Newcastle on the Hunter River, 14 May 1844

My dearest brother-in-law,

My trusted mare has carried me back for over 600 English miles and I toured some of the strangest parts of the colony on my way. From Brisbane town in Moreton Bay I went to see several interesting spots that hold visible coal depots. They are covered by sandstone rock and it appears that the entire area extends over coal depots. However, the coal and sandstone are broken in various places by several rather curious mountains and mountain ranges, which I also visited, and which contain the same rock that I had already found in the Glasshouses and which German geologists have named domite, since it usually forms mountains resembling domes. Thick shrubbery covers the foot of some of these ridges. These thickets differ from the mountain thickets that I examined in the Bunya Bunya district, however. They are called rosewood scrubs, since an acacia whose wood has a rose- or violet-like odor grows so well there. There is a different type of acacia in the westerly plains, which the settlers call “myall” (A. pendula), that has hanging branches like a weeping willow; its wood also emits the loveliest violet-like odor, which is frequently noticeable when one approaches the myall shrubs. I, however, discovered a different, rather peculiar type of tree here. It grows to a height of about 45’, is 5/4’ thick at its base, three feet up swells to a width of 6/4–7/4’, and then shoots up into an elongated tip. Its foliage is very light, its crown unsightly. When attacked with an axe, it turns out that its trunk is so soft and spongy that the axe easily and deeply penetrates it. The young wood is as juicy as a cabbage core. It is edible and makes for a complete meal for a hungry stomach. As you can tell from my description, the shape of the tree somewhat resembles a French bottle, although the bottleneck is extremely elongated. The settlers therefore named this tree bottle tree. Its leaves are pale green, long, and lanceolate. I have failed to find either flowers or fruits, although I myself cut down a tree that had a circumference of 5’. From the area of the Brisbane I climbed through a high mountain pass to the Darling Downs, a high plain 1600’ above sea level. This pass is called “Cunningham’s Gap,” since the botanist Cunningham was the first to discover it. — The view from this pass toward the east was extremely varied and picturesque. I never saw anything like it in Europe, with isolated mountains in remarkable formations bathed in the loveliest crimson fog as the sun was setting behind the main range, while the far-off mountain ranges were lost in fainter and

fainter hues of blue, and the steep slopes of the main range, hidden in darkest shadow, lay before me like a giant amphitheater. A cascade plummeted 300’ down into a glen. —

At night I had the misfortune to lose my mare with the foal. She had served me as a packhorse and carried my papers and the pieces of rock that I picked up. I searched for her for eight days, yet to no avail. I therefore had to load all my belongings onto my other mare and continue my travels on foot. — I went to visit a compatriot, Mr. Friedrich Bracker from Mecklenburg, who oversees the flocks of sheep of a Mr. Bolton, and I made his dwelling the center for my explorations. The Darling Downs are expansive, grass-covered, treeless plains, crisscrossed by rolling mountain ranges that are covered by a very open forest. The ridges, plains, and climate offer the most perfect conditions for sheep farming as well as livestock breeding, and Bracker’s flocks of sheep are true examples of their kind. His sheep are Saxon Merinos, whereas most Englishmen crossbred those with an English breed of sheep, the Leicester sheep. He claims that this crossbreed ruins the wool, although the body of the sheep much increases in height and weight since the Leicester sheep is a very large breed. To give you an idea of the extent of sheep farming across the Downs and Moreton Bay and the speed with which it has expanded, I will only say that, according to trustworthy sources, exports from Moreton Bay already totaled £50,000 (35,000 Thaler) this year, although Moreton Bay has only been used as pasture land for two years, and the Downs for only 4–5 years. There are about 4000 head of cattle, and horses breed just as rapidly. — I rode about 90 miles in a northwesterly direction across the Downs. Extremely expansive plains (25 miles wide, 50 miles (English) long) stretch along the northern bank of the Condamine. This river appears to belong to the large river system that flows southeast toward South Australia and empties into Lake Alexandria. — Along the banks of several streams I found fossilized bones of gigantic animals that appeared to have been built much like kangaroos. The lower mandible is especially common; it contains two very long, horizontally arranged front teeth and four very large molars, each with two transverse ridges and a kind of heel. None of the large animals of the known continents display this dentition, especially when it comes to the front teeth; yet many of the indigenous animals have similar formations. — I found the teeth of 3 other true kangaroos, and those bones

were accompanied by clamshells, like those that still live in the river caves. The living conditions of these animals could therefore not have differed too greatly from those prevailing today. Yet such gigantic herbivores must have required a lot of water, and most likely lakes and swamps drying out caused their extinction. Similar animals presumably still exist in the wet interior of Australia between the tropics. All of the fossilized bones that I found were formed in accordance with the Australian type of animal and I doubt whether the elephant bones which were said to have been discovered in Australia, truly belong to this continent.

From the Downs I rode southward to New England, which has an even higher elevation than the Downs. It is supposed that the highest part of New England has an elevation of 3000’ above sea level. This plateau harbors the sources of the waters that flow westward to the Darling and to Lake Alexandria, whereas the easterly streams plummet from high cascades toward the eastern coastal lands. I went to the falls of the Apsley, which are 3–500’ high. Some of the rivers have eaten a long channel through the shale mountain ranges, for the actual coastal lands are still almost 20 miles removed from the main cascades. All of New England is covered with flocks of sheep and herds of cattle. 50,000 sheep graze on this plateau, and yet it is perhaps not even 10 years old, that is, 10 years ago it was still an unknown wilderness through whose forests only the black man roamed. By now the clans of the blacks have almost completely melted away, at least their independent spirit has been broken and they content themselves with the morsels that fall off the white man’s table. And this is the way it will be wherever European civilization suddenly and without warning comes into contact with the savages—and this is how it was everywhere! It often pained me to think, when I found myself among mighty clans, of the not-so-distant future when many of these strong individuals will have been pierced by a white man’s bullet, many will have been dragged to an early grave by malicious illnesses, and finally the remaining ones, ailing and decrepit, will subsist as beggars near the houses of whites or lust after intoxicating beverages in front of the public inns of newly founded cities. If it is impossible to civilize these black children of nature or even to familiarize them with the basic tenets of civilization, then I am too much a friend of my own race and would prefer a well-populated, well-governed country of whites to a great aimless mass of blacks squandering their lives. In the predominance of Caucasians we see the same law of nature that determines that the doe will follow the strongest buck.

The inhabitants of New England live quite comfortably, whereas the settlers in the Downs and around the Moreton Bay District are still satisfied with the simplest wooden shacks. Many of the young men are beginning to marry, and womenfolk introduce a feeling of respectability, pursuit of domesticity and peaceful neighborly relations, and calm reasoning into the minds of many of these youngsters, who indulge in debauchery and drinking when they return to the coastal towns from the bush, much like sailors who return to port after a long journey at sea. An almost exclusively male population in an expanse of perhaps 600 miles is a highly interesting but not very satisfactory state of affairs. Nowhere else is it as evident why God carved Eve out of Adam’s rib. The laborers, shepherds, and herdsmen are still for the most part people who were sent here on account of their misdeeds and crimes but have since been granted their freedom. Few of them are married. They have no wife to feed, no children to provide for, no relatives to consider. They only live for themselves! And since they are neither given to serious thoughts about the future nor higher thoughts about the present, their energy is dedicated to pursuing immediate pleasure—whenever they can indulge in pleasures. As soon as they arrive at an inn they forget about their master, their work, even the very punishment they will incur for neglecting their duties; they regard the innkeeper as their father, his wife as their mother, those two are the only ones that welcome them with kindness and open arms. Thus they stay here until they have spent the last cent of their wages on drink, which fortunately does not take that long, and then they return to their duties to work yet again for another year, only to repeat the cycle.

From New England I went to Port Stephens, which belongs to the Agricultural Company, a company that obtained 2 million morgen of land on the condition that it would promote agriculture and cattle and sheep farming. At first it selected the land surrounding Port Stephens, so as to have access to a harbor, yet because it proved little suitable to sheep farming the government granted the company 1 million morgen of land in the interior, on the Peel, where there are excellent pasture lands. However, Port Stephens would be highly suitable for wine-growing, if only the company were to pay attention to this branch of cultivation. — It is for the best that you did not behold me in the flesh when I rode into Newcastle after having lived in the bush for so long. My trousers were so torn that a red woolen shirt which I was wearing as a frock hardly masked the trousers’ weak spots. People took me for a shepherd, a bushranger (robber) and so forth. — You can imagine how pleasant it felt to once again put on clean clothes. But I must end this letter now; I am healthy and hope that you are as well. Farewell and do not forget

your affectionate and loving brother-in-law and brother
[No signature.]

P.S.S. [bottom of last page:] Convey my greetings to dear mother and all the others.
[top of first page:] Today I received your letter of 23–24 July 1843. Thank you very much for the pleasant news!! I received a letter from the Hilgenfelds dated 9 July. I will answer as soon as I arrive in Sydney!!

Archer’s Station, 2 February 1844

My dearest brother-in-law,

You will learn from my letter—which I sent your way included in missionary letters going to Germany—that I have been worrying quite a bit about the long-delayed answers to my letters. Who could have assured me that the Baltic Sea had not flooded the sandy plains of Pomerania and the March and carried away all my loved ones to deposit them, perhaps, on the coastal areas of Sweden? After all, the prophecy that London was to be swallowed up in March or May of 1840, made many a heart quake—how are the weak minds of the antipodes supposed to master the growing apprehension? And how can an antipodean grasp all the wonderful news of which you inform him in your dear, long-awaited letter of 29 April 1843? All of you healthy! Adolph married! A railroad in Fürstenwalde! Daguerreotype in Cottbus! I almost feel like that 200-year-old sleeper, who, when awaking upon his field, sees a steam-powered plough rushing toward him on which the farmhand smokes a cigar and reads the papers. Although I adhere to the maxim “better to have than to desire,” I acquiesce to your postponing mailing a Daguerreotype family portrait until my return to Sydney; I am looking forward to it as if it were a moment of reunion and I only hope that your faces conform to my reckoning—that sorrows have not carved deeper furrows than the natural passing of time warrants. Here we also saw the comet that you observed in Germany; it was one of the most magnificent celestial phenomena that I have been able to witness in my entire life and I could not get enough of gazing at the wonderful stranger, the fast wanderer, which was gliding on its vast orbit through the unfathomable space between the bright constellations of this deep dark blue sky and was lost to the blue night behind the stars of Orion. It was first sighted on 3 & 4 March and my straining eyes glimpsed the last muted gleam of light on approximately 11 April. Aside from the comet’s main tail (a), a lighter tail (b) appeared, which pointed away from it downwards and westwards at an acute angle; about like this: [small diagram]. It was many times longer than the tail, yet I only noticed it on the second evening. I am curious to learn whether this stripe was observed in Germany as well and how the astronomers explain it. I am still in the Moreton Bay District, although against my will, since the constant rains and the rising streams and waters are preventing me from returning home. You will have learned from my previous letters that this district differs greatly from the rest of the colony. The people here have almost too much rain, far too much for sheep farming – whereas the other parts of the colony suffer from drought. Then again, you have to distinguish the swath of land, about 6 miles wide, that runs along the coast and is exposed to regular ocean winds, which habitually carry saturated ocean air westward across the adjacent landscape between 10–11 and 3–4 o’clock. Along this stretch of coast, harvests are more dependable, although they also suffer during very dry years. The gardens commonly produce a high yield of peaches, figs, pomegranates, apricots, and grapes. — Vines thrive extraordinarily well, although the quality of the resulting wine has not yet proven to be very good. It is a pleasure to rest one’s eyes on the fresh green of vines and peach trees

after the woodland’s monotonous gray-green. The Hunter seems especially suited for planting vineyards and last year it produced almost 2000 quarts of wine and then some—which according to the experts are among the best wines produced in the colony. Potatoes do not flourish as much; the best are imported from Van Diemen’s Land; yet I have eaten nice European potatoes in the Moreton Bay district. All vegetables flourish admirably during the rainy season. Perhaps they even grow too much. Melons of varying quality, water melons, pumpkins, and cucumbers sprout everywhere in abundance—indeed, the pumpkin is more or less this colony’s potato and one joke goes: a native-born girl (Currency) can be distinguished from an immigrant English one (Sterling) by serving her a potato and a pumpkin. The native-born girl will first eat the pumpkin, whereas the English girl prefers the potato. The pumpkins are superb, big and mealy, they don’t spoil as quickly, and grow deep inland, around the hut of the herdsman and shepherd when all other vegetables would succumb to drought. In Moreton Bay “the sweet potato” (Convolvulus batatas) is being cultivated—a type of bindweed with potatoes or tubers. This plant produces high yields, tastes like a sweet, somewhat watery potato and often reaches a weight of 17 lb. Bananas and cane sugar also thrive here, yet the latter requires too much attention and work to be beneficial to the colony at the moment, since labor costs are so extraordinarily high here. — Some time ago I received a request from the French Museum to send to Paris a collection of the different types of wood found in the colony. I have tried to fulfill this request and have collected about 130 pieces of wood in this district, 1’ in length and 1–3” in diameter. If you consider how few types of trees form our German and native forests, you will be quite amazed when I tell you that that about 120 of these trees can be found within the radius of half a mile. 100 of these belong to the dense and fertile mountain and river vegetation, whereas 20–25 compose the open forest. Unlike at home, this forest cannot be named pine, fir, or oak or beech forest after the dominant species of tree, but those 25 different forest trees are evenly distributed— however, with some species predominating depending on the composition of the soil; the ground beneath the trees—which is usually covered with lingonberry and blueberry bushes in our oak forests—here nourishes predominantly a type of grass that was named kangaroo grass, either because it is prime nourishment for kangaroos or because, like wheat and oats, it reaches such a height that the grazing kangaroos barely manage stick their heads above it if they sit up on their hind legs and tails. — This grass ripens in October and November and the forest floor then takes on the appearance of a sweeping, continuous oat field. The dry season occurs in November and December and brings with it bushfires, which often extend for miles through the forest and clear its floor of grass and dry wood. The remaining ashes act

as a fertilizer for the young, sweet grass which springs upon the first rain shower and on which kangaroos, flocks of sheep, and herds of cattle graze with delight. Hundreds of miles are covered with fires during the hot season; it starts on the spot where a black man had settled for the night, when, upon his departure, he removes a hotly-glowing stick from his campfire and leaves it smoldering against a piece of tree bark so as to be able to create a new campfire instantaneously upon settling in again; or the traveling white man sets nearby dry grass on fire; or settlers systematically burn the old grass to generate fresh pasture for their flocks of sheep and herds of cattle. I have been told that at times fires are started by two tree trunks or branches rubbing against each other in the wind. I have never witnessed this and believe that this rarely happens, if there is even any truth to it at all. The blacks know to generate fire through rubbing or rather swiftly rotating a stick in the cavity of another; yet they find this too cumbersome and prefer to always carry burning sticks with them. The bushfires are oftentimes very picturesque, especially at night. A long, wavy line of fire, beyond which thick smoke whirls upwards, moves now slowly, now faster along its entire length against the direction of the wind, which feeds it the necessary oxygen; it encounters a shrub and engulfs it, crackling: it eats into the old trees, which are usually hollow on the inside, and as it (perhaps over the course of several years) finally reaches the tree’s cavity, it blows through the entire height of the tree—as it would do in an oven—and smoke curls out of the ends of broken branches until the fire itself reaches them and now blows forth from them as if this were a furnace. Burning branches fall down, and the flames engulf neighboring trees and quickly race across the foliage and flare up in a massive fire. In the end the tree loses its balance and topples over ablaze, its hollow branches break and splinter, and as fresh air gains easier access to the charred materials on the inside every broken branch becomes the center of its own lively fire. At night I have found myself near and even in the middle of these fires. Trees were toppling in every which direction, from all sides flames crept closer. If the grass is not too high one can jump over them; in high grass, when the flames are blazing high, it precarious. The greatest danger comes from toppling trees or when one is asleep at night. — Whereas fire reigns supreme in the forest from the end of November to the beginning of January, floods dominate during the end of January and in February. Frequent heavy thunderstorms occur even before Christmas, which are often accompanied by heavy rains. These thunderstorms hail from westerly areas (especially between S West–N West). In January, light steady rains frequently lasting three days, with intermittent heavy showers, follow in the wake of these thunderstorms. Winds either blow gently from the east or the air is completely calm. The showers then increase in frequency and severity, taking on the character of tropical torrents, and last 5–6 days or for weeks. Water quickly runs down the mountainsides into the ravines, which swell and carry it to the streambeds between high banks that had been almost dry up to this point. The water rises to the top,

spills over, and floods the neighboring plains and hollows. The barely flowing creek is now a magnificent, raging river, which [now] surrounds, erodes, and frequently uproots the thick trunks of trees growing in the riverbed. Yet since the water plunges sharply downwards it drains as quickly as it came and returns to middling levels within two to three days. Traveling now becomes very arduous. The ground is soaked; horses sink in deeply, carts get bogged down in muck that reaches their axles, and fierce gusts of wind more easily uproot tall forest trees, whose roots usually lie shallowly in light soil, which, when soaked by rain, no longer offers sufficient support for the tree. — Usually a sudden strong wind blowing from the west puts an end to this rain. Although wind changes direction from west to north, east, and south in Europe, in New Holland it follows the opposite path, from west to south, east, and north. — This is usually the case, and if it deviates, it usually corrects course back again. In Moreton Bay and Wide Bay I have noticed, however, that easterly winds suddenly change into westerly ones, as if two streams of air were flowing atop one another, of which the upper, westerly one at times sinks down.

There were plans to send an expedition from Sydney to the northwestern part of New Holland (to Port Essington), to investigate the interior of the country. I would certainly have accompanied this expedition, yet the government, or rather the present governor, opposed it on the grounds of insufficient funds. However, this opposition is attributed to personal motives, since Sir Thomas Mitchell, who was supposed to lead the expedition, is no friend of Governor Sir George Gibbs. As I am away from Sydney, I know nothing more concrete about this at the moment. It is likely that such an expedition will take place sooner or later. Everywhere I enjoyed the utmost hospitality and my present friendly host is Mr. David Archer, who owns sheep stations here. He is from Norway, where his father lives, who, however, is a Scotsman. I have encountered many young men who speak German and who, almost without exception, come from good families and are well-educated, although the lonely life in the bush has made some of them forget their good manners. Houses are commonly rough-hewn shacks covered with tree bark. A number of forest trees are easily split and their bark peels off in large sheets (6’ long, 6’ wide), so that the two utmost necessities for the construction of dwellings are at hand everywhere, or just about everywhere. — I will return to Sydney in 8 days and am currently in the best of health. One of my mares had a foal; my pointer bitch had 2 young pups.

Convey my greetings to dear mother, to Adolph and my new sister-in-law, to the Barths and to those friends in Cottbus who remember me. Greetings to Fettchen and your children from your loving brother-in-law,

Ludwig Leichhardt

Moreton Bay, 27 June 1843

My dearest mother,

I have already completed long journeys in these colonies—I have seen much and endured many trials. Alone in isolated forests or high mountains, I have often wrapped myself in my woolen blanket by my nightly fire and directed my thoughts to you and to all my loved ones at home. Your son is living a most remarkable life. Poor as he is, he struggles with the circumstances as valiantly as he is able, and again and again a helping hand comes when prospects seem most dark. Think of a young peasant in jacket and pants on a small black horse, a woolen blanket and satchel strapped across his saddle, a heavy hammer on the saddle horn and a smaller one in his pocket, and you will have fairly accurate vision of your dear son as he rides across the forest of Australia. Besides my horse, a white pointer is often my only companion. — When my goal is to make progress forwards and the landscape does not have anything remarkable to offer, I ride for 5–6 German miles. If the region is notable, I pause, give my horse a rest, and wander about the area in order to look about and collect whatever seems interesting to me. The settlers are generally very hospitable. They are typically young, unmarried men who own 500–1500 head of cattle, which they aim to increase as much as possible. The individual settlements are about 4 miles from each other and consist of several huts made of planks, which offer sufficient protection from wind and weather in this mild climate. — Some of the cattle are very lovely specimens, and I have never eaten such good beef or seen such fat beasts during my travels through Europe. — Other regions are covered with flocks

of sheep. Many thousands of sheep wander over the hills and plains of New England and the Darling Downs. These regions are particularly suitable for raising sheep, and often 2–3000 sheep may be kept in a single herd. This makes sheep farming much more profitable, as a shepherd’s wages are so high. They receive 140–190 Rtl. However, you must take into account that their needs are comparatively expensive. In the inner regions of the colony on these cattle or sheep stations, they live entirely off of beef or sheep; in addition they eat a kind of unleavened bread, which is called damper, and which, after the dough has been well kneaded, is baked in fresh ashes. Tee is consumed in unbelievable quantities, for a pitcher of tea is drunk with breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It seems to serve as the soup. On rare occasions they have pumpkins, which grow quite well and are very mealy here. Although the people have as much meat as they can eat—and each man eats nearly 2 lb a day, as a rule (they receive 12 lb per week)—on the other hand they do not have the vegetables which you take pleasure in. Potatoes and cabbage are quite rare, for the heat of the summer typically destroys all the plants. I have met a number of Germans and I am pleased to say that the German wins the affection of his neighbors everywhere because he works hard and is content with modest means, and because he is self-sufficient. — Several of the Germans are highly regarded as shepherds, and another was a wine-grower. Here in Moreton Bay I am living at the German Mission, which consists of good, upright people who have endured much in their attempts to convert the blacks, but have sadly made little progress. They are all married and together number 7 families at present with

22 well-raised children. I feel at ease among them, for it is far too seldom that one meets such virtuous people in this colony. — Although the blacks show little inclination to become Christian or to concern themselves with religious matters, they are often quite intelligent and shrewd. This is particularly the case when the children have been taken from their parents at a young age and have received a separate education. The black clans are dying out quite quickly at present and often there are only 2 or 3 individuals left in a clan that once numbered more than 100. In some areas they cause great damages for the settlers by killing cattle with their spears or driving away flocks of sheep and killing the shepherds. — About 100 miles to the north a ship with a number of oxen on board was wrecked about 8 years ago. One bullock swam to the shore and thrived wonderfully on the rich pasture. The blacks had never seen such animals and the mighty bullock filled them with wonder. They came from near and far to catch a sight of the unknown monster and there were many plans made for killing it. But as soon as they approached the bullock charged and drove them away. At last the white settlers reached these regions. They were quite familiar with this fat beast, and one bullet sufficed to slay it. It was extremely fat, and one gentleman who had tasted of its meat could not stop praising its tenderness.
I don’t know if I have written to you about how I was once in great danger when a wild bullock attacked me. I was alone in the woods—and just barely managed to save myself behind a tree. He attacked me multiple times; I gave him a blow with my hammer,

this seemed to cool his anger, and I dashed away, ducking behind one tree after another. — During this episode I lost my good hammer, which had accompanied my through France, Switzerland, and Italy—although of course this was greatly preferable to losing my life.
My health is sound, sounder than ever. But people have started to tell me that I look older than before—and the white hairs are becoming more abundant. Perhaps I would have had more difficulty enduring the hardships of travel if I had not always attempted to live a pure and abstinent life and to always remain worthy of the love of my dear mother. If you loved the boy and the youth, who, after all, sometimes caused you sorrow in spite of himself, you would love the man even more, in whom the passions of youth are gradually becoming calmer, even while he strives to preserve the joyful heart of a child. — Let us hope that we will see each other once more beneath the sky of the old world. Until then may God continue to grant you health and happiness. I would so like to hear from you—and probably letters from you are already waiting in Sydney. But the inland regions are not connected to Sydney by a regular postal route, and since I am constantly changing my place of residence, it is impossible to receive letters. Yet I might hear from you today even, for a steamer from Sydney has just arrived at Moreton Bay, which I expect to have letters from my friends in Sydney. I have the good fortune to have found a staunch friend in this country who supports me in any way he can; he might be William’s deputy, sent by the dear Lord to me when William remained behind in Europe. From William, my dear friend and brother, I have not heard anything for some time. Even so, I am sending him this letter to pass on to you.

Now adieu, dear mother. Give my greetings to all, from your dearly loving son.

Ludwig

Glendon, 16 January 1843

My dearest brother-in-law,

I received your letter of condolence at the beginning of December 1842. I cannot tell you how much the death of our dear sister Mathilde pained me. Yet I thank you for the gentle and diplomatic way in which you broke the terrible news to me. — You filled my mind with a whole host of memories of home; with tears in my eyes I accompanied you step by step on the well-travelled road from Cottbus to Trebatsch; I was so filled with melancholy about how everything has changed that the last, grievous message simply made the bucket overflow and I wallowed freely in my grief. Yet on the other hand I was glad to know that Adolph has taken possession of our father’s property. I was happy that Barth has extended a helping hand to him in this and that, by the same token, our dear mother can finally move into the residence reserved for her after waiting so long. May Adolph only be fortunate in choosing a wife who will treat mother well, so that her remaining days will not be marred by an unkind daughter-in-law.

After I had lived in Newcastle for about 8 weeks and from there had undertaken excursions in all directions, I bought a horse and thus, excellently fitted out, rode up the Hunter River. Whenever I encountered steeper hills I left my horse on good pastures and climbed the hills to examine their formation and the rocks of which they consist. A few shirts, a tea kettle, 1 £ of tea, and 2 £ of brown sugar were all I brought to sustain me. The settlers, who usually accorded me a friendly welcome, supplied me with damper, a kind of bread made of unleavened dough which is baked in hot ashes, and meat, and once in a while milk and eggs. In case I had to sleep under the open sky in the bush I carried a woolen blanket, in which I wrapped myself and then laid down beneath a tree. I camped out in this manner along the seashore, where the roar of waves lulled me to sleep, and within isolated woodlands, in which kangaroos grazed around me. — People wandering the forests of New Holland have nothing to fear from wild animals; the largest carnivorous animals are wild dogs the size of jackals which, although they do great harm to sheep, do not dare attack humans. The solitude of the forest, in the quiet of night beneath a brightly sparkling firmament, leaves an extremely deep impression on a lonely traveler — and I will never forget some of the nights of this sort. Yet the forest does alternate with open, cultivated regions, as is the case at home. Now and then in the outback, one finds close to a settler’s hut a small area cleared of trees for growing a little wheat or maize. Yet for the most part the settlers are busy with livestock breeding or sheep farming and buy their flour in town. The drought has lasted an extremely long time; the highly-praised banks of the Hunter River had barely enough grass to nourish my horse scantily. The entire region appeared as if it had been scorched. About 5 miles from Newcastle there is Maitland, a much more important city of

about 10,000 inhabitants. Although the beginnings of cities can be found higher up, they frequently hardly even qualify as villages, albeit with better dwellings. Considerable vineyards have been established in several places. The vines do exceedingly well in the most oppressive of heats. The leaves are always fresh and green, the grapes are numerous and large, while the seeds are usually smaller and further apart than I have seen them in the best wine regions of Europe. A great wine has not yet been pressed, although many have tried. — Yet the wine is quite drinkable. While a Mr. Walker Scott welcomed me into his home in Newcastle, I am entertained here in Glendon, about 50 English miles away, by his brother Mr. Helenus Scott, who owns vast property together with an older brother. Approximately 80,000 morgen of land belong to him, on which 9000 head of cattle run more or less rampant, and a great many flocks of sheep are driven about by shepherds. In the past, many shepherds were convicts; nowadays convicts are no longer brought to the colony and free immigrants do their jobs. Shepherd is usually the lowest rank at which an immigrant begins. He receives a salary of about 175 Rtl. (25 £) as well as room and board. If people would be content with this and try to make their settlements comfortable by planting small gardens and preparing a bit of land for farming, then they could live quite happily and free of worries with large families. Yet the immigrants’ minds are so filled with thoughts of great riches, which they want to acquire as quickly as possible, that they think of nothing except how to secure other employment and higher wages. Consequently, they are reluctant to pick up a spade because they do not plan on staying as it is, so that they spend their free time doing nothing and migrate from place to place and master to master, and in this way harm themselves and their employers. For the constant change of servants is extremely bothersome, since each new person has to acquire experience. — This anxious striving forward, this fondness for speculation, has been perceived as a peculiar trait specific to the English and that it would be very advantageous to convince German families to immigrate, who, used to domesticity as they are, would be eager to greatly increase their standard of living on this fertile soil. While the man would tend to his master’s affairs, his wife and children would look after the family business and in this way would gradually benefit both themselves and the landowners. I recognize the logic of this; yet whole families must emigrate, not just young men who long for home amidst the bleak forest, and who would always think only of making as much money as would enable them to return home as persons of independent means. I have frequently spoken with settlers about this matter. They are specifically seeking shepherds: yet in the regions where our best sheep farmers live there is no one who is even the slightest bit inclined to emigrate.

Most emigrants come from the Rhine region, from Hesse, Würtenberg [sic] and Baden; yet sheep farming plays less of a role there — and although vintners are much sought-after, they are relatively speaking less in demand than shepherds. — This part of the colony is extremely hot and subject to long droughts, which frequently destroy the wheat harvest that usually only turns out well 1 year in 3 to begin with. Yet all fruit trees thrive exceptionally well. The fertility of peaches, apricots, figs, nectarines, grapes, pears, apples is immense — although I have to at least partially exclude pears and apples when it comes to this incredible fertility. The lack of water is a big disadvantage. There are very few springs, very little running water. There are deep holes (waterholes) in which water stands year-round, and which are often brackish. However, artificially constructed brick containers would help redress this ill. This is also the reason why such astounding quantities of tea are consumed in this colony. Plain water cannot be enjoyed without harm. It is therefore boiled with tea and acquires an astringent taste. Every servant and even the shepherds therefore receives a weekly ration of tea and sugar (¼ lb of tea and 2 lb of sugar and 10 lb of meat and 12 lb of flour per week) — The sheep, which already roam up to 500 English miles inland in flocks of 500 to 1500, are small; their fleece is less thick, their wool less curly; cows produce less milk and the milk makes less butter; a cow commonly yields 1½ lb of butter per week when times are good. With regard to this point I must highlight, however, that calves are not weaned but share their master’s milk. Everyone is constantly striving to increase the size of the herds and neither male nor female calves are killed. When they are a few months old, they are branded with the seal of their owner and can then run around the vast enclosures to their heart’s content. These enclosures, which frequently encompass 1000 morgen, are very expensive; yet without them cowherds would become a necessity and their high salaries would leave little in the way of profit.

The Hunter River, which appears so enormous at its mouth, turns into an insignificant rivulet about 19 English miles higher up. Yet its banks are very steep and the torrential rains quickly fill it; the lack of bridges therefore means that in the winter one has to wait long periods of time before crossing the river becomes possible. For the most part, the rivulets are simply chains of puddles that retain a bit of water in the summertime. This lack of water, which seems to afflict the entire continent of New Holland at least to some degree, causes every trace of moisture to be absorbed when winds from the northwest or west sweep across the interior, and means that those of us on the east coast get the full heat of the earth exposed to the sun blowing on our faces.

When this happens, the heat is unbearable; sweat runs down one’s body in streams; all items of clothing except for shirt and pants are discarded and one would gladly take off those as well if decency would permit. Tree leaves desiccate, young crops are often lost, fruits almost bake on the trees. Yet since evaporating sweat in turn has a relative cooling effect, the heat is not felt to be as great as it would be in a wet climate, as prevails in the East Indies, for example. This is also the reason why the heat is less harmful to the body and people here suffer from fewer diseases than in the East Indies. The recent hot days have nonetheless made me a bit rheumatic. We had hot temperatures of 39–40° R (120° F), which exceeds blood heat by 9 degrees.

During my last journey on foot I caught a young kangaroo, which now affords much amusement. You know that the mother carries the young in a pouch until they are quite advanced in age. Now, if the animal is being chased and finds itself in great danger, it lifts the young one out of the pouch with its front legs and throws it overboard, so to speak. This is what happened to mine. It was so innocent that it jumped head-first into a bag which I held in front of it, probably believing that it was returning to its mother’s pouch. — Ants are extremely numerous in this country; you can find some as big as wasps, endowed with a similar stinger, while others are almost microscopically small, only the size of a grain of sand. — Termites construct cone-shaped dwellings of yellow clay that reach heights of 5 feet, or fill hollow trees with their cells — Magnificently colored parakeets are the main enemies of grapes and fruit; they fly around in flocks of 7–12, or even more. The cockatoos destroy fields of maize, on which they land by the hundreds.

Farewell my dear brother-in-law and my dear sister, give your children a kiss from me, and convey my greetings to mother and the Barths, Adolph and the Hilgenfelds

Most affectionately,
your Ludwig

Newcastle, 10 November 1842

My dear beloved mother,

How can I let the today pass without thinking of you, without being with you and adding my well-wishes to those of all of your children and grandchildren who have the advantage of living near you and can shake your hand and hug you! — O mother—the incessant appetite to learn drove me away from you and although my home remained continually present in my memories, they were only memories after all; I often lamented my fate which robbed me of the benefit, of the joy of living with you, although it opened the wide world for me. Yet at the very least you can take delight in one thing that not everyone enjoys; you have a loving soul on the other side of the earth which thence daily prays for your happiness to our heavenly Father. —

After I had lived in Sydney for about six months and had studied the city’s surroundings, inhabitants, its state of public affairs, and its way of life, I longed to see other parts of this colony. Remember that Sydney, a city of 42,000 inhabitants, covers a space that is perhaps bigger than Berlin due to the fact that the houses are customarily low-ceilinged and only inhabited by one family. Well now, [imagine] such a city in a young colony scarcely 52 years old, with all the comforts of European life and much livelier trade than in Berlin!! From this city I took a steamship to Newcastle, which is situated about 18 miles to the north, on the mouth of the Hunter River. The steamship typically leaves Sydney at 10 o’clock at night and arrives at Newcastle at 7 o’clock in the morning. This is a small city just beginning to develop, whose scattered houses sit atop the slopes of hills that dip down toward the river. A wealthy landowner, whose acquaintance I made in Sydney, offered me his apartment for the duration of my stay and I have now been living with him for these past seven weeks. Apart from the plants, rocks, and animals that I collected here, I’ve seen something of Australian agriculture. Upstream of the Hunter River there is rich soil that the river has deposited over the years, which yields rich harvests without the aid of fertilizers; yet unfortunately hot winds and the heat of the sun dry it out so much that farms can only count on a good harvest one year in three.

Artificial lakes could perhaps alleviate this water shortage; yet there are such few laborers here, and these few demand such extraordinarily high wages, that larger undertakings of this kind are out of the question for now. Apart from wheat, for the most part they grow maize, which is used as animal feed. You will easily recognize that landowners are hardly inclined to cultivate their land since the flour and grain that is imported from Van Diemen’s Land and South America is less expensive than what they can produce themselves. They therefore concentrate much more on livestock and sheep farming. The flocks of sheep are approximately 100–200 English miles (25–50 German miles) inland; cattle are allowed to roam freely in wide, unfenced swaths of woodland after each has been branded with its owner’s mark. Every year the young calves are caught and branded. Cows are milked only in the vicinity of cities in which butter and milk can be sold. Generally speaking, farmers try to increase herd size and sell the fat stock to the butchers. The animals are almost feral since they have so little interaction with humans. The herdsmen, who only make their rounds to examine the herds from time to time, are all mounted on horseback, and frequently horse and rider are subjected to attacks by the cows and bulls. — It’s different when it comes to the sheep. For this, regular shepherds have to be employed, who must be paid 220–350 dollars in annual wages. Depending on the terrain, every shepherd is responsible for 500–1000 sheep. These are vulnerable to attacks by dingos, which combine the cunning of the fox with the strength of a good sheepdog. The young men who arrive here from England typically come from good families and by and large possess some means. If they are poor, they enter into the services of established settlers for a little while, as accountants or inspectors. After they have saved up some money they move further inland to the as-of-yet unsettled parts and use their own capital to establish a cattle or a sheep farm. As a rule they lease between 1000 and 2000 morgen of land from the government, which provides their herd with ample grazing ground, and pay the fixed price of [50?] dollars annually. — They do not own the land, however, and when it is sold at public auction their claims

on it cease. Once the young man and his shepherd have arrived at the selected spot, he builds himself a hut made of split timber, which he roofs with tree bark. The hut consists of a room in which the settler eats and sleeps and of a fireplace, which is very spacious so as to prevent a conflagration. He has a tin teapot, a few plates, one cup, a couple of spoons. He subsists entirely on meat and a heavy, unleavened wheat-based bread called “damper.” — Flour is mixed with water to produce a dense dough, a huge fire is made with dried tree bark, and once the fire has died down the flattened dough is put into the hot ashes. Tea is almost the only available beverage. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner one drinks tea, sweetened with brown unrefined sugar. If there is no milk to be had, which is usually the case, a beaten egg is added to every cup. If eggs are absent, one has to make do without dairy. — Thus the young man, who perhaps was accustomed to every luxury in England, and on whom perhaps 2 – servants waited hand and foot in his father’s house, lives in profound solitude, surrounded by the bush on all sides; all of his attention is given to his herd. He is frequently in the saddle from early dawn until late at night, seeking escaped cattle or sheep. When he returns to his hut bone-tired, he has to stoke up the fire himself, has to make his tea, and cook his beefsteak or mutton chop. Often he cannot depend on his shepherd for help, because laborers are so rare that these impudent people often have to be treated with the utmost courtesy. Yet despite this hard way of life, this solitude has a particular appeal to a young, robust mind. He is astonished to find how little a person requires to satisfy his bodily demands and how much power he himself has to address any need. The young men often assured me that this self-knowledge, which they perhaps never would have acquired in England, is of more use to them than any riches, and some return to England completely content just with having learned how to live inexpensively. — The ease with which they roam the bush

atop their horses, which are used to wooded areas, the feeling of independence with which this peculiar, this wild life instills in them renders their solitary bark-covered hut dear to them and they often think back to it with quiet contentment after they have returned either to the cities or to England. If I paint a picture of a miserable shack exposed to wind and the elements on all sides then you must keep in mind that we live in a blessedly mild climate here, in which the thermometer never drops below freezing. For almost 8 months straight the sky is continually bright blue, or only cloudy for a few days, and the heat of the sun is frequently extreme. During the hot northwestern winds, the thermometer has been seen to climb up to 39° R (120° F.). Normally it is 16–20° R.

During the winter (April, May, June, July) we usually suffer under heavy downpours; even though extreme drought blights the harvest and often causes thousands of cattle and sheep to die of thirst, the amount of rainfall here is almost twice as high as it is in England or Germany. If the rain falling on the soil could be prevented from running off or evaporating, within one year a mass of water 6 feet deep would cover Australia, whereas hardly 3 feet of water fall on Germany. Yet in Germany this amount is spread out over the entire year, whereas here it pours down in torrents within the space of a few weeks. — When you receive this letter, 6 months will presumably have passed; yet be sure that I think of you as fervently when you read this letter as I do now while I am composing it. Farewell, beloved mother. A thousand kisses, a thousand well-wishes from

Your wandering son,
Ludwig

[P.S.] I have not received a message from you since my departure from Paris in August 1841. You know William’s address. He promised me to write to you. I wish I could spare you the expense of postage.

Sydney, 6 September 1842

My dearest mother,

It has now been a year since I have received any message from you. I wrote letters to you from Paris, from England, and shortly after my arrival from Sydney, which you will surely have received. Every Sunday, when I quietly reminisce about the past, I find myself in your presence, I see you, I hear you and I share your thoughts; but then the whole globe once again moves between us; you return to the beloved homeland whereas I am left to my own devices in a foreign land, where I have to find solace, quietude, and fulfillment within myself. I am not feeling unhappy! For so long I have been accustomed to living amidst nature and finding joy in observing and studying it. The only pain that occasionally weighs heavy on my heart is solely the fact that I am wandering the earth far from you, that I cannot communicate with you more often, even if it is only in written form. I feel that you would want to see me, too; that you, my dearest mother, also yearn to hug your son to your heart as he wishes to hug you—and yet! And yet I cannot at present make any promises for the immanent fulfillment of our wishes. When I was still at home and because of my poverty could not dare to hope to achieve what I am accomplishing now, I believed that I could easily sacrifice everything to satisfy the urge to see the world. God in heaven fulfilled my secret wishes: I received what often the most affluent do not receive; everywhere I found support and was able to pursue my affinity for the study of nature without worries; yet another worry then took hold of me: I always received support but was never independent. William gave me money to go to New Netherland; after arriving here in Sydney I soon found good friends who took me in and saved me from incurring any costs in a very expensive place, in which I would have needed to pay more than 10 Rtl. per week for simple accommodations. I can live here, study here, but I cannot leave this place without finding someone who would take me with him. On the other hand I have made the acquaintance of respectable families; I have often felt favorably inclined toward girls, indeed, I have been deeply in love, yet my dependence has always prevented me from taking serious steps and making my feelings known. So you see that your son is ruled by manifold emotions, by early memories, by the always-burning love for his study of nature, by the impressions of the moment, which are likely to be the most dangerous for him und to prematurely anchor his wandering ship. Yet even if my mind is often restlessly moving, I can still assure you that I believe I have continually improved and that I still feel as innocent as I did the last time you held me in your arms. And for this I thank you! Because when I seek out the source of my moral principles, I arrive at the small chamber in our old house with its tiny window in which you taught us our morning and evening prayers and first introduced us to our heavenly Father.

This spot—where 42,000 people now enjoy all the comforts of Europe—used to be wild, barren scrublands which fifty-two years ago even savage hordes seldom visited; now a mighty city stands here and the entire coast is dotted with cities being born. — The savages have either died out or been pushed back 50–60 miles into the interior and they only rarely come as far as Sydney. Although I am convinced that they will never adopt European culture, they nevertheless display much natural acumen and a lot of decorum and skillfulness. The poise with which a savage man strides through the streets of Sydney astonished me: the females usually are subject to much hardship since the men treat them almost like pack animals. — Sydney is surrounded by sandstone rock and sandy hills, which frequently remind me of the sandy Mark Brandenburg; the plants are not nearly as fresh and green as they are where you live and the landscape appears strangely dull and grayish-green. Dense woodlands and tall trees are almost completely absent here, although they exist in other parts of the colony; the bush is composed of low trees and shrubs which often sport very large, noticeable, beautifully colored flowers. There are indeed few places on earth where so many beautiful plants grow in such a small space. There are snakes in great quantities here; I have already killed two this past month myself; many are thought to be highly poisonous. One sees big flocks of parakeets in all colors here. In addition, a few remarkably beautiful birds with gorgeous coloring and plumage can be found. Your summer is our winter and winters here are mild with lots of heavy rains. Although winters are milder than at home or in England, we nevertheless frequently find the small changes, the damp cold, very unpleasant. The soil, although sandy, is fertile as soon as the required moisture is present; yet in summer long dry spells often thwarts the farmer’s every effort. This drought means that the land is ill-suited for farming and in the past in particular the greater part of the population turned to sheep and livestock breeding. Yet in the past they had access to free labor. The convicts who were transported here from England were forced to work for the colonists. At present, convicts are no longer brought here and free immigrants charge high fees for their labor services. As a consequence, sheep farming generates little profit and land owners who used to be very rich are either going bankrupt or are seeing their wealth diminish considerably. — The colony therefore finds itself in dire straits at present and a lot of people who came here in the hopes of quickly acquiring much wealth have been bitterly disappointed. Yet the man who is able and who wants to work quickly finds employment and can provide ample sustenance for himself and his wife and children. Artists have fewer prospects, as do men of science. Everything here revolves around physical labor!

As far as nourishment is concerned, the local farmer or worker is better off than a farmer at home. He can eat as much meat as he desires, vegetables are less abundant; potatoes are not nearly as good. Living quarters are, however, not so comfortable. Frequently they are but simple huts. Yet the climate is mild. Stoves are not necessary. But then, settlements are far apart. The easy sociability of a village is absent. Escaped convicts roam the streets and rob travelers, who, for this reason rarely carry large amounts of money. I wrote you earlier that rich and richly populated colonies exist in Van Diemen’s Land and in New Zealand as they do in the south of New Holland; that European customs and culture are fully at home here; that Sydney’s main streets are barely distinguishable from some streets in London; that Sydney is 8 times the size of Cottbus (I believe that Cottbus has a population of 5000); that steamships provide regular connections between all places. Abandon therefore all notions of a wilderness! The rich, and even the poor, live in and enjoy greater levels of comfort than the inhabitants of the Mark Brandenburg and you yourselves! In Sydney, public broadsheets (newspapers) are being printed! After I had resided in my detached quarters for a while, I made the acquaintance of an English officer, who invited me to stay with him to save on the very high rent. This gentleman’s name is Lynd. By now, I have already lived with him for more than three months and have good reasons to value him even more highly. — I tried to secure employment with the botanical gardens, yet I did not succeed because I was still too much of an unknown and had been here for too short a time. I could have not only continued my studies in peace, but they would even have paid me for doing so. This would have been too good an opportunity to pass up. Meanwhile, I have made the acquaintance of many highly-respected people and hope to soon secure a permanent position. — I have been tirelessly working collecting this whole time; gradually, as my materials become more organized, I will send you things to publish at home; and if Schmalfuß were to make inquiries at a reputable booksellers, for example Reimer in Berlin, I could perhaps be of use to you by ceding you the honorarium. It appears best to me to present such a publication in the form of letters, such as Raumer’s letters on England or Italy, for example. I am convinced that such a book, if published by a reputable bookseller, would indeed pay for itself. I leave this up to you. Do not hesitate to write me. I have asked William to get in touch with you by letter since communication between myself and William is much easier than it is between me and you. In addition, I could never ignore the expense that my letters create for you!

In a few days I intend to leave Sydney for a while and to go to Newcastle (on the Hunter River), which is situated about 20 miles north of here. Specifically, a prosperous landowner has invited me to visit him and since the area is very interesting I hope to fruitfully occupy my time there. It is indeed doing a favor to country’s isolated inhabitants, who rarely get to see strange faces or even people at all. It is possible that I might stay there permanently, for I have received a few offers which I have not yet considered enough to make a decision. — I am feeling well; yet I am very inclined toward diarrhea, which on occasion extraordinarily exhausts me. This generally happens to everyone who arrives here until one’s constitution has become acclimated to the climate, or perhaps the food, or the water. I was already subjected to this malady in Paris and would probably be dead by now if I had joined the Niger expedition into the heart of Africa, as I had originally planned.

Farewell my dear mother and my dear relatives. Be assured that I always carry you in my heart wherever my feet may carry me. Should I actually remain here for a very long time we might think about having young members of our extended family join me. I would then be surrounded by relatives and they could heartily dedicate the strength of youth to making money. A German tanner came here with me. I found him a position that pays 280 Thaler a year with few substantial expenses. After perhaps 10 years he can return home a prosperous man.

Most affectionately,
Your loving Brother-in-Law and Son
Ludwig

Sydney, 23 March 1842

My dearest brother-in-law,

Vast oceans have I crossed, tempestuous storms have I braved. The sun passed over the crown of my head from south to north and now the entire earth lies between me and all of you, now the time of day, the season, indeed the character of the constellations is different, the south is cold, the north is hot, and the shadow that my body casts at noon falls to the south. I left London on the first of October, 1841; we encountered uncommonly stormy weather between London and Cork; yet the desire to see distant lands was so great that we ignored all dangers and hardships and, shielded by coats and sails, blithely sang songs into the moonlit nights surrounded by the bluster of the storm and the roar of the ocean. Oh, if I could express in words to you how deeply the great spectacle of the ocean’s nature moved me! Pinned to the clear sky, the magnificent constellations rose in the east above the sharp line of the horizon, strode in their exalted serenity across the tossing ocean and gradually sank down in the west. As we approached the equator, the old familiar constellations vanished and unseen, more brilliant ones welcomed us. — Our ship, such a frail work of human hands, often occupied my thoughts and commanded my admiration. About 300 people floated over a fathomless, barren expanse toward a distant home with a feeling of complete security and surrounded by many comforts of life, and for its part this small, populated speck, thrown about by wind and weather, was guided by a compass, a piece of iron barely 3” long, yet as such the most marvelous iron bridge that spans the widest oceans between one continent and the next. — We saw a number of islands, such as St. Antonio, one of the Cape Verde islands, Trinidad off the coast of Brazil, St Paul between the Cape of Good Hope and New Holland, yet we stopped nowhere. Life on board was peculiar. Besides the 250 emigrants, there were 20 independent passengers on board. We almost lived like a family with one another since we ate breakfast and lunch and took tea together; yet we remained separate enough to pursue our own interests in the times in-between. I primarily studied the art of navigation, learned how to determine longitude and latitude, and monitored the changes of the barometer and thermometer. The latter never exceeded 23½ degrees as we crossed the line. In general we suffered more from cold than from heat to the north of the equator and, later on, south of it. Since sailors usually play rough practical jokes when they cross the equator, the captain kept the crossing a secret and we did not know about it until we were already 5° to the south. The sailors customarily baptize passengers who cross the line for the first time, which means that they pour water over them, adorn them with tar beards, etc. — It was inevitable that among 20 people who are constantly around one another various frictions would arise. Moreover, there were some elements among us that that caused continual disquiet. On the other hand this disquiet revealed everyone’s true character and proved of the utmost importance for the study of people. We saw few sea creatures: although the ocean is probably most richly populated, with polyps and crustaceans and worms living at its bottom or having attached themselves to it, and with fish and mollusks traversing its expanses in countless numbers. I often peered from the ship into the ocean, regretting that it was not possible to become more closely acquainted with the wonders hidden some 2–3000 feet below the surface. — Nevertheless, schools of dolphins frequently delighted us, half of their bodies surfacing out of the water; they made their appearance particularly before stormy weather—or the cautious shark, which circled our ship in slow motion and instantly and greedily seized any refuse thrown over board. We spotted and captured large numbers of sea birds, especially the albatross, which with its wingspan of 10 to 12 feet appears to live constantly on the wing, hundreds of miles away from land, resting between the crests of waves at night. 4 ½ months went by (Oct., Nov., Dec., Jan., and ½ of Feb.), before we passed through the two cliffs that form the entrance to Port Jackson. When the pilot approached the ship on a boat rowed by New

Zealanders, I wanted to hug the old, olive-colored cantankerous child of the sea as the first herald of a new world. Port Jackson is a broad estuary full of bays, enclosed by hills and cliffs, which were covered in newly greening trees, thanks to a much longed-for rain, and through which we glimpsed friendly-looking homesteads and mansions all around. For almost 18 months the area had suffered uninterrupted drought. Thirst had brought herds of sheep and cattle to their knees at dried-out watering places. Two days before our arrival, it had finally begun to rain and it continued to rain for 14 days without ceasing. This rendered the first part of my stay a bit unpleasant, but I bore the discomfort willingly since it considerably changed and improved the appearance of the natural environs. 52 years ago savages who had never before seen a white man had inhabited the shores of this port. Now a large city of 42,000 residents, surrounded on all sides by the mansions of its rich inhabitants, has arisen. It is built partly in a valley, partly onto two mountains, regularly laid out, generally with large houses and wide streets. The sandstone rock that dominates the entire area often shows through in the streets and frequently they themselves were carved out through it. I was welcomed cordially in Sydney, and although major capital is necessary to effect anything useful I do nevertheless hope to accomplish my goals in due time. The climate is extraordinarily mild and agreeable, especially during the present season, during which only sudden changes in the weather give cause for complaint. An amazing amount of activity and excessive speculation predominate in this city. A huge number of ships fill the port, they come and go daily to and from England, China, to New Zealand, Van Diemen’s Land, Port Philip and to various coastal towns. Steamboats depart for Hunter’s River, for Moreton Bay, to and from Port Philipp. Every luxury item, every article of convenience is obtainable in Sydney. Well-maintained roads lead to the various cities that are situated further toward the interior of the continent, such as Bathurst on the other side of the Blue Mountains, about fifty miles from Sydney, Liverpool, Windsor on the Hawkesbury River, and so forth. And who brought about these incredible transformations in so short a time? — In 1788, Arthur Philipp brought 850 convicts here, founded the colony, and began to reclaim this land with convict labor. Since that time convicts have been continually sent here, used for public construction projects, or assigned as servants to free settlers. Convicts who had served their full sentence were freed and settled down themselves, indeed even under conditional pardon they were allowed to purchase goods and amass independent riches. The wealthiest men of the colony were convicts or are descendants of convicts. But gradually more and more free settlers have been immigrating and by now about 100,000 reside on Australian soil. Almost all of these emigrants are motivated by the desire to amass a fortune. They plan to devote a few years of their lives to this business in order that they can thereafter return to their homeland and spend the days until their death in quiet enjoyment. Few come here to stay: yet many change their plans once they have become better acquainted with the beauty of this rich country and learn to better tolerate its discomforts. These families of free settlers, who take an interest in the colony and regard it as their home country, are the land’s sole true treasure and they will develop into a mighty people who might outshine old Europe. — In the meantime it is only natural that the current social conditions in Sydney cannot be satisfactory since the community is composed of such inharmonic elements. In the company of former convicts even the most liberal persons cannot help but remember that they are interacting with people who were once capable of committing grave offenses. It is true; they have served their sentence and have reentered society with a clean slate—yet have they truly been rehabilitated, do they deserve our trust? Such considerations, which are surely not without merit, have frequently led the free settlers to regard themselves as a separate and better class—and this attitude has unified the emancipated convicts on the other

side, so that now two parties, two predominantly hostile communities face each other, which hinders the progress of the colony. — In past times, whenever a convict ship arrived at Sydney anyone in need of domestic servants stepped forward, and the number of convicts handed over to the new owners depended on the size of their businesses. The owners had legal custody and great control over these convicts, which they abused frequently. The big advantage was that they did not have to pay anything for these convicts and only had to supply them with food and clothes. — Later, meanwhile, when it was recognized that one should not allow the scum of Europe to be sent to this budding colony anymore, the system of assigning convicts to colonists was abandoned and other convict colonies were founded at Moreton Bay (more to the north) and on Norfolk Island. The former has now been opened to free settlers as well. — When a convict had completed his punishment, meaning that he had suffered servitude for 2 or 3 up to 20 or more years, and if had behaved well, he received a permit and could then pursue his own business under police supervision—with the qualification that another misstep would lead to renewed servitude or imprisonment. Only a few obtained unconditional freedom, and there are wealthy men and heads of families in Sydney who are convicts released on conditional pardon only. Since I have left my native country, I have never felt as at home as I do here. One of my traveling companions was a music teacher, a young married man with no children who was following his brother-in-law to Sydney. Upon his arrival here, he rented a house for the enormous sum of 100 dollars per annum, and since he had a spare room, he invited me to live with him to help him with a share of the expenses. I accepted, my room was furnished simply yet comfortably, and in this way I lived exceptionally contentedly under the circumstances, completely absorbed in my studies. For it has a definite fascination for me to watch this newly developing people, which perhaps in less than a century, much like the United States of America, will break free from England to form an independent state or confederation of states. In such a mild climate, with such a bounteous nature, and under conditions so conducive to trade an energetic people like the English cannot help but achieve greatness within a short amount of time. In Italy I have often sorely missed such a race and I believe that Italy’s condition will not improve until a peaceful settlement of industrious men from the north should occur.
Fruits are to be had in abundance. All kinds prosper here, from our apples, pears, peaches, figs, and grapes to exotic fruits like pineapples, bananas, and coconuts, whether it be in Sydney, which is rather sandy and infertile, or in the distant settlements and towns toward the interior or on the coast. They are, however, very expensive, as are vegetables, whereas meat is extraordinarily cheap, especially at present. Servants’ wages are exceptionally high and even boys earn 56–60 Rtl . per year in addition to receiving food and clothing. — As a consequence, servants lead very independent lives and you have to watch out that they don’t leave you in the lurch. — From time to time convicts have escaped so as to live freely in the wilderness and to get out of work duties. Sometimes alone, sometimes together, these men have attacked travelers and solitary settlements. They only seize money, watches, and similar valuables; however their raids have never or only very rarely involved bloodshed. These people are called bushrangers and the mounted police are so close on their heels that their ventures are becoming increasingly rare and will soon cease entirely on account of the increasing population. Criminals are now treated here in the same fashion as they would in any of our big prisons. Strictly guarded in prison and prohibited from speaking, they are escorted out to work every morning, whether to erect public structures, to build roads, or to clear woods. They no longer interact at all with the

residents. Although you might think from the foregoing that social life in Sydney is not generally the most pleasant due to the abiding antagonism between emancipated convicts and free settlers, there are still a great many cultured families residing here who allow me to forget completely that I am living in a convict colony and so far removed from Europe. During my passage I made the acquaintance of the family of a Captain Marlow, who had been transferred from Scotland to Sydney. They treated me with exceptional friendliness and it appears that they mean to act as substitutes for my own relatives as much as is possible. They introduced me to a large number of people, which confused me not a little since I have always led a solitary life and only ever sought a few acquaintances. As of yet I am not fully able to distinguish who I should avoid and who I should seek out and find the accompanying conventional duties very unpleasant. — I learned here that an expedition into the interior earlier than next year would hardly be feasible and since I hoped to be self-reliant during this time I first thought about taking on a few pupils, which pays well. Yet the unfettered feeling of freedom is so strong within me and the prospect of potential aggravation caused by indolent pupils so goes against my current hopes that I gave up on this idea. There is an art academy here and I will probably give a few lectures on botany and zoology during the winter months. However, I can say nothing much as regards my current situation. Every day can bring considerable changes. You should be content in the knowledge that aside from the distance between us I am content and therefore also happy, although I do not dispute the fact that I frequently become impatient when I cannot accomplish something as quickly and brilliantly as I might wish. This is why I frequently think back to William’s changed plans with pain, since we could have accomplished our goals much more quickly and securely with his means had he shown the slightest bit of interest in scientific endeavors. Even his brother seems to have already left New Holland, since he has not yet answered my last two letters. Thoughts of finding nothing but wilderness, cannibals and brute settlers here particularly frightened William. Had he seen this prospering city, where any and all desirable European luxuries are at hand and which is, moreover, not even without means for a man of science—he would have most likely accompanied me and shared my fortunes. I do not deny that I do not at all like the general ambition to amass riches, this very material orientation that prevents the desire for higher intellectual pursuits from surfacing; yet perhaps I am capable of making myself useful by awakening these desires, and this thought appeals to me. There are several men here who have gained financial independence through a variety of circumstances and take an occasional interest in scientific matters. I had a letter of recommendation for Sir Thomas Mitchell, the surveyor general of New South Wales (the head of the land survey commission). He introduced me to Doctor Nicholson, who, however, is not at all related to my William. — Both are influential men and I hope to gradually gain a foothold.
I have met several Germans here. Mr. Kirchner, a young man from Frankfurt am Main, arrived here two years ago, worked as a clerk in the house of a wealthy businessman, married his daughter, and now engages in his own quite profitable speculations. Mr. Schmidt of Stargardt came to New South Wales as a missionary and now resides in Moreton Bay, about 80 miles north of here. His wife accompanied him; they both seem to be quite content. And so there are a large number of additional compatriots here. Generally speaking, the German is well-respected on account of his modesty and temperance and my native country alone often suffices as a letter of recommendation. — Whatever good and praiseworthy things I may write about this country, which like any other also has its own obvious shortcomings, you would surely follow in the footsteps of this restless wanderer, to enjoy life to the fullest in this delightful climate or to begin worshipping God anew amidst what would appear to you like a new creation. — Then again, you are standing on the shore of a vast, tempestuous ocean and the dangers alone, the imaginary dangers, would hold you back. So, farewell my loved ones, convey my love to my dear mother, for whom this letter is after all also meant, and all the others.

Most affectionately,
your Ludwig