water. I felt glad when the time was fixed for leaving Moonta. I saw no
evil. The people seemed frank and kindly, but the fewness of women made
me miserable. I only saw three in the place where we were. Two elderly
women and a younger woman. On the other hand, there were hundreds of
men, and when I had to go anywhere it seemed as if I had to pass
through a long procession of men. I was shy, but they were offenceless.
How many times I have wished to see Moonta again, to see the progress
that has been made. I thought my father so terribly foolish, and I was
fond of him. He was comparatively a young man. Brother and I got on
board the steamer and we arranged that we would stay with my sister till
father came. We were both in doubt what we should do. Some mischance
happened to our boxes, which left me in a state of hopelessness. We had
a tool chest, which did not look large, but it was a great weight, and
the man moving it did not know that, and somehow he let it fall into the
little boat with such a force that it upset the boat, and the men and
all our boxes were floating about in the sea. All our things were
spoiled, and the tools as well.
My mind was made up I could not live in such a fashion and comply with
the request to go to whatever place the others chose. So when I got to
Adelaide again I told some ladies I knew that I would go to service
again. And at once I was engaged to go to the Government farm for a
month or six weeks, to be the attendant of Sir R. D. Ross, who had just
married, or was on the eve of getting married, to Miss Baker. It is
called the National Park now. It was very lonely. I was there a few days
and nights before they came. The house was a little way from the
principal buildings, that being the caretaker's place. An elderly man
and his wife lived there. She was so deaf that she had to have a horn to
her ear all the time. It was a beautiful place. There were two houses,
one being called the old farm, and the other the new. All that I had to
do was to keep good fires in the rooms to make them warm. It was cold
weather. At last the bridal party arrived, and the lady brought a lady's
maid with her. What a gentleman Sir Robert Ross was, and the lady, how
gentle of manner! The troopers' horses were left on the farm to run when
they were not wanted. They told me that from east to west the distance
was nine miles of extended wood. That was the length of the "farm." I
slept in the old farmhouse all by myself for nearly a week. In the
daytime I never went far from the house for fear I would not find it
again. I was taken there in a waggonette with a lady and gentleman. And
they were afraid they would never find the place. It was almost dark
when we got there, and the roads were not very distinguishable. The lady
and gentleman did not stop all night, but the caretaker's wife showed me
where I was to sleep. I slept, but I did not then think that I was all
by myself in that large building, with nothing having life except the
troopers' horses, the opossums, and the wild cats. When I got older I
could not do such a thing.
Sir R. D. Ross and his lady were fond of horse-riding, and horses were
brought for them. The Government farm was an ideal spot for a honeymoon
then. It was just the sort of place to escape attention. During the rest
of the time I enjoyed the friendship of the lady's maid, and we strolled
together through the woods. She was a colonial, bright and full of
adventure. Her name was Martha, and she fairly danced along like a wild
bird. It was a great treat to me after my solitude at Moonta. Martha did
not know whether her young mistress would settle here or not. For my
part I hoped they would, and that they would think me likely to be
serviceable to them. But such was not to be. Sir R. D. Ross had to go to
Maoriland rather hastily. War was either in progress or some hostility
with the Maories was contemplated, and he had some command in the
military forces. He took his wife to New Zealand with him. The brightest
is the fleetest. I was left alone at the Government farm. That would not
matter, except that I shrank from going home. I was to stop for a week
to put all the things in their place, and to leave it all tidy. Some
goods were to be sent for from Morialta.
One evening while I was sitting in the verandah listening to the
opossums, I heard a footstep and a cough. I was preparing to run to the
caretaker's, when I found that it was my brother. He had been all day
trying to find the farm. I was pleased to see him, and he wrote home and
told our people that he would stay with me till I had finished there. He
helped me a lot. He told me that father had taken a little workshop in
Leigh-street, off Hindley-street, where he was doing some carpentering
work. They went to and fro to my sister's house for meals. My brother
was still young, and he felt bitterly upset. He recognised what I must
feel, and that I was not happy with father. What a failure I had made!
My brother told me not to fret, as I had done the best I could ever
since he could remember. In a few days I packed up, and in two or three
weeks I was on my way to the South-East.
I GO TO THE SOUTH-EAST.
I had not been long out from Scotland before, after some experience in
and around Adelaide, I found that I would get more wages in the country.
So I made enquiry at a labor office, kept by Mr. Malcolm, in
Hindley-street. About this time there was a great demand for good
willing servant-girls. Mr. Malcolm told me that he wanted two young
girls for a sheep-station in the South-East, near Bordertown. The
station was called Wirrega, and was owned by a Mr. Binney. I was not
well posted up in the geography of the country, and when I was told that
we would go to our destination in a steamboat, the Penola, I took it for
granted that it would be like going from Glasgow to the seaside. I was
quite willing to go provided that he found another girl to go with me.
In a day or two he sent for me to say that he had found a companion for
me. She was to be the needlewoman, and I would be the laundress. Our
employer paid our passage-money, and we signed an agreement to stop for
a year.
We got our little trunks ready, and Mr. Malcolm came to see us off at
the railway-station. We found our way to the steamboat, hoping that we
would reach our journey's end that night. But, to our disgust, we had to
spend the night on board. Luckily it was in the month of November and
was not cold. The next day we landed at Robe. The landlord of the Robe
Hotel sent on board for us, as he had instructions to take charge of us
until we were sent for. We were surprised, for we thought that our
journey was over when we stepped off the boat. However, there was
nothing to complain of at the hotel, and our employer was paying our
expenses. But we were anxious to get to work, for we had but little
money, and, of course, our wages would not begin till we reached the
station. It was the shearing season, and the wool was brought to Robe
from all the country round. We used to sit on the jetty and watch the
loaded ships going out.
We had been there for two weeks before a man called to say that he was
instructed to take us girls back with him. We had been told that it
would take us three or four weeks to get to the station from Robe, and
that our way lay through a wilderness of sand. What we had seen of
bullock-drivers made us shudder lest they should send for us to travel
under their tender care.
We came downstairs to interview the man. How vividly I can see him even
now. He was ragged and covered with dust. His hair was projecting
through the top of his hat, and he had a whip in his hand. We asked him
what conveyance we were to travel by. He replied, "In a carriage and
six," meaning the bullock-dray.
At this information both of us began to cry bitterly. We refused to go,
and thought of returning to Adelaide by the steamer, but my companion
told me we would be put in prison if we did that. We made such a scene
that the landlord and his wife came out to see what was the matter. When
he learned the state of affairs he comforted us and told us he would
write to Mr. Binney; so we awaited the result of his letter. A week
later, on a Saturday evening, a strange-looking vehicle, drawn by wild
horses, came into the yard. This was to be our conveyance. As the driver
was a pleasant, respectable, married man, and promised to take as much
care of us as he would of his own daughter we were much relieved in our
minds, but the difficulties of the road and the savage aspect of our
team still caused us dismay.
Early on Sunday morning we started, for we were told that if the horses
had a whole day's rest no power on earth would get them into harness
again. They had never been stabled, and as they pranced, foaming at the
mouth and making the sparks fly from the cobblestones, they attracted
much attention from a large crowd of onlookers. As they bounded out of
the yard we held tight to the seat and said our prayers, for we thought
we had not many more minutes to live.
Twelve miles of good road brought us to a small hotel called The Stone
Hut. Here we halted for a few seconds, and then made a dive into a sea
of wild ferns that extended as far as the eye could reach. Suddenly,
without any warning, the vehicle stopped with a crash, and our driver
disappeared from our astonished sight. We had struck the hidden root of
an old tree. Presently he reappeared from under the feet of the horses,
and congratulated us on having sufficient pluck and presence of mind to
hold the reins.
After this incident all went well, and at about 8 o'clock we arrived at
a sheep station, where many men were shearing and where no white women
had ever been before. The shearers took out the horses and brought us
some tea in a pannikin. Our vehicle was turned upside down and covered
over with rugs. Under that rude shelter we spent a sleepless night.
The next day's journey took us through a wilderness of sand. Now and
then a few blacks would appear from behind a hill and fly precipitately
at the sight of us. About 9 o'clock that night we reached the home
station, fatigued and dusty. Mr. Binney was in Melbourne, so Mrs. Binney
met us and gave us a good scolding for the trouble we had caused in
order to have us brought from Robe. But she was Scotch, and we were
Scotch, and so our explanations were soon accepted.
When the morning came I found myself in the Australian bush. Another
young girl, who was housemaid, took me with her. Her father and mother
were at the station as house cooks. They consoled me by telling me that
I would like being there when I got used to it. Truth to tell, I was
anxious to begin my year's service, and so was up betimes. Numerous wild
birds, among which I distinguished the magpie, deafened me with a
bewildering clamor.
With very mingled feelings I went to the laundry. It was built of wood,
but had many of the usual conveniences. The water I had to draw up from
a well by a windlass.
The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Binney and five children--three
sons and two daughters. In addition there were a sister of Mr. Binney,
acting as governess to the children, and a Mr. John Binney, a cousin of
the owner, who was manager or overseer of the station. The comfortable
dwelling-house was one storey in height, and was built of stone. There
were several outbuildings and a large store, where all sorts of things
were kept for sale to the employes of the station. The place looked like
a little village.
It was a common sight to see a man with his wife and children living in
a sort of gipsy van. The husband would be employed in "grubbing," or
clearing timber off the land. When the contract was completed the family
would pack up their goods in the van and journey to another station. At
stated times the families of some permanent employes, who lived a few
miles away, would come in on horseback for their rations. Our employers,
and, in fact, everybody about us, were very gentle and considerate in
their dealing with us.
At first I was afraid of the blacks, of whom there were a great many
about the house. They all had nicknames, and had been trained to be very
useful. One morning I plucked up courage to venture near their
"wurlies." I shall never forget the scene. A number of little black
babies were crawling about in the wet, dewy grass, and the sunlight was
glistening on their naked little backs. But the children were afraid of
us, and would creep under the bushes when they saw us coming. We used
all go to see their "corrobories." Sometimes they would be away for days
fighting with another tribe, but no strange blacks ever came to attack
them. They were fond of showing us their implements of war, of which
they had a great variety. I was surprised to hear them talk in fairly
good English, and sometimes with a broad Scotch accent. Even the
children spoke English well.
They were remarkably agile, too. They would mount perfectly wild horses
that would have succeeded in killing a white man. As soon as they were
fairly mounted they would fly in the air like rockets, but, like cats,
they always landed on their feet. They were splendid mimics, and used
their powers of imitation to play many tricks. Some of them would go off
among the bushes and imitate the hens. This would bring out the old cook
with her basket. When she found the trick that had been played on her
she would be very cross, much to the delight of the blacks. But
sometimes they would do her a good turn. If she wanted a wild turkey she
had only to tell them so, and one of the blacks would dress himself up
with boughs and lie down where the wild turkeys came to drink. When the
unsuspecting bird came close to what he imagined was a bush a black hand
would shoot out and grab him by the leg. So, after all, it paid the cook
to be friendly with the blacks.
This was an ideal place for a naturalist. The blacks used to bring in a
wonderful variety of eggs, and the place was famed for its bird-life. We
had many pets. In fact, what with tame kangaroos, opossums, and emus
the place resembled a menagerie. I made a pet of an emu, which used to
wait for me at the laundry door every morning. I dressed it up in an old
pinafore, and it was so pleased that it followed me wherever I went.
In the early days the wild dogs had been a great pest. Wild cats were
numerous, but no one minded them much. At the end of the laundry there
was a slab hut, where they kept the beef and mutton hanging. The cats
would come here in dozens when all was dark and quiet. If a light was
brought they would immediately scamper off. They were beautiful
creatures, partly black and partly white.
I marvelled at the bravery of the men who opened up the interior. Mr.
John Binney, Mr. Clark, and Mr. McLeod were the first white men to form
settlements on that great expanse of country. With so many hostile
blacks around they must have had a fearful time. Mrs. Binney showed us a
tree, in the trunk of which Mr. Binney used to hide from the blacks. Our
nearest neighbors were ten miles away, and the Tatiara township was
about sixteen miles from the station. The police had their quarters at
Tatiara, which, in those days, was composed of huts. I went there once,
and found only one substantial building. It was an hotel. Once in every
three months a bush missionary held services in this hotel. We all went
to these services, some on horseback and some driving.
The months passed on, and I grew to like the life. Everybody was busy,
for there was plenty to do. The lowing of the cattle, driven in for
branding, became familiar music to my ears. But, isolated as we were,
and simple and rough as the life was, I could not complain of any
monotony. Sometimes a hawker would visit us with a large van drawn by a
team of bullocks. He would camp for days, and do a brisk trade as a
general provider of the wants of the little community. He found good
customers among the blacks, for they earned a little money during
shearing-time.
Nor were we entirely devoid of the amusements of town-life. More than
once a travelling Christy Minstrel Company came to the station. The
performers would stay all night and give a theatrical show in the
laundry, which I gave up to them for the purpose. From miles around the
place station-hands would come to see the show.
The young girl, who went up with me and myself got on nicely together.
In the light of added years I can look back now and feel grateful for
the hard training I went through then and the lessons those early days
taught me. Sometimes we caught glimpses of the many mysteries of the
silent bush. The presence of troopers and black-trackers about the
station would tell us that something unusual had happened. It might be
that the dead body of a man had been found a little way from the
station. A consultation of all hands would be held, and the unknown
would receive a decent burial, while efforts would be made to discover
his identity. When any of the station-hands died they were buried in a
little enclosure near the station. If they had lived far out on the
boundary of the run they were buried near their huts.
What the blacks did with their dead puzzled us. Mr. Binney insisted that
they must be buried, and the dusky relatives would obey. But, shortly
afterwards, the graves would be rifled, and the corpses would
mysteriously disappear. I asked a very old lubra to tell me what was
done with the dead, and she horrified me by replying, "Big one, cookem
on sticks."
While I was there Mr. Binney sent a mob of horses to Adelaide. Some of
the blacks went with them to help the drovers. They came back by water.
Then it was amusing to hear them describe what they had seen in
Adelaide. They called the steamboat "Big one wheelbarrow." They said
that something pulled them along with "tether ropes on the big one
water."
There was one old lubra called "Kitty, the postman." When Mr. Binney
first came into that part of the country, Kitty showed him where to get
water for his oxen, and on that spot he began his life as a
sheep-farmer. Kitty would carry letters for him to his friends as far
away as thirty miles. He could always depend on her honesty and
efficiency, so she became a privileged character. She must have been of
a great age when I saw her, for she remembered well the time when no
white man could be seen in the land. She had free entry to any of the
buildings, and loved to smoke her pipe in the men's hut, for all the
aboriginies, both men and women, smoked. She told me that the blacks did
not hate the white men so much as they did the blacks of other tribes.
The cook at the men's hut was frequently visited by "sundowners." He
told me that many of these stated that they were sons of doctors or
clergymen, and were well educated men. I had a strange experience with a
"traveller." One evening, when our candles were lit for the evening
meal, a boundary rider brought in a woman whom he found wandering about
by herself. There was a vacant place by me and she sat down. As she had
a sunbonnet on I could not see her face well. Every visitor that came so
late would stop all night, so the question arose "Where was she to
sleep?" Not one of us was willing to share our room with her, so Mrs.
Binney said she must sleep in the laundry. I took here there and she sat
down while I prepared her bed. In order to see her face I put a lighted
candle close to her, but she immediately blew it out. Then she took out
a pipe and began to smoke. From a glimpse I caught of her features I
thought she looked like a man. So I went to tell Mrs. Binney. As the
laundry was full of valuable clothes I thought something might be
stolen, or the place might be set fire to by the sparks from the
stranger's pipe. I was really afraid of her; and so it was decided that
she was not to sleep in the laundry. The needlewoman came with me, and
we told her that she might sleep in an unused hut beyond the fence. In a
voice like thunder she said, "Show me where I am to sleep." The hut had
no door or glass in the window, so I pinned my apron over the window,
and then we fled in terror.
She did not wait for breakfast, but went away in the early morning with
one of our teamsters--the man who had found her. When they had gone
about six miles she jumped out of the dray, and ran into the bush. The
driver went on to Tatiara and told the police. After that I was worried
by troopers and blacktrackers. The questions they asked me would have
filled a book. They picked up the tracks near Wellington, but lost them
again. They all thought, as I did, that our strange visitor was a man
dressed in woman's clothing.
But there were pleasanter incidents than these. The arrival of "her
Majesty's Royal Mail" was looked forward to with eagerness by all. The
coach was a queer-looking vehicle, with a large "V.R." painted on it.
The horses were changed at the station, and the coach went on to Tatiara
township, calling at other stations both coming and going. How quickly
"mail day" seemed to come round again. Bushranging had been prevalent,
but the coach had always luckily escaped molestation. I like looking
back after all this time.
It seemed lonely, for we were far from the sight of anybody we knew, and
visitors were scarce. The needlewoman and I used lo take the children
out amongst the tall gum trees. We had no perambulator, but there was a
little Scotch pony for the baby to sit on. The foliage of the trees was
dense, and they were close together, but we could always find the
tracks. One day we went a long way, and the little pony stepped into
what seemed to be a circle of snakes. He stood still, and so did we, for
we were too frightened to move. The snakes fairly leaped from the ground
and bounded in amongst the young bushes. I never ventured so far into
the woods again, but I saw more snakes after that. A dog was a very good
protector, for by his barking he would always show us where the snakes
were. The housemaid, whom I have alluded to, found a snake under her
pillow one night when she was going to bed. We shared the same room, but
I am happy to say I never saw a snake in the room. The bedroom was right
outside the house, and there was nothing to hinder the snakes from
entering it, so that it may easily be imagined that we were careful
where we stepped.
Our time was passing away. We could see by the preparations at the
woolshed that the shearing season was near. The loneliness and silence
of the bush gave place to the bustle and hum of human beings hurrying
about. There were supposed to be altogether about a hundred men in and
about the sheds, and where all the people came from was a mystery to me.
What with woolclassing and woolwashing and woolsorting and the packing
the wool into great bales ready to send to England there was a lot of
work. In the middle of it all came the surveyors with a staff of men to
cut up the land in allotments, as Mr. Binney's lease had nearly expired.
Now the train to Melbourne runs through what were then desolate wilds.
They wanted me to stop for another year, but I would not. Mrs. Binney
said I was the only girl who had ever left the station without getting
married. I told her I had a suitor somewhere else. The young girl who
went up with me was married to a "cockatoo" farmer. I hope she has been
happy, for she was a nice girl. I have been a wife now for 26 years.
Life is full of changes. It was not stated in the agreement I made that
Mr. Binney should pay our expenses back to Adelaide. I had not thought
of that when I was engaged to go the South-East. I thought the journey
was such a short one that we could come and go when we liked. It was
settled that I would return by the mail coach and wait at the hotel for
my trunk, which was to be sent by the wool-dray. There was no other
choice for me. By this time I was well acquainted with the driver of the
mail, as he used to have lunch with us sometimes. He was a middle-aged
man with a wife and family, and was understood to be reliable. So far I
had trusted everybody, for I was young and happy, and I did not feel the
least afraid.
I LEAVE THE STATION AND RETURN TO ADELAIDE.
From this time the days flew by quickly till the last night I was to
spend in the bush came round. Truly, I never knew till then that I had
so many friends. People came from such a distance to say "Good-bye," for
the coach started early in the morning. I had a cheque from Mr. Binney,
and I had never had so much money before in all my life. I was told to
get it cashed at Robetown, as Mr. Binney had no banking account in
Adelaide. I had a nice present, too, from Mrs. Binney, and one from Miss
Binney, which I have yet in my possession.
In the morning they were all up to see me off, and there was a scene of
great excitement. Amongst the rest there were blacks from all round,
shouting at the top of their voices, "You white lubra, what for you go
away from my country." I had a very kindly send-off, and with tears in
my eyes, I bid adieu to all. All the way along the driver pointed out to
me places of interest with such queer names, such as "Biscuit Flat,"
"Black Joe's Corner," "Binney's Lookout," and many others which I have
forgotten. What interested me most was, however, the name of the place
where I was to stop for the night. It was called "Mosquito Plains," and
I wondered if any mosquitoes were there.
That evening we reached the "Mosquito Plains." I forget the name of the
hotel where we stayed for the night, but I remember that the old
landlord was making way for a new one and that there was a great crowd
in and about the bar. Mr. Sinclair, the mail-driver, took me to the
woman of the house and asked her to find a room for me, as I was leaving
by the mail in the morning. I never saw him again.