THE FAR WEST
It seems only the other day--but surely it must be a long time ago--that
January evening of 1844, when I camped my cattle near the old
burying-ground at North Melbourne. I was bound for the Western district,
where I proposed to "take up a run." And towards this pastoral paradise
the dawn saw my "following" winding its way next morning.
A modest drove and slender outfit were mine; all that the hard times had
spared. Two or three hundred well-bred cattle, a dray and team with
provisions for six months, two stock-horses, one faithful old servant,
one young ditto (unfaithful), £1 in my purse--_voilà tout_. Rather a
limited capital to begin the world with; but what did I want with money
in those days? I was a boy, which means a prince--happy, hopeful,
healthy, beyond all latter-day possibilities, bound on a journey to seek
my fortune. All the fairy-tale conditions were fulfilled. I had "horse
to ride and weapon to wear"--that is, a 12-foot stock-whip by Nangus
Jack--clothes, tools, guns, and ammunition; a new world around and
beyond; what could money do for the gentleman-adventurer burning with
anticipation of heroic exploration? Such thoughts must have passed
through my brain, inasmuch as I invested 75 per cent of my cash in the
purchase of a cattle dog. Poor Dora, she barked her last some
thirty-five years agone.
On the next day we crossed the Moonee Ponds at Flemington, took the
Keilor road, and managed to bustle our mob all the way to the Werribee.
A slightly unfair journey; but the summer day was long, and we made the
river with the fading light about eight. I had a reason, too. Here
bivouacked my good old friend the late William Ryrie, of Yering. He,
too, was journeying to the west country with a large drove of Upper
Yarra stores. He had kindly consented to join forces--an arrangement
more to my advantage than his. So, as his cattle were drawing into camp,
I cheerfully "boxed" mine therewith, and relieved myself by the act of
further anxiety.
Night watches were duly set, after an evening meal of a truly luxurious
character. I felt at odd moments as if I would have given all the world
for a doze unrebuked. At last the whole four mortal hours came to an
end. Then I understood, almost for the first time in my life, what
"first-class sleep" really meant.
At sunrise I awoke much fresher than paint, and walking to the door of
the tent, which held three stretchers--those of the leader of the party,
his brother Donald, and myself--looked out upon the glorious
far-stretching wild. What a sight was there, seen with the eyes of
unworn, undoubting youth! On three sides lay the plains, a dimly
verdurous expanse, over which a night mist was lifting itself along the
line of the river. The outline of the Anakie-You Yangs range was sharply
drawn against the dawn-lighted horizon, while far to the north-east was
seen the forest-clothed summit of Mount Macedon, and westward gleamed
the sea. The calm water of Corio Bay and the abrupt cone of Station
Peak, nearly in the line of our route, formed an unmistakable yet
picturesque landmark.
The cattle, peacefully grazing, were spread over the plain, having been
released from camp. The horses were being brought in; among them I was
quick to distinguish my valuable pair. Old Watts, the campkeeper, a
hoary retainer of Yering--who gave his name to the affluent of the Yarra
so called--was cooking steaks for breakfast. Everything was delightfully
new, strangely exhilarating, with a fresh flavour of freedom and
adventure.
After breakfast we saddled up, and, mounting our horses, strolled on
after a leisurely fashion with the cattle. I was riding, as became an
Australian, a four-year-old colt, my own property, and bred in the
family. A grandson of Skeleton and of Satellite, he was moderately fast
and a great stayer. Mr. Donald Ryrie rode a favourite galloway yclept
Dumple--a choice roadster and clever stock-horse, much resembling in
outline Dandie Dinmont's historic "powney." He and I were sufficiently
near in age to enjoy discursive conversation during the long, slightly
tedious driving hours, to an extent which occasionally impaired our
usefulness. When in argument or narrative we permitted "the tail" to
straggle unreasonably we were sharply recalled to our duty. Our
kind-hearted choleric leader then adopted language akin to that in which
the ruffled M.F.H. exhorts the erring horsemen of his field.
Ah me, what pleasant days were those! A little warm, even hot,
doubtless. But we could take off our coats without fear of Mrs. Grundy.
There was plenty of grass. "Travelling" was an honourable and recognised
occupation in those Arcadian times. "Purchased land" was an unknown
quantity. Droughts were disbelieved in, and popularly supposed to belong
exclusively to the "Sydney side." The horses were fresh, the stages were
moderate, and when a halt was called at sundown the cattle soon lay
contentedly down in the soft, thick grass. The camp fires were lighted,
and another pleasant, hopeful day was succeeded by a restful yet
romantic night.
So we fared on past the Little River and Fyans' Ford, where a certain
red cow of mine was nearly drowned, and had to be left behind; then to
Beale's, on the Barwon; thence to Colac, for we had decided to take the
inner road and not to go by "the Frenchman's," or "Cressy," then
represented solely by Monsieur (and Madame) Duverney's Inn, as it was
then called.
_Apropos_ of Fyans' Ford, there was an inn as we passed up. When
returning I met with an adventure nearly similar to that in "She Stoops
to Conquer." I left the station for Melbourne in the December following,
having earned a Christmas at home. When I arrived at Geelong I turned
out early next morning, and rode to Fyans' Ford to see if I could find
"tale or tidings" of the red cow left behind, as before mentioned. How
honest were nearly all men in those days! I _did_ hear of her, and,
having discovered her whereabouts, I went to the old house to breakfast,
preparatory to riding to Heidelberg, fifty-seven miles all told, that
night.
Dismounting at the stable door, I gave my mare to the groom, with a
brisk injunction as to a good feed, and passed into the house. In the
parlour was a maid-servant laying the breakfast. I stood before the
fireplace in an easy attitude, and demanded when breakfast would be
ready.
"In about half an hour, sir." I noticed a slightly surprised air.
"Can't you get it a little sooner, Mary?" I said, guessing at her name
with the affability of a tavern guest of fashion and substance.
"I don't know, sir," she made answer meekly.
"Come, Mary," I said, "surely you could manage something in less time? I
have a long way to ride to-day."
She smiled, and was about to reply, when a door opened, and a
middle-aged personage, with full military whiskers, and an air of
authority, looked in.
"I don't think I have the pleasure of knowing you, sir," he stated, with
a certain dignity.
"No," I said; "no! I think not. Not been here since last year." (I did
not particularly see the necessity either.) I was cool and cheerful, and
it struck me that, for an innkeeper, he was over-punctilious.
"This is no inn, sir," he said, with increased sternness.
In a moment my position flashed upon me. I then remembered I had not
noticed the sign as I rode up. The house and grounds, large and
extensive, had been occupied by a private family. Nothing very uncommon
about that. So here had I been ordering my horse to be fed, and
lecturing the parlour-maid, all the while in a strange gentleman's
abode.
I could not help laughing, but immediately proceeded to apologise fully
and formally, at the same time pointing out that the place had been an
inn when I last saw it. Hence my mistake, which I sincerely regretted. I
bowed, and made for the door.
My host's visage relaxed. "Come," he said, "I see how it all happened.
But you must not lose your breakfast for all that. Mrs. ---- will be
ready directly, and my daughter. I trust you will give us the pleasure
of your company."
"All's well that ends well." I was introduced to the ladies of the
house, who made themselves agreeable. There was a good laugh over my
invasion of the parlour and Mary's astonishment. I breakfasted with
appetite. We parted cordially. And, as my mare carried me to Heidelberg
that night without a sign of distress, she probably had breakfasted well
also.
I recollect--how well!--the night I reached Lake Colac. Mr. Hugh Murray
had, I think, the only station upon it, and the Messrs. Dennis were a
short distance on the hither side. The Messrs. Robertson farther on. The
cattle had rather a long day without water. Not quite so bad as the Old
Man Plain, but a good stretch. We did not "make" the lake until after
dark. How they all rushed in! It was shallow, and sound as to bottom. We
concluded to let them alone, not believing that they would wander far
through such good feed before day. So we had our supper cheerfully, and
turned in. We could hear them splashing about in the water, drinking
exhaustively, and finally returning in division. At daylight, the first
man up (not the writer) descried them comfortably camped, nearly all
down within a few hundred yards.
How far is the Parin Yallock? It is many a year since I saw the Stony
Rises, as we somewhat unscientifically called the volcanic trap dykes
and lava outflows, now riven into boulders and scoria masses, yet
clothed with richest grass and herbage, which surround for many miles
the craters of Noorat, "The Sisters"--Leura and Porndon. Well, we took
it very easily along that pastoral Eden, the garden of Australia, where
dwelt pastoral man before the Fall, ere he was driven forth into far
sun-scorched drought-accursed wilds to earn his bread by the sweat of
his brain, and to bear the heart-sickness that comes of hope long
deferred--the deadly despair that is born of long years of waiting for
slow remorseless ruin. Ha! how have we skipped over half-a-century, more
or less! Bless you, nobody was ruined in those golden days, because
there was no credit. Riverina was almost as much a _terra incognita_ as
Borneo--much more the Lower Macquarie and the Upper Bogan. But I must
get back to Colac, and feel the thick kangaroo grass under my feet,
quite as thick as an English meadow (I have been there since, too), as
Donald and I led our horses. He had a rein which slipped out at the
cheek, contrived on purpose for his horse, and the better sustentation
of him, Dumple.
We leave Captain Fyans' station on our right. He was the Crown Lands
Commissioner in those days, and had the sense to take up a small, but
very choice, bit of the "waste lands of the Crown" on his own account.
There abide the "FF" cattle to this day, if the Messrs. Robertson have
not deposed them in favour of sheep, or the rabbits eaten them out of
house and home.
We pass the police station, another rich pasture reserved for the
mounted police troopers and their chargers. There old Hatsell Garrard
dwelt for a season, with his fresh-coloured English yeoman face, his
pleasant, racy talk, and unerring judgment in horse-flesh. Did not
Cornborough, that grand old son of Tramp, emigrate to Victoria under his
auspices? I need say no more.
Then we come to Scott and Richardson's, the Parin Yallock station
proper. Both good fellows. The latter might aver with Ralph Leigh--
Those were the days when my beard was black,
and the good steed Damper was not much averse to "a stiff top rail,"
though carrying a rider considerably over six feet, and a welter weight
to boot. Between the station and the crossing-place--difficult and
dangerous it was, too, even for horsemen--we camped. It came on to rain.
It was our only unpleasant night (except one when we missed the drays
and had no supper. I didn't smoke then and oh! how hungry I was). The
cattle were uneasy, and "ringed" all night. Next morning the camp was
like a circus on a large scale. The soil is rich and black. I have seen
no mud to speak of for the last ten years. Even the mud in those parts
was of a superior description.
Next day we faced the Parin Yallock Creek and its malign ford--save the
mark! One dray was bogged; several head of cattle; my colt went down
tail first, and nearly "turned turtle," but eventually the _corps
d'armée_ got safely over to the sound but rugged stony rises. Crossing
them, we reached the broad rich flats around the lovely lake of
Purrumbeet.
It was late when we got there, the cattle having been hustled and
bustled to get out of the labyrinthine stony rises before dark; and the
day turning out warm after the rain, they were inclined to drink
heartily. To this intent they ran violently into the lake, I don't know
how many fathoms deep, and shelving abruptly. All the leaders were out
of their depth at once, and swam about with a surprised air. However,
the beach was hard and smooth, so back they came, in good trim to set to
at the luxuriant herbage which borders the lake shore. I wonder what the
Messrs. Manifold would think now of a thousand head of cattle coming
ravaging up close to the house, and walking into their clover and
rye-grass, without saying "by your leave," much less "reporting."
When the day broke how lovely the landscape seemed. The rugged lava
country that we had left behind had given place to immense meadows and
grassy slopes, thinly timbered with handsome blackwood trees. The Lake
Purrumbeet was the great central feature--a noble sheet of water, with
sloping green banks, and endless depth of the fresh pure element. On the
western bank was built a comfortable cottage, where flowers and fruit
trees by their unusual luxuriance bore testimony to the richness of the
deep black alluvial.
We did a "lazyally" sort of day--the cattle knee-deep in grass, every
one taking it extremely easy. Leura, another volcano out of work,
surrounded by wonderful greenery, wherein the station cattle lay about,
looking like prize-winners that had strayed from a show-yard, was passed
about mid-day. Next morning saw us at Mr. Neil Black's Basin Bank
station. Here we saw the heifers of the NB herd. They were "tailed" or
herded, as was the fashion in those days, and a fine well-grown,
well-bred lot they were. The overseer was either Donald or Angus "to be
sure whateffer," one of a draft of stalwart Highlanders which Mr. Black
used to import annually. Very desirable colonists they were, and as soon
as they "got the English," a matter of some difficulty at the outset,
they commenced to save money at a noticeable rate. A fair-sized section
of the Western district is now populated by these Glenormiston clansmen
and their descendants, and no man was better served than their worthy
chief--Neil of that ilk.
From Basin Bank we drove towards the late Mr. William Hamilton's Yallock
station, where we abode one night. Here, or at the next stage, the trail
was not so plain. I have a reminiscence of our having camped one night
at a spot not intended for such a halt, and losing our supper in
consequence. No doubt we made up for it at breakfast.
Now we had come to the end of the genuine Colac country. What we were
approaching was a good land, richly grassed, and, agriculturally
speaking, perhaps superior to the other. But I shall always consider the
sub-district that I have just described, including Messrs. Black's,
Robertson's, Manifold's, and one or two other properties, having regard
to soil, climate, pasture, and distance from a metropolis, as the very
choicest area to be found in the whole Australian continent.
A few more days' easy travelling took us nearly to our journey's end. We
reached the bank of the Merai, at Grasmere, the head station of the
Messrs. Bolden, and there, not many miles from the site of the
flourishing township of Warrnambool, we drafted our respective cattle,
and went different ways--Mr. Ryrie's to his run, not far from Tower
Hill, and mine to appropriate some unused country between the Merai and
the sea.
Here I camped for about six months, and a right joyous time it was in
that "kingdom by the sea." I remember riding down to the shore one
bright day, just below where Warrnambool now stands. No trace of man or
habitation was there, "nor roof nor latched door." As I rode over the
sand hummock which bordered the beach, a draft of out-lying cattle,
basking in the sun on the farther side, rose and galloped off. All else
was silent and tenantless as before the days of Cook.
I took up my abode provisionally upon the bank of the Merai, which, near
the mouth, was a broad and imposing stream, and turned out my herd. My
stockman and I spent our days in "going round" the cattle; shooting and
kangaroo-hunting in odd times--recreation to which he, as an ex-poacher
of considerable experience, took very kindly. The pied goose, here in
large flocks, with duck, teal, pigeons, and an occasional wild turkey,
were our chief sport and sustenance.
On the opposite side of the river was the first cultivated area in the
Port Fairy district, then known as Campbell's farm. An old colonial
whaling company had their headquarters at the Port, and Captain
Campbell, a stalwart Highlander long known as Port Fairy Campbell, had
utilised his spare crews in the early days, and tested the richness of
that famous tract of fertile land now known as the Farnham Survey.
We were not without practical demonstration of the bounty of the soil.
One evening I was astonished to see splendid mealy potatoes served up
with the accustomed corned beef.
"Where did you get these, Mrs. Burge?" said I to the stockman's wife.
"From the lubras," rather consciously; "I gave them beef in exchange."
"A very fair one," but a light suddenly striking upon my mental
vision,--"Where do the lubras get them from? They toil not, neither do
they spin!"
"I don't know for certain, sir," she answered, looking down, "but
they're digging the potato crop, I believe, at Campbell's farm." Here
was foreshadowed the enormous Warrnambool export, that immense
intercolonial potato trade, which has latterly assumed such
proportions, and which invades even this far north-western corner of New
South Wales. What glorious times I had, gun in hand, or with our three
famous kangaroo dogs, slaying the swift marsupial. In those days he was
tolerated and rather admired, no one imagining that he would be, a
couple of generations later, a scourge and an oppressor, eating the
sparse herbage of the overstocked squatter, and being classed as a
"noxious animal," with a price actually put on his head by utilitarian
legislators.