Coolgardie—The Camels are Coming—The Landlord’s Record—Meeting
a Friend—A Goldfields Camp—“Nap”—The Reward Mine—Bonnie
Vale—Londonderry—Nearly Lost—King Solomon’s Mine—Hampton Plains.
At 9 o’clock in the morning after my arrival in the Golden City, I stood
gazing in amazement at a string of 135 camels, with numerous baby camels,
such funny-looking creatures, walking by their mothers! The Afghan
leaders came crying “Hoostah,” and their Indian dresses and huge turbans
made a most picturesque sight for eyes that had before only seen the
like in pictures, or, yes, one, I think, at the Melbourne “Zoo.” Then
another camel came trotting or galloping with a European on its back, who
seemed as much at home as on a horse. I am told camel-riding gives one
a sea-sick feeling. I have never tried the experiment of a ride, though
several ladies on the fields have done so. To look at the camel you would
think a step-ladder required to mount one, but it is not so, as the camel
kneels down and allows you to get on his back; you then cling on tight,
while he proceeds to get up, which he does with an awful jerk, at the
same time making a peculiar bellowing noise, which sent me away to a good
distance. When I tell you that a camel’s hind legs will reach any part
of him, over his head, round his chest, and on to his hump, and that he
has the unpleasant habit of shooting out his legs without warning, and
also that his neck is of the same pliancy, you will not wonder that the
“ship of the desert” has no charm for me. The camel is the great beast
of burden of Western Australia; the first were brought as an experiment
to the West by two Hindoo traders; these animals quickly came into
favour in the waterless districts, and now there are thousands of them
carrying supplies to the different parts of the colony. They are very
obedient to their Afghan masters, but it is difficult for a white man
ever to obtain great influence over them; they never seem to take kindly
to white people. A string of these useful but ungainly animals is led
by one of their own species, a string passing through a peg in the nose
of every camel in the train, and keeping them in a line. The headgear
of a leading camel is a gay affair; a network of fancy coloured wool
with many a bright-hued tassel and white shells, finished off with blue
and red beads. The Afghans are very careful and proud of their “leading
gentleman.”
[Illustration: EARLY DAYS, COOLGARDIE]
Taking a drive round Coolgardie I was much surprised at the size of
the place. It is four miles square. Driving out to the racecourse we
passed the recreation-ground. As it was Saturday, many of the boys of
the town were playing cricket. We passed through the suburb of Toorak.
Certainly there are no fine mansions; for the most part the places
are Hessian camps with occasional tents, but there are also some very
comfortable-looking wooden cottages, many with praiseworthy attempts at
ornamentation, painted light green, and not at all unpleasing to the eye
in this sandy and desert-looking country. There are no large trees here
at all, a few medium-sized ones, and plenty of mulga scrub and salt-bush,
which looks most dry and uninviting, but contains much nourishment, so
that sheep and cattle thrive well on it, and mulga is almost the only
food of the camel. Returning to Coolgardie, we passed through the town
again and crossed the railway bridge to the other chief suburb, Montana.
Here we saw the fine residence of Warden Finnerty, and the hospital,
called John of God. On we went past the suburb along the road to the
famed Londonderry. The country just here was very pretty; there is a deep
gully on one side with a good deal of vegetation, which, after all the
sand and mulga, was most pleasing to the eye. The sun was just setting,
and the brilliant red of the sky seemed to cast a reflection on the
earth. The mines in the background, with the tents scattered round, a
camel-train along the bush, and the town in the distance, formed a unique
picture. Returning we took another direction, past the oldest part of the
town, and past the Afghans’ camp. The day’s work was done and hundreds of
camels were lying down or munching the mulga. The Afghans were preparing
their evening meal and chattering to one another in shrill voices. I
soon saw quite enough of this part, and was not sorry to return to my
comfortable quarters at the hotel.
The population of Coolgardie and the immediate neighbourhood is at the
present time about 13,000; a few years ago there were more than twice
that number, most of whom have gone to the Kalgoorlie and other fields,
as the enormous richness of Coolgardie is now a thing of the past,
although many mines are still yielding well.
There is a really splendid post-office, also a court-house and warden’s
offices, recently finished. These are three of the finest public
buildings in Western Australia. There are many other fine buildings,
notably the Grand Hotel, Union Bank, and Beaconsfield Chambers. The
Chamber of Mines is another handsome building on a splendid site, and a
most valuable place for the mining community. The Chamber of Mines keeps
the people of the world well informed concerning the great gold-mining
industry, and communicates statistical information of a trustworthy
character to every member interested in the mines of the colony, as well
as information concerning the fairness and justice of legislation dealing
with mines. One half of the building is occupied by the Coolgardie Club.
Looking at these magnificent buildings in the wide and spacious streets,
all lighted up by electricity, and supplied with every luxury, one can
scarcely realise that a few years ago Coolgardie was a sandy desert;
where many men went through hardships almost beyond imagination; where
fever reigned supreme; where the bare necessities of life were daily
longed for in vain; where comforts were the things to be only dreamed
of and the isolation was terrible; where tinned meat, the only kind
obtainable, became almost hateful, and received the name of “tinned dog”;
where one could almost cry, “Water, water everywhere, but not a drop
to drink,” since the pioneers often found themselves in a wilderness
with nothing but salt water, quite unfit to drink, and refused even by
the camel, who is supposed to drink almost anything obtainable. Camels
would stray away seeking for water, and then the owners would return
to their camps disheartened, saying that they had no time to look for
gold, it took all their time to look for water and camels. The terrible
longing for home news, and the uncertainty of getting any; the wall that
seemed to divide the miners from the rest of the world, together with
the feeling that there was untold wealth of gold lying beneath their
feet if they could only hold out and keep up strength to get at it, made
their lives almost intolerable, and many of those first prospectors have
gone under, poor fellows! leaving others to reap the reward and to make
Coolgardie the wonderful place it is to-day.
Then came better times, when sufficient food could be obtained, and
water condensers were brought, which, by a certain heat process, made
the salt water more fit for use, although it was still sometimes so bad
that the rich prospectors often performed their ablutions in champagne by
preference to it.
Going down Bayley Street that morning there was quite a stir outside one
of the smaller hotels. Of course, woman’s curiosity prompted me to stop
and look, and I found a wedding-party just returned from church. The
landlord of this hotel, Mr. Faahan, has really had a unique experience
in servants, for this is the twenty-second of his women assistants,
presumably in the bar, who has entered the bonds of wedlock while in
his employ. The hotel is one of the oldest in Coolgardie. I have since
entered it and met the genial Mrs. Faahan, who took me outside and showed
me an old tree beneath which the first drink under licence was served in
Coolgardie. The place that is now the kitchen was then the bar, gold-dust
was plentiful, and champagne ran like streams of water. Opposite to Mr.
Faahan’s is the Cremorne Theatre, a very large place now, but in the
first days it was a shed with a stage made of rough planks laid across
beer-casks, and no accommodation for visitors to sit down, and it is said
that the miners used to pass the time between the “turns,” as they call
them, by calling out the favourite players and throwing nuggets or screws
of gold-dust at them. Good old days!
[Illustration: WATER CONDENSER—FILLING THE WATER-BAG]
Taking my bicycle I went for a tour of inspection around the various
streets adjacent to the town, where I found many very nice houses, and
to my surprise saw a lady in a very nice carriage drawn by a pair of
greys. Truly, I ought to be surprised at nothing in wonderful Coolgardie.
The roads here are the most level and the best for cycling I have ever
ridden on; not only are the streets remarkably wide, but the footpaths
also. The town is on quite a plain. Riding merrily along I was overtaken
by a man cyclist, who did not favour me with more than a passing glance,
lady cyclists being no rarity here. I, however, recognised him as an
old friend and called out, “Jack, don’t you know me?” He stopped in
astonishment at seeing me riding about Coolgardie on a bicycle, as we
had last said good-bye in New South Wales, three years since, before
his leaving for the Golden West, whither I then had no intention of
migrating. After a little chat, in which I discovered that Jack had not
struck a gold patch or “made his pile yet,” he invited me to the camp to
dinner with himself and the boys (his mates), and feeling quite anxious
really to see for myself what the inside of the camp was like, I did not
require a second invitation. We accordingly rode off side by side, past
endless rows of tents and hessian camps, all alive with the miners now
home for their dinner. Some of them had wives in the camp to cook their
dinner, but the majority of the campers had to cook for themselves. “We
must hurry up, for I am cook this week,” said my friend, and pointing to
a parcel on the bicycle, remarked, “Here is our dinner that is to be.”
No tinned dog now, as it used to be, but real, genuine steak. On arrival
at the camp we found two of the boys anxiously awaiting the arrival of
the steak, and somewhat surprised at seeing Jack accompanied by a lady
cyclist, whom, however, they greeted with much heartiness. Poor fellows!
here were four of them all away from home and mother; all had given up
good appointments on the other side to come over and search for gold.
They were all very jolly, however, and said that they had no cause to
complain of Coolgardie. My first anxiety was to inspect the camp, which
was a neat one. It consisted of five little Hessian houses: four of
these were the sleeping apartments of the four mates, and two of them
especially were models of comfort, as far as the boys could manage it.
One was lined with bright cretonne, a shaded lamp by the side of the
bed, a rough bookcase with the owner’s favourite books and photographs
of various friends opposite; a nice cosy chair and a wooden table, made
by my friend Jack, completed the furniture. Then another had his camp
lined with green baize, very nice in winter, but too hot, I imagine,
in summer-time. Here was a nice little table, two shelves painted with
white enamel paint, and some sketches done by the owner; many little
presents that had been sent from home were being proudly shown to me
when we heard the welcome sound, “Dinner is ready.” We then adjourned to
the fifth tent, which proved to be dining-room, parlour, and card-room
in one. A table down the middle covered with oil-cloth, a bench at each
side, with a side shelf and rustic dresser, formed the furniture. The
steak was cooked splendidly. My thoughts went back to the time when I
had seen Jack last, quite a swell young man at Newcastle, N.S.W., and
now here he was in a wide hat and shirt-sleeves, cook to the camp, and
looking, I must say, all the better for his roughing experiences. They
had brought out the man in him. Before he was somewhat inclined to be
effeminate, now he had become a fine fellow. But I am wandering away from
the dinner-party. The butter was good, although it was tinned butter,
and the bread as light as a feather. “The baker calls every day,” they
told me, “and if we are all out we pin up a memo. on the door and tell
him how many loaves to leave.” “Now,” said Jack, “I must go out and
get the pudding.” I felt I ought at least to assist, and was also a
little curious to see how it was being cooked, so getting up in spite of
protests that I was the guest and must do nothing, I went out to quiz. I
found the fireplace consisted of two iron spikes in the ground with a bar
across, from which hooks were hanging, and on the hooks were two billies
(tin cans with wire at top to hang by), one with tea and the other with
pudding. I was presently to have what we call in the colonies “billy
tea.” I could see no pudding-cloth, but presently Jack fished out a
shining tin which proved to contain one of Swallow and Ariel’s Melbourne
plum puddings, and a delicious one it was. Mothers in the colonies and
in England need never fear that their boys away on the goldfields do
not get nice puddings or cakes while Swallow and Ariel are to the fore.
Returning to the dining-tent pudding laden, I found the boys had just
extracted from a tin a sweet cake and also a preserved pineapple. This,
with tinned Viking cream and the billy tea, finished up a dinner fit for
a Princess of Coolgardie, as indeed I felt myself to be that evening,
with those four boys doing me homage. I found out afterwards that they
had all these nice things in the camp in reserve for Christmas, but they
were only too glad to open them all in my honour. Apropos of tinned
articles, the piles of discarded tins on the fields make one open one’s
eyes; there must be millions of them. One of my friends told me that in
earlier days, when everything in the palpitating heat-waves and fearful
grilliness of the camps got destroyed with heat and dust, they used to
come home to their meals feeling almost inclined to fall down and worship
the tinned vegetables and meat that they had buried in holes to try and
keep cool, and that these were the only eatable things to be got. Canned
apples were a special luxury for Sundays, and took them back to orchards
and gardens where they had wandered in the past. “Those apples, with a
lump of plum pudding, full of good things, sustained our waning energies
and brought us up smiling out of our then dreary camp life, and,” said
another, “it brought back happy recollections of civilisation and home.”
After dinner we played a game of Nap on the camp-table, and I was the
winner of nine shillings, after which they all escorted me back to
my hotel, calling in on our way to see some other friends at another
camp, which proved to be a more pretentious place than the first, and
consisted of one of the pretty cottages before spoken of, the tenants
again bachelors. The inmates, a mining manager, his secretary, and clerk,
are attended by a Japanese servant; a very nice piano was in the pretty
drawing-room. One of the boys sang “Queen of my Heart,” in compliment he
said to me, and after a friendly glass of wine we resumed our bicycles
and rode gaily into the town, where I bade them good-bye, after spending
a most enjoyable afternoon in a goldfields’ camp.
[Illustration: Burbanks Grand Junction Mine]
I went next day to see Bayley’s Mine, where those wonderful first
finds were made. As I drove down broad Bayley Street and looked at the
stately buildings, I could not but think of those early days and of the
excitement of that time.
Of course I did not expect to pick up lumps of gold as people did then,
but I certainly intended to keep my eyes very wide open, for I knew it
was not an infrequent occurrence for men to find good slugs of gold about
Coolgardie still. There are always a lot of men fossicking (looking for
gold at the surface) about Bayley’s, and recently a man found a specimen
of quartz weighing 144 ounces, and containing 97 ounces of pure gold;
later on he found several smaller pieces near the same place. The country
around Bayley’s is not very striking. Beyond the mines working and the
smoke from their batteries there is nothing to be seen except miles of
holes where the prospectors have been at work seeking for gold. It must
have been a busy scene when they were here. Thousands of miners digging
away, and then washing the stuff in tin dishes to see if there was a show
of gold; and if one hole showed nothing, away they turned to another. The
manager of Bayley’s took me round and told me that the mine is still very
rich.
[Illustration: Vale of Coolgardie Mine]
I think the people of Coolgardie ought to erect a memorial pillar to mark
the wonderful spot which may well be called the Mother of Coolgardie.
Little did the pioneers think, when they camped on this spot a few
years ago, that the arid desert would turn into a fine city, with more
golden country farther out, and other cities, with tens of thousands
of people earning good wages, and many amassing large fortunes. Such a
transformation in so short a time the world has never known.
After leaving Bayley’s I crossed through a network of poles until I
struck the main road, and drove off to Bonnie Vale, which deserves its
name, the country being very hilly and quite surprisingly fresh and
green. Here many fine mines, viz., the Vale of Coolgardie, New Victoria
Consols, and others, under the control of Mr. A. E. Morgans, the member
for the district, are in full swing, and only wanting plenty of water
to give big results. A very nice little town lies close to the mines.
In another direction are the Big Blow and the Flagstaff; then come
Burbanks and Burbanks Birthday Gift. Burbanks Birthday Gift is really
a splendid mine. The main shaft, with its steel poppet-heads, is well
worth a visit, and so are the interesting models of different parts of
the mine, which were sent to the Paris Exhibition. Lady Charlotte Mine is
well worth inspection; a fine new battery has lately been erected, and
operations are now in full swing. The gold I saw from this mine—what they
call “coarse free gold”—was very splendid, and the quartz with the gold
showing through was exceedingly rich.
I next visited the famous Londonderry Mine, some five miles farther on
through the bush. I had some difficulty in finding my way, as, after
leaving the last mine a few miles behind, there were several tracks, and
I did not know which to take. However, I took the one to the right, and,
after going on another mile, came across a party of five prospectors,
who looked somewhat surprised when I drove up and asked to be directed
to the Londonderry. They were, however, most civil, and gave me the
requisite directions, one even offering to accompany me. That, however,
I thought unnecessary, so I drove off, and soon came in sight of the
big poppet-heads of Londonderry, and none too soon, for I had just
discovered that a portion of the buggy I was driving had given way and
I could not have gone on much farther. The mine and its surroundings
gave one a very favourable impression. Everything looked bright and
nice. I drove up to the manager’s office, who immediately sent a man to
take the buggy to the blacksmith’s shop for repair, the horse to the
stables for a feed, after which he kindly invited me to his house, and
giving instructions to his housekeeper to attend to all my wants, had
to leave me, as it was time to go down the mine for inspection. I was
not at all sorry for a rest in a cool room, with a cup of tea and some
excellent cakes made by the housekeeper, for after the drive of ten
miles in the hot sun through the Coolgardie bush I felt that there are
drawbacks to travelling. When the manager came up from below he escorted
me over the mine and showed me everything of interest. Londonderry was,
after Bayley’s, the richest find near Coolgardie, and held a wonderful
record. The mine is the brightest-looking I have seen. Everything about
it seemed spick and span; the manager’s house was a model of comfort.
There was a store, a blacksmith’s shop, offices, and, indeed, every
appurtenance that could be desired for a mine. The manager unlocked the
great iron safe and showed me such gold that I had never seen before. I
felt like Shakespeare’s Benedick, “I did not think that I should live to
see such gold.” It was really the most brilliant and beautiful sight I
had ever seen. One large block of white quartz was thickly studded with
gold in nuggets all over it. I wanted to pick one off, but on trying to
do so found it firmly imbedded in the quartz. Over a dozen magnificent
specimens came from one rich pocket. Down below in this wonderful mine,
at the 200-foot level, a huge case is fitted up with iron doors for the
reception of the rich surplus ore that the safes cannot hold. I admired
some peculiar-looking specimens that I was told were felspar, which is
valuable for glass-making, and is found here in large quantities.
[Illustration: JUBILEE AT RED HILL MINE]
After all the kindness I had received from the manager I bade him a
reluctant farewell, as it was getting late and a ten-mile drive through
strange country to Coolgardie lay before me, but I knew there was a moon
that night, and did not fear the Australian bush at all, so I refused
the offer of an escort, and drove off by a different road from the one
I came for I wanted to see the township of Londonderry before I left.
This is about half a mile from the mine, past the tidy camps of the men,
who all came out and bade me a cheery good-bye. I stopped long enough
in the town to see that it is remarkably well laid out, with a very wide
principal street, a few very nice buildings, viz., post-office, store,
hotel and church; also a nice recreation-ground, where a number of the
miners and other townfolk were playing cricket. But I had to hurry away,
so, turning round a corner and following the telegraph-line, I started
for Coolgardie. The sun was just going down, the heat of the day was
over, and with the evening a refreshing breeze had arisen. I drove on
quite happily. Nothing happened, except that I met two swagmen in the
Bush, who looked at me so hard that I must confess I whipped up the horse
and got on as quickly as I could. I was now on quite a different road
from the one I came by. Everything looked strange, and I began to wonder
whether I was lost, but consoled myself by looking at the telegraph-line,
which I knew must lead to Coolgardie. The Wealth of Nations Mine lies in
this direction, one of the Western Australian golcondas of early days,
where discoveries of gold, frequently in pockets—small holes containing
comparatively large quantities of gold—such as had not previously been
known, were made near the surface, and caused the wildest excitement. It
was, however, too late to go there now, so I continued on the same road.
Another mile brought a big mine in view, and to my relief I found myself
at Burbanks again, and on the main road, so I was all right, and drove
merrily along, meeting only a carter or so walking by the side of their
teams, who, seeing a lady driving alone, said, “Good-night, missus,”
and went steadily on. As we got to the rise of the hill at Montana the
presence of hundreds of lights gave me welcome to the Queen City of Gold,
so there was a safe ending to that day’s journey, and both myself and
horse were quite ready for a good supper when we arrived at the hotel.
Next morning I started for Hampton Plains, which is a large area of
ground taken up many years ago by an English syndicate at 2_s._ 6_d._ per
acre for pastoral purposes. However, when the rush of ’92 broke out at
Coolgardie, the news travelled to England that the great rush was only a
few miles from their territory. No wonder that they then immediately sent
out an expert, Mr. Lapage, M.I.E.C.E., to reconnoitre. On Mr. Lapage’s
arrival he found that a considerable number of alluvial surface holes had
already been struck, and 1000 ounces of gold had been taken out within
their boundary. Going over the land he found shows of gold in various
places; owing to the scarcity of water, nothing much, however, had ever
been developed there until recently, when the estate was thrown open to
prospectors. Large brickworks are now started on one part of the plains,
and the demand from Kalgoorlie for bricks is so great that the company
have lately duplicated their plant in order to make bricks enough to meet
the orders they receive.
On my way to Hampton Plains I called at Bayley’s South, which are
yielding up very good gold. I saw a lot of ore come up out of the mine
that showed gold distinctly. I felt myself becoming quite an expert now.
The ore brought up here is in part hornblende schist, carrying very
visible gold. The manager told me the gold had evidently been shed from
the reef into the surrounding country rock, where there are cross reefs.
I also saw some ironstone, which I was told was very rich, but the gold
in it was so fine that one required to use a magnifying-glass, with the
aid of which I could distinctly see it.
I next visited King Solomon’s Mine—not Rider Haggard’s famous one but
an exceedingly interesting namesake. Here there are quantities of the
diorite mixture of felspar and hornblende, with gold distinctly showing
through. This is an unusual and peculiar geological formation, and the
best specimens found on the field are at this mine. The gold has been
found impregnated in the diorite at a considerable distance from the
reefs, probably deposited there by water. I presently passed the Golden
Queen, and thought this such a nice name for a mine that I had to get
down and inspect it. I was lucky in just being in time to see two bars
of gold come up from the smelting works, and felt very covetous. The
manager told me that if I liked I could take them. I tried to do so and
found they were too heavy for me to carry, so perforce had to leave them,
much to my regret. I now approached Hampton Plains, a very flat part
of the country, as its name indicates. I looked around in vain for a
hostelry where I might put up and refresh myself and horse, but no sign
of anything of the kind appeared; about a dozen nice-looking houses in a
line were all I could see, the rest was plain, plain, plain. I summoned
courage to open the double gates of one of the houses and drove up to
ask for a drink for my poor horse, who seemed almost overcome with the
heat of the day. A man seeing me came to inquire what I wanted, and while
I was speaking to him a lady appeared on the broad verandah and kindly
invited me to enter. I was really glad to do so. Mrs. Ridsdale—for such
was the lady’s name—kindly told the man to put the horse up and go and
try and find enough water for a drink for him. They were really without
water on this dreadful hot day, waiting for the water-carts to come with
supplies. However, I was hospitably entertained with soda-water and
claret and biscuits, and after a rest, finding that my horse had been
refreshed with water, and also with some food, the carts having arrived,
I started off to investigate Hampton Plains. I did not find a great deal
to see. Several claims have been taken up, with no very great results so
far, except at the Italians Reward Claim, where some very rich stuff has
been got from the mine. There I was shown some handsome specimens, which
were kept in pickle-bottles, and very much admired one large nugget,
weighing 15 ounces. The land around here seemed suitable for pastoral
pursuits, if it were not for the scarcity of water, a difficulty which
will be overcome when the river of fresh water arrives at Coolgardie, and
there will no doubt in time be plenty of gardens and orchards, for the
soil is most productive. I saw a finger-post marked, “To Red Hill.” That
is another goldfield likely to be rich in the future.