Waste Lands

If the reader will excuse me, I will say nothing of my antecedents, nor of the circumstances which led me to leave my native country; the narrative would be tedious to him and painful to myself. Suffice it, that when I left home it was with the intention of going to some new colony, and either finding, or even perhaps purchasing, waste crown land suitable for cattle or sheep farming, by which means I thought that I could better my fortunes more rapidly than in England.

If the reader will excuse me, I will say nothing about my background or why I left my native country. The story would bore him and be painful for me to tell. It is enough to say that I left home intending to go to a new colony. There I hoped to find, or perhaps even buy, unused Crown land suitable for raising cattle or sheep. I thought this would help me improve my fortunes more quickly than in England.

It will be seen that I did not succeed in my design, and that however much I may have met with that was new and strange, I have been unable to reap any pecuniary advantage.

As you will see, I did not succeed in my plan. However many new and strange things I encountered, I was unable to make any money from them.

It is true, I imagine myself to have made a discovery which, if I can be the first to profit by it, will bring me a recompense beyond all money computation, and secure me a position such as has not been attained by more than some fifteen or sixteen persons, since the creation of the universe. But to this end I must possess myself of a considerable sum of money: neither do I know how to get it, except by interesting the public in my story, and inducing the charitable to come forward and assist me. With this hope I now publish my adventures; but I do so with great reluctance, for I fear that my story will be doubted unless I tell the whole of it; and yet I dare not do so, lest others with more means than mine should get the start of me. I prefer the risk of being doubted to that of being anticipated, and have therefore concealed my destination on leaving England, as also the point from which I began my more serious and difficult journey.

It is true that I believe I have made a discovery. If I am the first to profit from it, it will bring me a reward beyond anything money can measure. It will also give me a position attained by no more than fifteen or sixteen people since the universe was created. But to achieve this, I need a considerable sum of money. I know of no way to get it except by interesting the public in my story and persuading charitable people to help me. With this hope, I now publish my adventures. But I do so with great reluctance. I fear my story will be doubted unless I tell it all. Yet I dare not tell it all, lest others with more money than I have get ahead of me. I would rather risk being doubted than beaten to my goal. So I have concealed my destination when I left England. I have also concealed the place where I began my more serious and difficult journey.

My chief consolation lies in the fact that truth bears its own impress, and that my story will carry conviction by reason of the internal evidences for its accuracy. No one who is himself honest will doubt my being so.

My chief comfort is that truth has its own unmistakable mark. My story will convince readers because it contains evidence of its own accuracy. No honest person will doubt that I am honest too.

I reached my destination in one of the last months of 1868, but I dare not mention the season, lest the reader should gather in which hemisphere I was. The colony was one which had not been opened up even to the most adventurous settlers for more than eight or nine years, having been previously uninhabited, save by a few tribes of savages who frequented the seaboard. The part known to Europeans consisted of a coast-line about eight hundred miles in length (affording three or four good harbours), and a tract of country extending inland for a space varying from two to three hundred miles, until it reached the offshoots of an exceedingly lofty range of mountains, which could be seen from far out upon the plains, and were covered with perpetual snow. The coast was perfectly well known both north and south of the tract to which I have alluded, but in neither direction was there a single harbour for five hundred miles, and the mountains, which descended almost into the sea, were covered with thick timber, so that none would think of settling.

I reached my destination in one of the last months of 1868. But I dare not name the season, lest the reader work out which hemisphere I was in. The colony had been open even to the most adventurous settlers for only eight or nine years. Before that, it had been uninhabited, except for a few tribes of savages who frequented the coast. The area known to Europeans had a coastline about eight hundred miles long, with three or four good harbours. It extended inland for between two and three hundred miles, reaching the foothills of an extremely high mountain range. The mountains could be seen from far out on the plains and were covered in perpetual snow. The coast was well known both north and south of this area. But there was not a single harbour for five hundred miles in either direction. The mountains came down almost to the sea and were covered with dense forest, so no one would think of settling there.

With this bay of land, however, the case was different. The harbours were sufficient; the country was timbered, but not too heavily; it was admirably suited for agriculture; it also contained millions on millions of acres of the most beautifully grassed country in the world, and of the best suited for all manner of sheep and cattle. The climate was temperate, and very healthy; there were no wild animals, nor were the natives dangerous, being few in number and of an intelligent tractable disposition.

With this bay of land, however, things were different. The harbours were adequate, and the land was wooded, but not too heavily. It was ideally suited to farming. It also had millions upon millions of acres of the most beautifully grassed land in the world, ideally suited to all kinds of sheep and cattle. The climate was mild and very healthy. There were no wild animals, and the natives were not dangerous. They were few in number, intelligent, and easy to deal with.

It may be readily understood that when once Europeans set foot upon this territory they were not slow to take advantage of its capabilities. Sheep and cattle were introduced, and bred with extreme rapidity; men took up their 50,000 or 100,000 acres of country, going inland one behind the other, till in a few years there was not an acre between the sea and the front ranges which was not taken up, and stations either for sheep or cattle were spotted about at intervals of some twenty or thirty miles over the whole country. The front ranges stopped the tide of squatters for some little time; it was thought that there was too much snow upon them for too many months in the year,—that the sheep would get lost, the ground being too difficult for shepherding,—that the expense of getting wool down to the ship’s side would eat up the farmer’s profits,—and that the grass was too rough and sour for sheep to thrive upon; but one after another determined to try the experiment, and it was wonderful how successfully it turned out. Men pushed farther and farther into the mountains, and found a very considerable tract inside the front range, between it and another which was loftier still, though even this was not the highest, the great snowy one which could be seen from out upon the plains. This second range, however, seemed to mark the extreme limits of pastoral country; and it was here, at a small and newly founded station, that I was received as a cadet, and soon regularly employed. I was then just twenty-two years old.

It is easy to understand that once Europeans set foot in this territory, they quickly took advantage of its potential. Sheep and cattle were introduced and bred extremely rapidly. Men claimed 50,000 or 100,000 acres each, moving inland one after another. Within a few years, every acre between the sea and the front ranges had been claimed. Sheep and cattle stations were scattered across the country, about twenty or thirty miles apart. The front ranges stopped the flow of squatters for a little while. People thought the ranges were covered in snow for too many months of the year. They thought the sheep would get lost because the ground was too difficult for shepherding. They also thought the cost of getting wool down to the ships would consume the farmers’ profits. And they thought the grass was too rough and sour for sheep to thrive on. But one after another, men decided to try, and the results were wonderfully successful. Men pushed farther and farther into the mountains. They found a considerable stretch of land beyond the front range, between it and a still higher range. Even this second range was not the highest. That was the great snowy range visible from the plains. The second range, however, seemed to mark the outer limit of land suitable for grazing. It was here, at a small, newly founded station, that I was taken on as a cadet and soon given regular work. I was just twenty-two years old then.

I was delighted with the country and the manner of life. It was my daily business to go up to the top of a certain high mountain, and down one of its spurs on to the flat, in order to make sure that no sheep had crossed their boundaries. I was to see the sheep, not necessarily close at hand, nor to get them in a single mob, but to see enough of them here and there to feel easy that nothing had gone wrong; this was no difficult matter, for there were not above eight hundred of them; and, being all breeding ewes, they were pretty quiet.

I loved the country and the way of life. Every day, I had to climb a certain high mountain and follow one of its ridges down to the flat land. This was to make sure no sheep had strayed beyond their boundaries. I had to see the sheep, but not necessarily up close or gathered in one flock. I only needed to see enough of them here and there to feel sure nothing had gone wrong. That was easy enough, because there were no more than eight hundred. They were all breeding ewes, so they were fairly quiet.

There were a good many sheep which I knew, as two or three black ewes, and a black lamb or two, and several others which had some distinguishing mark whereby I could tell them. I would try and see all these, and if they were all there, and the mob looked large enough, I might rest assured that all was well. It is surprising how soon the eye becomes accustomed to missing twenty sheep out of two or three hundred. I had a telescope and a dog, and would take bread and meat and tobacco with me. Starting with early dawn, it would be night before I could complete my round; for the mountain over which I had to go was very high. In winter it was covered with snow, and the sheep needed no watching from above. If I were to see sheep dung or tracks going down on to the other side of the mountain (where there was a valley with a stream—a mere cul de sac), I was to follow them, and look out for sheep; but I never saw any, the sheep always descending on to their own side, partly from habit, and partly because there was abundance of good sweet feed, which had been burnt in the early spring, just before I came, and was now deliciously green and rich, while that on the other side had never been burnt, and was rank and coarse.

I knew quite a few of the sheep, including two or three black ewes and a black lamb or two. Several others had distinctive marks that let me recognize them. I would try to spot all of them. If they were all there and the flock looked large enough, I could be sure all was well. It is surprising how quickly the eye learns to notice twenty sheep missing from a flock of two or three hundred. I had a telescope and a dog, and I would take bread, meat, and tobacco with me. I would set out at dawn, but it would be night before I finished my round. The mountain I had to cross was very high. In winter, it was covered with snow, and the sheep did not need watching from above. If I saw sheep droppings or tracks going down the other side of the mountain, I was to follow them and look for sheep. On that side was a valley with a stream, just a cul de sac. But I never saw any droppings or tracks there. The sheep always went down their own side, partly from habit and partly because there was plenty of good, sweet feed. It had been burned in early spring, just before I arrived, and was now deliciously green and rich. The feed on the other side had never been burned and was overgrown and coarse.

It was a monotonous life, but it was very healthy and one does not much mind anything when one is well. The country was the grandest that can be imagined. How often have I sat on the mountain side and watched the waving downs, with the two white specks of huts in the distance, and the little square of garden behind them; the paddock with a patch of bright green oats above the huts, and the yards and wool-sheds down on the flat below; all seen as through the wrong end of a telescope, so clear and brilliant was the air, or as upon a colossal model or map spread out beneath me. Beyond the downs was a plain, going down to a river of great size, on the farther side of which there were other high mountains, with the winter’s snow still not quite melted; up the river, which ran winding in many streams over a bed some two miles broad, I looked upon the second great chain, and could see a narrow gorge where the river retired and was lost. I knew that there was a range still farther back; but except from one place near the very top of my own mountain, no part of it was visible: from this point, however, I saw, whenever there were no clouds, a single snow-clad peak, many miles away, and I should think about as high as any mountain in the world. Never shall I forget the utter loneliness of the prospect—only the little far-away homestead giving sign of human handiwork;—the vastness of mountain and plain, of river and sky; the marvellous atmospheric effects—sometimes black mountains against a white sky, and then again, after cold weather, white mountains against a black sky—sometimes seen through breaks and swirls of cloud—and sometimes, which was best of all, I went up my mountain in a fog, and then got above the mist; going higher and higher, I would look down upon a sea of whiteness, through which would be thrust innumerable mountain tops that looked like islands.

Life was monotonous, but it was very healthy, and you don't mind much when you're well. The country was as magnificent as anyone could imagine. How often I sat on the mountainside and watched the rolling hills! In the distance were two tiny white huts, with a small square garden behind them. Above the huts was a paddock with a patch of bright green oats. Below them, on the flat land, were the yards and wool sheds. The air was so clear and bright that everything looked as if seen through the wrong end of a telescope. It was like looking down on an enormous model or map spread out beneath me. Beyond the hills, a plain sloped down to a great river. On the far side were more high mountains, where the winter snow had not quite melted. Looking upstream, I could see a second great mountain range. The river wound through many channels over a bed about two miles wide. I could see a narrow gorge where the river disappeared from view. I knew there was another range farther back, but it was visible from only one place on my mountain. That spot was near the very top. Whenever there were no clouds, I could see a single snow-covered peak from there, many miles away. I thought it was probably as high as any mountain in the world. I will never forget how utterly lonely the view was. Only the little distant homestead showed any sign of human work. There was the vastness of mountains and plain, river and sky. There were marvelous effects in the air: sometimes black mountains against a white sky. At other times, after cold weather, white mountains stood against a black sky. Sometimes I saw them through gaps and swirls of cloud. Best of all, sometimes I climbed my mountain in a fog and rose above the mist. As I climbed higher and higher, I looked down on a sea of white. Countless mountain peaks rose through it, looking like islands.

I am there now, as I write; I fancy that I can see the downs, the huts, the plain, and the river-bed—that torrent pathway of desolation, with its distant roar of waters. Oh, wonderful! wonderful! so lonely and so solemn, with the sad grey clouds above, and no sound save a lost lamb bleating upon the mountain side, as though its little heart were breaking. Then there comes some lean and withered old ewe, with deep gruff voice and unlovely aspect, trotting back from the seductive pasture; now she examines this gully, and now that, and now she stands listening with uplifted head, that she may hear the distant wailing and obey it. Aha! they see, and rush towards each other. Alas! they are both mistaken; the ewe is not the lamb’s ewe, they are neither kin nor kind to one another, and part in coldness. Each must cry louder, and wander farther yet; may luck be with them both that they may find their own at nightfall. But this is mere dreaming, and I must proceed.

I am there now as I write. I imagine I can see the hills, the huts, the plain, and the riverbed. The riverbed is a desolate channel for the torrent, with the roar of water in the distance. Oh, wonderful! Wonderful! It is so lonely and solemn, with sad gray clouds overhead. The only sound is a lost lamb bleating on the mountainside, as if its little heart were breaking. Then a thin, frail old ewe comes trotting back from the tempting pasture. She has a deep, rough voice and an ugly appearance. She searches one gully, then another. Now she stands with her head raised, listening for the distant cries so she can follow them. Aha! They see each other and rush together. Alas! They are both mistaken. The ewe is not the lamb’s mother. They are neither related nor kind to one another, and they part coldly. Each must cry louder and wander farther. May luck be with them both, so they find their own by nightfall. But this is just daydreaming, and I must go on.

I could not help speculating upon what might lie farther up the river and behind the second range. I had no money, but if I could only find workable country, I might stock it with borrowed capital, and consider myself a made man. True, the range looked so vast, that there seemed little chance of getting a sufficient road through it or over it; but no one had yet explored it, and it is wonderful how one finds that one can make a path into all sorts of places (and even get a road for pack-horses), which from a distance appear inaccessible; the river was so great that it must drain an inner tract—at least I thought so; and though every one said it would be madness to attempt taking sheep farther inland, I knew that only three years ago the same cry had been raised against the country which my master’s flock was now overrunning. I could not keep these thoughts out of my head as I would rest myself upon the mountain side; they haunted me as I went my daily rounds, and grew upon me from hour to hour, till I resolved that after shearing I would remain in doubt no longer, but saddle my horse, take as much provision with me as I could, and go and see for myself.

I could not help wondering what lay farther up the river and beyond the second mountain range. I had no money, but if I could find land suitable for farming, I could borrow money to stock it. Then I could consider myself a made man. True, the range looked so vast that a suitable road through or over it seemed unlikely. But no one had yet explored it. It is wonderful how often one can find a path into places that look inaccessible from a distance. One can even get a road through for packhorses. The river was so large that it must drain a stretch of country farther inland, or so I thought. Everyone said it would be madness to take sheep farther inland. Yet only three years earlier, people had said the same about the country my master's flock now covered. I could not keep these thoughts out of my head as I rested on the mountainside. They haunted me on my daily rounds and grew stronger by the hour. At last, I decided that after shearing I would no longer remain in doubt. I would saddle my horse, take as many provisions as I could, and go and see for myself.

But over and above these thoughts came that of the great range itself. What was beyond it? Ah! who could say? There was no one in the whole world who had the smallest idea, save those who were themselves on the other side of it—if, indeed, there was any one at all. Could I hope to cross it? This would be the highest triumph that I could wish for; but it was too much to think of yet. I would try the nearer range, and see how far I could go. Even if I did not find country, might I not find gold, or diamonds, or copper, or silver? I would sometimes lie flat down to drink out of a stream, and could see little yellow specks among the sand; were these gold? People said no; but then people always said there was no gold until it was found to be abundant: there was plenty of slate and granite, which I had always understood to accompany gold; and even though it was not found in paying quantities here, it might be abundant in the main ranges. These thoughts filled my head, and I could not banish them.

But beyond all these thoughts was the great mountain range itself. What lay beyond it? Ah, who could say? No one in the whole world had the slightest idea, except those on the other side, if anyone was there at all. Could I hope to cross it? That would be the greatest triumph I could wish for, but it was too much to think of yet. I would try the nearer range and see how far I could go. Even if I did not find land, might I not find gold, diamonds, copper, or silver? Sometimes I would lie flat to drink from a stream and see little yellow specks in the sand. Were they gold? People said no, but people always said there was no gold until it was found in abundance. There was plenty of slate and granite, which I had always understood to be found alongside gold. And even if gold was not found here in quantities worth mining, it might be abundant in the main ranges. These thoughts filled my head, and I could not banish them.