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Chapter IX.
The Early Forties.
As far back as 1826, the lighting of Sydney with gas, had been under consideration, but nothing came of the matter, although the then Colonial Civil Engineer (Mr. C. Kinghorne) had prepared a report and estimate of the cost, and probable returns of such a scheme. Ten years later, the subject was taken up successfully by the Rev. Ralph Mansfield—already referred to as one-time editor of the “Sydney Gazette”—who eventually became the founder of the present company, which, in September, 1837, obtained its charter for incorporation. But it was four years later ere the new illuminant came even into partial use. At 25s per cubic foot it was a luxury only accessible to the rich. Now, at 4s per cubic foot, it is within the reach of most people.
In 1838, Sir George Gipps appeared on the scene in place of one of the most open-minded, liberal, and popular of all the early Governors of this colony. And what Sydney thought of the new arrival may be gathered from two lines out of a song greatly in vogue during his regime:
“When he eats an orange, he’ll hand you the pips,
‘They’ll grow if you plant ‘em,’ says Governor Gipps.”
In 1838 Sydney had its first land boom—nothing very great, but of interest as a precursor of later, and far more disastrous, ones.
Wool had gone up to over 1s per lb, and money was so plentiful that land, stock, and produce reached unprecedented prices, and speculation, especially in land, grew rampant. The beautiful “estate of Hunter’s Hill,” originally a grant of a thousand acres; also that of Burwood, the story of which has already been told, were put on the market. Then Abraham Polack, the auctioneer of his day, advertised for sale 94 allotments, “a portion of that splendid and unequalled marine estate known as ‘Vaucluse,’ the property of W. C. Wentworth, Esq.” The northern portion, adjoining “the Government village of Watson’s Bay,” was marked out as “a marine village,” which, adhering to the Government plan, was named “the Village of Vaucluse,” consisting of fifty-four allotments of half an acre each, with frontages to correspond, and any amount of streets. A thoroughfare named the “Village-road,” leading to the South Head road, was also surveyed. Thirteen of these areas were bounded on the west by Rose Bay, “immediately opposite the marine villa of Point Piper, the residence of Colonel Gibbes,” and so on, and so on, the auctioneer, expatiating, as does his prototype of to-day, with all the eloquence at his command on the wonderful qualities of the property. “Various spots on this estate, had been for a series of years past considered by the citizens favourite ones for picnic parties. Ship and boat-building can here too be carried on at a vast advantage, as a bold shore and deep water bound a great portion of it, in some places sufficient for a 74-gun ship to float alongside.”
But this scheme, and dozens of others, were years before their time; and ended in such disaster as to ruin many once wealthy citizens; and cripple others to such an extent as to compel them to sell their plate and carriages; some of the latter recognisable, later on, as comprising part of the first “cab stand in Sydney.” The site of this was on the south side of Market-street, opposite the once well-known “Waterloo Warehouse.” But it was not until some years afterwards that a genuine hansom appeared on the streets; and this was imported via Melbourne.
To emphasise the downfall of the boom, and force people to still further economise, there presently came the drought of 1838-39, when flour rose to over £90 per ton.
But the colony was too firmly founded, and its growth of both trade and production already too great, for these happenings to do more than momentarily check its prosperity. Says a visitor about this time: “There is a fine palace in process of building for his Excellency just behind Fort Macquarie. The inhabitants of Sydney have access to the Government Domains, and the splendour of carriages and gaiety of promenading parties to be met with here are equal to anything I have seen in Phoenix Park, Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, or even the Tuilleries.”
Our enthusiastic visitor, like so many others who arrived, expecting to find “Botany Bay” a mere miserable convict settlement, was evidently so astonished at the contrast between the actual picture and the one that had been present in his imagination, that he gave rather too much rein to his fancy. At the time of his visit, Hyde Park was the fashionable rendezvous for carriage people, as well as the favourite cricket ground. It was then of course, treeless, or very nearly so; the grass “tussocky” and untended, intersected by pathways, and rudely fenced. The Roman Catholic Cathedral had been sixteen years in building, and was not finished even then. Behind the old police court, offenders still sat in the stocks, “taking out in timber what they couldn’t pay in cash.” St. James’ was, as it is now, the Government House church, only then the right hand gallery was filled with convicts.
The new “palace” for the Governor had been begun some time before this. The plan was designed in London, by Mr. E. Blore, and its erection entrusted here to Mr. W. Lewis, the Colonial Architect; colonial builders contracted for the different portions of the work, and, to a great extent the materials for it were produced within the colony.
In the beginning of ‘38 was opened the Victoria theatre, in Pitt street, the foundation stone of which had been laid two years previously. It held some 2000 people and one of the proprietors, a Mr. Wyatt, on March 17, (the day of its completion), gave its use gratuitously for a public ball “in commemoration of the patron saint of Ireland.” A few days afterwards regular performances commenced with a good company, whose efforts were attended by signal success. The prices of admission were becoming very moderate—dress circle 4s, upper boxes 2s 6d, pit 1s, and gallery 6d. It will be seen that our theatrical caterers have slightly improved on those rates, to say nothing of the “early door” temptation.
“The character of the performances,” remarks an early historian, “is generally respectable. Although we can seldom attempt the higher walks of tragedy, we have yet made successful hits with domestic dramas, comedies, and farces.” This is the kind of thing they used to go in for: “William Tell,” “Brutus,” “Luke the Labourer,” “The Irish Labourer,” “Hamlet,” “Macbeth,” “The Hibernian Father,” “Love, Law, and Physic,” “The Pilot,” “Guy Mannering,” “The Waterman,” etc. Judging from which selection makes one fancy, somehow, that, even in these comparatively enlightened days, there was an individual fulfilling as rigid duties of censorship as in those dark ones when Governor Hunter crushed the drama into nothingness with an iron hand.
The story of the old Royal Hotel is of interest, and may here be briefly told. We have already seen how, in the early thirties, under Barnett Levy, the hotel became a “temple of Thespis;” but when the new theatre was finished, the actors removed, and the Royal took up once more the even tenor of its way as the best house of accommodation in the city. It was managed then by a Mr. Sparkes, and “received the chief share of the patronage of our settlers and squatters, who, on business or pleasure bent; paid their welcome periodical visits to our metropolis.”
Then, one 17th of March, a drunken carter, who had been celebrating the saint’s day by drinking and smoking in an adjoining stable, set fire to some straw, which, spreading to the hotel, in a few hours destroyed the big stack of buildings comprising it. A grand ball was taking place at Government House that night, and many officers rushed out in their gay attire, and helped to extinguish the flames. The damage done by the fire was estimated at £20,000.
Presently the site passed from Mr. Wyatt’s hands into those of Mr. John Terry Hughes, who upon it built a “huge wilderness of stone and wood.” Alderman Fowles (once drawing master at Fort-street School) is very severe on the architect: “With Mr. Hughes’ system of building we are not acquainted; but we presume that he never could have placed upon paper a plan of the immense mass of cumbersomeness which he has piled in George-street. One half of the money wasted thereupon would have sufficed for a building worthy of the finest street in Europe.” Nevertheless, for many years the “Royal” continued to be the favorite resort of “our settlers and squatters” on their visits to Sydney; and even at the present day it well holds its own with more pretentious and modern competitors.
Emigrants from the United Kingdom had for the past few years been pouring into the colony, and some of the statements sworn to by applicants, or their agents, to secure a free passage bear a curious similarity to those made, when at odd times one of our present Governments sees fit to import a shipload or so of “people who will be an acquisition to the colony.”
Thus, one man, stated in his certificate to be a blacksmith, turned out nothing less than a ladies’ shoemaker; whilst another lot, invoiced by the agent as an “agricultural family,” proved to be very much otherwise. Said the brother: “I never was an agricultural labourer; I was a clerk in a shipping office; my brother is a draper; my sister never was in service; she left school to come out here as a bounty immigrant.” Women of the worst character were encouraged to emigrate under the bounty system. One woman, for instance, was induced to pass herself off as her son’s wife, and one berth had been set aside for them on board ship. Fraud, forgery, impersonation, and breach of contract were, in short the characteristics of a system that poured into Sydney and the colony a most useless and undesirable class of settlers. Out of 21,126 who arrived in such fashion, no less than 1395 were found ineligible, and the bounty, £19 per head, refused for them. It will thus be seen that by a most unfortunate miscarriage of a well-meant system of settlement, the original heavy handicap of convict-transportation, now almost at an end, was succeeded by a second invasion of worthless and mischievous, if not actually criminal characters.
In the second year of Gipps’s reign, Sydney folk received a surprise, when on rising one morning they perceived two American men-of-war lying snugly among the shipping. These turned out to be a portion of the United States exploring expedition, under the command of Captain Wilkes. He had, it seems, made the Heads at sunset on the previous evening, and although the night was dark, and he had no pilot, the wind being fair, he, in the Vincennes, of 780 tons, accompanied by the Peacock, of 650 tons, stood boldly in under a press of sail. It seemed a risky thing to do; but he says he knew that he could place absolute reliance on his charts. The “Sow and Pigs” seems to have bothered him for a short time, but he soon fixed the position of the reef; and at 10.30 p.m. dropped anchor in the Cove without anyone having the least idea of his arrival. This really was a very fine piece of work—much finer than the look-out kept by those responsible.
Next day arrived the Porpoise and the Flying Fish, thus making the full strength of the expedition, with whose officers and men the streets of the capital was presently crowded. Later on, Wilkes waited on the Governor, and apologised for entering the harbor so unceremoniously and without the customary salutes. Reading between the lines, it would almost seem as if the Americans, having heard of the defences of the harbor, and the difficulties of its channels, had determined to show the colonists how small a reliance could be placed on such obstacles when United States ships were in question. One can hardly imagine such a thing happening at the present time.
However, the Governor was all hospitality, and lent Wilkes Fort Macquarie for the purposes of an observatory. “I may in this place,” says our American writer gratefully, “acknowledge the open-hearted welcome we met with from all the Government officers, military and civil, as well as from the citizens. The Australian Club was thrown open to us by its committee, and parties, balls, etc., were given in our honor.”
The American commander seems to have been much struck with the prevalence of drunkenness, “which here stalks abroad at noonday. It is not rare at any time, but on holidays its prevalence surpasses everything I have ever witnessed. Even persons of the fair sex (if they may be called so) were there to be seen to be staggering along the most public streets, brawling in the houses, or borne off in charge of the police… The police officers themselves are among the vendors of the intoxicating liquor.”
Of course he alludes to rum; and it is to be feared that in those days we did indulge rather heavily in our then favorite beverage, judging from the eight gallons per head consumed by the population per annum.
In July, 1851, the Hunter River Steam Navigation Company, with a capital of £40,000, founded by Mr. John Eales of Duckenfield in July, 1839, became merged into the A. S. N. Company, with a capital of £320,000. Early next year there arrived their first steamer, the Rose, creating quite a sensation in Sydney, although of only 172 tons. Then, presently, came the Thistle; and, later on, the Shamrock completed the trinity.
Very soon the company began to extend its operations; and the Shamrock was put into the Moreton Bay trade. The fares were £8, £6, and £4: freight, 20s per ton; and wool, 20s per bale. The business, however did not pay, and in a few months’ time was abandoned. The shareholders, it seemed, objected strongly to the directorate allowing their boats to travel to such a dangerous place as Moreton Bay. A steamer was a steamer m those days—a valuable rara avis, and to be taken care of accordingly. We are not quite so particular now, and occasionally send them on far more dangerous adventures than to Moreton Bay, eg., ramming lighthouses, and expeditions inland A curious controversy arose respecting this pioneer trade of the Shamrock. It seems that the articles of association only provided for voyages to the Hunter River and ports adjacent. And the question was argued as to whether Moreton Bay was or was not “adjacent” to the Hunter. Mr. Broadhurst, Q. C., and several nautical experts, were set to work on the question, and the latter, at any rate, gave it as their opinion that Brisbane and Newcastle were adjacent. This clenched the matter, and determined the directors to persevere. Accordingly, we, later, find the Sovereign trading to Moreton Bay. and the Shamrock to Melbourne. The first-named vessel was afterwards wrecked, with the loss of forty-four lives. These developments of our present great coasting service are too intimately bound up with the rise and progress of Sydney to be passed over without, at least, brief mention.
Before leaving the last of our thirties for good, a word must be said respecting the first jubilee, as well as the fiftieth anniversary—both happening in that year—and the native born determined to “keep-them up” in right good fashion. In the first place, they made up their minds that the day should be a public holiday, which it had never been before. Then that there should be a regatta for the masses, as well as a dinner for the classes. They had their way in both instances. There was a regatta, and the committee hired a steamer, and sold tickets to their friends to see the races from it. Also, in the evening, they had a dinner at the Pulteney Hotel, in Bent-street (afterwards the Australian Club House, and now “Richmond House,” used as a boarding establishment). The guests sat down at 7. Tickets were £2 2s, and we may be quite certain that the celebration was worthy of the, for the times, rather high figure.
During ‘37-38, a Parliamentary Committee had given in a strong report, thoroughly adverse to transportation, and the appalling evidence collected by it, respecting the system, had completely swayed English opinion against its continuance; so far, at least, as New South Wales was concerned. In that colony, however, it was feared at first by the large landholders that, having to do without convict labor, spelled ruin. But they had to decide; and were given their choice between assigned servants and self-government. It was preposterous that a convict colony should be permitted to rule itself. That was self-evident. So the choice was soon made; and, in 1840, a British Order-in-Council established Tasmania and Norfolk Island as the only two convict settlements in Australasia. And thus it happened that, in October, 1840, the last convict ship but one, the Eden, let go her anchor in Port Jackson, and though for many years the system left broad traces across the social features of the colony, it practically received its death-blow when the cables of the Eden rushed through her hawse-pipes into the waters of Sydney Harbor. In 1841, we had our first recorded embezzlement by a high official; and it was such a barefaced and impudent robbery and created such a tremendous scandal, that it is worth noticing.
The first Registrar of the Supreme Court had been a certain Colonel Galway Mills, described as a “decayed gentleman, with no knowledge of business.” To make up for this, however, his successor proved to have rather too much.
After becoming a bankrupt, in England, and taking advantage of the Insolvent Act, this gentleman had, in 1828, been appointed Chief Justice of Nova Scotia. This billet he was permitted to exchange for the position of Registrar of the Supreme Court of New South Wales, with the duty of collecting the effects of intestates, and, according to his own story, the privilege of investing the money for his benefit, pending distribution. Then, whilst he entirely neglected all other parts of his work, he, “in defiance of son, brother, father, or other near relatives of the deceased, grasped the whole estate, invested it in his own name, for his own interest, and for ten years kept neither day book, cash book, nor ledger; kept only one account at his bank, rendered no statement for audit to anyone, and paid what balances he pleased to next of kin.” So notorious did this business at last become, that he was asked to pass his accounts, and generally clear up matters. But at this he waxed indignant, and protested that the judges were reacting on his honor by calling for any such statements, “and thus depriving him of the legitimate profits to be derived from the employment of other men’s money, which had induced him to settle in the colony.”
Even now, for a piece of cool effrontery, the above would be hard to beat. Eventually, finding the judges firm in their demand for an audit, he resorted to open fraud, and in two years appropriated £9000. Then he became bankrupt; took the benefit of the act for the second time, and, after a while, paid a dividend of 6d in the £. His victims petitioned the Home Government for compensation, but, without success. It should have been mentioned that, at the audit, he reported himself to be in possession only of £1989 17s 0½d; but the court found that £3085 18s 2d was the amount he ought really to have had in hand. And this, in spite of a violent resistance, they compelled him to disgorge. However, as we have seen, he lost no time in recouping himself. The incident is of interest, as showing how in those years it as not difficult for an English official, even with a shady reputation, to procure a position of high trust out here, and shake the Australian pagoda tree, to such good purpose as did our haughty second registrar. Such instances of peculation, on a large scale, however, must have been rare, or this one would not have attracted the attention it did. A few such gentry would have soon caused a vacuum in the Colonial Treasury.
Our Treasury, by the way, was, in those days, an unpretentious building, the last but one or two of those old-fashioned houses on the left-hand side of Church Hill, going towards York-street, and now the office of the “Freeman’s Journal.” Quiet as it is now, that neighborhood saw stirring times, when the four-horse coach carrying gold came in from the Turon, Abercrombie, or Araluen, and dashed up in fine style with its armed escort of troopers cantering along-side, and others sitting on the box, and in the body of the vehicle. In the early fifties the arrival of a “gold escort,” judging from old pictures, was one of the sights of the capital.
In this year (1841) a census was taken, and with rather surprising results, for it was found that the population of the colony amounted to no less than 130,700—males, 87,200; females, 43,500. Of this number Sydney is credited with between forty and fifty thousand. But the year appears to have been a bad one. Governor Gipps took to juggling with the land, alternately raising and depressing the price per acre; indeed, he at one stroke raised the upset price from 5s to 12s. After a while, he lowered it again, thus causing much uncertainty and financial distress on the part of the holders. Thus many became insolvent, and things generally, with most settlers, were at sixes and sevens. City lands, however, was steadily increasing in value. In 1834 a corner allotment in George-street had been sold at the rate of £18,150 per acre, and another at the rate of £27,928 per acre. Ten years or so earlier they might have been purchased for a few hundred gallons of rum. In 1840 one small lot brought at the rate of £40,000 per acre. It will thus be seen that speculation had not been quite crushed by the disasters of the recent land boom and the drought, and that investors had full faith in the future of the city, both as regarded it and its suburbs, especially choice spots, such as Rushcutter’s and Elizabeth Bays, which were becoming favorite residential sites. Listen to Mr. Stubbs (the auctioneer of the day), as he descants on the beauty of these places—Polack isn’t in it with him:—
“Of all the cherished objects of an amateur’s delight those most preferred beyond all others of our beautiful harbor, are Elizabeth and Rushcutter’s Bay. It is proverbial that every fresh visit to these beautiful spots only increases the desire of seeing them again. Hence it is that hardly an individual moves out of town but he goes for the enjoyment of his health to one of them. To live there is at once judgment and good taste—not to be there is a continually increasing want.”
Later on, speaking of Rushcutter’s Bay, he eulogises it as “really and truly the tout ensemble of good society.” The worthy auctioneer might have added that the society was limited as well, for, save private residences about Darling Point, Double Bay, and Point Piper, there was scarcely a house all the way to the Heads. Not unmindful of thoroughly sound business ethics, Mr. Stubbs announces, on a more than usually important occasion, “a champagne lunch will be provided on the day of sale.
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