Various
Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 432
On the 1st October, the Rattlesnake was again at Cape York. About the middle of the month, an incident occurred which relieved the dulness of a period of inactivity—the discovery and rescue of a white woman, who had been for some time a prisoner among the natives. We shall abridge Mr Macgillivray's narrative of her story. Her name is Barbara Thomson; she was born at Aberdeen, and emigrated to New South Wales with her parents. About four and a half years prior to the event, she had accompanied her husband in a small cutter, to try to save some part of the cargo of a whaler that had been wrecked on the Bampton shoal. The pilot missed his route, two of the crew were drowned by accident, another was left on a desert island, and at last the little vessel, caught by a gale in Torres Strait, struck upon a reef on Prince of Wales Island. The only two men left on board were drowned in attempting to swim to shore; but the woman was saved by a party of natives, one of whom, Boroto by name, forced her to live with him as his wife, in which position she for a time was exposed to much cruelty, owing to the jealousy of the women of the tribe. She eventually was saved from persecution by a singular belief prevalent among the natives—that white people are the ghosts of departed aborigines—one of the principal among the blacks having persuaded himself that he had found in her his long-lost daughter, after whom Barbara was named Giom. The head-quarters of the tribe were on an island, and the captive frequently saw vessels pass on their way to Torres Strait, but without any opportunity of making her case known. She had heard of the first arrival of the Rattlesnake and tender at Cape York; and on the last visit, had induced the blacks to escort her to within a short distance of the anchorage, they believing that she only wished to shake hands with her countrymen, and would soon return, laden with knives, axes, and tobacco. Although lame, she hurried on, fearing that her conductors might change their mind, and made towards some of the ship's company, who were on shore shooting. Except a fringe of leaves, she was quite naked, and her appearance was so dirty and miserable, that they took her for a gin, or native woman, and paid no attention to her, when she called out: 'I am a white woman; why do you leave me?' She was immediately taken on board the ship, and but just in time to escape from a small party of the tribe, who had followed to detain her.
Mr Macgillivray continues: 'Upon being asked by Captain Stanley, whether she really preferred remaining with us to accompanying the natives back to their island, as she would be allowed her free choice in the matter, she was so much agitated as to find difficulty in expressing her thankfulness, making use of scraps of English alternately with the Kowrarega language, and then, suddenly awakening to the recollection that she was not understood, the poor creature blushed all over, and with downcast eyes beat her forehead with her hand, as if to assist in collecting her scattered thoughts. At length, after a pause, she found words to say: "Sir, I am a Christian, and would rather go back to my own friends." At the same tune, it was remarked by every one that she had not lost the feelings of womanly modesty; even after having lived so long among naked blacks, she seemed acutely to feel the singularity of her position, dressed only in a couple of shirts, in the midst of a crowd of her own countrymen.'
In accordance with her wish, Mrs Thomson was kept on board, and had a cabin given up to her own use; good living and medical attendance soon cured the soreness of her tanned and blistered skin, and the ophthalmia, which had deprived her of the sight of one eye. The black Boroto grew desperate when he found that she would not return to him, and threatened to cut off her head to satisfy his vengeance—a catastrophe which the rescued woman avoided by not going on shore; and she was eventually handed over, in good condition, to her parents on the return of the vessel to Sydney, at the beginning of 1850.
Shortly afterwards, to the great sorrow of all on board, Captain Stanley died, at the early age of thirty-eight. He had brought his scientific labours to a successful close, and might have looked forward to a brief period of honourable repose; but the fatigue and anxiety of a laborious survey in a hot climate, and the news of the decease of his father, the late Bishop of Norwich, depressed him beyond the power of recovery. This was not the only melancholy incident connected with the Rattlesnake's voyage. Mr Kennedy's expedition had proved a most disastrous failure. The party, as we have seen, had landed in Rockingham Bay, and commenced their journey northwards, with a well-appointed caravan of carts, horses, and men, all in high spirits. But more than a month elapsed before they could extricate themselves from the swamps and scrub which cover that part of the country; and at the beginning of November, five months later, they had not advanced more than 400 miles in a direct line: nineteen of the horses were dead, and the stock of provisions nearly exhausted. Mr Kennedy then determined on pushing forwards, with a light party, for Cape York, 150 miles distant, whence relief was to be sent to the eight individuals who were left behind, nearly worn out with fatigue and exhaustion. This party consisted of the leader; Jackey Jackey, a faithful and intelligent native; and three of the strongest of the men. One of the latter accidentally shot himself, and the other two became so weak, that they also were left at an encampment, with as large a supply of provisions as could be spared. After incredible hardships, Mr Kennedy and his companion reached Escape River, twenty miles from Cape York, where they were attacked by a party of natives, while entangled in a scrub, and the gallant leader of the expedition fell a victim to their ferocity. Three spears had entered his body, and Jackey Jackey, in simple but touching words, describes his last moments. 'Mr Kennedy,' he asked, after having carried the wounded man out of sight of the natives, 'are you going to leave me?' 'Yes, my boy, I am going to leave you,' was the reply of the dying man. 'I am very bad, Jackey. You take the books, Jackey, to the captain; but not the big ones: the governor will give anything for them.' 'I then tied up the papers. He then said: "Jackey, give me paper, and I will write." I gave him paper and pencil, and he tried to write; and he then fell back and died, and I caught him as he fell back, and held him, and I then turned round myself, and cried. I was crying a good while, until I got well; that was about an hour, and then I buried him, I dug up the ground with a tomahawk, and covered him over with logs, then grass, and my shirt and trousers. That night I left him, near dark.'
Jackey contrived to evade the pursuers, and a week afterwards got on board the schooner, which was lying in Port Albany, Cape York, waiting the arrival of Mr Kennedy's expedition. On learning the fatal result, the captain sailed, in the hope of saving the men who had been left behind. Of the two who had belonged to the advanced party, nothing was discovered except some articles of clothing, and it was believed they had perished. Of the eight first left near Weymouth Bay, two were still alive, but in the last stage of exhaustion, having endured privations and hardships almost without a parallel.
The brig Freak was subsequently despatched from Sydney, for the purpose of securing any papers or documents, or the mortal remains of any of the unfortunate expedition. Jackey Jackey was on board, and by means of his remarkable sagacity, led the way to the respective camps. The bones of two of the men were found; also some of Mr Kennedy's instruments, portions of his clothing, and his manuscript journal, which had been hidden in the hollow of a tree; but after a minute search for the place where his body had been buried, it could not be discovered.
We might extend this painful narrative did our space permit; but we must now close, with a recommendation of the book under notice to those who are interested in the progress of natural or geographical discovery.
A CELEBRATED FRENCH CLOCKMAKER
The superiority of French clocks and watches has been achieved only by the laborious efforts of many ingenious artisans. Of one of these, to whom France owes no little of its celebrity in this branch of art, we propose to speak. Bréguet was the name of this remarkable individual. He was a native of Neuchâtel, in Switzerland, and thence he was removed, while young, to Versailles, for the purpose of learning his business as a horologist. His parents being poor, he found it necessary to rely on his own energy for advancement in life.
At Versailles, he served a regular apprenticeship, during which his diligence in improving himself was almost beyond example. He became greatly attached to his profession; and soon, by studious perseverance, his talents were developed by real knowledge. At length the term of apprenticeship expired, and as the master was expressing to the pupil the satisfaction which his good conduct and diligence had given him, he was struck with astonishment when he replied: 'Master, I have a favour to ask of you. I feel that I have not always as I ought employed my time, which was to have indemnified you for the cares and lessons you have spent on me. I beg of you, then, to permit me to continue with you three months longer without salary.' This request confirmed the attachment of the master to his pupil. But scarcely was the apprenticeship of the latter over, when he lost his mother and his stepfather, and found himself alone in the world with an elder sister—being thus left to provide, by his own industry, for the maintenance of two persons. Nevertheless, he ardently desired to complete his necessary studies, for he felt that the knowledge of mathematics was absolutely indispensable to his attaining perfection in his art. This determined purpose conquered every obstacle. Not only did he labour perseveringly for his sister and himself, but also found means to attend regularly a course of public lectures which the Abbé Marie was then giving at the College Mazarin. The professor, having remarked the unwearied assiduity of the young clockmaker, made a friend of him, and delighted in considering him as his beloved pupil. This friendship, founded on the truest esteem and the most affectionate gratitude, contributed wondrously to the progress of the student.
The great metamorphosis which was effected so suddenly in the young clockmaker was very remarkable. There is something very encouraging in his example, affording as it does a proof of the power of the man who arms himself with a determined purpose. At first, the struggle with difficulties appears hard, painful, almost impossible; but only let there be a little perseverance, the obstacles vanish one after the other, the way is made plain: instead of the thorns which seem to choke it, verdant laurels suddenly spring up, the reward of constant and unwearied labour. Thus it was with our studious apprentice. His ideas soon expand; his work acquires more precision; a new and a more extended horizon opens before him. From a skilful workman, it is not long before he becomes an accomplished artist. Yet a few years, and the name of Bréguet is celebrated.
At the epoch of the first troubles of the Revolution of 1789, Bréguet had already founded the establishment which has since produced so many master-pieces of mechanism. The most honourable, the most flattering reputation was his. One anecdote will serve to prove the high repute in which he was held, even out of France. One day a watch, to the construction of which he had given his whole attention, happened to fall into the hands of Arnold, the celebrated English watchmaker. He examined it with interest, and surveyed with admiration the simplicity of its mechanism, the perfection of the workmanship. He could scarcely be persuaded that a specimen thus executed could be the work of French industry. Yielding to the love of his art, he immediately set out for Paris, without any other object than simply to become acquainted with the French artist. On arriving in Paris, he went immediately to see Bréguet, and soon these two men were acquainted with each other. They seem, indeed, to have formed a mutual friendship. In order that Bréguet might give Arnold the highest token of his esteem and affection, he requested him to take his son with him to be taught his profession, and this was acceded to.
The Revolution destroyed the first establishment of Bréguet, and finally forced the great artist to seek an asylum on a foreign shore. There generous assistance enabled him, with his son, to continue his ingenious experiments in his art. At length, having returned to Paris after two years' absence, he opened a new establishment, which continued to flourish till 1823, when France lost this man, the pride and boast of its industrial class. Bréguet was member of the Institute, was clockmaker to the navy, and member of the Bureau of Longitude. He was indeed the most celebrated clockmaker of the age; he had brought to perfection every branch of his art. Nothing could surpass the delicacy and ingenuity of his free escapement with a maintaining power. To him we owe another escapement called 'natural,' in which there is no spring, and oil is not needed; but another, and still more perfect one, is the double escapement, where the precision of the contacts renders the use of oil equally unnecessary, and in which the waste of power in the pendulum is repaired at each vibration.
The sea-watches or chronometers of Bréguet are famous throughout the world. It is well known that these watches are every moment subject to change of position, from the rolling and pitching of the vessel. Bréguet conceived the bold thought of enclosing the whole mechanism of the escapement and the spring in a circular envelope, making a complete revolution every two minutes. The inequality of position is thus, as it were, equalised on that short lapse of time; the mechanism itself producing compensation, whether the chronometer is subjected to any continuous movement, or kept steady in an inclined or upright position. Bréguet did still more: he found means to preserve the regularity of his chronometers even in case of their getting any sudden shock or fall, and this he did by the parachute. Sir Thomas Brisbane put one of them to the proof, carrying it about with him on horseback, and on long journeys and voyages; in sixteen months, the greatest daily loss was only a second and a half—that is, the 57,600th part of a daily revolution.
Such is the encouraging example of Bréguet, who was at first only a workman. And to this he owes his being the best judge of good workmen, as he was the best friend to them. He sought out such everywhere, even in other countries; gave them the instruction of a master of the art; and treated them with the kindness of a father. They were indebted to him for their prosperity, and he owed to them the increase of fortune and of fame. He well understood the advantages of a judicious division of labour, according to the several capabilities of artisans. By this means, he was able to meet the demand for pieces of his workmanship, not less remarkable for elegance and beauty than for extreme accuracy. It may indeed be said, that Bréguet's efforts gave a character to French horology that it has never lost. So much may one man do in his day and generation to give an impetus to an important branch of national industry.