another nine to go. In the meantime, with the Tank Stream hopelessly fouled, townsfolk would have to continue to buy carted water at sixpence a bucket.
With the second report, Dunne urged his listeners to abandon the expensive postal charges of a certain coach line in favour of the
Gazette
’s rival delivery – which typically cost four pence for a letter to Parramatta sixteen miles west.
The third recounted that:
A curious model of a tunnel through which mailbags might be projected is now exhibiting in Glasgow. According to a calculation, twelve minutes would be sufficient to transmit the letter bags from London to Portsmouth, a distance of seventy miles.
Now, the Patterer produced the journalist’s deft jingle:
The coaching men might think it droll,
Should Mr Busby bore a hole,
And
The Gazette
send English mails,
Right through the Earth from New South Wales!
To another group Dunne announced that Messrs Bones & Tyndall, of Pitt Street, had colonial porter at eight shillings per dozen bottles, or six shillings if the patron brought empty bottles.
And Mr Edward Hunt, of George Street, would ‘pay thirty shillings reward for the apprehension of Joseph Smith, his runaway apprentice, a native lad six feet high’.
During all this time, the Patterer nursed high hopes for one particular story, which, however, required a certain, rather specialised audience. It was of a medical nature and now he saw he could try to make his first sale to a pedestrian pacing towards him.
‘Ah, my dear Doctor!’ he cried, hailing Peter Cunningham, a ship’s surgeon who had regularly plied the convict route from Britain. ‘Listen to this intelligence from London: An interesting operation was performed on Hoo Loo, a Chinese, at Guy’s Hospital …’
‘I can read for myself, you know, Dunne,’ interrupted Cunningham, more amused than irritated.
‘But,’ replied the Patterer, ‘
you
will pay
me
sixpence – less than the price of the paper – hopefully even a shilling, only if
I
read it to
you
!’
The doctor laughed heartily and dug around in the fob pocket of his brocade vest for a coin, and indeed it emerged as a shilling. ‘Oh, very well.’
Nicodemus Dunne continued where he had left off: ‘The operator was Mr Aston Key and he was assisted by Sir A. Cooper, Dr Addison and Mr Callaway, Mr B. Cooper and other eminent men.
‘About sixteen ounces of venous blood was lost in the dissection, but the patient appeared to suffer greatly from the loss of that quantity, which would not have affected a European. Brandy was frequently administered, but failed to rally the action of the heart. Eight ounces of blood, kindly given from the arm of a gentleman present, were transfused into the dying man’s veins, but all proved unavailing, and the poor fellow in a short time expired.
‘The operation had excited surpassing interest, and crowds of professional gentlemen and others were unable to obtain admission to witness it, the theatre being full to overflowing.’
Peter Cunningham’s eyes were bright with interest. He nodded approvingly. ‘Perhaps it will be a commonplace one day, but blood is something we know damn’ all about. I don’t see that Chinese blood cannot safely mingle with European; it may just be that some, from anyone, may not be compatible.
‘We really don’t understand much more than they did 200 years ago – almost to the year, by the by – when William Harvey revealed the magic of the concept of blood circulating in our bodies. I used the word “magic” just now deliberately, because people then (and there are still many today) were superstitious about toying with blood and saw it as a dangerous thing to do.
‘That pioneer, Harvey, had to experiment in secret – and on animals rather than humans – for fear of being accused of sorcery.’
‘How is it done, transfusing?’ asked the Patterer.
‘I don’t know all that much about it,’ admitted the doctor. ‘I have heard of the blood being
With the second report, Dunne urged his listeners to abandon the expensive postal charges of a certain coach line in favour of the
Gazette
’s rival delivery – which typically cost four pence for a letter to Parramatta sixteen miles west.
The third recounted that:
A curious model of a tunnel through which mailbags might be projected is now exhibiting in Glasgow. According to a calculation, twelve minutes would be sufficient to transmit the letter bags from London to Portsmouth, a distance of seventy miles.
Now, the Patterer produced the journalist’s deft jingle:
The coaching men might think it droll,
Should Mr Busby bore a hole,
And
The Gazette
send English mails,
Right through the Earth from New South Wales!
To another group Dunne announced that Messrs Bones & Tyndall, of Pitt Street, had colonial porter at eight shillings per dozen bottles, or six shillings if the patron brought empty bottles.
And Mr Edward Hunt, of George Street, would ‘pay thirty shillings reward for the apprehension of Joseph Smith, his runaway apprentice, a native lad six feet high’.
During all this time, the Patterer nursed high hopes for one particular story, which, however, required a certain, rather specialised audience. It was of a medical nature and now he saw he could try to make his first sale to a pedestrian pacing towards him.
‘Ah, my dear Doctor!’ he cried, hailing Peter Cunningham, a ship’s surgeon who had regularly plied the convict route from Britain. ‘Listen to this intelligence from London: An interesting operation was performed on Hoo Loo, a Chinese, at Guy’s Hospital …’
‘I can read for myself, you know, Dunne,’ interrupted Cunningham, more amused than irritated.
‘But,’ replied the Patterer, ‘
you
will pay
me
sixpence – less than the price of the paper – hopefully even a shilling, only if
I
read it to
you
!’
The doctor laughed heartily and dug around in the fob pocket of his brocade vest for a coin, and indeed it emerged as a shilling. ‘Oh, very well.’
Nicodemus Dunne continued where he had left off: ‘The operator was Mr Aston Key and he was assisted by Sir A. Cooper, Dr Addison and Mr Callaway, Mr B. Cooper and other eminent men.
‘About sixteen ounces of venous blood was lost in the dissection, but the patient appeared to suffer greatly from the loss of that quantity, which would not have affected a European. Brandy was frequently administered, but failed to rally the action of the heart. Eight ounces of blood, kindly given from the arm of a gentleman present, were transfused into the dying man’s veins, but all proved unavailing, and the poor fellow in a short time expired.
‘The operation had excited surpassing interest, and crowds of professional gentlemen and others were unable to obtain admission to witness it, the theatre being full to overflowing.’
Peter Cunningham’s eyes were bright with interest. He nodded approvingly. ‘Perhaps it will be a commonplace one day, but blood is something we know damn’ all about. I don’t see that Chinese blood cannot safely mingle with European; it may just be that some, from anyone, may not be compatible.
‘We really don’t understand much more than they did 200 years ago – almost to the year, by the by – when William Harvey revealed the magic of the concept of blood circulating in our bodies. I used the word “magic” just now deliberately, because people then (and there are still many today) were superstitious about toying with blood and saw it as a dangerous thing to do.
‘That pioneer, Harvey, had to experiment in secret – and on animals rather than humans – for fear of being accused of sorcery.’
‘How is it done, transfusing?’ asked the Patterer.
‘I don’t know all that much about it,’ admitted the doctor. ‘I have heard of the blood being
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