CHAPTER I. EARLY LIFE
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REMINISCENCES
OF
ARTHUR DUDLEY DOBSON
CHAPTER I.
EARLY LIFE
I was born on September 9th, 1841, at Brunswick Place, Islington. In December, 1844, my parents moved to Compton Street, Balls Ponds. Here began my first childish recollections. I well remember that there was at that time a good deal of open land, and large pits out of which clay had been taken for brick-making, near where we dwelt. Towards the end of 1846, we went to live at Belvoir Terrace, Nottingham, my father being employed as Engineer by Messrs. Rastrick, the contractors for the Ambergate-Nottingham-Easton Junction Railway.
Belvoir Terrace stood upon high ground overlooking the river Trent and the level country. A tower (so it appeared) known as Belvoir Castle, lay in the distance. On higher ground was a row of windmills, which was always a place of great interest to us children. On the opposite side of the Trent were large fields, in which cattle were grazed, and in the spring-time these fields were covered with crocus flowers, and were very brilliant.
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The Rev. Wyatt was Vicar of the parish, and we often went to the vicarage to play with the children. We were very happy there. My father, though much away during the week, was always at home on Sundays. It was his habit on Sunday afternoons to take my brother George (who was fifteen months older) and me out for walks. We generally walked to some neighbouring village church, where a short service was held. My father, being an architect as well as engineer, was much interested in ecclesiastical architecture, and would point out to us the special points of interest in the architecture of old churches, and the ancient tombs. As there were many caverns and underground passages under the city, which dated from very ancient times, and to which legends were attached, they were most interesting to us boys. My father also made these walks the more interesting by his reference to the birds and plants seen as we walked along, and on one occasion we saw quite a number of water-rats in a brook in a little plantation. On another occasion we were taken to Lincoln on a market day, and had dinner in a large inn, full of farmers. The things that most astonished us, were the noise, and the quantity of food on the table. We were taken to the Cathedral and up the tower to see the big bell. I remember that the Cathedral seemed an immense place, and that
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it was late before we started back to Nottingham. Another day an expedition was made to Derby, where we spent some time in a place which to my mind seemed like a great forest. I believe it was called the "Arboretum." This was a day of great delight.
My first school-days began, as far as I can recall, in Nottingham, where George and I went to a school kept by two sisters. We had been taught a good deal at home by Aunt Ellen, a sister of my father. Of this I have very little clear recollection, but I know that I could read and write a little at a very early age. In 1849, the work at Nottingham was finished, and in December we went to live in Islington again. I have but slight remembrance of our life at this period. Nothing seemed at all settled, as was in reality the case. Employment for engineers was very scarce. There had been a railway boom, and the usual collapse had come. Colonization was in the air, and my father decided to enrol himself amongst the Canterbury Pilgrims. I was then nearly nine years old. My father, George, and I shipped in the barque Cressy, Captain Bell. We went to Gravesend on September 6th, 1850, and sailed for New Zealand on the 7th. The accommodation was extremely rough compared with anything we have at the present day. I cannot recollect any arrangement for bathing, but there was a small hand-basin fixed in the corner
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of the cabin. In hot weather the men used to go on deck in the early morning when the decks were being washed down, and were well hosed by the sailors. What sort of arrangements were supplied for the steerage passengers I had no idea. In those days on board emigrant ships, decency was but little thought of, for on some of the ships the sleeping arrangements for the different sexes were not sufficiently divided.
On the whole the voyage was uneventful. One incident I remember. A Mr. and Mrs. Gale occupied a cabin close to ours. During the voyage Mr. Gale became mad, and getting very excited and noisy was removed to some other part of the ship. He died shortly after his arrival in New Zealand.
Crossing the Line in those days was a great time for the sailors. The passengers allowed themselves to be treated much in the same way, and were far more roughly handled than they were at a later time. As far as I can remember, the food was moderately good, and we were all very happy. The voyage was a fairly fine one. We passed several vessels but did not speak to any. Towards December we drew near New Zealand, and on the 27th, according to my father's diary, we landed at Lyttelton. In the small settlement there were barracks for the Pilgrims, and some rough shelters made of undressed timber, and some tents covered with tarpaulins and canvas. The only road was a
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rough track, known as the Bridle Path, about six feet wide, on a very steep gradient, leading over the hills into the Heathcote Valley. Early in 1851 my father considered that he could do nothing with two little boys, until he had made some sort of home, so he decided to send us to Tasmania to his brother, the Rev. Charles Dobson, who was Vicar of the parish of Buckland, Prosser's Plains. This brother had suggested some time before, that if there were any difficulty in arranging about our welfare, we should be sent to him. Evidently this was the best thing to do, so George and I were put on board the Gazelle, a brig of about 200 tons burden. She was a slow boat, which had brought timber and apples from Tasmania to Lyttelton, and was going back in ballast. We sailed first to Wellington. There were no wharves in those days that a ship could be berthed at, and as it came on to blow hard, we could not communicate with the shore for several days. At last the captain managed to get his business done, and we sailed for Launceston. We were several days getting through the Straits, meeting light winds against which we had to beat. I can well remember running up towards Mount Egmont, and then back again till in sight of Cape Farewell.
Captain Paterson was a ship builder, who had built this vessel himself at Blackwall on the Tamar. He was by no means a seaman, but
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had learnt a little navigation, and could take a watch in fine weather, and also compute the latitude. Gibson, the mate, was a fine old seaman, and he handled the ship whenever anything had to be done. I can well remember the captain trying to put ship about, and making a muddle of it, although there was a nice steady breeze and a fairly smooth sea, the ship being on the port tack. The captain gave the customary order, "ready about," to the boatswain, who responded, "aye, aye, sir," the men being in their places. "Helms a lee," followed, the ship began to come up into the wind, and the head sails began to shake. "Tacks and sheets," was the next order, the ship coming up well, "mainsail haul," followed, and the mainsail was soon swung round. Then the trouble began, the captain forgot the next order, which should have been, "fore bowling let go and haul," and whilst he was hesitating what to do next, the ship lay "in irons," and began to go astern. Mr. Gibson was in his bunk, it being his watch below; he was shouted for at once, and came running up on deck in his flannels. As the ship was going astern, he could only "wear her," and so bring her up into the starboard tack. His remarks to the captain were by no means complimentary.
The arrangements for the passengers were very primitive. In the little cuddy, as it was called, were two cabins, one on each side of
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the ship, with sliding doors, and several berths in each cabin. The captain and the mate occupied one each, on the starboard side, and the four passengers, two men and two boys (my brother and I), the cabin on the port side. The steward, who was also the cook, had his pantry in the after-part of the cuddy, alongside the companion ladder. Light was provided for at night by a small hanging lamp of oil. In the steward's pantry was a large jug, always kept full of fresh water for the passengers. Meals were served on a table in the centre of the cuddy. Unfortunately the jug was not always kept filled with fresh water, as I once discovered to my cost. One hot night in Bass Strait, I got out of my bunk feeling very thirsty. The oil lamp had gone out, but I knew the way to the pantry, which I entered and felt carefully for the jug. It was not in the usual place, but on finding it, I seized it eagerly and putting it to my lips, tilted it up slowly. There seemed to be very little water in it, for I had to tip it higher and higher, when suddenly a lump of salt pork plumped into my mouth. The cook had been bailing out his coppers, in which he had boiled the salt meat, with this jug instead of the usual dipper, and neglected to wash and refill it. It was pitch dark and I had no matches. In vain I felt about to try and find a bit of biscuit to take the taste of
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salt out of my mouth, but it was no good searching, and I had to return to my bunk lamenting.
The voyage was without special interest, very tedious, with calm weather and light winds. Steering into Bass Strait we had nearly reached Swan Island when bad weather from the west came on with heavy squalls. Captain Paterson was evidently afraid to anchor at Swan Island, although we saw several other vessels lying there for shelter, so he put about and ran S. E. till he had the shelter of the mainland. For several days we lay under sail off the coast, but running out of stores, excepting rice, put into the Bay of Fires, and sent a boat ashore which brought off a plentiful supply of fresh stores, bread, meat, and vegetables. After several weeks of salt beef, pork, and hard ships' biscuits the change of food was most enjoyable. We had run so short of stores that for two days rice was the only dish on the table for every meal, yet I do not remember any grumbling.
This, of course, was not a passenger ship, but I often wonder what the folk who travel nowadays, and who grumble at whatever the ship provides, and call any steamer under 3,000 tons a dirty little tub, would say to salt pork, salt butter, ship's bread (i. e., biscuit as hard as road metal), rice, and very very plain duff as the only pudding. As a treat we occasionally had lobscouse, salt meat chopped into
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small pieces, mixed with mashed potatoes. Then for a change we had dandy-funk, biscuits soaked for a few hours and then fried in pork fat. It must be remembered that the salt meat (not the corned meat obtained at the present time from the butcher's), was kept in casks, and when required for use was put into a net and towed overboard for six or seven hours to try to get a little of the salt out of it.
At last the westerly winds ceased, and with a light easterly we passed Swan Island, rounded Cape Portland, and in due course anchored in the Tamar off George Town. I can well remember as though it were only yesterday, passing Swan Island and Waterhouse Island. Small vessels were anchored there, which delighted our eyes after so long a time at sea. We were about four weeks from land to land. Nothing of note occurred during the voyage, but whilst in Bass Strait we passed through a great shoal of barracoota, and began fishing at once. Instead of a hook, a nail was driven through the end of a piece of red wood, the fish snapped at this eagerly, as it jumped over the surface of the sea, and in a very short time the deck was covered with a great number of fish. It was a very welcome change and addition to our meat supply, and was thoroughly enjoyed.
We now entered the Tamar, and slowly worked our way up the river to Launceston. There was very little wind, so we had to trust
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to going up with the flood tide, towing with a row-boat to give steerage way, and anchoring as soon as the tide turned. It took some days to reach our destination. All hands went ashore on arrival except the cook and one hand. We two boys were left in the charge of the former until communication could be made with our uncle. It was some days before he arrived, but the cook was very good to us. We bought some fishing tackle and fished from the wharf, but I do not think we caught many fish. On the arrival of our uncle, he took us off by coach to Hobart, where we stayed the night, at the Freemason's hotel. I looked into this hotel in 1891, forty years afterwards, as I passed through Hobart. From Hobart we drove to Buckland in a light spring cart, which my uncle used in visiting his parishioners. Buckland had once been a probation settlement. It contained a stone church and parsonage, as well as a number of other buildings, which at the time were empty, built for the accommodation of the officials and prisoners. In this part of Tasmania there is an abundance of good sandstone, so that all the buildings, bridges, and culverts were built of sandstone. These had all been built by prison labour. The parsonage was a substantially built house of ten rooms, built of sandstone as were all the stables and outhouses. Sending prisoners to Australia had now nearly ceased, and the stations were
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deserted, the prisoners free and settling down to civil life. The village itself could have contained only a very small number of inhabitants, but in the immediate neighbourhood were a number of small as well as some large farms, so that the church had a very fair congregation on fine Sundays. That day was a very busy one for us, as we had to learn the Collect and the Gospel for the day.
The parish being a large and scattered one, necessitated a good deal of travelling. The roads, excepting the main one to Hobart, were all unformed bush tracks, so that my uncle paid most of his visits on horseback. He was an excellent rider, and kept good horses. A small river called the Prosser ran through the middle of the village, joining the sea in the shelter of Maria Island. There was a church school in the village, hut not always a master, so our uncle carried on the school himself when a master was not forthcoming. We went to the school and learnt a good deal during the three years we were there. As it was bush country with no other fuel than wood, the providing of fuel for the house made constant work, and we soon learnt how to use the axe and cross-cut saw, and how to fell trees. Mr. Radcliffe, a friend of my uncle, had a large sheep farm on the coast, not many miles distant, where we frequently went to stay. He had horses and grooms, and while there we were sent out riding overy day. At first we
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were not allowed saddles, but had to learn bareback. We galloped up and down the beach and jumped over the drift timber. As soon as we were quite at home on the ponies bareback, we were allowed saddles.
Mr. Radcliffe was a surveyor who had come out in the early days, acquired property in Prosser's Bay, and having established himself, returned to Ireland (his native land), and married a lady, to whom he had been engaged before he came out. He returned to Tasmania, and when the writer knew him he had a large family of young children. When he had reached a good old age he decided to visit his native country again. He had visited all his old friends in Ireland and arrived in London to take ship for his return to the colonies. That was the last that was ever heard of him. All that his family could ascertain was that he was lodging in London with a couple who had once worked for him in Tasmania, and it was also found that to save the cost of sending a considerable sum of money through the Bank, he had some £200 in gold with him. The idea was that he had been robbed and murdered, as about the date of his loss the remains of the body of a man, cut in pieces and tied up in a bag were found in the vicinity of London Bridge.
My uncle was a scholarly man, and had a fairly large library. He made a great point
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of our learning Latin, which he taught well. He also encouraged us to read, so that by the time I was twelve years old I had read a number of well-known standard works, novels, etc. Boys were expected to be very self-reliant in those days. When I was ten years old I was sent to take a letter to Sorell, a town 25 miles away, through the bush. The track was well-defined, so I found my way without any trouble. I was given money for my lunch, horse-feed, and a tip for the ostler. I carried out my instructions with grave importance, and returned home feeling very proud of my fifty-mile ride. The majority of all roads, as I have said before, were mere tracks cut through the bush, and the soil was very sandy. The wool was all taken out by bullock waggons, but curiously enough all the flour was brought into the district on donkeys, for which I could not see the reason.
