A Bush Bayard by John Sandes — Read

When the Amphitrite dropped anchor in Sydney harbor, six months after leaving Plymouth Sound, Major Grose went on board her to greet the little band of free immigrants who were assembled on the deck to receive him. There were four families together, and as the big man in his cocked hat, gold-laced red coat, and white breeches inspected them he was well satisfied with the shipment. He even pinched the cheeks of the baby in Mrs. Trevithick's arms playfully and enquired its name. "Tristram Trevithick, your honor," replied. Mrs. Trevithick, dropping a respectful courtesy. The baby had been christened at sea by the captain at the request of its foster-mother, and as Tristram Trevithick it was enrolled with the other three children of the Devonshire farmer and his wife in the list of free immigrants whom Major Grose was deputed to settle on the rich alluvial flats just opened up on the Hawkesbury, or as it was still called by many, the Warragamba, that being the native name.

"One cannot make farmers out of pick-pockets, Captain Gaskett," said the Acting Governor genially to the weather-beaten master of the Amphitrite, "any more than one can make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, but these people are just the sort we want. I would rather have a dozen of them than five hundred soldiers or town-bred ne'er-do-weels to grow the wheat that we need so badly."