From the Windmill Reporter
When the iron tongue of the Experiment’s bell announced to the universe the arrival of midnight, strange and diabolical sounds issued from the neighbourhood of South Brisbane. A combination of roaring, yelling, singing, and huzzaing, mingled with the spirited barking of youthful dogs, and the melancholy howling of the more aged and lazy, created a discord which struck upon the tympanum with an effect more novel than musical; while the ill-regulated explosions of firearms-embracing the whole gamut-assisted in producing an effect, compared with which the eternal “Nix my dolly” of an amateur pianist would be merciful.
A slumbering, and somewhat testy, gentleman was aroused from his peaceful dreams, and rushed from his dormitory, bearing in one hand an ignited taper, and in the other flourishing a formidable club. As he stood, elevated, by a verandahed stage, above the opposing crowd, the faint gleam of an expiring bonfire cast a sickly light upon his indignant features, which, for a moment, awed the ungodly revellers. In stern accents he demanded the cause of this frightful uproar and was informed that the old year was going out, and the new one coming in: at which he retired, taking with him his candle, and also his bludgeon.
North Brisbane was aroused by the beating of a drum. In the pauses of the strokes, you might hear a screaming flute. There was laughter- and a fiddle-and a chatter, and a hum: and no one heard another speak, though nobody was mute. With tramping feet through every street, the wild musicians went; through windows wide, on every side, astonished eyes were bent. Yet there were some on whom the drum had no effect at all; and others, grunting, yawned; and turned their faces to the wall. It might have been fondness for gin that kept half the town in a doze; or horror of shelling out tin-or indolent love for repose; but certainly a chilly welcome met the sleepless coveters of heavy wet; and all unanswered was the hearty shout, that brought the new year in, and kicked the old one out. Now a domestic reminder toll’d something very like one o’clock. Valiantly thunder’d the drum, drowning the flute and the violin. Fading, in distance, away, lost were the sounds on the morning air. Nothing was heard but a snore, drawn through the nasal tubes heavily.
Moreton Bay Courier (Brisbane, Qld.: 1846 – 1861), Saturday 6 January 1849, page 3
Moreton Bay and More 