Grandfather’s Yarns.

Southern Cross, Volume 2, Issue 32, 3 November 1894, Page 7

Grandfather’s Yarns.

(All Rights Reserved). No. 2V. $ GOVERNOR McQUARRIE. A TRAGIC EPISODE. MIKE HOWE THE BUSHRANGER. A GHASTLY SIGHT. SCHOOL-BOY TROUBLES. “ Grandfather, you promised to go on with what you were telling us last night about Governor King,” said Ered. “ Oh, I told you all about Governor King, 1 think, boys, but I’ll tell you about Governor McQuarrie. He was sent out in place of Governor King, and had a great deal more power, too. Martial law was. enforced for a time, hut I think that was only to show what he could do. “ Governor McQuarrie was a good man, though, and did*a great deal for the country. At first the people disliked him because he called in all the papers that Governor King had made out—grants of land, free pardons, emancipations, etc., and cancelled them all.

“ There was such excitement in Sydney— -everybody expected to lose their all, and I don’t know what they •weren’t going to do; but in a few days they had their papers returned to them —this time made out in Governor McQnarrie’s name.

“The Colonel who came out in Colonel Johnson's place was a great racing man. He brought out several race horses and a jockey and two grooms. The, Colonel’s name was O’Connell, and he was very popular, being very good-hearted and openhanded, The Governor gave the regiment a piece of ground just outside the town for a racecourse ; the soldiers turned out and stumped and levelled it, and made it as smooth as a table, and there they had the regimental races for a long time, hut as the town grew of course it didn’t do to have the racecourse so near, so the ground was planted with trees and converted into a public garden known as the Lover’s Walk. Last time 1 aaw it, it was beautiful, and there were carriage ■ drives winding through it.

“ Shortly after the McQuarries came to Sydney my little brother s third birthday came round, and my mother put him into knicker-bockers. In the afternoon Charlie rushed into the road to meet my father and show him a set of whistling bells that Lady King had sent him. Just as he reached the road Lady MsQuarrie’s carriage dashed round a corner. People shouted to the coachman, but he paid no heed, and before any of the onlookers could reach the child the foremost horses had knocked him down and two wheels passed over his body. The crowd soon stopped the carriage, then dragged down ‘ Joe the coachman, ’ as he was called, from the box.

“My father couldn’t even pick up his own child—it was all he could do to protect the coachman, as the crowd were mobbing him. They would have killed him if they could; but my father told them that they would be doing him the greatest kindness by going quietly away, as he couldn’t go while they were likely to molest the coachman, who, as it happened, was drunk. So the people contented themselves by letting loose the horses, and dragging the carriage to Government House.

“ Meanwhile Lady McQuarrie had picked Charlie up and carried him into mother, who when she saw him fainted; and then I remember the doctor came and said that death had been instantaneous; and a few days afterwards I remember going to the funeral and standing by the open grave holding my father’s hand. Years afterwards, when we lived in Hobart-

town Lady McQuarrie often came to see my mother, and she always used to cry and blame herself for my brother’s death. She was a very good woman, and most kind— everybody liked her.

“After Governor McQuarrie had been in Sydney.ahout eighteen months my father resigned. He was coming into Sydney one night despatches, when he was caught in a violent thunderstorm, and he became stone deaf .in one ear, so he considered that he would not be alert enough tor his work after that. .«/ '

“He had a good deal of property both in Sydney and Hobartown, besides a large mob of cattle which Governor King had given him. As the Sydney property consisted of several town houses which my father let at good rents, we went down to Hobartown to live. My father had nothing to do now, so being what is termed a horsey man he went in largely for training. “ When we first went to Hobarttown we lived in a house out by the gaol, standing alone in a large field. It was rather a lonely place, and my mother didn’t like it. The gaol had no wall round it then.

“ Every morning some children used to go to the gaol with their little shovels and some she-oak embers would be given to them to start their tires with.

“ One morning I was walking along with some of the little boys who came past our house, when we saw » man with a knapsack on his arm talking to some soldiers. We didn’t take much notice of the man, but presently he walked after us, and asked if we’d like to see what he had in his knapsack.

“ Of course we all crowded round him, thinking it was something funny he had to show us. He knelt down on the road, opened his bag, and to our horror lifted out a man’s head by the hair. We all shrieked and ran — fire shovels and embers alike forgotten. I turned round and saw three soldiers rush at the man, and cover him with their bayonets. “ I heard afterwards it was the head of a man named Mike Howe, and there was a big reward out for him. He was a desperate character, was Mike Howe, and the police had been out after him for a long time. This man had surprised him somehow and managed to take him, and was then on his way to Governor tSorrell to claim the reward. “ What was his name ?” asked Jack. “ Well, we didn’t stop to enquire his name, Jack —we were all too frightened by what we saw, and it was a ghastly sight to show children. Such a villainous-looking face, with eyes and mouth gaping open. “The man who took him had several hundreds paid him and his passage to any port of the Queen’s dominions. He went to England, ran through his money, and was transported again within three years. “ Soon after that we went to live in Collins street, and much to my disgust I was sent to school. A Mr Fitzgerald kept the school, and he was harsh and cruel. Of course he had a lot to do —he had to teach boys of all sorts and conditions, ages and sizes, and he had to write the headings to all our copy-books. “ But then again we all used the same book —‘ The universal spelling book,’ and all the punishment we received our parents took it for granted we deserved. But now-a-days if a child hears the word ‘ stick,’ be goes home and tells his parents, and they are up in arms in a minute, though I must own that sometimes we got a little too much of Mr Fitzgerald’s stick. “ Often the boys could have said their lessons all right, but they were too frightened, and lost their wits completely. One morning I’d had a sound thrashing from him, and in the afternoon when I went up to say my spelling I could hardly stand. I was only a very small boy then, and there I stood quaking in front of him. I handed him the book and he glanced at it. Spell trot, sir,’ he thundered. ‘ T-r-o-t-t,’ I stammered.

“ £ I’ll teach.' you to t-r-o-t-t, you young idiot,’ he roared, and round and round the table and desks I ran and he after me. The other boys were dying to laugh, but they daren’t. At last he caught me and I didn’t feel much like laughing then I can tell you. “ One favourite m«ide of punishment he had was to stand the boys out at the door with a dunce’s cap about two feet high on their heads and a Bible in each hand, held straight out at arm’s length. And it was punishment too, every one that passed in the street could see you and would laugh ; and then again it was very painful to keep your arms straight out for long, and every now and then he’d come sneaking out behind the boys and if they had let down their arms they would get a crack that would send the books —and them too—flying. “ One day I saw Mr Fitzgerald give a boy named Billy Mansfield a terrible thrashing, and he was as innocent as could be of what he was accused. ' Mrs Fitzgerald had been hunting round one day when she found a letter to a girl whose father kept a baker’s shop, and Mrs Fitzgerald declared that Billy had written the letter. In reality the letter had been written by a hunchback called Johnny French, and we could all see that by the writing, and so could Mr Fitzgerald, but he wanted to thrash Billy, and thrash him he did, “ Years afterwards Billy Mansfield and I went together to Johnny French’s funeral he and his father were buried on the same day. They were the first to be buried in the Presbyterian Cemetry in Hobartown. They had such a pretty church, too, the Presbyterians, built of pure white free stone. Some first-class Scotch stonemasoms had come out to the Circular Head Company in Sydney, but there was not work enough for them all, so some of them came down to Tasmania, and amongst other things they beilt this church. There was some splendid masonry both inside and out of the building, and it was much admired,”