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A PATHETIC TALE OF BUSH

We was camped away back on the river, above Menindie, doing a bit of fencing. Prices was all right, and we was as merry as locust, There was seven of us, sittin' around the camp-fire one night. After the tucker was stowed, and with our pipes going strong, Old Bill starts to pitch about using of the stockwhip.

" I mind," said Bill, " going across country with a big mob of cattle from Darling Downs to Melbourne. I weren't too slow with the whip in those days, but, Lord bless yer, boys,
I weren't in it with Old Jim and Stringy Bark, If Jim rounded up a mob and did a bit of cuttin' out you'd all say it couldn't be equalled, let alone beat. But later you'd see Stringy turning 'em when they bolted, and then you'd wonder which was best man. It was all settled one fine day, and never did you see two such ringers as them two.

" We had run the mob down on a arm of land 'tween the 'Bidgee and the Billybong, and yarded 'em. There was plenty of water and plenty of feed, and we reckoned we'd camp for a few days and do a bit of washing. " The second day we was lying, around a mokin' and chaffin', when Stringy -'e fancied 'imself--gets a; bit flash with his whip, and real pretty it were to watch him. Presently 'e
picks out a big gum, with nice, smooth ark, and writes his gal's name, standing 17 foot away and cuttin' it beautiful--better'n he could with a pen. Then he a swings the whip free like and outs, Post Office, Bairanald.'

" We all reckoned Old Jim was done bad, but the game wasn't over by a lot. Old Jim, who had been a strokin' his bit 0' leather affectionate-like, starts and cuts a envelope round the name and address and puts on two stamps N.S.W., two pennies, All of us calculated that Stringy was wiped clean out, but it wasn't so. He comes up again, flourishes his whip, crosses out the stamps, and puts on the post-mark and date. We goes now and gets sorry for Jim, but again we was mistook, The old 'un spots Tom, who had been down for a dip, a comin' up, and be just waits until Tom was at the proper distance, and then-mind yer, boys, without Tom knowing anything about it gives his whip a flip, and takes two sixpences clean out of his trousers pocket.
"Poor Stringy was done, and the new chum, who was makin' the damper, fainted clean away.

" Ah I" sighed Old Bill, with tears of bitter regret stealing down his weather-beaten cheeks, them was the two cleverest stockmen I ever seen. There ain't none like 'em now.

Sydney Bulletin, Border Watch
2 June 1897
http://newspapers.nla.gov.au/
 
A Tale of Strange Tapping's.

(BY W.R.R.)

One of the most revolting murders ever committed by the blacks was that of Baird, on the headwaters of the Batavia River, In 1893.. Baird was a prospector, and, like many others in Cape York Peninsula in those days, he risked his life to push out into new country In an endeavor to strike good gold. With a half-caste for a mate, and by the aid of a blackboy, he succeeded In locating an isolated but rich patch of alluvial, which they worked to good advantage for some months, gradually following the gold into deeper ground, until it was found necessary to sink a shaft to cut the wash at 30 feet or thereabout',. Baird was a man well liked by the Batavia blacks, who would do anything for him; but Finke, the half-caste, was detested by them, for he had made himself obnoxious through his dealings with the lubras. The ill-feeling so engendered culminated in a decision by the tribe to com- pass his destruction. This resolve was conveyed to the condemned man, but, Instead of taking the warning, he thereafter seemed to take a pleasure in inflaming the anger of the blacks by trapping and despitefully using their womenfolk.

So certain were the warriors of their victim that, contrary to their usual custom when meting out Justice, they mustered in broad daylight for the attack. But Finke, having been warned, was on the alert, and, seeing the compact array of warriors in war paint, surmised that the day of reckoning had arrived. Not waiting even to warn his mate, he caught a horse and escaped, leaving Baird, who was unconscious of the Impending danger, working in the shaft they were sinking, some 12 feet underground. The blacks, thwarted in their desire for revenge on the culprit, deter- mined, in accordance with their tribal laws, to make another pay for his misdeeds. It did not matter to them that their selected victim was innocent, or that he was well liked by nearly all the tribe. The aboriginal law, "an eye for an eye," must be obeyed, and so they speared Baird as he stood in the shaft working. When found next day he was still alive, although he was transfixed by three spears. The cruelty displayed, more than the actual killing, roused the ire of the white men in the district, and "justice" was meted out so liber- ally that when the law stepped in only a beggarly remnant of 13 of the once-powerful Batavia tribe survived, and it Is certain that many members of adjacent tribes also fell victims in the indiscriminate slaughter.

A HAUNTED SHAFT.

Until Baird's estate was proved the mine remained exempt, but eventually was thrown open. Several men tried their luck, and sunk shafts all round the old workings, but they got no gold to speak of, and gradually drifted away. But, strange to relate, each and all carried with them the tale that Baird's shaft was haunted. Every night they averred, plainly could be heard the tap tap of a pick, as if his spirit still kept on at the work at which he was engaged when he was struck down. As Is usual in the out- back, "nerves" won, and the ghost was left In possession for a considerable period. Even the blacks shunned the place, and otherwise brave warriors would make a circuit of miles rather than risk the debbil-debbil their minds had conjured out of the reports circulated by those who had heard the mysterious noises.

Some time after this commotion, It was Incumbent that I should visit the east coast In the neighborhood of the Lockhart River, and, as my most direct route lay through Baird's diggings, I determined to Investigate the ghost story. Arriving at the place, I off-saddled, prepared my camp, had tea, and settled down to await developments. It was a glorious night. The moon had reached the full, and shone so brightly that every feature around stood out softly and clearly in the radiance. The weather was balmy, warm, with a gentle south-easterly lapping everything in its embrace, so that covering was unnecessary; therefore no tent obscured my view of the workings. I lay on my blankets wondering what would be the outcome of the venture, and, wondering, fell asleep.

It may have been two hours later that I awoke to find myself sitting up, listening intently. Evidently some sound had penetrated to the brain, and, sub-consciously the mind had reacted on the body. Shaking off the effects of slumber, it was not long before I located the cause of my unrest, for, clearly, across the intervening space, came the tap, tap, tap-then a pause-tap, tap, tap, as if a miner were dressing down a shaft. I distinctly noted that it was not the heavy thud of "sinking," but the lighter pick work used in "squaring" down the sides. It would be ridiculous to state that I v/as stoically indifferent to what was taking place. In reality, I was us near what is called "blue funk" as it was possible to be, and tremors would persist In running down my spine. Fortunately, sanity overcame fear, and curiosity completely established reason. In the afternoon, when I surveyed the ground, I had marked a tree standing beside the shaft. It had been riven by lightning many year s previously, denuded of all but three branches, and these, with the trunk, were hollow and devoid of bark. Now, in the cold moonlight, it looked weird and spectral.

To this tree I crept, thinking to view the proceedings from such a point of vantage; but directly I arrived at its base the tapping ceased, and after an interval I was forced to return to my bed, only to be disturbed again and again, and again and again to be defeated in my efforts to elucidate the mystery. At last I determined to remain In the shadow now cast by the tree and await developments. Ten long minutes passed in stillness, then came the familiar tap, tap, tap, but it was not from the shaft the sound came; it was from a hollow limb of the lightning-blasted tree, and, looking up, I saw the source of the rumours and the cause of my recent perturbation. A great grey owl was sitting on the limb of the tree, beating the life out of its victim-a bush rat, or some such small vermin.

The Sydney Morning Herald
August 1932
http://newspapers.nla.gov.au/
 
Queensland Gold Rush

THE CORNISHMAN THEY NEARLY LYNCHED

By L. V. Atkinson

It started when Sir Charles Fitzroy, shown samples of gold picked up in the neighbourhood of Gladstone, and realising what an aid to colonisation gold would be, instructed Colonel O Connell, the Government Resident, to spare no effort in trying to locate a profitable field.

THAT was in 1854. Yet it was not until four years later that Sir Charles Fitzroys directive bore definite results. Then, a Cornish miner named Chappie, known as The Magpie, be cause of his voluble tongue, commissioned to explore the Fitzroy country, sent back word that he had found what he was after. Dr. Robertson, Government Resident Surgeon, and reputed to have had experience on the Californian goldfields, was sent to report. He, with Chappie and his little party, returned with parcels of alluvial gold gleaned by simple dish-washing. At an excited meeting in Gladstone of the none too prosperous townsfolk. Chappie took charge, out-talking the rest. He plunged into a voluminous account of the geological formation of the country, told of the rich stone he had struck in Canoona, and assured them that it would also be found in other parts.

Fired by his version of the possibilities of this field, the Gladstone folk lost no time in setting out to populate it. So began the great exodus. Soon the little town was almost deserted. The Government Residents boat crews quitted without leave, and so did all the constables but one. In letters to the south news of the discovery went forth. From the southern parts of Queensland they came, so that farms, stations, and villages were abandoned, while others from New South Wales, hot upon their heels, poured into Gladstone by the shipload.

Presently it was found that Gladstone was not the most advantageous point of disembarkation; the Fitzroy River close by the goldfield proved navigable for some miles inland. At the spot just below the bar of rocks, where the vessels discharged their cargo, a tiny business community sprang up. Thus were laid the foundations of Rockhampton.

The goldfield was at that time quite distant from any great centre of population, and lacked roads. To aggravate the situation the field began to show itself inadequate to support more than a small portion of the crowd that had flocked to it. Murmurs of discontent arose among the frustrated majority. They were sullen and disillusioned. Colonel OConnell, with a handful of orderlies under him, was charged with the enforcement of order. But how could such a puny force be expected to control 15,000 desperate men, with the number growing day by day? The police were reinforced, meagrely, by constables from Sydney under Sergeant Griffin a man who was himself destined to die on the gallows for a fearful crime. A Gold Commissioner also arrived, a Mr. Cloote, of Dutch descent, whose father was the owner of the famous Constantia Vineyard at the Cape of Good Hope.

Food supplies were running low, and the corresponding high prices demanded incensed the crowd, for the most part quite without resources. Faced with starvation, they gave way to violence. There were angry meetings, at which men looked for a scapegoat. Presently eyes turned in Chappies direction. He was blamed for all their troubles. He had lured them from their homes with the promise of gold and left them to starve! He had falsely, treacherously reported the find. He was a braggart, an impostor! One day at a particularly turbulent gatheringthe culmination of weeks of unrest a voice demanded a rope for the prospector. Instantly the mob howled for his blood.

They found Chappie at The Bush Inn a rough, makeshift little house on the river bank. He was, in fact, to be found there most of the time, consuming grog and talking, talking, talking. He was rudely interrupted by the mob bursting in and seizing him. They hauled him outside and flung him to the ground. Rough hands fixed a rope around his neck, and, struggling frantically, hopelessly caught in the middle of that human whirlpool, he was dragged off down the road towards a tree offering a convenient limb.

As all seemed lost, Commissioner Cloote came upon the scene, mounted on horseback. Riding round the out skirts of the surging mob. he held up his hand and called for order above the angry din. The mob paused, wavered, and the jostling gradually ceased. The Commissioners gaze settled on the tragic figure of Chappie, bleeding and dishevelled, with his head in a noose. Then Commissioner Cloote acted boldly. He drove his horse forward through the- crowd, and, confronting the ringleaders, he ordered Chappies release forthwith. Intimidated, they did not have the courage to oppose this officer; and so the badly shaken Chappie was delivered into the safe custody of the constables.

The Commissioner asked why they sought to harm Chappie. Voices blamed him for their plight. He had brought them there on false claims. Have you tested these claims your selves to prove they are false? Commissioner Cloote asked them. There was no reply. Some of you, I observe, continued the Commissioner, have picks and shovels. Let those with implements dig where they stand, and we shall see what the earth yields. I think youll find it so unfruitful as to hang a man on its account.

As Commissioner Cloote directed, so they dug. And it happened that the first pan of dirt washed gave nearly a half-ounce of gold. In the mad scramble that followed this miraculous revelation, the mobs grievance against Chappie was completely forgotten, and the ill-used prospector was left standing in the open, supported by a couple of constables. looking white and dazed.

Chappie put a bridle on his garrulity after that, if we except the four hours he spent over the campfire telling his friends of his secret hopes the last night before he vanished into the wilderness. He left to prospect west of the Dawes Range from Glad stone, he declared, on his greatest venture. But it was a venture from which he never returned. He is believed to have been killed by blacks; of this, however, proof is lacking. The situation of the lonely mound marking the spot where his mutilated body was found and buried has long since been lost to us in this vast rugged country.

If Chappie lacked anything, it certainly was not heart. He was a brave adventurer. His views of Canoona were more over-sanguine than really inaccurate, and I am disposed to account him a man of sound judgment despite his weakness for the magnificent which was reflected in his irrepressible enthusiasm. His contemporaries harshly blamed Chappie for all the strife at Canoona and strongly condemned him on the score that out of vanity he exaggerated the importance of his discovery. Yet it should be remembered that when Chappie promised gold for everyone he did not foresee the vast multitude that was to flock to the field, but had in mind the Gladstone folk to whom he made this bold declarationa declaration which at least
in that regard was justified.

Chappies memory has not survived the stress of those boisterous days to become celebrated, yet Rockhampton is directly obliged to him for its birth. That city, in a sense, stands as a monument to his courage and endeavor. He was a true pioneer.

ABC weekly Vol. 10 No. 27 (3 July 1948)
https://trove.nla.gov.au/

To down load full scale map click the link below. But remember if you are entering privet land, please seek permission to do so from the land holder.

Sketch map of Cape York Peninsula gold & mineral fields / prepared at the Department of Mines, Brisbane Q'ld. 1935

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https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-241201530
 
A WILD MAN AT TALLAROOK

[BY ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH.] (FROM OUR OWN REPORTER.)

TALLAROOK, MONDAY.

For the past three years the Tallarook district has been possessed of a wild man of the woods. This mysterious individual was first seen about three years ago by Mr. Thomas Mullavey, a boundary rider on Mr. McKenzie's Mount Piper Station. Mullavey was travelling over the run, and at a rocky range about five and a half miles from Tallarook he observed a stranger, who immediately disappeared in the range. Two years elapsed and Mullavey again saw a strange man near the same spot. This time he came within speaking distance, and Mullavey asked him who he was. The man replied that he was prospecting. Mullavey had a barney with him, and said he suspected that he was a sheep-stealer. The man protested that he was honest, and then Mullavev offered him some work, but he declined. Whilst they were conversing the man kept walking into the range, and when he got into a place on which Mullavey could not follow on horseback he ran away, and disappeared. Twelve months passed before anything more was seen of the wild man, as he came to be termed in the district. On Thursday last, however, a son of Mullavey's was strolling about the haunted spot, and observed a man, who suddenly disappeared from his view. The lad went home at once, and told his father. The strange man was seen on the same day in a different part of the range by a man named Meadows, and on being seen he decamped at a run. On Saturday morning Mullavey went to look for the man amongst the range. At one place he found a spring of water, from which led a beaten track up amongst the rocks. He followed the track, and on looking over a large boulder he saw a slab of broken granite. As there was an artificial appearance about the slab, he went up to it and raised it with his hands. To his great surprise he found a hole underneath with two steps in it, and heard a noise as of some one moving about below. He quickly lowered the stone, and retreated. When some distance away he made a dog he had brought with him bark. This was a signal he had previously arranged to procure assistance. His son and a man named William Kirby, who lives in the vicinity, at once responded, and came forward. They then went up to the cave, but found the stone thrown back, and the bird flown.

Mullavey's son was then sent into Tallarook with information to the police, and Constable John Shanahan at once proceeded to the range. Shanahan states - "When I arrived at the spot, I found that the entrance to the cave lay between two large boulders. I descended with a lighted candle. The cave is a regularly built house on the side of the range, covered over with soil and made to appear part of the range. The side of the range is one mass of rocks, and the roof of the cave forms a small level area. A quantity of stuff had been dug out, and the place was then built up substantially of masonry and slates. It appears to be 12 years old. After descending the two steps I found a turning on the left, and was con- fronted by a door. Entering by this door I found a room formed of posts and slabs, with a bark roof. There was a fire place built of brick, and a long chimney trending in an oblique direction. On the left hand lay a sleeping bunk, and on the floor I found several billy cans with wooden ends, a little bag of peas, two tins of white sugar, some early potatoes, baking dishes, frying-pans, knives, and other articles. A nice little stack of dry wood and a bundle of bark stood near the fire place.

The stack of wood was evidently intended for fuel and the bark for lighting the fire. Of course, I found no one inside. On examining the chimney outside, I found its top a long distance from the cave , it was between two rocks, and a dead she oak was thrown over them to conceal the discolouration occasioned by the smoke. I searched about the ranges on Saturday and Sunday without finding any one. To-day I discovered a second cave, quite near the first. A stream of water flows out of it, and I had to creep in on my hands and knees with a candle. After crawling some distance, about 10 yards, I was able to stand upright, and found myself in a long narrow hall. I went along, and came to two compartments, one on the right hand and the other on the left. I entered the one on the left first, and found there a box full of chaff, the bare bones of pigs' heads, beef bones, turkeys' legs, some slabs and bark where a still seems to have stood, wooden shovels, an empty flour bag, and some old shirts. The right hand cave was empty. It was so small that I had to get a boy to inspect it. The entrance to this cave was concealed by ferns. The cave itself is a natural formation. The turkeys' legs and bones were lying on a ledge of the rock. On making a further examination of the vicinity of the caves, I found what appeared to be signals. Fifty or sixty yards up the range there is a large rock, and a tree growing near its end. In the fork of this tree there is a prong like a skewer, on which is stuck a fresh piece of moss. A little further up on the same track two pieces of dead wood have been placed on a rock, and higher up still there is a wattle which has been cut in a peculiar style. The place where the caves are is known on the station as the Horseshoe Bend, and it was very seldom visited until about six months ago, when the man Kirby took up a selection on the flat below. What these caves were used for is not definitely known, but the police suspect that an illicit still has been carried on there by someone from the Reedy Creek diggings, about 10 miles from here, for a series of years.

The Argus
August 1880
http://newspapers.nla.gov.au/

The Swaggie's

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http://handle.slv.vic.gov.au/10381/69374

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http://handle.slv.vic.gov.au/10381/211081

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This yarn is so good, you will enjoy it too of that I am sure! I am still laughing you can just picture it hey. Ya just got to read it.
cheers Jemba.

THE GHOST DRIVE "Amalgam" tells of an uncanny experience in a tragedy-haunted mine.

DEAR "John,"-Many miners tell yarns of super natural happenings underground, but having been brought up in a. sensible household where 'bogeymen'' never intruded I grew up without any fear of the unseen.

I started mining almost as soon as could carry a drill or climb down a ladder, and eventually I drifted to the lead mines at Galena, north of Geraldton, where I worked in the Surprise Mine. Often when working on the afternoon shift I was- alone in the No. 1 level except for George bogger, who cleaned up the ore left by the previous shift. About 50 feet north of the crosscut where I was -working was another crosscut connecting up with a worked out lode. Whilst mullocking-up this ode a miner had been killed and here were many tales circulating concerning his ghost which walked the deserted stope, where noises from falling ground and the creaking of decayed timber provided plenty of weird sound effects in support of the stories.

One day I went along to the north of the deserted lode to obtain a drill, which I needed. Picking up the drills I bumped against some timber and out went my light. I remembered then that I had left my matches on a ledge near where I had been working, so there was nothing for it but to grope my way back as best I could.

Uncanny. Going along with one hand on each of the truck rails I felt an uncanny sensation; the sense that someone or something else was there with me in the dense blackness. Strange electric shocks seemed to run up my spine and the hair on the back of my neck bristled. I tried! to be sensible and master the sensation but panic had gripped me. I heard a stealthy shuffling and heavy breathing, then another shuffle and a sharp intake of breath. Every sense taut as piano-wire I struggled for self-control, then moved forward and bumped into something, which gave the most dreadful blood curdling shriek it has ever been my misfortune to hear.

That was the last straw. The tattered remnants of my self-control vanished; I leapt into the air and my head came into violent contact with a cap-piece. I rushed through the darkness hell-for-leather until I collided with the timber in the No. 2 lode and eventually got back to my matches. I lit the candle and collapsed on the floor of the drive. When I came to, I found Yorkie Farrar, the shift foreman bending over me. I was covered in blood and he thought there had been a fall of earth. "Where's George?" he asked, and once again I got a grip of my frayed nerves. Taking the Candle I led the way to the place where I had collided with the "ghost." There was George, flat out in a dead faint. We put him on a trolley and took him out to the plat and eventually brought him round. Two days later he packed up and caught the train vowing that he had had more than enough of underground work. Before he departed, he told me that he had gone into the north end of the "ghost drive" to obtain a bar to wrench out some sleeper dogs. Feeling nervous he had been hurrying back and dropped his spider, extinguishing the candle. He too had left his matches behind and had then undergone the same nerve-wracking experience that had fallen to my lot.

AMALGAM

A mine working, Nullagine, 1948

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https://purl.slwa.wa.gov.au/slwa_b3388375_1

Western Mail
September 1941
http://newspapers.nla.gov.au/
 
The Wraith of Gummy Gale.

LAVERTS pub stood across the gap where the narrow macadamised road swung sharply round an abrupt spur of Wombat Range. On the verandah, in a brown study, sat Davey Brammell, the shearer. His head hung heavy, and he looked like a lost sheep in a strange pad dock. He had knocked down his cheque, and was now getting himself straight again for the track.

Mick Rooney, an old shed acquaintance, came plodding round the curve, and presently threw his swag down at the corner of the building. Davey was as glad as if Mick had been his own brother. His pot-companions had gone two days ago, and even the bummer had left when he found that Davey was an insolvent proposition. With the exception of some carriers camped a mile down the range, there was not a soul about the place to talk with.

Lavert had been a jolly fellow, always willing for a rubber at euchre, but when Davey had parted his last sprat, Lavert left off playing cards. He also left off talking. So Davey welcomed Mick Rooney. They had a drink, wherefore Lavert raked up a smile and started talking again.

I think Ive seen you before, he said, leaning on the bar and beaming across at the newcomer. Wasnt you pressin at Toonbar one year? I wasme an the Cockroach. Thats a good few year ago now, said Mick, reflectively. You must ave a surprisin good memory.

I dont soon forget faces, Lavert returned. Specially if they owe you a bob or two, added Mick. No one who had once known him could easily forget Mick. He was short and thick set, and wore a big nose dumped in the middle, and a squint in one eye. Davey was a giant beside him; but Davey had a slouching gait and was slow and dull.

I was havin a bit of a yarn with th old girl round th corner, Mick presently resumed, as he thrust his glass back and wiped his mouth with a sweep of his shirt-sleeve. Mother Donefly? queried Lavert. Mick nodded. She tells me Gummy Gale, th hatter, scragged himself in the old hut somewhere about three year ago.

Aye! He went off his onion at the last, an took a drop from the crossbeam. Poor old Gummy! I didnt think hed come ter that. He warnt a bad sort, take him all round. What did he pan out? Tuppence. The yarn goes that he had a pile stowed away somewhere, but I think it was only skite. They found nothing,
anyhowunless it was Mother Donelly. He laughed softly. Did yer ever hear tell of the ghost on the Wombat? he asked. No! said Mick, expectantly. The old woman used to go evry evenin at dusk an squat down on a big rock on the side of the range, Lavert began. Twas just below her place, an overlook in' the caboose where Gale hung out. There she smoked her pipeshe was always fond of her pipe, was Mother Donellyan some times shed jabber to herself for a hour or more. Donelly, yer see, is always away workin on Toonbar; an of course, she feels it a bit lonesome cooped up there by herself. She an Gummy were great friends while he lived. Used ter visit one another reglar. Anyhow, he went off his nanny an took the short cut across the boundary. It was with her dog-chain he done the trick, too.

I remember the barney she had with the bobby to get the chain back. Well, after that it was a common thing to see blokes come peltin round the pint there at night as if the Devil was after em.- Theyd seen Gales ghost. It used to amuse me. Most of em saw him sittin on the rock, smokin, as he used to at his own door, an talkin in sepulchral tones; an some would see him rise up sudden-like, with a deep-drawn sigh, an at times it was a blood-curdlin groan, an glide away like a shadder.

Of course I knew it was Mother Donelly herself, but they wouldnt have it. Not a bit of it. Evry benighted son of a gun that streaked round that corner swore as it was Gales ghost an no other; an the yarn spread about till Wombat Range got sich a bad name that no one but a total stranger would come by there at night. Even the drovers reckon that no mob of cattle can be made ter camp within five miles of it. It got about, you know, that Gale had a bit of stuff planted somewhere by his humpy, an that Mother Donelly got on to it, an so the old chap cant rest, an goes moanin round.

Do you think Gummys swags still buried at th humpy? Davey asked Mick when they were alone out on the verandah. Ill stake me forty years gatherin on it, providin as Mother Donelly aint been an nailed it. She was always a pryin old cat; but, still, Gummy was fly enough for her an he was pretty close-fisted with it. So, all an all considered, it must be there yet. Mick, a haul like that would be a chuck in now ! Davey exclaimed. He straightened his back, with his hands on his knees, and blinked at the road which the dead mans gold might save him from tramping.

Ill tell yer what I was thinkin, Mick went on, with a quick side-glance towards the door. I dont want his bloomin nabs to get wind of it, he added cautiously. Is there such a thing as a pick about, dyer know ? Theres a couple leanin against the horse-yard at th back, said Davey. Theyre not up ter much, but theyll do for what we want.

There was no moon that night, but still it was not very dark. A cloudless sky bedizened with countless stars rendered it an easy matter, for one thing, to pick out the squat form of Mrs. Donefly perched on the rock above Gales humpy. She was smoking, as usual, and enjoying the cool night breeze that came in little puffs along the range. Farther down the slope the carriers fires glowed readily, while the jangle of horse-bells came incessantly from the surrounding timber. Nothing stirred about the building, which stood in the shadow of the hillside. The two men crept towards it, hugging the slope to escape the owl-like eyes of the woman.
The place was in ruins. Many of the slabs had fallen in, leaving huge gaps in the sides; and storm-winds had stripped half the bark from the roof. Davey shuddered as he looked in. He did not like the idea of searching by night for a dead mans gold, however bravely he had spoken of his willingness to do so. Every strange object that caught his eye gave him a shock. He was suffering from the effects of his two weeks spree, and his mind was in a fit condition to conceive a semblance of the uncanny in the most commonplace objects about him. Rooney, though disliking the neighborhood, was intent on business.

They began a systematic search for the misers hoard, starting at the door and working outward with the pick-point, one to the left, the other to the right. Rooney thought the money would be wrapped in cloth or bagging, which would be easily felt with the pick.

Hours they toiled, till the whole surface was broken up for several feet around the humpy. Every boulder in the vicinity was overturned and the ground well probed where it had lain. But nothing was discovered. Looks like huntin for a mares nest, whispered Davey, leaning wearily on his pick.

Dont give in yet, said his mate, though he, too, began to lose hope. Well try in side. I dont like th thought o missin it. They had broken up half the caked floor in their search, when a rustling outside caused Davey to look round sharply.

My Gawd! he gasped the next instant, and the pick dropped from his nerveless hands. Whats up? whispered Mick, Ave yer found it? Look ! Look ! whispered Davey, hoarsely. Wha whats that? Shuffling along the grass was a tall white object that seemed to be sniffing and scratching at the broken ground. It resembled a man lifting himself along on his hams while the rustle of its snow-white garments sounded strangely weird. Even its breathing they could hear deep breathing that made them shudder. The clink of a chain sounded clearly with every movement, and their hair bristled at the recollection that it was with a dog-chain that Gale hanged himself. Suddenly the apparition rose up from the ground and stood waving its white arms as though beating off an invisible foe.
My oath ! gasped Davey, as he clutched the back of Rooneys shirt and goggled across his shoulder. Its Gales ghost! Lemme go, you fool! whispered Rooney, tearing his shirt free and retreating cautiously towards the door. He shook a tottering fist at the outsider. Its arms and body were clothed in a long white robe, and on its head was a fantastic covering that did not look unlike a white frilled bonnet. With trembling knees the treasure-hunters crept to the doorway. Rooneys elbows dug viciously into the other mans ribs, and gripping his pick in his hands he darted from the hut and rushed wildly along the hill. After him, gasping in abject terror, staggered Davey, breathing like the dry pant of a knocked-up dog.

Almost immediately they heard a bump, bump, and the rattle of chains behind them. Lasting terrified glances over their shoulders they saw the Thing flying through the air with a great flutter of white. Now and again it would bump the earth hard, as though gambolling in its glee. Then it would leap into the air again, its arms waving and its white robes flowing. Such peculiar antics demoralised the two fossickers. Their pace dwindled to a tottering walk, and they called on high Heaven to aid them .

As they neared the turn of the road Davey tripped and fell disconnectedly against a bush. The white pursuer flew past him with a jingle of chains that sounded like a death rattle, and the next moment he saw it clutch Mick by the back of the shirt and jerk him to a standstill. Then he knew that clicks soul was demanded of him. A howl came from the victim. He struggled fiercely for a few seconds. Then Davey saw him lift the pick and send it with a wild drive, into his ghostly assailant. He expected to see the weapon clear it as though it were empty air; but it plunked hard and deep into a solid body, and with a lamentable disarrangement of sounds the creature toppled over add lay in a death-agony on the road.
Rooney sank down on the bank, bathed in cold perspiration. Davey, with a new fear gripping his heart, scrambled to his feet and beating wide of the dying phantom, dropped down exhausted. Mick, youve done it! he cried. Done what? panted Mick. Davey groaned in agony. Youve done it, he repeated. Yer spifflicated puffin adder, what ave I done? demanded Mick.

Davey pointed an agitated finger at the unknown. Youve done murder ! Rooney turned cold. You gibberin idiot, what yer say it was a ghost for! he wailed in an agony of remorse. The victims struggles had ceased, and it lay a still white blot on the road. O Gawd, what are we ter do? Youve done murder! Davey reiterated in the tone of one half-demented. Rooney turned on him fiercely. Shut yer fool mouth, yer idiotic gorilla ! he hissed, his squint eye fairly scintillating. Theres only one thing ter doroll up an clear out of this. Get a move on yer, quick ! He hurried down to his camp with the big man panting at his heels Never before had their swags been bundled together and rolled up in such a slipshod manner. In ten minutes, with their boots in their hands, and strips of torn shirt wrapped round their feet to bamboozle the trackers, they were striding across country with their faces set doggedly to the western sky.
Well ave ter travel all night, an spell all day for the fust week. panted Mick, pulling up for a breath after five miles strenuous flight. Davey was too exhausted to speak just then. Must ave been one o them pumplcin-eaded carriers actin th goat, Mick continued, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. But the jiggered thing was flyin! Davey argued. He clutched his swag again, and they went on, onward and westward into the solitudes of the Never-Never, until the phantom police and the spectral trackers were outwitted and beaten.

Towards noon the next day Mrs. Donelly came waddling up to Lavert's. She was mumbling, and when Lavert came out she pointed down the road with her stick. What dyer think o them carriers that cleared out this mornin? she cried with a vicious ring in her voice.

What have they been doin? asked Lavert. She planted the stick hard on the ground before her, and folded her hands on the nob. They killed Barney OBryan larst night, an left him lyin stiff an dead on th road at th pint there. Thats what they did, the dogs! What for? asked Lavert. What for? Mrs. Donelly snorted. Cos theyre a lot o curs. They tuk my white shirt an me own Sunday bonnet off th line an put em on Barney, an then they untied his chain I tied him up at sundown an they tuk him down to the road there an kilt him as dead as a door-nail be drivin a pick through his soul-case. Th dogs, they did!

What ad shame! said Lavert. They want six months. Gaolins too good for th likes o them, Mrs. Donelly declared. They want rollin in a spiked cask down Wombat. Brutes like them, as would steal a lone womans kangaroo for no other reason but to take it away an stoom it out with a pick, ought to be hounded off th roads, so they ought. I want you now, Lavert, to come an help me carry him to th cemetery. Lavert got his hat and they buried Barney OBryan by the side of Gummy Gale.

With the return of the teams they learnt that it was the carriers boys who had dressed Barney and let him go, what time the old woman was having her evening smoke on the rock. But it was not till years afterwards that they learnt how Barney had met his death. The story was told by a harmless crank who had a squint in one eye and a broken nose.

EDWARD S. SORENSON.

The bulletin .Vol. 37 No. 1920 (30 Nov 1916)

https://trove.nla.gov.au/

slab bush hut

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Early Gold Discoveries Of N.S.W & VIC.

BY WILL LAWSON.

OFFICIALLY the finding of gold dates from 1851, but trustworthy records show that gold was discovered in New South Wales and Victoria long before that. Fear of the effect on the convicts if the news were made known prompted the authorities to suppress it. The first report came from a party of convicts engaged in building the road to Bathurst in 1814. These men unearthed enough gold to start a rush in later days; but they were ordered, on pain of being flogged, to keep the matter secret. As most of them were to be given their freedom on the completion of the road, they held their peace.

The next report came in 1823 from Assistant-Surveyor James Mcrian, who found gold on the Fish River, 15 miles from Bathurst, on February 13. In his field notebook he wrote: At eight chains 50 links to river and marked gum-tree, found numerous particles of gold in sand and in the hills convenient to the river.
Two years later a convict was flogged in Sydney for having gold in his possessionhe said he had found it in the bush. He was charged with stealing it.

In 1830 the Polish explorer Count Strzelecki found gold with pyrites in the Vale of Clwyddnow Lithgowin the Blue Mountains. At the request of the Government he kept the discovery secret, and continued with his exploring work. A firm believer in the theory that gold would demoralize convicts, and settlers also, was the Rev. W. B. Clarke, who found it in the upper valleys of the Macquarie River and at the Vale of Clwydd. Clarke had lived in Russia and seen goldmines there. He wrote in 1844: New South Wales will on some future day be found wonderfully rich in minerals. And in the Maitland Mercury of Jan. 31, 1849: It is well known that a goldmine is certain ruin to its first workers, and in the long run gold washing will be found more suitable for slaves than British freemen.

The authorities in Victoria took an even sterner view than Mr. Clarke. Thomas Chapman found gold at Daisy Hill, and sold a 16-ounce nugget to Mrs. Brentani, of Collins-street, Melbourne. News of this reached the police, and Chapman had to flee in the steamer Sea horse, which was sailing that day for Sydney. That was in January, 1849. Superintendent Latrobe sent a posse of police to Daisy Hill under Captain Dana to close the field from which the gold had come.

The discovery of gold in California in that year sent every Australian who could find the passage money sailing away for the Sacramento Valley. Hundreds of ships departed from Australian ports for San Francisco. Two years later they were all coming back again with diggers for Bathurst, where Edward Hammond Hargreaves had found gold at -Summer hill Creek, not far from where Surveyor Mcrian found it. Hargreaves was struck with the similarity of the geological formation in California to that at Bathurst, and came home to look for the precious metal.

The rest is history.

The bulletin.Vol. 59 No. 3036 (21 Apr 1938)

https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-572881811
 
WHEN REVOLVERS WERE WORTH THEIR WEIGHT IN GOLD

Reminiscences of Sam Matthews. Edited by J. M. Harcourt.

THE Melbourne of the early '50's has passed from the face of the earth. The Melbourne of to-day bears perhaps as much resemblance to it as a man bears to a newly born son. It was different physically, psychologically, and spiritually.

The Melbourne of those days was a township of tents and shanties, and foundations, more or less surrounded by swamps and bush. Bushrangers roamed the country that is now thriving suburbs. The gold rush at Ballarat had denuded the settlement of labour, and the wages offered were in themselves enough to justify the phrase "good old days."

Sam Matthews, the author of these reminiscences, was the son of a London tea merchant, blessed or cursed with a wayward disposition, which prompted him secretly to marry the pretty daughter of a manor estate lodge keeper, and emigrate to Australia. They embarked from Gravesend on the sailing ship Nepaul on July 9, 1852, and dropped anchor at Sandridge on October 16, 1852, 98 days later.

Come ashore and take a look at the Melbourne of 1852 through Sam Matthews's eyes: "We did not land at Sandridge, but 29 passengers transferred to the tug Agenora for a run up the river, intending to return to the ship for the night. I left the missus behind. A hot north wind was blowing. As we progressed up the Yarra we noticed several bullock heads floating past. The smell from the slaughter-houses on the Saltwater River was enough to turn a man's stomach.

"We landed about Market street and walked up to Collins street, where a large bluestone building was going up on the corner. My friend Garrett, being a plasterer, was immediately offered a job at 2/10/ a day, and I was offered one as a 'hod boy' at 30/ a day, but I turned it down because I wanted to go up to the diggings at Ballarat.

"There were great heaps of bluestone in Collins street, and every one of them was a hive full of rats. The dusty, hot wind made us all pretty thirsty, so we went to the Rainbow Hotel (near where the Town Hall is now) and asked for a gallon of rum, but they'd only sell us bottles at 2/6 each.

We missed the return boat to the Nepaul, so we all walked to Sandridge along a corduroy road across the swamp, with the blazing north wind behind us. At Sandridge the boatman wanted 1 to take us out to the ship. We told him to go to blazes, walked back to town, bought a 6ft. x 8ft. tent, and six of us slept in that at the bottom of Latrobe street. Returned to the ship for the missus next day, and we erected our bell tent, which we'd brought out from London, at the western end of the town, between Lonsdale and Latrobe streets. They charged us a guinea a week rental for the land.

I heard of a job of rough fencing somewhere east of Brighton. Five of our erstwhile shipmates and I walked out to investigate. The wages offered were 17/ a day, but the job was too far from town, and there was too much difficulty about getting provisions, so none of us would take it. As we were returning we came on a race meeting in progress. There was no charge for admittance, and only an area round the winning post was roped in. Nearly all the spectators were on horseback. While we were looking on a race started, and a big horse ridden by a black boy immediately went to the front. He was leading by about 15 lengths, but apparently a win would have been unpopular, because several of the mounted spectators rode on to the course to obstruct him. As we were 'new chums,' and on foot, and it looked as though a row was brewing, we cleared out. Lucky we did! Next day we heard that bushrangers had held up the crowd returning from the races and had cleaned them out, one and all.

Sam, as has been noted, had a way- ward disposition. The niceties of the distinction between "meum" and "teum" eluded him. He records with satisfaction one of the ways in which his young wife coped with the high price of living. A certain Mrs. Shiels, who occupied a tent hard by the Matthews, kept goats. Milk being 7d. the half-pint, my wife , could not withstand the temptation sometimes to entice away one of these goats and milk it unbeknownst to the owner, notes Sam, and then records the fact that bread was 2/6 a loaf Unfortunately there was no neighbour who ran a bakery. After 10 days in Melbourne Sam "humped the bluey" up to Ballarat, travelling with a party of about 20 others.

Bushrangers were patrolling the route For a whole day, Sam notes, a party of five bushrangers, with a led horse to provide for emergencies, travelled parallel with the party, "but our numbers evidently disconcerted them," he says, and goes on to relate that "Some police troopers arrived at our camp the following evening and informed us that the bushrangers were the same lot that had staged the St. Kilda hold-up, and that they had just stuck up an old man and woman returning from the diggings, and had knocked them about terribly."

"On arrival at Ballarat," he continues, "we pegged out claims on Brown's Hill. We paid 30/ a month each for digger's licences, which had to be kept on the person. One of our chaps did not have his licence handy when the troopers made a surprise raid on us. He jumped down the shaft, but they hauled him out and off to the commissioner's tent.

"We lived on mutton and flour, which cost us 7 a bag, and we had to carry it a mile to our camp. We would not work a claim unless we could win at least an ounce of gold each a day. If it panned out less than that we shifted to another spot. "But we weren't there long when the party broke up. Benfield (one of the party) was the cause of it. One day, when it was his turn to wash the gold, he came back from the creek and said he had overbalanced and, spilt the lot, and the same night he cleared out, taking all the gold we had in the tent, the--------!"

Returning to Melbourne just at that time, Sam missed the Eureka Stockade. The affair is dismissed in his diary with the briefest mention. He was more concerned with the discovery on his arrival at Melbourne that his wife and tent had disappeared. Everything was in order, however. It appeared that a gentleman's servant's wife had rented a two-roomed cottage in a right-o'-way off Lonsdale street, had bought a large secondhand mangle, and set up in business. She had taken on my wife as her assistant. They did not take in washing, only mangling, and were making 12/ a day. I got a job as a night watchman at 12/ the watch. It was not to be expected that Sam Matthews would remain a night watch- man very long, of course. A little later he records:

"I decided to run sly grog to Forrest Creek. The return trip with a dray and two horses from a pub in Elizabeth street to the diggings took 12 days. We covered the 12cwt. load of grog with bags and chaff. It was wet, and there was no beaten road. We were often bogged, and then, to add to our troubles, we ran into a police camp pitched right across the track. I stopped some distance from them and pretended to be tinkering with the wheels while my mate went up to them and 'pitched a tale.' He. told 'em what we'd gone through since we left town matches damp and useless, no cooked food for days, and so on. Meanwhile I got going with the dray, and just meandered past while he was talking. They didn't attempt to stop me or ask any questions, and a bit later my mate caught up to me with dry matches they'd given him."
Without going into details, Sam remarks that the sly grog running was profitable, but, it seems, too risky, for he shortly gave it up to start a refreshment booth in Latrobe street, opposite Flagstaff Hill. He sold apples from Tasmania, oranges, figs, bananas, and any other fruit obtainable. Apples were 1 a case, and oranges 5/ for half a dozen!

The elements conspired to wreck the business, however. The north wind swept across the open ground to the north, tore the canvas from the wooden framework of Sam's "shop," and covered his stock with so much dust that no one wanted it. Sam got another job as a watch-man. Shiploads of goods which had arrived at the Melbourne of those days were piled in the streets awaiting warehouse accommodation, which could not be, built fast enough. It was over the accumulations of goods and builders' tools that it was Sam's job to keep guard. The job was prolonged by the fact that as soon as the walls of the warehouse which was being built to accommodate the goods were up, and before the roof was on, so many goods were piled in that the walls bulged outward and collapsed, and a man was killed by the falling masonry-but not Sam.

"My wages as night watchman were 14/ a night," he says. "One night I caught a man rolling hogsheads away, and I had to skittle him with a life preserver, having left my pistol behind. He thought there was electroplate in the hogsheads, the 'loon,' when there was only salt in jars!" Sam "pottered about" Melbourne doing one job and another, while many of the men who had come out to Australia with him were making money. One of his London acquaintances brought out a great barrel of men's boots, which had cost him 1/ a pair in London. He sold them for 10/ a pair, and set himself up . in a comfortable little business. A couple of Austrian refugees arrived with two dozen "Dear and Adams" revolvers they had bought in London for 4 apiece. They sold them for 20 each! Revolvers were worth almost their weight in gold in a city which provided several hold-ups a week round its inner suburban area.

, "Flinders street was the worst part of the town," remarks Sam, apropos of its lawlessness. "Policemen always went in pairs, as it was not safe to walk a beat alone.' It was customary to discharge pistols each night before turning in. The open spaces by the Yarra gave hiding to the hold-ups."

But there were already signs of what Melbourne was destined to be. The Houses of Parliament were built in 1853-54," says Sam, and St. Patrick's Cathedral was a wall of bluestone 4ft. high."

There was even a war scare. England at that time was at war with Russia. One day a man-o'-war, H.M.S. Great Britain, slipped through Port Phillip Heads and swept up to the settlement on the Yarra. There was a salute of guns, which created a wild panic. It took some time to convince a large part of the population that the Great Britain was not a Russian ship opening hostilities.

The Argus
18 March 1939
http://newspapers.nla.gov.au/

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