Australian Tales - Setis

“Phoo! poo, poo! What on earth is that?” squealed Mrs. Twist,
suddenly, and at the same time twisting her face into expressive crinkles,
as the boat was passing the red buoy off Fort Macquarie. “Patience me!
what a wicked smell. Did you ever!”
“It is only the main sewer,” said Twist, who, having been accustomed
to work in a London cheap tailoring establishment, was not unacquainted
with peculiar odours. “It is a fine place for fishing, just here, only the
stench is apt to knock one up, especially on warm days like this.”
“Knock one down, I should think,” said Mrs. Twist, with her nose
tightly compressed between her fore-finger and thumb, “It is enough to
kill a currier: and I mean to say it is shocking bad manners of the sewer
makers to empty out their nuisances directly in front of Government
House, and right into the mouth of the main cove in Sydney harbour. For
pity's sake, let us get away from this horrible fume, or I shall faint.”
The wind being now scarcely strong enough to make the boat stem the
tide, the sail was rolled up, and M'Faddle and Twist began to pull, while
one of the boys took charge of the tiller. A discussion then began, as to
where they should land to spend the day. One of the ladies said her
favourite spot was Rose Bay, another said she liked Milk Beach, and a
third preferred Vaucluse. Mrs. M'Faddle had tender recollections of the
first three days she spent in the colony, at the Quarantine Station, and
proposed to go to Spring Cove; but Mr. Twist said it was no joke to pull
that heavy boat nine miles against tide, which opinion Mr. M'Faddle
instantly endorsed, and wanted to land on Garden Island.
“Ha, ha, ha! You are tired already, mate,” laughed Twist, “and I have
been thinking for the last ten minutes that the boat would go just as fast if
you were fast asleep. But you can't land on Garden Island, because the
Government has taken possession of it, more's the pity, for it was a nice
place for picnic parties, and so near home too.”
After a good deal more discussion, it was decided that they should call
at Clark Island, to rest for half an hour, then cross the harbour to
Bradley's Head, there to boil the kettle, cook the potatoes, and make
other preparations for their feast. The two tailors then threw their full
power into the paddles, and at about half past eleven o'clock, the boat
bumped on the rocks of Clark Island, which stopped her instantly. The
whole party then landed, and leaving Johnny M'Faddle to look after the
boat, the others ascended to one of the caves at the northern end, where
they seated themselves, and gave voice to their appreciation of the
refreshing shadow of the rock above them, and the charming natural
grotto which held them all comfortably.
Had any of them possessed even ordinary powers of observation, they
might, an hour before, have seen a heavy bank of storm clouds gathering
above the south western horizon; and had one of the older colonists
reflected a minute, he would have remembered that hot puffs of wind