"'They'll go straight to the cattle camp,' said Mr. Syme, 'and that's where we want them.'

"I asked if each herd had its own cattle camp, and whether it was possible to drive the animals to two or more different camps.

"'We never try to do that,' said the young man at my side; 'we think it quite sufficient if they will go to one camp only. You must remember they don't have much chance for education, and there is a limit to their powers of understanding.'

"We chatted on various topics as we rode along, and in two hours from the time of starting we reached the cattle camp. There was a herd there of several hundred cattle, which pretty well filled the open space forming the camp. Half a dozen stockmen were there with as many black fellows, and there was also the Melbourne cattle dealer with two or three assistants.

"At one side of the camp there was a little hill or mound, and Harry and I went there, as it afforded a better view of the camp than the lower ground. It was a very interesting sight that we had from the mound. The mass of cattle was moving about uneasily; the bulls were bellowing, and pawing, and having an occasional fight; the cows were lowing for their calves, from which they had become separated, and the young bullocks were making mild disturbances in the ways peculiar to the bovine race. The stockmen and black fellows were kept busy in preventing the straying of the animals, but even with all their vigilance a refractory animal would occasionally break away and disappear in the scrub. The cattle dealer had already begun to select his purchases, and we watched with a good deal of interest the process of separating them from their companions, and this is the way they did it:—

"They cut out a small mob of cattle, perhaps a dozen or twenty animals, and drove them off to one side. This was called the draft mob, or rather it was the beginning of the draft mob. The cattle that were picked out from the rest of the herd were put with these in order to keep them quiet while the operation was going on, and then the original of the draft mob were allowed to go back to the rest of the herd.

"The cattle selected by the dealer were mostly young and fat bullocks, possessing a good deal of strength and tempers of their own. They were what is called 'rowdy' in this country, that is, they were badly behaved, and it was no easy job for the stockmen to handle them.

"The cattle dealer would indicate an animal that he wanted, and then two of the stockmen would bring the creature out. Generally the bullock was disinclined to go, and made things pretty lively for the stockmen. Each man was mounted on a horse that knew his business and had done the same kind of work many times before. The horses stuck to their work just as earnestly as did the riders, and whenever a bullock tried to run away they ran after him, and kept up with him, too. I wonder that horse and riders did not break their necks in this performance, and one of the young gentlemen with us said that accidents were by no means infrequent. He said that sometimes the bullocks showed a tendency to use their horns and charge upon the men and their horses just as the bull does in a Spanish bull-fight. No accident happened while we were looking on, and for this I am very thankful.

"One by one, the cattle which the dealer wanted were separated from the herd and placed in the draft mob until their number amounted to eighty. Then the animals originally constituting the draft mob were allowed to rejoin the herd, and the herd was permitted to scatter wherever it liked. The draft animals were then taken in charge by the stockmen and started on the road to Melbourne; perhaps I ought to say that they were started for the nearest railway station and completed their journey with the aid of steam.

"By the time the drafting was completed the sun was past the meridian, and Harry and I were as 'hungry as hunters,' to use the old expression. We thought we would have to ride back to the station to get our luncheon, and were agreeably disappointed when we found that a black fellow had just arrived with a hamper, or rather a bag of provisions, tied behind his saddle. Our host led the way to a well-shaded nook where there was a spring of water, and we gathered around the spring at the indication of our host, and prepared to do justice to the food that had made such a welcome appearance.

"A fire was kindled near by, and soon a steaming pot of tea was ready. Tin cups made their appearance along with tin plates and knives and forks, and I had a realizing sense of the delicious taste of a cup of tea in the open air when one is hungry. The luncheon was a cold one, but it was abundantly satisfying, and we thanked our host for his thoughtfulness in providing it.

"When we were near the end of our meal, one of the stockmen came in and said something in a low tone to Mr. Syme.

"The latter nodded briefly, and said, 'All right,' and then the stockman went away.

"Then Mr. Syme remarked, turning to us:—

"'On our way back to the station we'll go by a different road, and I think I can show you something that will be new to you.'

"He said nothing more, and left us to wonder what the new sight would be.

"I forgot to mention that when we started from the station we were accompanied by several dogs. They had a good time ranging around over the plain and through the forest after the manner of dogs when let loose, and seemed to enjoy themselves thoroughly. They were large and rather lank animals, and capable of making high speed when necessary. We asked our entertainer what they were specially used for, and were told that the animals were kangaroo dogs.

"'We use them for hunting kangaroos,' said the young man who accompanied me; 'and a well-trained kangaroo dog is a valuable piece of property to have. The kangaroo is an ungainly looking creature, but he can get over the ground with wonderful rapidity. He goes fourteen or sixteen feet at a jump, and he can jump at a very lively rate. Ordinary fences are nothing to him, as he can clear a six-foot fence at a single bound.'

"While we were at luncheon the dogs were close about us on a keen lookout for any scraps or slices of meat that came in their way.

"The remains of the luncheon were given to them after the black fellow Jack had been duly cared for, but there wasn't enough of the provisions remaining to give the animals an overdose.

"When all was ready we mounted our horses, and our host led the way, first announcing that he would show us some wild kangaroos. We came out on the plain, and after riding three or four miles, approached a clump of low trees and bushes, which was pointed out by the stockman whom I mentioned.

"'There are the kangaroos,' said Mr. Syme; 'we will go in on one side of the clump, and give them a chance to make a run.'

"Following his directions, we spread out into a somewhat extended line and approached the bunch of timber from the northern side. The dogs began to show uneasiness, but were held in check by their young masters, who spoke to them in very emphatic tones.

"We advanced a short distance into the bushes, keeping in line as well as we could. Suddenly there was a great stir and a series of sounds, as though some one was pounding violently on the ground with a club.

"'There they go!' shouted Mr. Syme. 'Let off the dogs!'

"Evidently the dogs understood what he said, as they did not wait for the permission of their young masters. Away they went at full speed after the kangaroos. There must have been twenty or thirty of the latter making off across the plain in a southerly direction, but run as fast as they did, the dogs could not keep up with those high-jumping creatures. The speed was something prodigious. Our whole party started in full gallop behind the dogs, the horses seeming to enter into the spirit of the race quite as much as did their riders.

"There wasn't much chance for conversation during this run, but the young man who was acting as my escort managed to tell me that we would have a race of about three miles. 'The kangaroo always runs for water,' he said; 'and the nearest water in that direction is about three miles away. They'll fetch up at a small pond and make a stand there.'



"I learned afterward that this was a peculiarity of the kangaroo, to seek water whenever he is pursued. The country over which we rode was not the smoothest in the world, being broken in some places by rocks, and encumbered by fallen timber in others. Here is where the jumping powers of the kangaroo came in handily, as he could clear rocks and logs with the utmost facility, and he had the ability to select a comparatively smooth spot to come down upon. His jumping is done with the muscles of his very powerful hind legs. He doesn't use his fore legs at all in walking or jumping, employing them principally as hands and arms, very much as the American squirrel uses his paws. He can give a tremendous hug with his fore legs, and that is one of his methods of fighting.

"This is a good place to say something about the natural history of the kangaroo.

"Australia is, emphatically, the home of this animal, as he is found in a wild state in no other part of the world. Nearly all of the Australian animals are marsupials; that is, they have pouches in which their young are carried until able to take care of themselves. Of the large kangaroo there are eight species, and the largest of them are fully six feet in height and weigh one hundred and fifty pounds or more. Geologists say that at one time there were, in Australia, marsupial animals closely resembling the kangaroo but equaling the rhinoceros in size. They must have been formidable fellows to attack!

"The largest of all the kangaroos is the red one, and he is the one that we hunted. Of the small kangaroos, weighing, say from ten to fifteen pounds, there are seventeen species. Away in the interior of Australia there are some silky-haired kangaroos about the size of an ordinary rabbit, and there are several varieties still smaller, until you get down to those about as large as an ordinary squirrel. All of them are easily domesticated if taken when young, and they are very gentle pets. They tell me that they had two at this station last year, and the dogs, whose business it was to hunt the kangaroo, clearly understood that they must leave these pet ones alone. Not only did they not harm the animals, but got on very good terms with them, so that it was no uncommon sight to see the kangaroos and the dogs lying down together in a very well-mannered group. But one day, while the pets were in the front of the house, a pack of strange dogs happened along and killed them.

"We didn't overtake the kangaroos until they reached the water; in fact, we heard the loud barking of the dogs before we came in sight of the pond. One of the largest males, commonly denominated here as an 'old man,' was on a little mound of earth just even with the surface of the water, while around him was a depth of about four feet. The dogs in front of him were at a respectful distance, as they had a great dread of and respect for his hind feet, which are a part of his fighting equipment. The kangaroo's hind foot has three very strong toes, the center one especially so. His method is to seize his assailant with his fore paws, and rip him to death with his hinder ones, and sometimes he drowns a dog by holding him under water. Many an incautious or verdant dog has been killed in this way, and occasionally men have fallen victims to the powerful hind feet of these animals.

"The 'old man' kangaroo was defending himself bravely, and he had his assailants at an advantage. The water was too deep for them to wade in. Some were swimming about in front of him, carefully keeping out of reach, while others were assailing his back. All of the dogs kept up a loud barking, and kept looking around for human help.

"The kangaroo was more than fifty feet from the shore of the pond or pool, and when our party reached it, the animal was despatched by means of a rifle in the hands of one of our party. The carcass was brought to the shore and skinned, and a portion of the meat was fed to the dogs as a reward for their exertions, and they ate it with avidity. In addition to the 'old man,' we killed a young kangaroo, and the carcass, after being disemboweled, was placed on the black fellow's horse and sent to the station.

"We had kangaroo steaks for dinner, and very toothsome they were, reminding us more of mutton than any other meat. These steaks came from the young kangaroo I just mentioned. The flesh of the 'old man' is too rank for human food, though it is sometimes eaten when no other food is to be had. The flesh of the young kangaroo is put up at meat-canning establishments for transportation to England, and they also export large quantities of soup made from kangaroo tails. Some people think this soup is preferable to ox tail, or even to turtle. I asked one of our friends about it, and he said, with a smile, that it was better when you couldn't get either of the others. It is certainly an excellent soup, and it's a pity that so much of the raw material goes to waste.

"In returning from our hunt we crossed a portion of the ground where we had chased the kangaroos. One of the dogs scented something in the grass, and barked in a manner to attract the attention of his owners. The men hastened to the spot and found a 'joey,' or baby kangaroo, which its mother had taken out of her pouch and laid upon the soft grass, intending to return and pick it up after the danger was over. It was a pretty little creature, about a foot long, and covered with soft, silky hair. One of the young men took charge of it and carried it carefully to the station, his intention being to raise it and make a pet of it, as he had made pets of the kangaroos that they lost the year before. When taken at this age, the kangaroo becomes perfectly docile, and never shows the least desire for a wild life.

"Our host told us that when the kangaroos are hunted, and there is no water within reach, an 'old man,' if cornered, will place his back against a tree and sell his life as dearly as possible. It is very dangerous to go near him when he is thus defending himself, and it is considered a fortunate circumstance in a fight of this kind if none of the dogs are killed or injured.

"When the first settlements were made in Australia the kangaroos were not especially numerous, though they were probably more abundant than any other animals. Their numbers were kept down by the aboriginals, who used to hunt them for food and clothing, for which the kangaroo skin was used, and they were also kept down by the dingoes, or wild dogs. The dingoes were then abundant, and unhappily they were fond of mutton, and when sheep were brought to Australia the flocks were very much reduced by the operations of the wild dogs. Of course, the sheep raisers took vengeance on the dingoes, and poisoned them in great numbers.

"At the same time, the aboriginals diminished steadily in number, owing to causes previously stated, and those that remained preferred to live upon mutton and beef obtained from the settlers rather than take the trouble of hunting the kangaroo. Thus, the two natural enemies of that animal were removed, and with their immunity from destruction the kangaroos increased at a terrific rate. Their flocks and herds blackened the fields for miles. They were frequently to be seen feeding among the sheep, and as one kangaroo eats as much grass as three sheep, it will readily be understood that the sheep farmer's flocks were in danger of being starved out.

"Millions of acres of land were thus rendered unfit for sheep or cattle pasturage. The settlers presented their case to the colonial governments, and the latter placed a bounty on kangaroo scalps. Meantime, it was found that the skins were worth something, and then the slaughter of the creatures began.

"Hunting with dogs in the way I have already described was altogether too slow, and a quicker method was devised and found successful. This is the way of it:—

"A clump of trees a few acres in extent is selected as a central point. Among these trees a stout yard is built, with a fence not less than ten feet high and strong enough to resist any attack the kangaroo can make. From the entrance of this yard two diverging fences of a somewhat lighter character are built out upon the plain, the point of the fences where they terminate being not less than a mile apart. When all is ready, a day is appointed for the hunt, and notice is sent to everybody within thirty or forty miles. The hunt is in charge of one of the oldest settlers, and everybody is bound to obey his orders.

"The day before the hunt or drive is to take place, the principal men to engage in it meet at the house of the leader and receive their orders. All the squatters and other settlers who can do so come to the hut, and with them all their stockmen and black fellows who can be spared from their daily work. Sometimes as many as a hundred people take part in the drive, and they are spread out in such a way as to include a very large area of ground.

"At the appointed hour, they begin to move in a long line in the direction of the clump of bushes where the yard is located, or rather in the direction of the jaws of the extended fences. Whatever kangaroos there may be in the area of the country enclosed by the hunters are driven in the direction of the yard, and the driving is done very quietly, to avoid alarming the animals before the ends of the line of men reach the ends of the diverging fence. When this takes place the drive is pushed more rapidly, and the thoroughly frightened animals make rapid leaps in the direction of the clump of timber, not suspecting that in doing so they are going to their death. Before they are aware of it they are inside the yard, and as the last of the drove enters, the gate is closed and the animals are hopelessly imprisoned.

"Sometimes thousands of kangaroos are taken in a single drive, and the bounty obtained from the government, added to the value of the hides, is divided among those who have participated in the hunt, or it may be applied to some needed public work in the neighborhood.

"The hides are pegged out and dried, and after being packed into bales they are shipped to various parts of the world. There is an increasing demand in the United States for kangaroo leather, as you are doubtless aware. Kangaroo flesh is put into tin cans for the market, but by far the greater part of the meat obtained from a single drive is left on the ground.

"Mr. Syme tells us that when the aboriginals used to hunt the kangaroos, they killed them with the boomerang or the spear. In hunting with the boomerang, they would creep up very slowly until within range, and whenever they threw the weapon, it was generally with fatal effect. In hunting with the spear, a native used to dress up so as to look like a bush, by surrounding himself with twigs and vines. He carried his spear in an upright position, so that it appeared to form an apex of the bush. Then he walked slowly along, standing perfectly still when the kangaroo raised its head to look around, and only moving while the animal grazed. In this way, and by taking plenty of time, he would get up within spear-throwing distance, and the rest of the story tells itself."



CHAPTER XVI.

HUNTING THE EMU AND OTHER BIRDS—AN AUSTRALIAN SHEEP RUN.

It was pretty well along in the afternoon when the party reached the station on its return. Our friends agreed that they had had an excellent day, and the sights they had witnessed were full of interest.

Mr. Syme asked the doctor and our young friends if they were good shots with the rifle or shot-gun. They modestly and truthfully answered that they had had very little experience in shooting, but were willing to make a trial of their skill.

"Very well," said the host, "we will go out to-morrow and make an effort to obtain some birds. We will begin with the largest bird of Australia, the emu, and see what luck we can have with him."

"I've read about that bird," said Harry; "he doesn't fly, but he can run very fast. I have read that he will outrun a horse; is that really so?"

"Yes," was the reply; "he can outrun most horses; in fact, it requires an exceedingly fleet steed to overtake him. It is very little use to try to run him down by a dead chase after him. The best way is to station the horses along in a line about half a mile or so apart, and then chase the bird in their direction. Each horseman takes up the chase with a fresh animal until the emu is tired out, and then the dogs are sent in to finish the work."

Our young friends slept well that night, the result of their exercise on horseback in the open air; in fact, they didn't care to sit up late, and retired much earlier than on the previous evening.

The next morning the party started very soon after breakfast, and the way was taken to an open plain, three or four miles across, and fringed with timber. When they neared the plain they met a black fellow, who had been sent out early in the morning to find the game. He had found it, and informed his master where it was.

Then the horsemen were spread out in the manner already mentioned, and the bird was started out of a little clump of timber where they had taken shelter. Harry and Ned were surprised to see the manner in which he ran. He seemed to be ready to drop with exhaustion, and Harry confidently predicted that he would fall dead from fright before going a mile. But somehow he managed to keep in advance of his pursuers, and whenever they quickened their pace he quickened his, but all the time keeping up the appearance of weariness. The last of the horsemen, however, approached within two hundred yards of the emu, who was by this time really tired. Then the dogs were turned loose, and they speedily overtook the bird and pulled him down. One of the dogs was quite severely injured in the fight with the bird, but his wounds were dressed and bandaged, and his owners said he would soon be well again.

The emu is called the Australian ostrich, and he resembles that bird in being unable to fly, running with great rapidity and using his feet for fighting purposes. He strikes a heavy blow with his foot, and a single stroke of it is sufficient to disable a dog or break a man's leg. The young man who accompanied Harry told him that he knew of an instance where an emu was chased and overtaken by a man on horseback, accompanied by dogs. The bird became desperate at finding he could not escape. As the horse approached, the bird threw itself on its back and kicked savagely, ripping the side of the animal with its claws. The horse was so badly lacerated that it was necessary to shoot him.

If caught when young or hatched out from an egg, the emu can be easily domesticated, but he is a dangerous pet to have about the premises. Like the ostrich, it has a love for bright things, and has been known to swallow silver spoons and other shining articles. One day a stranger, standing close to the fence of a yard where a tame emu was kept, took out his gold watch to ascertain the time. The bird was attracted by the glittering object, and with a quick motion he seized it and dropped it down his throat. Several black fellows were called, who secured the bird with some difficulty, poured a powerful emetic into his stomach, and then hung him up by the feet. This heroic treatment had the desired effect, and restored the watch to its owner.

The eggs of the emu are in demand as great curiosities, and Australian jewelers work them into various ornamented articles and sell them readily at a high price. The perpetual hunt for the eggs, which is kept up by the blacks, is steadily diminishing the number of these birds, and, in course of time, there is danger that they will become extinct.

Another bird that was seen by our friends, but not captured, is the one known as the native companion. It is a large bird, belonging to the crane family. Its head stands about three feet from the ground, its legs are long, and its plumage is a lavender gray. It is rarely seen alone, there being generally two of them together, and very often a dozen or more. In this instance there were two birds, which went away rapidly on their wings and were soon lost to sight. When there is a large number of them together, they indulge in a series of evolutions which have a close resemblance to the movements of accomplished dancers. They advance, recede, turn, return, and go through a variety of figures like dancers in the quadrille or the minuet. Sometimes they keep up these performances for an hour or more, and seem to indulge in them entirely for the sake of amusement.

Harry asked if they would have an opportunity to see the famous lyre bird of Australia. "We saw two of them," said he, "in the Zoo at Melbourne, and therefore, know what their appearance is, but we would like very much to see them in their wild state."

"The lyre bird is getting very scarce in Australia," said their young friend, "and I have never seen one in this locality. The bird frequents mountainous regions where the forests are somewhat dense, and very rarely comes out into the open plain. It is about the size of an ordinary barnyard fowl, but looks much larger, owing to its beautiful tail, which is very long, and grows exactly in the shape of the instrument after which it is named. It is a very clever mocking bird, and will reproduce the notes of all its forest companions, but it is very shy and difficult to get at, and unless it is got when very young it cannot be domesticated.

"We have wild turkeys here," continued their informant; "and they are very good eating; perhaps some of our party will be fortunate enough to bring down a turkey or two before we go back. There is one fowl here called the mallee bird, about the size of the pheasant, and resembling him in many ways. He generally lives near the edge of the mallee scrub, and his flesh is very much esteemed by all who have eaten it. The mallee is a gregarious bird, and at the breeding season large numbers of them come together. They collect great heaps of dry leaves, among which a number of hen birds lay their eggs, indiscriminately taking care to cover them up warmly.

"They don't take any trouble to hatch their eggs, but leave that for the heat of the dry and decaying vegetable matter. When the time approaches for the chicks to break the shell, the male birds hover about on the watch for their appearance, and snakes, also, like to come around, in the hopes of securing a few of the tender birds as they emerge into daylight. When the chick comes out from the egg, his skin is pink and bare, and hardly a sign of a feather is visible; but within twenty-four hours, during which the feathers spread so rapidly that you can almost see their growth, the bird is fully fledged and feathered, and able to take care of itself."

An amusing circumstance happened during the day's excursion. Ned was the victim of it, and he did not consider it at all amusing until after it was all over. This was the way of it:—

While the party was halted at one time, discussing where next they would go, the dogs disturbed something, but neither of our young friends could make out what it was. They were in the open country at the time, though not far from the edge of the bush. The something that the dogs had disturbed came directly towards the party, and Ned happened to be nearer to it than anybody else. The creature looked like a small alligator, and that's what Ned and Harry thought it was. Ned had dismounted from his horse and was standing by the animal's head, waiting for the decision about their movements. The animal came directly up to Ned and climbed up his side. It was about five feet long, and a very formidable-looking creature. The youth immediately began fighting the animal, and shouted for his friends to pull him off.

"Lie down on the ground," said one of the Australians; "lie down on the ground, and he will leave you at once. He is just as much frightened as you are."

Ned flung his horse's bridle to one of his friends, and then obeyed instructions. He dropped to the ground, and immediately as he did so the horrid-looking creature left him.

"What in the world is that?" said Ned, as he rose to his feet again and regained his composure.

"That's an iguana, or lizard," was the reply. "It is perfectly harmless as long as you know how to deal with it. When it is pursued by dogs, it runs to its hole if it can; if its hole is not available, it climbs a tree until it is out of reach of its pursuers, and if no tree is at hand, it will climb on a man or a horse. It selected you as a place of shelter, and I warrant it was more scared than you were."

"It might be easily mistaken for an alligator," said Ned, surveying the animal as it was stretched on the ground, having been killed by a blow on the head from the butt of a stockman's whip.

"Yes, it is often mistaken for a young alligator. I have known of an iguana to appear in a party of pleasure seekers, picnicking in the woods, and make quite a serious disturbance. The ladies screamed and fled and some of them fainted. Some of the men fled, too, but those who knew about the creature quickly despatched him."

"Is it useful for food?"

"Yes; the blacks use it, and are very fond of it, but white men don't 'hanker after it,' as your American phrase is. However, those who have been bold enough to taste it assert that, when well cooked, the flavor is excellent."

"Well, it doesn't look very inviting," Ned remarked; "and I don't think I would care for iguana for dinner."

"You may not care for it," was the reply, "but the black fellows will. Here, Jack," he continued, addressing the aboriginal, "you can have this."

Jack needed no second invitation. With a smile on his face, he quickly took possession of the huge lizard and strapped it to his saddle. No doubt the meat of the iguana gave the blacks at the station a supper that they greatly enjoyed.

Another day was spent at the cattle station, Harry and Ned going out with one of the stockmen and accompanying him on his morning round. Dr. Whitney thought he did not care for any more horseback exercise just then, and spent the day around the station. The youths enjoyed their ride very much, and returned to the house in time for luncheon.

It had been arranged that our young friends should visit a sheep run about twenty miles away, and on the morning of the fourth day Mr. Syme took them in his covered wagon to their destination. The road was not a very smooth one, but the wagon, which was well built, suffered no injury, and as for the passengers, they did not mind a little jolting. They reached their destination with very sharp appetites, and evidently their new host, Mr. Johnson, was aware of what their condition would be, as a substantial meal was on the table a few minutes after their arrival; and you may be sure that it received ample attention from the strangers.

After the meal was over, the party went out for a stroll among the buildings connected with the station. The house where the owner lived was a solidly built affair, not unlike the one they had sojourned in for a few days at the cattle station. There was this difference, however, that it was elevated on posts about six feet from the ground, giving free circulation of air beneath it, and furnishing a good place of storage for various things connected with the station.

In reply to an inquiry by Harry, Mr. Johnson said that this arrangement of the building was a good one to keep out snakes. "It doesn't keep them out altogether," said he, "as there are snakes that will climb posts, but ordinarily serpents do not attempt that performance. When I first came to Australia, I lived in a house which stood right on the ground. The region was a snaky one, and every little while we would find a snake in the house, and have a lively time driving him out or killing him. None of the family was ever bitten by a snake, but we certainly had some narrow escapes. When I came here and built this house, I determined to have a dwelling which these unpleasant visitors could not easily enter."

Harry remarked that a snake-proof house was certainly quite to his liking, and he hoped the building would continue to display its admirable qualities as long as he remained there.

The youths were impressed with the size and extent of the wool shed belonging to the establishment, and Ned remarked that they must have a very active time during the shearing season.

"It is our most active time," was the reply; "the busiest of all the year. Ordinarily the life on a sheep run is quiet and humdrum, but when shearing time begins everything is lively. We engage the shearers as they come along, in parties or gangs. They are a difficult lot of men to deal with, as they have a very powerful trade union which stands by its members, with little regard to right or wrong. The shearing is done by piece work. We used to pay three pence for shearing a sheep, or rather we paid five shillings a score. A good shearer can do fourscore in a day, and consequently he earns twenty shillings or one sovereign. That's pretty good pay, isn't it?"

"Seems to me that it is," replied Harry. "Do you board the shearers, or do they find themselves?"

"Oh, we have to board them, of course, and we have to board their horses, as most of the shearers travel on horseback. But the feed of a horse isn't of much consequence, as we simply turn him into the paddock and let him graze there. Sometimes we hire a fiddler to play for the men while they are at work in the shearing house, and also in the evening, when they are off duty. Sometimes a gang of shearers brings along its own cook. They pay the cook's wages themselves, but the employer supplies the material out of which the shearers' meals are made. These fellows are very particular as to their treatment, and if they feel that they are ill-used in any way, they are liable to quit work and go away."

"They ought to earn a very nice little sum of money during the shearing season," observed Harry.

"They certainly do," was the reply; "especially as, for the last two years, they have demanded four pence and even five pence for each sheep sheared. I expect they'll get it up in time so as to take most of the profits of the business. It makes little difference to the great majority of them how much they get for their work, as it is generally gone by the end of the shearing season."

"That reminds me," said Mr. Johnson, "of the visit of a gentleman from Melbourne to a sheep station up country. He went there with a friend, reaching the station about dinner time. He was introduced to the owner of the station, who greeted him cordially enough, and invited the two of them to remain at dinner, which would be ready shortly. He strolled about the buildings for a little while, and when dinner was announced, he went in and joined the others at table.

"The table was well supplied, and he had no occasion to complain of the quality or quantity of the food set before him; but he was somewhat surprised to find that no one spoke to him, except in the briefest manner, and that every one seemed desirous of being rid of him as soon as possible. In fact, there was very little conversation at the table, anyway, and as soon as they were through dinner he suggested to his friend that they had better be moving. Their team was brought out, and they continued their journey, their temporary hosts not even taking the trouble to say good-day to him.

"When they were out of earshot of the place, the Melbourne gentleman remarked to his companion, who, by the way, was a good deal of a practical joker:—

"'I don't think much of your friends from a civility point of view. They were as rude to me as a party of savages could be.'

"'I don't wonder at it,' was the reply. 'Just for the fun of the thing, I told them you were president of the Sheep Shearers' Union.'

"'If you told them that outrageous lie,' said the other, 'I am not at all surprised that they treated me as they did, but please don't do it again.'

"I don't believe that the president of the Shearers' Union would receive a hearty welcome at any sheep run in Australia. Sheep farmers have good reason for a serious grudge against the whole concern; but, after all, it is no worse than most of the other trade unions. Nearly all of them are oppressive to a high degree, and are a great injury to business and commercial prosperity."

Ned and Harry were especially interested in the place where the shearing was done. The building was a large structure of quadrangular shape, with a bulkhead running across the middle of it and dividing it into two portions. There is a platform for the shearers around one of the enclosures formed, and by the bulkhead at shearing time; this is always kept full of sheep; in fact, it is crowded full, so that the shearer can lay hands on a sheep at any time without the necessity of running after it. The shearers stand at their work. They have tried various devices for sitting down or for placing sheep on a bench or table so as to avoid bending their backs, but none of the experiments have succeeded, and the old process remains in use. It is decidedly fatiguing for a beginner, but in course of time one gets used to it, as to everything else.

"What is that little door for, and the little yard outside of it?" queried Ned, as he pointed to one of a series of low, small doors at the outside of the shearers' platform, opposite the enclosure.

"Oh, that is for the shearer to let out his sheep after he has removed the fleece. He takes the animal to be sheared out of the enclosure, as I told you, and then when he has sheared it, he lets it out through this door into the little yard; that is to enable us to count the men's work in a way to avoid all disputes. In the early days of Australian sheep farming, the men who gathered up the fleece kept the accounts of the shearers, but there were constant disputes on the subject, which led to the adoption of the present system. You see there isn't any chance for misunderstanding now."

"Certainly, you have it now beyond question," remarked Harry; "and I am sure that every shearer is very careful about letting his sheep out through his own door."

"That he is," was the reply; "and we never have any complaints about unfair counting. At the end of the day's work everybody can count up for himself."

"I suppose," said Ned, "that the shearers occasionally cut the sheep while shearing them."

"Occasionally!" was the reply; "you had better say frequently, or very often; and some of them are much worse than others. We have proposed to the Shearers' Union to establish a system of fines for 'tomahawking' sheep, but the union refuses to do anything about it. We always have a boy here, and sometimes two boys, while the shearing is going on. The boy is provided with a tar bucket and brush. Whenever a shearer cuts the skin of a sheep he calls out 'Tar!' not stopping a moment in his work. At the sound of that word, the boy runs forward with his bucket and brush and covers the wounded spot with tar, which keeps the flies away from it. Tar is the best thing we can find for this purpose, and is in use on all the sheep runs in the country.

"Many of the shearers," continued their host, "pride themselves on the skill with which they perform their work. The shearer places the sheep between his knees with its head upwards; he begins at the throat and shears downward, so that, when his work is completed, the fleece drops off in a single piece. As fast as the sheep are sheared, the fleeces are gathered by the man whose duty it is to collect them. They are then taken to the baling house, and, when a sufficient quantity has been obtained, the fleeces are made into bales, in much the same way that cotton is baled on an American plantation."

Mr. Johnson then led the way to the baling house, or rather the baling room, as it was in the same building where the shearing is carried on. The baling apparatus proved to be a simple affair, nothing more than a press, very much like a cotton or hay press, and handled in the same way. The bales of wool usually weigh about four hundred pounds, and are manipulated with hooks, just as cotton bales are handled.

Ned asked if it was necessary to have the wool perfectly dry when packing it.

"Yes, indeed," was the reply; "and for that reason all work in the wool shed must stop during wet weather. The fleeces, when taken from the sheep, must be absolutely dry, and if the sheep are caught out in a rain, it takes two or three days to dry them thoroughly. It is a serious loss of time when we have occasional rainy days, as we lose not only the rainy day itself, but not less than one or two clear days afterwards in order to have the fleeces in proper condition for baling."

Other observations were made around the wool shed, and about the time that they were concluded a flock of sheep came in from its day's pasturage. There were about five hundred sheep in the flock, accompanied by the shepherd and his dog. They were not driven to the wool shed, but to a yard a little distance away from it. The sheep were in good condition and evidently well cared for.

Harry remarked as much to the owner, who answered that the man in charge of them was a very faithful shepherd, and he added that he might well be so, as he was constantly under the eye of his employer.

After looking at the flock and visiting several other buildings of the establishment, the party returned to the house, and in due course of time sat down to dinner. The entertainment was very much like that of the cattle station. The cooking was good, the host was attentive, the meal was enlivened by stories of sheep-farming life, and altogether the occasion was a pleasant one.

The next morning Mr. Johnson accompanied his guests in a horseback ride over a portion of his grounds. As the sheep run covered an area of about one hundred square miles, it was too much to expect that they would examine the whole of it. They visited two or three of the out-stations, and saw the shepherds caring for their flocks. Each of the out-stations that they visited consisted of a hut for two men, and two yards where the sheep were kept at night. As already mentioned in our account of the visit of the party to a sheep farm in South Africa, each shepherd started out in the morning with his flock, moving it slowly along so as to reach water about noon, and then slowly feeding it back again, reaching the station about nightfall.

Nearly every shepherd has a sheep dog, partly for the sake of companionship and partly for assistance. A good sheep dog is a very useful and valuable animal. He aids the shepherd in keeping the flock together whenever any of them show a disposition to straggle, and the sheep speedily learn to know him and regard him as their friend. He never injures them, though he frequently makes a great pretense of doing so. Sometimes he takes a refractory sheep by the ear, or seizes it by the wool on his neck, but the case is exceedingly rare where he perpetrates an actual bite.

The favorite dog for the shepherd is the collie, but other kinds are employed, and many an ordinary cur has been trained by an intelligent master so that he made an excellent sheep dog, though he can never attain the excellence of the genuine collie. The real shepherd dog will accomplish more than would be possible for a man under the same circumstances. He will drive a flock from place to place, gather them together to be counted, and take them from one field to another much quicker than a man could do it. A story is told of an instance that happened in Scotland, to James Hogg, known in literature as "The Ettrick Shepherd." Seven hundred sheep broke loose one night from his charge, and scampered off in three divisions across the plain. It was too dark to see anything for any appreciable distance, and the shepherd supposed he would have to wait until morning, and then take his chances of collecting his animals. Shortly afterwards he missed his dog. In the morning he went out to look for the sheep, but saw no sign of them until he reached the edge of a ravine and looked over the side. There he saw the dog guarding the entire flock, not one of the seven hundred being missing. How he ever managed to collect them in the dark, his owner could not imagine. A dozen, or even a hundred men, would have failed where he succeeded.

Near the end of the last century there was a sheep stealer in Scotland, who was finally discovered and hanged for his crimes, who used to carry on his trade by the aid of his dog. He traveled about the country under pretense of buying sheep, though he rarely bought any. While looking at a flock, he would pick one of the fattest and give a secret signal to his dog, indicating the animal. That night the dog would come to the flock where the sheep belonged, often traveling several miles to do it; then would pick out the identical animal and drive it to his master. If he happened, at any time, to meet his master on the road while going on one of his stealing expeditions, the dog would give no sign of recognition, and treat his master as a perfect stranger. When the man's guilt was discovered, and he was tried and condemned for his crime, the dog was also condemned to be hanged; but it was afterwards concluded that the dog was simply an instrument, in the hands of his owner, and not responsible for his actions. He was given to a shepherd, who kept the animal as long as he lived; and, according to the shepherd's account, the dog was never afterwards guilty of any crime.

During their ride among the out-stations of the sheep run, our young friends learned several things connected with the industry of raising wool for the market.

One fact which they learned was, that for a portion of the year, a great many sheep farmers are in debt to the bankers at the ports where they send their wool. They have a considerable amount of money to pay out during the course of the year before shearing time, and consequently they require advances from their bankers. It is not at all difficult to obtain money in advance on a crop of wool, and in this respect a sheep run has an advantage over a cattle run. Even when the sheep farmer is growing rich, and has money laid by, he often prefers to obtain advances on his wool crop rather than use his own money for carrying on business. When the crop comes in, all the indebtedness is paid off, and there is usually a good balance left. This may be set aside and invested, or it may remain at the banker's, to be drawn whenever wanted.

Sheep farmers keep very little money at their stations in the country districts for fear of attracting bushrangers, or other individuals, whose ideas of the rights of property do not harmonize with those of society in general. In many cases laborers are paid off by check, and not in cash, and it is no uncommon sight to see a laboring man, in an Australian town or village, flourishing a check previous to turning it into money, which he proceeds to spend with a liberal hand.

Another point that they learned was, that there are certain portions of Australia between the mountains and the coast, particularly in Queensland, that are not adapted to sheep, though they make excellent pasturage for cattle. In these localities there is a grass that has a barb on its edges, and when once it becomes attached to the wool of the sheep, it steadily works its way inward until it pierces the skin of the animal, and eventually causes its death. Cattle are not affected by this grass, as it does not penetrate their skins. They walk in it and feed upon it with impunity, and in any of the regions where this grass is found there is no attempt at rearing sheep, but the land is devoted to cattle raising.



CHAPTER XVII.

FROM MELBOURNE TO SYDNEY—CROSSING THE BLUE MOUNTAINS.

When their visit to the sheep run was concluded, our friends returned to Melbourne, where they spent two or three days, and then proceeded to Sydney. Two ways were open to them, one by sea, and the other by land; they chose the latter, as it would give them an opportunity to see more of the country than if they went by water. The water journey is mostly made by night, and consequently they would be deprived of a sight of the picturesque coast which lies between the two cities.

The railway out of Melbourne runs through a picturesque country, as it ascends the slope of the dividing range of mountains in the neighborhood of the city. There are many country residences of gentlemen concerned in business in Melbourne, and the country has a prosperous appearance. Further away on the slope of the range, our friends passed through large wheat fields, sheep and cattle runs, occasional patches of forest, and not infrequently crossed small rivers flowing on their way to the sea. They also crossed a goodly number of dry beds of rivers, which had every appearance of being full and running over in the season of heavy rains. The side of the range next the coast receives more rain than the other side of it, and the reasons therefor have been given in a previous chapter.

After the train had passed the crest of the range, it rolled along through a broken and undulating country, largely devoted to sheep and cattle raising, and having many stretches of blue gum forest. In some places great numbers of rabbits were visible, but this was a sight to which the eyes of our young friends had become accustomed. As they approached the frontier of the colony of Victoria, Dr. Whitney remarked that they would spend the rest of the day and the night at Albury, so as to have another view of the Murray River, and study the peculiarities of the colonial frontier.

"I believe," said Harry, "that we have our baggage examined at the frontier, just as it is examined at the frontiers of the empires and kingdoms of Europe."

"Yes," replied the doctor, "that is the case; and I suppose the examination will be a light one for us, as we are going out of a protection colony into a free trade one. If we were going the other way, the custom house officials would be more particular."

"How is that?" Ned asked.

"Why, don't you see?" the doctor answered, "a protection country is on the lookout for goods that may interfere with its manufacturing interests; the free trade one has no such care for its manufacturing industries, but levies its duties on articles of luxury principally. When you come into the United States, your baggage is examined much more carefully than when you go into England. England is a free trade country, while our own is a protection one; at least it has been for the greater part of the time since it began its existence."

"It is rather a strange circumstance," remarked Ned, "that two colonies of the same country, lying side by side, and one of them an offshoot of the other, should be so radically different in their tariff laws. How do you account for it, sir?"

"We are treading on dangerous ground," replied the doctor, "as it is not prudent for a traveler in foreign lands to talk politics; but as we are quite by ourselves, we may be permitted to discuss the subject a little. Victoria, as you are aware, is an offshoot from the colony of New South Wales, from which it was separated in August, 1851. I don't know anything about the matter, but presume that the origin of the differences in tariffs between the two colonies grew out of the opposition of the new to the old. There has always been a great deal of jealousy between them, and as New South Wales had a free trade policy, it was the most natural thing in the world that the jealous young colony of Victoria should adopt a protection one. In each of the colonies there is a strong party opposed to its tariff policy; in Victoria there is a goodly number of free-traders, while in New South Wales there is an equally good number of protectionists. Whatever a man's views are, in regard to free trade or protection, it is generally useless to attempt to change them by argument; and if he is a skilled debater, he can give you facts and figures to demonstrate, with great clearness, the correctness of his views. On that point I can tell you what was to me an amusing story."

"What was that?"

"Several years ago, when the financial authorities of the two colonies had made their annual reports, the two documents were taken by a free trade writer for an English magazine, and out of them, by the use of the figures and facts that they contained, there was constructed an admirable article, demonstrating, with great clearness, the advantages of free trade in New South Wales. Almost simultaneously in an American newspaper appeared a similar article, drawn from the same facts and figures, which demonstrated with equal clearness and with equal conclusiveness the advantages of protection in Victoria. There was not a weak point in either of the articles, and the curious thing was that they were drawn from the same sources. Each writer showed that the colony whose tariff policy he had favored was far more prosperous than the other, and was making progress steadily, while the other was running behind."

"It's pretty much the same in our own country, is it not?" queried Harry. "It seems to me that I have read articles in the New York Tribune and the New York Evening Post that were flatly contradictory of each other on the subject of the tariff."

"Yes; that is quite likely the case, as both of the papers you name are ready to debate the subject, and it is evident that the writers upon both sides of the question believe what they say. I don't think it worth our while to enter into the abstract question here, and so we'll drop it for something else. You are aware, I presume, that we have to make a change of train at the frontier on account of the different gauges of the railways of the two colonies."

"Yes, sir, I was aware of that," said Harry; "one track is six inches wider than the other."

"Yes; that is another indication of the hostility between the two colonies. When the railway between Sydney and Melbourne was projected, it was impossible for the opposing interests to agree upon a uniform track for the whole distance, and consequently each colony did as it chose. The result was, that the Victorian line was of one gauge, and that of New South Wales of another. Neither passenger nor freight cars can run through from one city to the other, but all passengers and freight must be transferred at the frontier."

"Let me call your attention to another thing while we are on the subject of colonial disagreements," the doctor remarked. "Each of the colonies has its own postal system and each its own postage stamp. In New South Wales, a Victorian stamp would be of no use, any more than would a British postage stamp in the United States Post-office. You can prepay letters from one colony to the other in the stamps of the colony where you happen to be, but if you post a letter in Sydney with a Victorian stamp upon it, I am afraid it would go to the dead letter office, just as if it had borne no stamp at all."

"What a pity it is," said Harry, "that the colonies cannot reconcile their differences and come together."

"You are not the first one, by any means, who has thought so," was the reply. "Statesmen have been for a considerable time discussing the question of a federation of all the colonies in the same way that the British American colonies are federated. Federation would have been accomplished long ago, at least it is so claimed by the others, had it not been for New South Wales, which stands aloof from the rest principally on account of the tariff question. All the other colonies are in favor of the protection of home industries, while New South Wales, as before stated, favors a free trade policy. I saw, while in Melbourne, a cartoon representing several young women standing in a circle. All were dressed in white and wreathed with roses, and the various members of the circle were marked with the names of Victoria, Tasmania, Queensland, South Australia, New Zealand, and West Australia. A little in the background, and leaning against the wall with one finger in her mouth as though she were angry, was a young woman dressed in black, and labeled 'New South Wales.' The others were evidently trying, but without success, to induce her to join the circle.

"I presume," he continued, "that federation will come in time, and an Australian gentleman told me the other day that he believed it would be a step towards independence. He thought, as do many other Australians, that the long distance from the mother country and their diversity of interests would tend, as the years go on, to weaken the bonds between Great Britain and her Australian colonies, and that separation would be sure to come. The colonies realize their great danger in case Great Britain should become involved in a foreign war, and especially with a power possessing a powerful navy. The colonies have a military force on the volunteer system, which could no doubt do efficient service in time of war. The British government maintains a certain number of warships in Australian waters, but neither they nor the volunteer troops provided by the colonies would be of much avail against a powerful force sent here by a first-class power."

There was further conversation upon various topics of which we have no record, and in due course of time the train reached Wodonga, the frontier terminus of the line. It halted a few minutes in the station, and then moved on to Albury, in New South Wales, crossing the Murray River on an iron bridge; Harry remarking, as they did so, that it was the same Murray, though not the same bridge, that they crossed between Adelaide and Melbourne.

Harry learned, on inquiry, that the railway line from Melbourne reached Wodonga in 1873, but the line from Sydney did not arrive at the northern bank of the Murray until eight years later. There were disagreements between the management of the two concerns, so that for three years the ends of the two railway lines were not brought together. Passengers were transferred by coaches or omnibuses, and baggage and freight by wagons, between Wodonga and Albury, a distance of two miles. At last, however, the quarrels came to an end. A bridge was built, the lines of railway were completed, and since then everything has been harmonious. Passengers from New South Wales cross the river in the train by which they have arrived, and alight in the station at Wodonga. Passengers from Victoria cross the river, and make their change of cars on the territory of New South Wales in the Albury station.

After the custom-house examination was concluded, and it was by no means severe, our friends found a fairly good hotel where they put up for the night. Then they took a carriage and drove around the town, which was evidently a prosperous one, and had the usual paraphernalia of public institutions, such as churches, hospitals, jail, town hall, etc. It is said to be the home and the place of business of a considerable number of smugglers, whose occupation is invited by the long frontier line which separates Victoria from New South Wales. A resident of Albury, with whom our friends fell into conversation, admitted that a good deal of smuggling was carried on there, and added that it would take the whole male population of Victoria to guard the frontier efficiently. Of course, smuggling, like the same business everywhere else, relates chiefly to goods where high values can be included in small parcels. No one would think it worth his while to smuggle bulky articles of small value, since it would not pay to carry them long distances on men's backs, as most of the smuggled articles are carried.

Albury stands on the bank of the Murray River, five hundred and thirty-one feet above the sea; it is about three hundred miles from the source of that stream, and six hundred above its mouth. During the rainy season, when the Murray is at its height, steamers run up to Albury, but ordinarily the river is not navigable to that place. As our friends drove along the edge of the stream, below the two bridges which span it, they saw a small steamboat tied up at the bank, and having an appearance of idleness about it. They stopped the carriage for a few moments to inspect the boat, and found that it had been left there by a sudden fall of the river, and was waiting for the next flood to come.

"It is a very light draft steamboat," said Harry in his notebook; "and makes me think of those they talk about in the western part of the United States, that can run on a heavy dew, or where a man goes ahead of them with a sprinkling pot. It is a side-wheel boat, the wheels being very large, but not dipping far into the water. The engine seems rather small for such a large pair of wheels, but I suppose the boat was not built for speed so much as for general utility. She has a saloon over the engines, with cabins opening out of it, and there are quarters on the main deck for the officers and crew. The rooms in the upper cabin are intended for passengers, and as there are only ten of them on each side, you can readily understand that the accommodations are limited. They told me that the steamer was built at one of the towns lower down the river, her engines having been made in Adelaide, and brought overland to the place where the hull was constructed. They also told me that the first steamer which ever ascended the Murray was named the Albury, and arrived in the year 1855. I infer, from the name of the boat, that it was owned by people living here, but on that point my informant was unable to say anything definite."

When the party returned to the hotel for dinner, they were regaled with a fish which was new to them. At Melbourne they had fish from the sea almost daily, but when visiting the cattle and sheep stations they had none at all, for the reason that no fish were to be obtained in those localities, and it would be an expensive matter to bring them there from the sea with the strong probability of their being unfit for eating at the time of their arrival. As they were not looking for fish in any inland town, they naturally inquired what it was before them.

"That is the Murray cod, sir, or cod-perch, as we call it," said the waiter, in reply to Ned's question. "It is a fish caught in the Murray River, and I think you'll like it, gentlemen."

They did like it, all three of our friends pronouncing it quite toothsome. It is a fish somewhat resembling the American perch, both in appearance and in taste, and probably belongs to the same family. Australia is poorly supplied with fresh water fishes. Many of the lakes contain no fish whatever, and the few that are found there are poor eating. There are trout in the mountainous districts, but they are not numerous. Attempts have been made to stock the rivers with European salmon, carp, and other food fishes, but thus far the experiments have not been especially successful. Once in a while a fisherman catches a small salmon in one of the streams, and paragraphs concerning his performance are circulated far and wide in the newspapers. The habit of most of the Australian rivers of running dry at certain portions of the year is a serious discouragement to the industry of fish culture.

At Albury our friends found themselves in one of the mountainous districts of Australia. Mount Kosciusco, the highest peak in Australia, was not far away, though not visible from the town, but other mountain peaks were in sight of the place. Kosciusco is not a very high mountain, as mountains go, as its summit is only 7,308 feet above the level of the sea. It is quite picturesquely situated, forming one of a group of several mountains, and the journey to its summit is by no means an easy matter.

Athletic young men, with a fondness for adventure, occasionally make up parties for an excursion to the top of the mountain, and if the weather is good they come back with their spirits high, their shoes or boots well worn, and their clothing more or less damaged. Traveling facilities are limited, and anybody who climbs Mount Kosciusco must expect to "rough it." The town nearest to the mountain is Tumberumba, and the excursion is made partly on horseback and partly on foot. It is forty miles from Tumberumba to the mountain, and in order to reach that town it is necessary to travel by coach a distance of seventy-four miles, from Calcairn, which is the nearest station on the railway.

Travelers who have visited Switzerland before going to Australia say that the region around Mount Kosciusco is quite Alpine in character, as it has deep gorges and ravines, and the streams plunge for long distances over precipitous rocks. The Murray River takes its rise among these mountains, and a great contrast is offered between the country around its head waters and that through which it flows in the latter part of its course. The country is too rough around these mountains for sheep and cattle stations. There is a considerable amount of tillable land among them, which is principally devoted to the growing of oats and wheat.

At their appointed time, our friends proceeded by train in the direction of Sydney. They found the railway running for much of the way through a mountainous region, some of it very mountainous indeed. The railway engineering on many parts of the route evoked their admiration, and certainly it deserves a great deal of praise. There are numerous tunnels on the way, gorges and ravines are traversed by bridges high up in the air, and nowhere in the world can be found better examples of engineering skill in mountain work. A gentleman who was in the carriage with them said they would find equally good work on the western line of railway, the one on which they were traveling being the southern.

"The range of mountains that winds around the whole coast of Australia," said the gentleman, "has made our railways cost us very dearly. To go any distance at all into the interior, we had to traverse the mountains, and for a long time it was believed that it would be absolutely impossible to get through them. The first railway line in New South Wales was surveyed about 1847, and ground for it was broken in July, 1850. The obstacles which the Blue Mountains presented retarded the work very much, but finally, after they were passed, we got along well enough. You will see for yourself how difficult they were."

"From what we had already seen," wrote Harry, "we fully agreed with the gentleman in his statement, and were not surprised to learn that the engineers were considerably discouraged when they began their work. After a pause, he described to us some of the interesting points of the western line, as it is called, and said he hoped we would be able to make a journey over that part of the railway system of New South Wales. He assured us that we would never regret it, and that we would see some of the most magnificent sights to be obtained anywhere in railway travel.

"When you have crossed the crest of the Blue Mountains," the gentleman continued, "you will see a piece of railway engineering which has never been undertaken, as far as I know of, anywhere else in the world."

"What is that?" one of the party asked.

"It is the accomplishment of a feat that has always been disastrous in every other part of the globe, that of two trains passing each other on a single track."

"It certainly results in disaster as far as I have ever known," Dr. Whitney answered. "I have never heard of two trains trying to pass each other on a single track without both of them coming to grief."

"Well, you know that Australia is a land of contradictions," was the reply; "and why shouldn't we be contradictory in this as well as many other things? The way we perform this trick is this:—

"The railway climbs the mountain by means of zigzags, running first one way, and then the other, and all the time making an ascending grade. At the end of each zigzag the track is prolonged sufficiently to hold two railway trains. When an ascending train sees a descending one coming, the engine driver runs his train to the end of this prolonged track and stops. Then the descending one comes down, runs upon the track, is switched off down the mountain, and the way is then clear for the ascending train to proceed. There is no double track anywhere, and yet the trains have passed each other, and safely too."

"Very simple when you know what it is," said Harry, and the others echoed his remark.

When they crossed the Blue Mountains they found the zigzags, readily recognizing them from the description. On seeing the rugged character of the mountains, they were not at all surprised that the engineers were appalled at the difficulties before them. Neither did they wonder that the officers in command of the first convict settlement at Sydney for a long time regarded the Blue Mountains as impassable, and believed that escaped convicts traveling in that direction would be stopped by this formidable barrier. The Blue Mountains were not crossed and the country beyond them explored until 1813, although the settlement at Sydney was founded in 1788.

Mountain regions are always considered healthy places to live in, and this is especially the case with the region of the Blue Mountains. A fellow-passenger in the train told our friends that it was a favorite saying in the country that nobody ever dies in the Blue Mountains; he simply dries up and disappears. Another passenger said that once, when a town was founded in the Blue Mountain district, the people wanted to start a graveyard, and took along an elderly man who was in the last stages of consumption. They had agreed to pay his expenses and give him a grand funeral, on the condition that he lived until he reached the site of the town. Not only did he live until he got there, but he continued to live for many years, and finally dried up and blew away. The people felt that they had been defrauded, and if the man had left anything in the way of property, they would have brought suit for the recovery of damages.

Harry recorded the above anecdote in his notebook, adding to it the words, "Interesting, but of doubtful authenticity."



CHAPTER XVIII.

SIGHTS OF SYDNEY——BOTANY BAY AND PARAMATTA.

After leaving the Blue Mountains behind them, our friends were whirled onward through a more fertile country than the one they had traversed on the western slope. As they approached Sydney, they found the country dotted with pleasant residences and diversified with fields and forest in a very picturesque way. At the appointed hour the train rolled into the station at Sydney, and landed the strangers in that ancient city; ancient from an Australian point of view, as it is the oldest settlement on the island continent, but exceedingly modern when compared with London, Paris, and other European capitals.

As our friends drove in the direction of the hotel where they intended to stay, they were struck by the narrowness of the streets, which seemed to them very narrow indeed, after the wide streets of Melbourne.

Harry wondered how the difference of the streets of the two cities could be accounted for.

"Oh, I understand," said Ned. "Sydney was laid out by an English surveyor, and Melbourne by an American. Being a native of the little island called England, the Britisher felt that he must make the most of the land he had, while the American, coming from his own wide-spreading country, took all the room that he wanted. That's the way of it, I'm sure."

"Well, that will do for an explanation," said Harry, "until we get at the real facts in the case."

"The probabilities are," the doctor remarked, "that as Sydney was originally a convict settlement, the officers that came out in charge of the expedition felt that it should be made as compact as possible for the greater facility of guarding the convicts. In this way the narrowness of the streets may be accounted for."

"They didn't foresee the tramways in the streets, and the steam cars running upon them," said Harry, as a noisy little steam engine drawing two passenger cars passed close to their carriage.

"No, indeed," responded Ned. "Street cars had not been invented at the time Sydney was founded, and the locomotive was unknown. One would think that steam cars, running through crowded streets like this, would cost a considerable loss of life every year."

"I have heard that they do so," said Dr. Whitney. "You observe that they have flagmen at some of the crossings, and that the trains do not stop wherever passengers want to get on, but only at certain designated points. There must be great danger to pedestrians, many of whom, in all cities, are careless, and I wonder the authorities do not abolish this steam traffic in the streets, and adopt the cable or the trolly."

"We'll take good care that they don't run over us while we are in Sydney," remarked Harry, and there the tramway subject was dropped.

Our friends followed the same plan here as in the other cities they had visited, of going out for a drive or stroll immediately after arranging for their accommodations at the hotel, and removing the dust of travel from their clothing. They thought there was less bustle and activity in the streets of Sydney than in those of Melbourne, and accounted for the difference that Sydney was the older and more dignified place of the two, had a smaller population, and was not so much given over to speculations in gold mines and other matters. They found it well equipped with public buildings, most of them fully equal to the corresponding edifices in the rival city. The city hall especially roused their admiration, and they passed several churches which would do honor to any city of Europe. The doctor remarked that the people of Sydney had constructed their public buildings with a liberal hand, and Harry answered that the liberal hand had been directed by excellent taste.

"I am impatient to see the famous harbor of Sydney," Ned remarked soon after they started on their drive. "You know it is the one thing we have heard about more than any other."

"We will have an opportunity of seeing it in two or three ways," the doctor remarked. Then he called to the driver, and told him to stop in front of the city hall.

After giving a hasty glance at the interior of the building, the party climbed to the cupola, which is one hundred and fifty feet above the level of the street below. From their point of observation they had a fine view in every direction. The whole city was in sight, and also a good deal of the surrounding country. The magnificent harbor, too, was at their feet. Fifteen miles to the westward, they could see the pretty town of Paramatta, which is a favorite resort for Sydney merry-makers; while to the eastward, the broad line of the Pacific Ocean was spread before their gaze. They remained there for half an hour or so in the cupola, taking in the view in general, and also in many of its details.

As they were about to descend, Ned remarked that the harbor fully met his expectations, and in some points exceeded them. Afterward he wrote as follows in his notebook:—

"The harbor may be said to consist of a series of coves or bays, uniting together in a single body of water, which opens to the sea between two promontories, called The Heads. Whether viewed from an elevation like that of the tower of the city hall, or from points along its shores, or from the deck of a vessel passing over it, Sydney harbor presents a most admirable view."

After leaving the city hall, our friends drove to Circular Quay, whose character in one respect is described by its name, as it is of semicircular shape, and encloses the most important of the divisions of Sydney harbor. Harry and Ned were unable to say whether the amount of shipping at Sydney was greater than that at Melbourne or not, but in one thing they were agreed, that neither city had a right to be jealous of the other on the score of marine business. There were ships of all nations at Melbourne, and there were also ships of all nations at Sydney. Sydney has the advantage of being the terminus of most of the great steamship lines, and consequently their vessels are in port at Sydney for a longer time than at Melbourne. There were great steamers of the Orient line, of the Peninsular and Oriental (familiarly known as the "P. & O."), the French line, or Messageries Maritimes, the North German Lloyd, and other lines of lesser note. There was a steamer there, from San Francisco, and there were several vessels belonging to the Australian Steam Navigation Company.

As our friends were looking at the forest of masts and funnels, Harry was the first to break the silence.

"You could start from here," he remarked, "for almost any other part of the world. You could set out for Greenland's icy mountains or India's coral strand with very little ease."

"I don't know about Greenland's icy mountains," said Ned, "as I don't believe there is any line running to them from Sydney, but the P. & O. boat and several other boats will take you to India's coral strand; of that I am sure."

Circular Quay was formerly called Sydney Cove, and it was at the head of this little cove that the first settlement was made. It is the principal one of the coves or harbors where ships can lie, though Darling Cove is nearly as important as the one just mentioned. The sheet of water into which these coves open is called Port Jackson, and extends inland some twenty miles from The Heads. Islands of various sizes are scattered through Port Jackson, some of them occupied, and some remaining in a state of nature. Our friends planned, while strolling about Circular Quay, to make an excursion up the harbor as soon as they could do so conveniently, and then, as it was getting pretty late in the afternoon, they returned to their hotel.

On their arrival at the house they met a gentleman to whom they had a letter of introduction. He had heard of their arrival, and came to hunt them up without waiting for the delivery of their letter. This circumstance led Harry to write as follows in his journal:—

"Wherever we go we are received with the most open-handed hospitality. Persons who are entire strangers to us are always civil, ready to answer any question we ask, and every one of them seems quite willing to go out of his way to serve us. We have made the acquaintance of men in railway trains and around the hotels, or elsewhere, who have ended up a brief conversation by inviting us to visit their country places, their sheep or cattle stations, if they have any, or their business establishments in the city, and this, too, without knowing anything about us other than that we are strangers in Australia. Those to whom we have letters throw their houses open to us, and in every instance urge us to a longer stay whenever we intimate that we must depart. Those to whom we are introduced by these people are equally courteous and equally ready to show us any hospitality. The whole country seems open to us, and if we could and would accept half the invitations that have been given to us, we should remain in Australia for years, perhaps for a decade or two.

"Many Australians, some of them born here of English parents, together with natives of England who have lived here many years, complain that when they go back to the old country they are received very coldly. It is no wonder they feel that English customs are very frigid, when they contrast them with the general kindness and liberal hospitality that universally prevails throughout this island continent. Men who have received strangers as freely as is the custom here, must have a sensation of having ice water poured down their backs when they go to London or New York, and are greeted with the formality customary to those two cities.

"I have been told that it is not infrequently the case that an old Australian who goes to England with the intention of spending not less than a year there, is back in the antipodes in less than six months. The cold formality is not at all to his liking, and, as one man expressed it, he feels as though a southerly burster had dropped on him all at once; and yet his English friends are no doubt glad to see him, and have no thought whatever of giving the least offense.

"They are only adhering to the customs of centuries, and unless they themselves have been in Australia, which is very rarely the case, they cannot understand why the stranger should feel that he is being unkindly treated. I am told that thirty years ago there was the same contrast between the Atlantic and Pacific coasts of the United States, but since railways have traversed the American continent, and communication is made easier, the forms of hospitality of the peoples of the two sections have become pretty much the same.

"Of one thing you may be sure: we shall never forget the courtesies that we have received, and when we leave the shores of Australia we shall treasure long in our memories the warm hospitality which we have encountered since the day we first set foot upon Australian soil."

That evening the party visited one of the clubs where all three were "put up" for the time of their stay in Sydney, their host intimating to Dr. Whitney that, as his nephews were under age, they would not be expected to visit the club, except in his company. Before they had been in town twenty-four hours, our friends had received the offer of the hospitality of no fewer than four clubs, together with several invitations to dinner. The three agreed that Sydney was certainly a very hospitable place, and that a stranger suffering from indigestion, or in poor health, generally would find it too much for him.

The next day our friends were taken on a drive through some of the parks, of which Sydney has a liberal supply. Most of the parks are of considerable extent, one of them, called the Domain, occupying one hundred acres of ground on the shore of one of the coves. Other parks are projected, and it was evident to Harry and Ned that the authorities of Sydney were thorough believers in having plenty of breathing space for the people.

The drive included the Botanical Gardens, which proved to be full of interest. Nearly every plant and tree of the whole of Australia is represented in the Botanical Gardens, and there are many trees and plants there from other parts of the world. Everything planted in these gardens seems to thrive, the products of high latitudes growing side by side to those of very low ones.

The Botanical Gardens are not of recent origin, some of the trees they contain having been planted there seventy or eighty years ago. Among these trees are Norfolk pines, which have attained a height of one hundred feet, and a diameter of five feet at the base. Dr. Whitney had visited the pine forests of California, and said that the specimens in the Botanical Gardens at Sydney reminded him of the magnificent trees of the Golden State.

At one place during their visit to the gardens Ned observed the smell of musk, and looked around to ascertain whence it came. The gentleman who accompanied him noted his curiosity and said:—

"I think you are looking for the musk tree. Here it is."

And there it was, sure enough. The tree is a product of Australia, and has the peculiarity of constantly giving out the odor of musk, which is perceptible at quite a distance. Ned asked if any perfume was manufactured from the tree or its leaves, and was answered in the negative.

All the parks of the city appeared to be tastefully laid out and well kept. Ned recalled the numerous parks that they saw at Melbourne, and remarked that neither city had occasion to be jealous of the other in the matter of pleasant resorts for the people.

Our young friends asked if any of the prisons or other buildings that were erected at the time of the settlement of Sydney were still in existence.

"There is hardly a trace of any of them," was the reply. "As the city has grown, the old buildings have been destroyed, to make place for new ones of a more substantial character. One of the churches occupies the site of the original cemetery which was established soon after the foundation of the city, and a business house covers the ground where the principal prison stood. There is no desire on the part of any of us to preserve the buildings of the original settlement, as they recall unpleasant memories.

"We want to forget as much as we can," he continued, "all that is disagreeable in the history of Sydney, just as an individual usually wants to forget anything unpleasant about his own origin or history. The subject comes up occasionally, and we have no squeamishness about discussing it, and the history of the colony is well known to every intelligent inhabitant of the place. Transportation to this colony ceased about fifty years ago, and consequently there are few men now living in New South Wales who came here as involuntary emigrants. The old disputes between Emancipists and Free Settlers were ended long ago, and the questions that greatly agitated the population of the first half of the century have now become matters of history."

As the gentleman paused, Harry thanked him for his information, and then asked if Port Jackson and Botany Bay were the same thing.

"They are quite distinct from each other," was the reply. "Botany Bay is situated a little to the south of Port Jackson and opens into the Pacific Ocean. It is a singular circumstance that Captain Cook missed the entrance of Port Jackson, which he does not seem to have discovered at all. It is only five miles across the land from one body of water to the other, and it is evident that he did not venture very far inland, or he would have found Port Jackson an infinitely better harbor than Botany Bay.

"It was in Botany Bay," continued the gentleman, "that the first expedition to form a settlement in Australia cast anchor. Captain Phillip, who commanded the expedition, and some of his officers examined the land around Botany Bay, and found it quite unfit for a settlement. While making their examinations they discovered Port Jackson, and immediately perceived its superior advantages. The ships were at once moved around to this harbor, and then the convicts and the soldiers who guarded them were brought on land for the first time. But the name of Botany Bay clung to the settlement for a long while, and became a name of terror to the criminal classes of England."

"It is a very pretty name when divested of its association," remarked Harry. "I wonder how Captain Cook happened to hit upon it."

"He gave it that name," was the reply, "on account of the great number of flowers and flowering plants which he found all around the bay. Quite likely he would have given the same name to Port Jackson if he had discovered it, as there were just as many flowers here as at the other place."

On another day our friends took a drive to Botany Bay, which is only five miles from Sydney. They found quite a pretty place, and were not surprised to learn that it is a favorite resort of the residents of Sydney. Their attention was called to the monument which marks the spot where Captain Cook landed in 1770, and took possession of Australia in the name of the British government.

Another trip that they made was to Paramatta, going there by rail and returning by water. Of this excursion Harry wrote as follows:—

"The journey is a short one, as Paramatta is only fifteen miles from Sydney. It is on what they call the Paramatta River, which isn't really a river, but simply an arm of the bay, and is a favorite place for rowing races. Next to Sydney, it is the oldest town in the colony. Governor Phillip, the first governor of New South Wales, laid it out in 1788, his object being to utilize the labors of the convicts in farming. The first grain fields were established here, being cultivated by convict labor, and the governor had a space of ground cleared, and a house erected for his country residence.

"The experiment of cultivating grain was so successful during the first year, that it was continued on a larger scale during the second and subsequent years. Free settlers took up ground at Paramatta, which was then called Rosehill, the name which the governor gave to the little elevation where his house was built. Settlers who came out to Sydney of their own accord received allotments of land, and were supplied with a sufficient number of convicts to do their work.

"These were known as assigned servants, and the practise of having assigned servants spread everywhere and became very popular, as the parties to whom the convicts were assigned got their labor for practically nothing. Sometimes the wives of convicts came out as passengers in the same ships with their husbands, or followed them later. When they arrived and set up housekeeping, they would apply for servants to be assigned to them, and would name their husbands as the men they preferred. The plan was found to work very well in nearly all cases, and the government encouraged the practise. Sometimes, though, it happened that the husbands were inclined to abuse and beat their wives, but this did not happen often, as the wives had the power, like other employers of assigned servants, of sending their husbands to be flogged.

"Whenever, in the early days, the sentence of a convict expired, he was given a farm at Paramatta, or in its neighborhood, and in this way quite a farming community grew up. The agricultural features of Paramatta have continued down to the present time, and all about it there are pretty farms and gardens, which make the place look very much like an English town of the same size. It is regularly laid out, the principal street extending about a mile back from the landing place, with a width of two hundred feet. Many business men of Sydney have their residences here, and there is a goodly number of public buildings, including hospitals, asylums, churches, and the like.

"Our attention was called to several manufactories, but we were less interested in them than we were in the orange groves and orchards, which are numerous and extensive. They showed us some orange trees which they claim are the largest in the world, but whether that is the case or not, I am unable to say. They showed us one tree from which ten thousand oranges had been taken in a single year, and after we had looked at the orange groves, we were shown through several flower gardens, which seemed to be literally masses of flowers. When we returned to Sydney by the boat, we observed that the banks of the river were lined with flower gardens, and were not surprised to learn that almost the entire flower market of Sydney is supplied from Paramatta.

"We were unfortunate in not being here in the season of fruits, as they told us that the Paramatta oranges are among the finest in the world, and the same could be said of the other fruits grown in the place. I think we have said before that the climate of Australia is very favorable to the cultivation of fruits, those of the tropics as well as those of the temperate zones showing a universal tendency to thrive in the genial atmosphere."

Dr. Whitney and his young companions spent two or three days at some of the country residences in the neighborhood of Sydney, and were charmed with the warmth of the hospitality and the beauty of the places that they visited. It was impossible for them to accept a tenth part of the invitations they received, as their time was limited, and they were anxious to press on to the northward. So one day they bade farewell to their friends and took the train for Newcastle, the principal point of the coal-mining industry of the colony.



CHAPTER XIX.

COAL MINES AT NEWCASTLE—SUGAR PLANTATION IN QUEENSLAND—THE END.

"The region between Sydney and Newcastle," wrote Ned in his journal, "is a diversified one. Here and there are forests interspersed with open country. Some of the ground is level, and some of it very much broken and mountainous. Most of it is fertile, and we passed through many fields of wheat and other grain. Some of it is devoted to cattle raising and some to the production of wool, though it is not generally regarded as a good country for raising sheep. In places the mountains come quite close to the sea-coast, and there we found the railway winding over a very tortuous course, where the rocks that rose on either hand, and the tunnels through which we were occasionally whirled, convinced us that the building of the railway must have cost a great deal of money. At several places coal mining was in progress, and it was evident that Newcastle didn't have an entire monopoly of the coal-producing business.

"Newcastle is quite as much devoted to the coal business as the English city from which it was named. More than two million tons of coal are shipped from this port every year, and the engineers who have carefully examined the coal seams say that there is enough coal under Newcastle to keep up the supply at the present rate for more than five hundred years.

"We were first taken to the harbor where the shipments are made. There we found admirable facilities for loading vessels with the products of the mines. They claim that they can handle twenty-five thousand tons of coal daily, and that a good-sized coal steamer can leave port with her cargo six hours after entering. I'm not an expert in such matters, and therefore don't know, but from what I saw it seems to me that there is no difficulty about it.

"The harbor of Newcastle was not a very good one originally, but they have made it so by extending into the sea a breakwater, which shelters it from the gales that formerly swept it. It is not a large harbor, but an excellent one for its purpose.

"We visited some of the coal sheds and coal breakers, and went into one of the mines. They would gladly have taken us through all the mines in the place, but as one mine is very much like another, we declined to make the rounds of all of them. The one that we entered was about four hundred feet underground. We were lowered in a cage to the bottom of the mine, and then walked through a tunnel to where the men were at work, dodging on our way several loaded cars that were going towards the shaft, as well as empty ones coming from it. The cars were pushed along by men, each of them carrying a little lantern on the front of his hat; in fact, every man whom we saw working underground had one of these lights for his guidance. The tunnel itself was lit up with electric lights, extending from the shaft to the front of the working; and in addition to these, each of us carried a lantern, which was of material assistance in showing us where to place our feet. We had a few stumbles on the way, but nobody experienced a fall.