The Early-time Squatters
Saved by the Natives from Drowning
Mr. Henry Stuart Russell
“Tom” Punished for Smoking
“Ticket-of-Leave ” Men
First Racecourse in Brisbane
Harkaway
Other Early Racecourses
Pranks the Squatters Played Destiny of South Brisbane Changed
First Vessel Built in Moreton Bay
The Parson’s Attempt to Drive Bullocks
A Billy-goat Ringing a Church Bell
The First Election
Changing Sign-boards
Sir Arthur Hodgson
Sir Joshua Peter Bell
The finding of the famous Duramboi and the story of his fourteen years’ adventures among the aborigines has already been enlarged upon in many works. He said he was welcomed by the blacks as one of their number returned from the dead. When the white men were first seen by their dusky brethren they were all supposed to be ghosts or former black men come to life again. All the different tribes had a name for “ghost; ” for instance, with the Turrbal, or Brisbane blacks, it was “mogwi; with the Moreton Island tribe, “targan;” Noosa tribe, “maddar;” and with the Wide Bay natives, with whom “Duramboi” lived, the word was “makuran.” I have already written of the landing of “Duramboi” and “Wandi” in Brisbane, and mentioned the excitement of the early time squatters over the event. These squatters came often to the old home on the Bight-Mr. Andrew Petrie’s. That gentleman had a skillion put to his house, and here they slept, and they were always very jolly and full of fun. Mr. John Campbell writing of these early visits of the squatters to Brisbane says, “There was no hotel in Brisbane then, but we were kindly and eagerly invited by the officers residing there to stop at their houses-in fact, vieing with each other who should receive us. For myself, I went to the late Mr. Andrew Petrie’s, and a friendship then commenced between us which only ended with his life.”
My father used often to swim across from Petrie’s Bight to Kangaroo Point with some of these squatters and two or three blacks. They went for the purpose of fishing there with lines. If they had good luck they would perhaps stay nearly all day. Often they caught lots of bream and flathead, and the natives would then carry these in dillies fixed to their heads back to the other side. One of the squatters was a Mr. Glover, and the blacks could not say his name, but called him “Blubber.”
One day in swimming homewards “Tom” got into a shoal of blubbers, and they stung him so frightfully that he could not swim. He called for assistance to the natives, and they only just came up in time, for he was sinking. Getting hold of the boy, they put him on the back of one fellow, and swam with him to the shore, thus saving his life. Landing, the native who had carried the burden turned and said to Mr. Glover, “My word! Mr. Blubber, your brother very saucy fellow!”
Some of these blackfellows were very comical in their doings and sayings. There was another one of the name of “Billy Bing” (“Bing” meant father), and the squatters used to have great fun with him. He had a very large mouth, and would burst out laughing at them, then suddenly shut his mouth like a snuff box, and pull a long face. The squatters would nearly be ill laughing at this man, especially one gentleman, who would say, “For God’s sake, take him out of my sight!” This was Mr. Henry Stuart Russell, already referred to. Father remembers him well, and says, “He was a great man to laugh.” He evidently had a keen sense of humour, and at times became quite powerless with laughter. He married a Miss Pinnock, niece of a Governor of Jamaica, and sister to Mr. P. Pinnock, of Brisbane, the late Sheriff. Strange that in after years Mr. Andrew Petrie’s granddaughter (“Tom’s” firstborn) should marry this same Mr. Russell’s nephew, the present Major Pinnock.
But to return. One day Mr. Russell said to Billy, “Here, Billy, come and have a glass of grog.” And when he came, “Now, Billy, hold the glass so, and say, ‘Here’s good health gentlemen.'” The squatters all stood round, and Billy, who could not say “health,” took the glass, and this was his toast: “Gentlemen, here you go hell!” Of course, this caused roars of laughter, indeed some of the squatters were so overcome that they rolled about on the grass. Always just the mere sight of Billy was enough to cause amusement. Mr. Andrew Petrie had a slaughter-house, put up in those days, so that he could have a sheep or bullock killed for meat a lot of meat was used when the squatters were about. One day, my father remembers sitting in the killing-house talking to the butcher, and as he sat the youngster enjoyed a pipe he had got hold of, when suddenly in the doorway appeared his father. Grandfather never smoked himself, and he strongly disapproved of the habit in his young son. Many a thrashing “Tom” got for this same habit, but, alas! it did not cure him. On this occasion he was caught and beaten soundly. His screams brought the butcher’s wife, who put in a good word for the boy, who thus made off, still, however, holding firmly to his short pipe. So soon as ever he got into the bush he struck a light with his tinder-box, and had another smoke! In those days there were no matches, and every one carried flint and steel and tinder-box.
Feeling himself ill-used after this beating, “Tom” made up his mind to run away and go to the blacks. So next day he started out to Bowen Hills to their camp, and there, falling in with some of his blackboy playmates, they all occupied themselves in making a new humpy. Before dark he joined in a good meal of fish and crabs, and then when it was time to turn in, repaired with two or three black- boys to the hut they had made. “Tom” had a suspicion that some one might come after him, so he kept his boots on in case of an emergency. He remembers he had a new hat, and this he stuck up in the roof of the hut, so that it wouldn’t get broken. Then he got under a ‘possum rug.
He had been there about an hour when suddenly he heard a great row-barking of dogs, and a running about and shouting of the blacks. All at once he felt his leg grabbed, and he was hauled out by his brother. He managed to get his hat, and then, just as his father came up, got away and ran a off as fast as his legs could carry him all the way home. Going upstairs to his room, he stood there ready to climb out on to the roof should his father come up. However, he heard the arrival and the inquiry if he had come home, and then some one said he had better be left alone, so the boy ventured to go to bed. He was up betimes in the morning, and kept out of his father’s way for a couple of days. My grandfather soon got over his anger though, and always forgave his son. The squatters in those days nearly all had Government “ticket-of-leave” men signed to them for a certain length of time. If they had a quarrel with man, there was no taking him to court, but off would go their coats, and after a round or two master and man would shake hands, good friends again. They were mostly well-born, these squatters, and they were also gentlemen who enjoyed a piece of fun and mischief. Their bullock drays used to come down to Brisbane with wool, and these would be left on the south side, because, of course, there was no bridge or any other way of getting across. Beside these drays the squatters often left a cask of rum with the head knocked in, and a pannikin alongside, for any one who cared to help himself to a drink. They would swim their horses across behind the ferry boats.
The very first racecourse in Brisbane was started by the squatters on the ground now occupied by the present Post Office, etc. I have before mentioned “The Old Woman’s Factory.” This building was empty when the Petries arrived in Brisbane, and there they lived till their own house on the Bight was built, and afterwards it was used as a gaol and court house. Well, the course was from the corner of the old wall surrounding this building (just where the Telegraph Office now stands), down as far as Albert Street, and it was about here that a three-railed fence and a ditch some feet wide were jumped. Then the course continued round towards the Gardens, the same ditch and fence being jumped again lower down; then up round by the R.C. Cathedral, and back to the corner of the wall. The ditch mentioned was cut as a drain to carry the water (for the land was swampy) into a small creek that ran into the river at the present Port Office wharf. The place all round was fenced in in cultivation paddocks, where the prisoners worked.
My father remembers well one race run on this course. Four horses started. When the foremost reached the first fence he tripped on the top rail (no hurdles then, of course), throwing his rider into the mud in the ditch. The young squatter got his nice leggings and all his fine jockey’s rig-out in a beautiful mess. He, however, picked himself up, and catching his horse, mounted and was off again, although the others had jumped all right and were some distance ahead. The next jump was taken successfully, and the squatter overtook the three and passed them, winning eventually with a length to the good. There was great excitement and hurrahing at this. The horse’s name was Harkaway, and he was a black animal with white feet. “The horses in those days were horses,” says my father, ” and could stand a three mile race with ease they were no weeds. Most of the squatters carried the regular jockey’s dress with them, and they were splendid riders.”
When people commenced to settle a little and build, a man named Greenyead built a house at South Brisbane, at Kurilpa (pronounced in English, Kureelpa)-what we now call West End. This man obtained a license for a public house, and the squatters then started a racecourse there. The next one was at Cooper’s Plains, and the next at New Farm.
Father remembers all sorts of pranks the young squatters used to play in those days. When they turned up at the old home on the Bight they slept on stretchers in the addition to the house, and when one of the number was found fast asleep by the others, he would be tied down and then quietly carried out into the bush one hundred yards away, and there left to the mercy of the mosquitoes. A watch would be kept till he called for help, then he was taken in again. The victim was generally one who did not care to join in the fun. He would know, however, that it was no use getting into a “scot,” and he therefore took it all as a joke.
It was not often in those days that a steamer came to “Moreton Bay,” as Brisbane was then called; so whenever one did come it caused quite a stir and excitement. The steamers always anchored at South Brisbane just below the present bridge. On the arrival of one, the squatters would go over to her at night and have some fun. Mr. Russell would sometimes borrow a dress and bonnet from “Tom’s ” mother, and, dressing up, he would then go off arm-in-arm with another squatter, as man and wife, across to the steamer. When there, they would hoist all sorts of things to the masthead in place of the flag, and the skipper would laugh, too, and enjoy the fun. Generally the boat would be cleared of all “grog” before she left for Sydney again.
On the 15th May, 1847, the first vessel built in Moreton Bay was launched. She saw the light at Petrie’s Bight, where the Howard Smith wharf is now, and was a two-masted vessel, with both ends pointed-no square stern. The launching ceremony caused quite an excitement, and amongst those who witnessed it were the military and a party of ladies. To Miss Petrie (Andrew Petrie’s only daughter), a tall, dark, handsome girl of some fourteen summers, fell the honour of christening the vessel, and it is not surprising to know that her brother “Tom” (two years older, who was in everything), was one of those on board at the time. Miss Petrie stood on the shore with a bottle of champagne in her hand attached to the bow of the boat by a string, and as the vessel slid into the water she threw the bottle from her, christening the craft “Selina.” In the meantime, however, the sailors, thinking how lovely a drink of champagne would be afterwards on the quiet, had contrived a trick, and the bottle did not break, but this was noticed, and a crowd gathering round Miss Petrie, got her to go out in a boat and finish her work. The Selina slid into the water with such an impetus that she would have gone right across to Kangaroo Point had the anchor not been dropped to stop her. After she was rigged and finished up she started out for the Pine River, and having got a cargo there of cedar logs, left for Sydney, her builder, a Mr. Cameron, being in charge. But the little vessel was doomed, in spite of the brightness of her birth, and the crew were never heard of again, For a long time the whole thing remained a mystery, then on the 20th October, 1848, she was found on the beach at Keppel Bay, water-logged, and with her mast cut out. The cargo was quite undisturbed, and it was thought that as the crew only had enough provisions to take them to Sydney they had set out and perished at sea through starvation or otherwise. “Poor Mr. Cameron,” my father says, “was a very nice man, and as far as I can remember, he had with him another shipwright and two sailors.”
While on this subject. I may mention an incident which happened later on, and which changed the destiny of South Brisbane. A tree which grew near the spot mentioned, was used as an anchorage for the steamers that is, they were tied to the trunk. A Scotchman, who owned the land, one day for some reason or other, objected to his tree being made use of any longer, and he cut the rope by which a Sydney steamer was tied. After that another place had to be found, and the steamers went down the river to the north side of the stream, so spoiling the chance South Brisbane had of first place. This tree was very large in the trunk, but some of the branches were looped to make room for the balcony of a stone hotel near by.
The following is a yarn my father remembers the squatters telling one another; whether it was founded on fact or not he cannot say :-
A man was once driving a bullock-team either to or from Brisbane, laden heavily with wool or provisions. The roads, of course, were rough in those days, and, coming to a creek, the bullocks would not pull hard enough to get over it. So the man began to swear at them, using all the “swears” he knew. While he was in the midst of this a parson rode up, and, said he to the bullock driver,” My good man, you should not use those words; it is very wrong, and bad words won’t make the bullocks pull any better.” The driver threw down his whip. “You try and see if you can drive them, sir,” he said. So the parson dismounted, and the bullock driver held his horse. Then began a series of pattings and coaxings, and the bullocks doubtless were flattered at the pretty names they were called. They, however, swerved to this side and to that, but they would not pull. The parson tried a long time; and only at last when his patience must surely have given out, “Damn the bullocks!” he said, and flinging aside the whip he had gently stroked them with, mounted, and rode off. Always afterwards this particular bullock- driver felt he had absolute freedom to swear as he liked.
One night the squatters got hold of a billy-goat, and, tying him to the bell rope of the Church of England in William Street, “planted” to see the fun. “Billy” commenced to ring the bell furiously, then the police came along to see what was what, and nearly all the inhabitants of the place- -there weren’t so many-came running from all directions. As the goat moved about, to try and get free, the bell would ring, and the police were very active in running round the building to try and catch the party who rang it. It was dark, and the squatters had used a good long rope, so the goat was some distance off. At last, however, a policeman tripped over the rope and fell. He got hold of it then, and holding on, poor Billy came to him. As may be imagined, he was disgusted when he saw how he had been taken in, and there were the squatters bursting with laughter, but jeering with the crowd, just as though they knew no more than any one else. The police asked if any one could tell them who had tied the goat to the bell-rope, but no one knew, of course.
During the first election ever held in Brisbane the squatters had a cask of ale rolled out on to the side of George Street, opposite Gray’s bootshop, and they had the head knocked in and a pint-pot ready for the people to help themselves. There was a good crowd, and a piper playing his pipes for amusement, and everyone was jolly, helping themselves to the beer. Suddenly a squatter, going behind the piper, stuck a penknife in his pipes. Of course there was a sudden collapse, and a great to-do to know who had done the deed, the poor old piper threatening instant death. There was no more playing of the pipes that day. Later, when the people were all helping themselves to a pot of beer from the cask a very little man, named Shepherd, a tailor, not content with a potful, brought along a bucket in order to carry it away full. As he was reaching in to fill this Mr. Russell caught him by the legs and tilted him head first into the cask. When rescued he was wringing wet with beer-in fact, was nearly drowned, and he went away with the empty bucket amid great cheering.
When people commenced to open little shops in Brisbane and put up signboards, the young squatters used to go at night and change these boards from one shop to another. This had a comical effect in the day time, and caused many a laugh. Often things like that were done, but my father says he does not remember the squatters ever doing anything really wrong or unmanly. Indeed, he maintains at bottom they were very kindhearted, and he wishes there were more of their stamp nowadays. People on the whole, he thinks, were kinder and more honest then than they are now. Every- body knew every soul in the small place, and a workman would leave his tools down alongside his work and come back to find them all right.
Talking of squatters, there is a story told of one which may not be out of place here, though the writer does not guarantee it had its origin in those very early times, but understands it related to later days. The story runs so :- In his travels once a squatter came at night to an inn which was full to overflowing, and could not therefore obtain a bed. Finding he knew one of the gentlemen who had a room there, and who had not yet turned up, he “tipped” the housemaid to lend him a lady’s dress and shoes and other articles of wearing apparel. She wanted to know why he wished for these, but, paying her handsomely for the loan, he soon satisfied her that it was all right. Taking them to his friend’s room, he placed the articles about in prominent positions, then went to bed. His friend, coming in late, made for his room, and opening the door heard a shrill, squeaking voice, which exclaimed in horror, “A man in the room! A man in the room!” Of course, the retreat was hurried and precipitous, and the lady’s laughter was smothered as she thought with delight of the joy of a well- earned bed. Next morning the landlord got a fierce “dressing down” from a gentleman who wished to know how he dared put a lady in the room he had paid for. The landlord was profuse in his apologies, but declared he had. done no such thing. Then afterwards the story came out.
“I was extremely sorry to read of the death of Sir Arthur Hodgson,” Father said, when the news was cabled to Brisbane. “He was one of the good old sort. I knew him well. When he first came to Moreton Bay he came along to our home on the Bight with the other squatters. Many a time, when a little chap, I had a ride on his horse on the racecourse. He used to give me his horse to hold for him, and I would then get on the animal and ride him about till wanted. Sir Arthur was a real goodhearted gentleman, one of the right sort, full of fun. One doesn’t meet too many of his kind in these days.”
Another of these early time squatters or men of “the good old sort,” was the late Sir Joshua Peter Bell-one of Queensland’s best known men. He arrived in 1846, and was a big, fine-looking man. He was a great friend of the blacks, his nature being such that they always placed the greatest confidence in him. His name and that of Jimbour are strongly linked, and I am indebted to his son, the Hon. J. T. Bell, our Minister for Lands, for the illustration of ‘Warraba,” taken at that station. This black, as a small boy, came to Jimbour with the first or second party of Europeans under the late Mr. Henry Dennis about 1843. He came from the Namoi, in New South Wales, and was an exceptionally fine specimen of an aboriginal. In manner, dignity of bearing, and intelligence, he resembled a superior type of white man. He died in 1891.
Another well-known black on the northern end of Darling Downs was “Combo,” who came over from the Big River, in New South Wales, sometime before 1850 with the late Mr. O’Grady Haly, of Taabinga, on the Burnett. The party travelled up from New South Wales, via Logan and Nanango. “Combo,” soon afterwards, went to work on Jimbour, and remained there until his death in 1903. His gin was a keen, shrewd woman, Mary Ann by name, and of their children, two became well known athletes. The eldest, George, a short, thick black, was the crack runner on Darling Downs somewhere about 1875 or 1876, and defeated all local white runners at Ipswich. The other son, “Sambo,” better known as Charlie Samuels, a long, lean boy, after vanquishing all comers at Dalby and on Darling Downs, was taken to Sydney by a Jimbour stockman, and there swept the board. This was at a time when pedestrianism and professional running was at its height. “Sambo” or Samuels defeated the English champion, Harry Hutchens twice, and thus earned the title of champion of the world. On the third occasion Hutchens defeated “Sambo,” but the latter does not hesitate to say that he allowed the white man to win-saying, “the poor fellow hadn’t enough money.”