Great Changes in One Lifetime
How Shells and Coral Were Obtained for Lime-making
King Island or “Winnam “
Lime-burning on Petrie’s Bight
Diving Work
Harris’s Wharf
A Trick to Obtain “Grog’ Reads Like Romance
Narrow Escape of a Diver
As an instance of the great changes which have taken place in Brisbane in even less than one lifetime, it is interesting to follow my father’s experiences of the way in which shells and coral for lime-making were obtained when he was a boy, As. already mentioned, a punt did the carting from the Bay, and as a protection to them from the blacks, “Tom” was sent with the crew, for, being so well known among the darkies,. the lad was a safeguard to anyone in his company.
The shells used were obtained from the sandy point on the Humbybong side of the mouth of the Pine River, where they were plentiful then in the required dry, dead state; and this point the blacks called “Kulukan” (pelican), because at low water the bank there was crowded with pelicans. Four men besides my father manned the boat, and they went with the ebb down the river, anchoring at the mouth till the tide turned again and came up some two feet, thus enabling the party to surmount the difficulty of sandbanks. Planks were fixed along each side of the punt, so that the men could walk from end to end, and each man had a long light pole with which to shove the boat along. They kept in as close to the shore as was possible, and so with the help of the tide got slowly along past where Sandgate is now, onwards to the mouth of the Pine, Father steering.
Four baskets made by old Bribie, the basket-maker, also two or three rakes to gather together the shells, formed part of the punt’s outward-going cargo, and two men would fill the baskets whilst the remaining pair carried them into the water, dipping them up and down to rid the shells of all sand. The punt was left dry on the beach as the water receded, but the tide coming up again would float her when she was laden. Sometimes natives were present, and they helped with the work, their payment being tobacco and flour. Almost always the homeward start was made at night, as it was calmer then, and as the tide rose the men. poled away along the shore till they got into the river, the tide carrying them there. The outgoing journey was commenced at night, too, generally.
Coral for the lime-making was obtained in much the same way from King Island or “Winnam” (breadfruit), as the blacks called it then. The punt was taken through the Boat Passage, and kept close to the land all the way, being poled along the shore as before in the night hours, then over to the island. These punts held big loads, but later their place was taken by a cutter Mr. Petrie had built for the purpose, and for carrying oysters from the oyster banks for the lime. Lime-burning was carried out at Petrie’s Bight, and there also the cutter was built.
When writing of the habits of the aborigines, I have mentioned how my father, as a youngster, used to spend hours day after day in the water with the black boys, diving (as amusement) for white bones and pebbles. This made him very dexterous, and so whenever there was a difficult water job in those days he was in great request. The first thing he remembers tackling was a large steam boiler which had sunk in a punt during the night at the wharf where Thomas Brown and Sons’ warehouse is now. The punt lay on a slant, one end being some twenty feet beneath the water, and the other six feet, and my father had to try and see where a chain could be got under the boiler to rise it. He went down the chain, which was fastened to another large punt on the surface, and this is his description of the experience : “The water was very clear, and I could see as well as if out of it. Coming to the lower end, after going along holding to the boiler, I let go to come up, and although I could see the light above, thought I would never reach the surface, and, when I did arrive there, was pretty well out of breath.
After a rest, I started down again, taking with me a small line by which to pull the chain under the boiler. I succeeded in getting the line under, and came back along the chain, making sure that I would get up this time all right. The men in the punt above pulled on the line, and then I went down again, and pushed the chain under, and they pulled again, and were successful in getting it through. The chains were fastened to the punt above during low water, so, of course, as she rose with the tide, the punt beneath was lifted too.”
Another water job was undertaken after a large flood which carried away what was then Harris’s Wharf in the present Short Street, next to where Pettigrew’s mill stood. The wharf was taken a good many yards into the river, and it had to be raised. So a punt was put alongside with shear legs attached to hoist the logs, and Father went down time after time and put a chain round one by one, and he also prized them asunder with a crowbar. A man called Tom Collins, a bricklayer, assisted by sitting astride a log in the water, and he handed the crowbar and chain as they were wanted-thus saving a lot of swimming on the young fellow’s part. The man himself could not swim, but, says my father, “he was a good worker, though very fond of his nip.”
“At this time it was rather cold to be in the water every day, and the work went on for some two months, so they used to give Collins a glass of grog each morning before work, and then again when he knocked off. One day, however, this little attention was neglected, and as it happened to be extra cold, Collins informed me that he would make them give him his usual. So, crawling along the log to the shore, he tumbled off into the mud, then picking himself up and putting his tongue out at me, scrambled up the bank and into the store. Up the stairs he went, shivering and shaking, the mud and water dripping from him, and when they saw him there. For glory’s sake go down out of this; see what a mess you are making! But the dirty, wet object only shivered and shook the more, and making his teeth chatter, he gasped, I can’t go till you give me a glass of grog.’ To get him out of their sight was all they thought of, so he the water, dipping them up and down to rid the shells of all sand. The punt was left dry on the beach as the water receded, but the tide coming up again would float her when she was laden. Sometimes natives were present, and they helped with the work, their payment being tobacco and flour. Almost always the homeward start was made at night, as it was calmer then, and as the tide rose the men. poled away along the shore till they got into the river, the tide carrying them there. The outgoing journey was commenced at night, too, generally.
Coral for the lime-making was obtained in much the same way from King Island or “Winnam” (breadfruit), as the blacks called it then. The punt was taken through the Boat Passage, and kept close to the land all the way, being poled along the shore as before in the night hours, then over to the island. These punts held big loads, but later their place was taken by a cutter Mr. Petrie had built for the purpose, and for carrying oysters from the oyster banks for the lime. Lime-burning was carried out at Petrie’s Bight, and there also the cutter was built.
When writing of the habits of the aborigines, I have mentioned how my father, as a youngster, used to spend hours day after day in the water with the black boys, diving (as amusement) for white bones and pebbles. This made him very dexterous, and so whenever there was a difficult water job in those days he was in great request. The first thing he remembers tackling was a large steam boiler which had sunk in a punt during the night at the wharf where Thomas Brown and Sons’ warehouse is now. The punt lay on a slant, one end being some twenty feet beneath the water, and the other six feet, and my father had to try and see where a chain could be got under the boiler to rise it. He went down the chain, which was fastened to another large punt on the surface, and this is his description of the experience : “The water was very clear, and I could see as well as if out of it. Coming to the lower end, after going along holding to the boiler, I let go to come up, and although I could see the light above, thought I would never reach the surface, and, when I did arrive there, was pretty well out of breath.
After a rest, I started down again, taking with me a small line by which to pull the chain under the boiler. I succeeded in getting the line under, and came back along the chain, making sure that I would get up this time all right. The men in the punt above pulled on the line, and then I went down again, and pushed the chain under, and they pulled again, and were successful in getting it through. The chains were fastened to the punt above during low water, so, of course, as she rose with the tide, the punt beneath was lifted too.”
Another water job was undertaken after a large flood which carried away what was then Harris’s Wharf in the present Short Street, next to where Pettigrew’s mill stood. The wharf was taken a good many yards into the river, and it had to be raised. So a punt was put alongside with shear legs attached to hoist the logs, and Father went down time after time and put a chain round one by one, and he also prized them asunder with a crowbar. A man called Tom Collins, a bricklayer, assisted by sitting astride a log in the water, and he handed the crowbar and chain as they were wanted-thus saving a lot of swimming on the young fellow’s part. The man himself could not swim, but, says my father, “he was a good worker, though very fond of his nip.”
“At this time it was rather cold to be in the water every day, and the work went on for some two months, so they used to give Collins a glass of grog each morning before work, and then again when he knocked off. One day, however, this little attention was neglected, and as it happened to be extra cold, Collins informed me that he would make them give him his usual. So, crawling along the log to the shore, he tumbled off into the mud, then picking himself up and putting his tongue out at me, scrambled up the bank and into the store. Up the stairs he went, shivering and shaking, the mud and water dripping from him, and when they saw him there- For glory’s sake go down out of this; see what a mess you are making! But the dirty, wet object only shivered and shook the more, and making his teeth chatter, he gasped, I can’t go till you give me a glass of grog.’ To get him out of their sight was all they thought of, so he triumphantly returned to me wagging his tongue, and carefully fondling a bottle of gin under his arm. I’ll be all right now,’ he said, and will be able to hold the bar fine and steady.’
Collins, sitting there on the log in the water, dangling his legs, must have cut rather a comical figure, and people who came and paused to look on would call to ask what he was doing. “Oh, I am holding a lamp under the water, so that the chap below can see to prize some logs apart!” would be his reply. Poor Collins! his fondness for a nip ended his days; for, many years after he sat there on the log, he was found one day quite dead on the bank of the Bremer River, his head in the water; and it was supposed that, being drunk, he lay down to try and get a drink, failing miserably in the attempt to rise again.
If the water had been clear and warm during this work, things would have been much more pleasant, but Father says it was full of floating dead fish (after the flood), and to come up and strike one with his face was anything but nice. At this time he wore a ring made on the Bendigo diggings from pure gold he had found there himself, and one day, while working in the water, a chain caught this ring and knocked it off his finger. He dived, but could not find it, being unable to see in the muddy water, so a day or two afterwards got a couple of blacks to come along and try. They were also unsuccessful, though trying a long time, so the ring was given up for lost. However, on the Saturday afternoon, when work was done, my father, feeling sad about the ring because of its associations, said to Collins, “I will try once more for that ring, the water is low, and I know just where it dropped.” With that in he jumped, and the first thing he felt when touching bottom was the ring on a stone. The young fellow’s delight can be imagined. This reads somewhat like romance, but ’tis all quite true, and one of my father’s daughters now wears the ring, he having had it cut to fit her finger. To go further with its history, I may add the ring was lost a second time. For months it lay on a lawn, and when hope was given up, it caught one day on the prongs of a rake a gardener was weilding.
Yet another piece of water-work will I mention. This time the scene was the Bremer River, and the first Roman Catholic Church was being erected at Ipswich. A punt laden with shingles and freestone for the building sank one night when only about twenty yards from the bank-having sprung a leak. Father was sent up with two natives to do the diving, and he first of all went down to find out how the punt lay, so that he could fix the position of the floating punt above. Then poles were put down to enable the divers to judge where to come up safely, the water being muddy, and they took it in turns to get the shingles up (with the help of shear legs). This did not take much time, but the stones were more troublesome, they were heavy-some of them my father could not move when on land, but beneath the water could lift an end, and so get the sling fixed. “One day,” he says, one of the darkies in coming up got under the floating punt, and you could hear him bump! bump! on the bottom. We thought it was a case with him, but he bumped all along the bottom of the punt till he got to the end, then came up. We caught him, and pulled him out, and he was nearly done for, but soon recovered. However, nothing would induce the poor fellow to go into the water again, so the job had to be finished without him.”