SUPERIOR FATTENING COUNTRY
Blackfellows' Creek, or "Harton Hills," as the proprietor caused it to
be designated when it commenced to acquire fame and reputation, was a
striking example of the well-known faith held by experienced
pastoralists, that a good run will manage itself, and make lots of money
for its owner, whereas no amount of management will cause much
difference in the profits or losses of a bad run.
Blackfellows' Creek was proverbially managed "anyhow." There was a large
herd of cattle upon it, which certainly enjoyed about the smallest
amount of supervision of any cattle in the world, not being Red River
bisons, Chillingham wild cattle, or the _Bos primigenius_. Twice a year
they were mustered to brand; a little oftener, perhaps, to get out the
fat cattle. Sometimes there was a stock-rider, often none at all for
months. The owner enjoyed the inestimable advantage of having been born
north of the Tweed, a fact which indisposed him to employ more labour
than was absolutely necessary. It also prevented him from wasting his
ready money on "improvements." The yards were generally referred to as a
proof of how _very_ little expenditure was really necessary on a cattle
station.
"I wish I'd been a Scotchman, Rolf," said Fred Burchett to me once, in a
contemplative mood. "I should have had a good run and 20,000 sheep by
this time." "True--most true, friend of my soul; the same here--and we
should not only have had them,--the acquisition is not so
difficult,--but have _kept_ them. That's where one division of the
empire differs so much from the other." Now, the owner of Blackfellows'
Creek, partly by reason of his abnormal girth and a sort of
Athelstane-the-Unready kind of nature, never did anything. Yet he
prospered exceedingly, and waxed more and more wealthy and rotund. All
the stock-riders in the district came cheerfully to his muster, knowing
that they would be treated with a certain easy-going liberality, and,
moreover, be sure to find quantities of unbranded calves and strayed
stock, all in the best possible condition, and never driven off the run
or impounded from the richly-abounding and carelessly-ordered pastures
of Blackfellows' Creek. I myself secured at a muster, and sold there and
then, a whole lot of fat bullocks to Mooney, the cattle-dealer, who was
lifting a draft at the time. They were a portion of my Devil's River
store lot, which had, with correct taste and calculation, taken up their
abode at Blackfellows' Creek on the first winter of their arrival. They
had not my station brand, but their own hieroglyph was sufficient
to protect them in those Arcadian times. I received Mr. Mooney's
perfectly negotiable cheque for a round sum. They had fattened up
wonderfully,--great, raw-boned, old-fashioned Sydney-siders,--and looked
like elephants. The only remark the owner of the run made on the
transaction was, "As they had done so well, it was a pity that more of
them hadn't come at the same time."
It was indeed a lovely bit of country, speaking from a grazing
standpoint. There was plenty of water in the Blackfellows' and other
unpretending channels to provide for the stock in all seasons without
obtrusive parade. The run itself consisted principally of open
well-grassed forest land, with a large proportion of "stony rises," and
several marshes, very useful in the summer. Not an acre of waste or
indifferent land was there upon it. Nobody knew where the boundaries
were, there being no natural features of any kind, and the current
belief was that it was much larger than was generally supposed. It did
not seem to have any of the ordinary drawbacks to which other squattages
were exposed. In spite of its ill-omened name, the blacks had never been
"bad" there. If they had killed a few cattle no one would have minded,
and I have no doubt they would have discontinued the practice
voluntarily.
As a matter of course, the cattle were always "rolling fat." There was
never the least trouble of selling a draft to be taken from the camp.
The dealers gave the highest price, and bid against one another. Even
the two-year-old steers were often taken, so "furnished" and "topped up"
were they. How they were bred could never be ascertained, and was
popularly supposed to be wholly unknown to any white man of the period.
Bulls were seldom bought. Not the smallest trouble was taken about their
breeding. No money was spent, except upon the stud, in which were some
noble Clydesdales--on one of them, by the way, I once saw the
proprietor, and very worthily mounted he was. The animal in question was
a son of old Farmer's Favourite, a gigantic gray, no doubt having some
blood on the side of the dam, and seventeen hands in height. He was
active and well paced, and carried his nineteen stone most creditably.
There were sheep on the run as well as cattle. From the richness of the
soil and herbage they suffered a good deal with foot-rot, which they
were permitted to cure by nature's own healing art. But they paid pretty
well, too, growing a heavy fleece, and gradually increasing in
numbers--shepherds, ailments, and occasional free selection by dingoes
notwithstanding.
Mr. Carmichael either bought the place very early or "took it up"--the
latter most likely. Such a property was, presumably, not often in the
market; but the proprietor told me that he had once placed it under
offer, at what he doubtless considered a very fancy price, to Mr. Jack
Buchanan, a handsome, spirited young Scot, who bought one of the Messrs.
Boldens' runs--the Lake--in 1844. The extreme fancy price being £3 per
head for the cattle and 10s. all round for the sheep, the run about a
quarter stocked!
After the gold "broke out," the drafts of fat cattle from Harton Hills
began to tell up in such figures on the right side of his banking
account that the owner saw the necessity for acquiring the fee-simple.
This was effected, like everything else there, without much trouble. A
good house was built, fencing was put up. Thousands of acres were
purchased, and the whole run pretty well "secured," out of its own
profits solely, by the time the invasion of the free-selecting Goths and
Vandals under Gavan Duffy's Act took place. Mr. Carmichael ultimately
retired, and betook himself to a town life. But, however his idyll
ended, no better example than Blackfellows' Creek ever demonstrated the
soundness of the old squatting belief before alluded to, that _the run
is everything_--stock, improvements, management, capital, etc., being
all secondary considerations.
It has been mentioned in the early portions of these reminiscences that
the Mount Rouse station, originally taken up by Mr. John Cox, had been
resumed by the Government of the day, represented by His Honour the
Superintendent, and devoted to the use and benefit of the aborigines of
the district. Some compunction seems to have been felt by Mr. La Trobe,
a humane and highly-cultured person, at the rapid decrease and
deterioration of the native race. Whether he originated the idea of an
aboriginal protectorate, with a staff of officials known as "Black
Protectors," I cannot state with precision. A certain missionary named
Robinson had the credit of inducing the remnant of the wild men and
women of Tasmania to surrender to the clemency of the Government. They
were then, with a somewhat doubtful generosity, presented with an
island, and maintained thereon at the charges of the State. It does not
appear that they lacked henceforth any material comfort. But the fierce
savages who had long harassed the outlying settlers, and who possessed
considerably more "bull-dog" in the way of courage than their
continental congeners, refused to thrive or multiply when "cabined,
cribbed, confined," even though they had alternation of landscape in
their island home, and but the restless sea for their encircling
boundary. They pined away slowly; but a few years since the last female
of the race died. The monotonous comfort told on health and spirits. It
was wholly alien to the constitution of the wild hunters and warriors
who had been wont to traverse pathless woods, to fish in the depths of
forest streams, to chase the game of their native land through the lone
untrampled mead, or the hoar primeval forests which lay around the
snow-crested mountain range.
The missionary diplomatist displayed an amount of nerve and astuteness
which would have led to promotion in other departments. He crossed the
straits to Victoria, and, if I mistake not, held council with Mr. La
Trobe. Whether _propter hoc_ or only _post hoc_, an aboriginal
protectorate was established, and Mr. Cox had the honour of giving up a
property worth now say about £100,000 for the presumed advantage of the
black brother.
It was no trifling loss. Even in those days the "Mount Rouse Stones" was
an expression which made the mouth of a cattleman to water. It was the
richest run in a rich fattening district. The conical hill, so named,
was an extinct volcano, which towered over a wide extent of lava country
and open lightly-timbered forest. The lava lands alternated with great
marshes. Strayed and other cattle found there, when recovered, were
always spoken of by the stock-riders as being "mud-fat." When once
cattle were turned out there they never seemed to have any inclination
to roam, being instinctively aware, doubtless, that they could never
hope to find such shelter, such pasture, such luxurious lodging anywhere
else.
I remember Charles Burchett remarking one day that it would be a fairly
promising speculation to bring up a thousand head of store cattle and
_lose_ them at the foot of Mount Rouse; after a short, unsuccessful
search, to depart, and return in the autumn, when they would be sure to
be found all fat, and within a dozen miles of the hill. He reflected for
a moment, and then added thoughtfully, "I think a popular man might do
it."
However, there was no fighting with the powers that be in those days.
There was no Parliament--no press of any great weight--no fierce
democracy--no redress nearer than Sydney. It was "a far cry to Lochow."
So Mr. Cox shifted his stock and servants out, and Dr. Watton moved in,
took possession as Protector of Aborigines, and gathered to him the
remnant of the former lords of the soil, with their wives and their
little ones. The intention was humane; the act was one of mercy and
justice towards the fast-fading children of the waste; but it never
could be demonstrated to be more successful in results than the
Tasmanian experiment.
There were several protectorate stations established about the same
time, one notably near Ballarat, one, I think, on the Wimmera, and one
on the Murray. Long after a Moravian Mission was organised for their
behoof at Lake Boga, near Swan Hill. All came to naught. The blacks
visited them from time to time, when the season was unpropitious, or for
other reasons. They were fed and clothed. The younger ones were taught
to read and write, and received religious instruction. But the whole
thing doubtless appeared to them unendurably dull and slow, and like all
savages, and a largish proportion of whites, being passionately averse
to monotony, they deserted by degrees, and pursued a more congenial
career as wanderers through wood and wold, or as servants and labourers
at the neighbouring stations. There they could earn money, and, I fear
me, proceeded to "knock down" the same by means of periodic alcoholic
indulgence, "as nat'ral as a white man."
Meanwhile good old Dr. Watton, a genial, cultured English gentleman,
lived a peaceful patriarchal life at Mount Rouse--not, I should imagine,
vexing his soul unduly at the instability of the heathen. They were
welcomed and kindly treated when they came, not particularly regretted
when they chose to depart. All attempt at coercion would have been, of
course, inexpedient and ludicrously ineffective. So matters at the
"Reservation" wore on. The doctor's small herd of cattle, the
descendants of a few milch cows needed for the family, were wonderful to
behold by reason of their obesity, as they lay and lounged about the
spring which trickled down a plough-furrow in front of the cottage.
The pastoralists never approved of the protectorate system. They
accused certain of the protectors--not the gentlemen to whom I refer--of
instructing the blacks that if whites shot them it would be considered
murder, and the offenders hanged, but that if they speared the cattle or
the stockmen occasionally, it was only, let us say, an error of
judgment, for which they would not suffer death. This probably was an
exaggeration, and some allowance must be made for the habitual
antagonism of pioneers to "Injuns" of any sort or kind.
If these establishments did no particular good, they did no harm. They
afforded shelter to the aged and infirm of both sexes, and they
attempted, in all good faith, to teach the young the great truths of the
Christian's hope in life and death. Still, I know but of _one_ instance
where any permanent educational good resulted to the pure race. Yet I
took much interest in the question, and remember watching closely the
career of a highly intelligent half-caste, who had been brought up by
Mr. Donald M'Leod at Moruya. He was a tall, well-made man, intelligent,
"reliable," and shrewd. He married a respectable emigrant girl. They had
two children, and a situation under Cobb and Co. At this stage of
ethnological interest a snake bit him. The poor fellow died, and I lost
the opportunity of watching the development of the mixed blood.
After the Mount Rouse aboriginal station had been devoted to this
philanthropical purpose for a certain number of years, it became
gradually apparent to the official mind, from the well-nigh complete
disappearance of aboriginals, that its utility had ceased. It was
accordingly disestablished. One would have thought that the obviously
fair thing would have been to have handed back the right of run to the
former owner. This was before any gospel of free selection had been
preached, and while the "poor man" was still a harmless, contented unit
of the body politic, ignorant of his wrongs, and unacquainted with the
fatal flavour of vote by ballot. The license could have been granted
afresh to Mr. Cox or his executors, and no one would have thought of
protesting. But no! With a certain cheese-paring economy, of which
Governments are often justly accused, it was decided to let the right of
run by tender. Though assessments were high enough, no one in those days
dreamed of offering more than £200 or £300 annually for the mere grass
right of any run. Mount Rouse was hardly improved in any way. Every one
was considerably astonished when it was proclaimed that the tender of
the Messrs. Twomey had been accepted for £900 per annum! This was a
rental for the waste lands of the Crown with a vengeance! It was thought
that it never would pay the daring speculators. However, the event
showed that the Messrs. Twomey had gauged the capabilities of the run
accurately enough. They had a small station close by, and had made their
calculations justly. They put sheep on, fenced, and presumably made
money thereby, as they eventually purchased the greater portion of the
freehold.