough for Dim, and bis ife Depends on ibeir Reliability. GUARANTEED 12 MONTHS Send for Sample Section of Thorn and Binder proof Dunlop Cover, also Illustrated Booklet, "All About Dunlop Tyres." Both are sent post free to any address. THE DUNLOP RUBBER COMPANY OF AUSTRALASIA, I* I IVII T E D 255 CLARENCE STREET, SYDNEY, and all States. Australia's mammoth store. 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