OFF TO THE PALMER GOLDFIELDS
AFTER my experience on the barque “Edinburgh” I felt that I was
entitled to a spell on shore, and, as my landlady’s daughter had
responded to the attentions I showered upon her, I had a most enjoyable
time as long as my money lasted, then my restless spirit began to
assert itself again and to long for pastures new, and the farthest
thought in my head was to settle down. I was debating in my mind
whether to start up country or join a vessel going to a port that I had
not yet been to, when news reached Newcastle of a rush to the Palmer
goldfields. This news put the whole place in a ferment. Hundreds of
men in Newcastle alone threw up their employment, and started for the
north, whenever there was a chance of getting along the coast. Ships
in the harbour were deserted by their crews, even the officers in many
instances deserting at the same time. It would have been quite an easy
matter to get a berth on a ship, but that I, too, had an attack of
gold fever, and determined that I would get to the Palmer and try my
luck. But that was easier said than done, for the Palmer goldfields
lay somewhere in, as yet, an unexplored country, which it was quite
impossible to reach after the commencement of the wet season. Many
attempts had been made, all more or less unsuccessful, and all were
loud in proclaiming the impossibilities to be met with on the road,
such as swollen rivers, marshes, swamps, mountains, blacks, and besides
these, provisions had not only to be taken for the journey, but there
were none to be obtained on the goldfields, so these had to be carried,
or else you would have to starve. Many people went to Sydney, and from
thence to Brisbane, and then tramped the rest of the way, many lost
their lives in the attempt, some were killed by the blacks, some got
drowned in crossing the rushing swollen rivers, many died of hunger and
thirst crossing the waterless tracks beneath the terrible fiery sun
that shone down so pitilessly from a cloudless sky, for in that arid
track there was no shelter, no shadow of a great rock, no trees to give
a moment’s respite to the travellers in that weary land.
The nearest port to the Palmer was the newly opened port of Cookstown,
at the mouth of the Endeavour River, and the spot is identical with a
place mentioned in Captain Cook’s travels, where he ran his ship, the
“Endeavour,” ashore to carry out some very necessary repairs to that
vessel, hence the names Cookstown and Endeavour River, it was about
twelve hundred miles from Newcastle. That there were already thousands
of people flocking there from all parts of the world, New Zealand,
California, England, India and China, did not deter me in the least,
rather the reverse.
There was a great difficulty in getting a berth in a north bound
vessel, but several of the shipowners in Newcastle put a vessel on the
berth for passengers and stores to Townsville, but would not send their
vessels to Cookstown, for the place was not well known, and there was
a great risk of losing a ship, and as these vessels were uninsurable,
they did not care to take the risk. Townsville was about two hundred
and forty miles from Cooktown, and I think about the same distance from
the new diggings, the difficulties of the overland route to Townsville
were almost insurmountable, unless provided with a good stock of
horses, a good bush cart, and at least six months stock of provisions,
and as many of the gold seekers did not carry much extra equipment,
they all made for Cookstown.
Several vessels had got away full up with passengers, whom the
shipowners charged thirty pounds passage money per man, and the same
for each horse, the passengers finding their own provender and the ship
finding fresh water. Of course, there were hundreds of persons who
wished to go, but could not afford that price, I among the number, so
I determined to try and get a berth as seaman on one of these vessels,
but was unsuccessful.
However, one day, while talking the matter over with several friends,
I suggested that a number of us should form ourselves into a company,
each paying down so much, and purchase one of the many Ketches sailing
up and down between the Hunter and Manning Rivers, and which were
to be had for an old song almost, for they would scarcely float.
My suggestion was laughed at by most of those present, but one man
asked if I would risk my life in one of these ketches all the way to
Townsville. I replied that I would willingly work one of them along the
coast, but I had only ten pounds to my name. Then the matter dropped
for that day.
Three days afterwards one of the coasting captains, named Alec Brown,
came to me and asked if I would help him work the “Woolara,” a small
schooner of fifty tons, to Cookstown. He offered me twenty pounds for
the run, and a share of the profits if I cared to return with him.
He was quite candid with me, and said the “Woolara” was not a new
vessel, but had been laid up at Waratah on the mud for a couple of
years, and would leak like a basket if we got any bad weather, but
he thought we might nurse her, and make a good thing out of her if
we got to Cookstown all right. I was quite willing, and closed with
him at once in consideration of his paying me the twenty pounds in
advance to enable me to get a few things I wanted. He agreed to this,
and the following day we both went up to Waratah, and got the old
craft afloat. We found, as you may think, a few leaky places in her
sides, and the captain got three men to caulk her well, and then we
gave her three good coats of boiling pitch all over. After a week’s
work on her we made her as tight as a bottle, and she looked quite a
smart little craft when cleaned up and painted a bit. She had a suit
of sails that were like a patchwork quilt, but Captain Brown bought
another second-hand suit of sails from one of the schooners that
traded to Lake Macquarry for timber. A quantity of stone ballast was
laid level in the hold, and, if I remember right, we had fifty casks
of water stowed securely on the top of the ballast. After all was
shipshape she was advertised to sail for Cookstown, and so great was
the craving to get to the goldfields that we had on the first day over
fifty applications for passages. The passage money was £35 down, and
ship fare only supplied. I think if they had only been offered bread
and water we could have filled the vessel with them, to such an extent
was the gold fever affecting the place. When the captain found he could
get sufficient passengers, the ballast in the hold was boarded over and
temporary berths put up. We arranged to take twenty passengers, each
man signing articles as seamen at one shilling per month.
We left Newcastle at night, a beautiful cloudless night, singing and
making merry, just as though we were on a pleasure trip, for most of
the passengers had been seamen at some time or other and were a right
down jolly lot of men. They looked after themselves, and also gave us
all the help we required. We had a fine passage right up to Brisbane,
but here our luck as regards the weather forsook us, for just after
passing Brisbane we got into a black north-easter, and for a few hours
it was nearly a case with us, so dangerous was our condition, but we
managed to crawl into Hervey Bay until the breeze had blown itself out.
After eight hours detention we again started on our journey and reached
Port Denison. Here we encountered a terrific gale that very nearly
finished our sailing. The little craft was a splendid sea-boat, and
that helped us to nurse her through the angry waters. But we had our
work cut out. At times the schooner would be standing almost on one
end, and the next moment she would be on the other. Then she would be
thrown from side to side like a shuttlecock. Soon she began to leak
freely, and no wonder, but we had plenty of willing help, although a
number of the men had caved in and were lying helpless in the hold,
battened down, the only ventilation they could have being that which
passed through the cabin, for though many of them had been sailors,
they had sailed in larger vessels, and our little craft was being
tossed about so violently in the gale that they were laid low with
sea-sickness. But there was no complaint from any of them. The thought
of the bright yellow gold that lay in the earth on the Palmer, waiting
for them to come and gather it, cheered them up, for each man thought
in his heart that he was sure to make his fortune.
After a terrible experience we managed to creep in behind Cape Upstart,
about one hundred miles from Townsville. Here we lay twenty-four hours
to put things a bit shipshape again, and recover from our knocking
about. The captain offered to put any of the passengers ashore at
Townsville, if they chose, but one and all decided to continue the
voyage to Cookstown, and each one cheerfully took his turn at the pump,
and so saved the captain and me any anxiety on that account.
It had been no pleasure cruise after we passed Brisbane, and became
worse every day. There was not a dry place on board, unless it was our
throats. Everybody was constantly drenched with the sea, and no one
had a good square meal during the last four days; but there was no
discontent, everything was taken in good part, and many a tough yarn
was told while they were lashed to the rail to keep themselves from
being washed overboard.
After two days sheer battling for our lives, the wind died down, and a
steady southerly wind sprang up. This soon brightened our prospects,
and added considerably to our comfort. How thankful we were for the
peace and quiet after the rough and tumble experience we had just
passed through! The sea became as smooth as a mill pond with just a
steady south wind blowing, that drove us about five knots an hour
through the water. All our effects were brought on deck and dried, and
our sails, which had been considerably damaged, were repaired, and
on the fourteenth day we arrived at Cookstown. Our passengers were
soon landed, and Captain Brown took the little vessel well into the
river and moored her there until he decided what he was going to do
himself. I landed the following day, and soon found that the Palmer was
as far off as ever. The rainy season had set in, and the roads were
impassable. Whole districts between Cookstown and the Palmer were under
water, the rivers were swollen and in flood, and no stores of any sort
could be bought on the road.
To describe Cookstown as I first saw it would be impossible. It
resembled nothing so much as an old English country fair, leaving out
the monkeys and merry-go-rounds. Tents were stuck up at all points.
Miserable huts, zinc sheds, and any blessed thing that would shelter
from the sun’s fierce heat and rain, were used as habitations. There
were thousands of people living in the tents and sheds, and the place
literally swarmed with men of all nationalities. Large plots had been
pegged out in the main street, on these were erected either corrugated
iron sheds, or large tents, and here all sorts of merchandise was
sold, cheap enough to suit all purses, but the wet season was on,
and there was no way of getting to Palmer. Parties of men left every
day in the rain and slush to try and reach what seemed such a land
of promise, but many returned saying that it was no use trying, as
the rivers could not be crossed. Hundreds of these men lived out in
the scrub with just a couple of blankets thrown over some twigs for
shelter, no fire being needed except for cooking. All the scum of
Melbourne, Sydney and Brisbane were gathered together here, thieves,
pickpockets, cardsharpers and loafers of every description. This class
had not come to dig for gold with pick and shovel from mother earth’s
bosom, but to dig it out of honest men’s pockets by robbery and murder,
and the robbing of tents in their owners’ absence was becoming a
daily occurrence, for gathered there were the good, bad, very bad and
indifferent.
One day a party of three men returned after having got as far as
the Normanby River. They had been caught between two streams, and
could neither get backward or forward. The patch on which they were
imprisoned was only a few feet above water, and for some time they were
not sure if they would not be swept off and drowned, as the island was
only about one mile long and a quarter of a mile wide.
Whilst they were searching for means to get over to Normanby they
made a gruesome discovery, one by no means uncommon. There at their
feet lying together were five dead bodies. They had been starved to
death, and under the head of each man was a small leather bag of gold,
averaging in weight about six pounds each. What a terrible irony of
fate--shut in between the waters and starved to death, with over five
thousand pounds between them! The bodies were all shrunken and black,
so burying them where they lay, the party took the gold and divided it.
A couple of days afterwards they were able to swim their horses over
the stream and return to Cookstown.
There were several instances told about this time of miners who had
reached the diggings before the wet season had set in, gathered a stock
of gold, then finding their stores giving out, were forced to pack up
and retrace their steps for a fresh supply. Many, on that terrible
return journey, were struck down by the sun’s intense heat, and after
using their last small stock of food, died a miserable lonely death by
starvation, their treasures of gold powerless to buy them an ounce of
food.
It was quite a common occurrence for miners travelling up from Cooktown
with plenty of stores and provisions, but no cash, to arrive on the
banks of a swollen river, over which there was no means of crossing,
and to see on the other side of the river a party of men on their way
down to the coast with bags of gold, but with hungry, empty stomachs.
There they were, looking across at each other, one holding up a bag of
flour, and the other shaking his gold purse, each powerless to help
the other. Such was the lot of many of the diggers at that time, but
all the horrors, the suffering and death that took place in that mad
rush for gold, will never be known. ’Tis better so, I saw men return
from the gold fields, with thousands of pounds worth of gold in their
possession, but with frames so emaciated and ruined with what they had
gone through on their return journey, that their very existence was a
burden to them, their horses, dogs, and even their boots had been eaten
to keep them alive. It is a fact that they have boiled their blucher
boots for a whole day, and then added any weeds they could find to make
a broth of, so tenacious of life were they.
There were hundreds of men idle in Cooktown. They had no means of
buying an outfit, even if the road to Palmer had been passable, and
many of them had no desire to go any further. These could easily be
distinguished from those who really wanted work during the waiting
time, so many there were that anyone who wanted a man might easily get
him for a whole day’s work for a good square meal. Men would walk about
among the tents and whenever they saw food there they would beg. Many
were getting a living by their wits and knavery, and it was not safe
to be about alone after dark, unless you were well armed and prepared
for these light-fingered gentry. And yet the leading articles in the
newspapers at that time were painting in glowing terms the bustle and
activity going on in the rising city of Cooktown, declaring that any
man who could use a hammer or tools of any description could earn a
pound a day.
Feeling a bit disheartened at the grim realities that I had witnessed,
and after knocking about Cooktown for a week, I called on Captain
Brown, and asked him if he was going to take the “Woolara” back to
Newcastle.
“No,” he replied, “I have sold her, and made a jolly good thing out of
her, too, and I’m going to have a try to get to the Palmer. What are
you going to do?”
“Well, I am undecided at present, there are so many returning
disheartened, and broken down in health, and they give such bad
accounts of the road to be travelled over before you reach the Palmer,
that I don’t care about tackling it alone.”
“Well, look here,” said the captain, “I have done very well by this
venture so far, and I don’t care about returning without having a try
for the diggings, even if I have to return. What do you say to us
joining forces, and trying our luck together. I will buy three horses
from the next squad that returns, and use one for a pack horse.”
I agreed to his plan, and the following day about a dozen horsemen
rode into Cooktown. They had been a month on the road, several times
they had narrowly escaped drowning, while trying to cross the Normanby
river. They had lost nearly the whole of their provisions, and one of
their mates had been seized by an alligator before their eyes, while
they were powerless to help him. Then they had been obliged to kill
two of their horses for food. They willingly sold us three horses at
fifteen pounds each, but strongly advised us not to try the road for
at least two months, or to wait for the end of the rainy season. But
the thought of the gold beyond made us eager to take our chance. Had we
gone back to Newcastle without trying, our friends would have chaffed
us unmercifully.
The next day we began our preparations. We bought a tent, two small
picks, two small spades and one gun. Captain Brown had a gun and
revolver. I had a revolver, and the gun that was bought was for me, and
a good supply of ammunition. As we were going where money was of no
value and food invaluable, and everything depended on our being able
to carry sufficient provisions, we got a good supply of the best. We
had cocoa, extract of beef, preserved meat, tea and sugar, two hundred
pounds of flour--this was divided, one hundred pounds to the pack
horse, and fifty pounds to each of our horses--two large billy cans,
a couple of drinking pots, two knives, two basins, a tinder box and
burning glass. When we were all packed and ready to start, we looked
like a couple of mountebanks off to a village fair.
It was a fine morning when we started, but before we had got ten miles
from Cooktown our horses were sinking in the mire. Road there was none,
it was just a track or belt of morass, into which one sank at times
knee deep, and as night came on it rained in torrents, so we picked
out a dry piece of ground, and pitched our tent for the night. We then
hobbled the horses with about ten fathoms of line to keep them from
straying.
We slept well that night, for we were dead tired, and had we been lying
on a feather bed in a good hotel instead of on a piece of ground that
might soon be under water, we should have slept no better. As it had
ceased raining when we awoke we started on our way again after we had
breakfasted, and got along very well until noon. Coming to a place
where there was good grass for the horses we decided not to go any
farther that day, but to let the horses have the benefit of a good feed.
The following morning we started early, and at noon met a party of
diggers returning from the Palmer. They had been fortunate enough to
get a fair amount of gold they said, but what a terrible condition they
were in, thin and emaciated as skeletons, with barely a rag to cover
them. Three of their party had been lost crossing the Laura river, and
one had died of sunstroke on the road.
“What is it like further ahead, mates?” asked Brown.
“Well, it is only just passable to the Normanby river from here. I
don’t think you will be able to cross it with your packs. We had to
swim it, holding on to the horse’s tails, and then we lost some of our
little stock of food, it was a narrow squeak for us all, horses and
men, but we are here, thank God, safe so far.”
Brown gave them a small tin of beef essence, and a few ship’s biscuits
that he had brought with him. The gratitude of the poor hungry fellows
was pitiful to see, then they offered us some of their hardly won gold
for it, which we promptly refused.
“No, no, mates,” said Brown. “You chaps have earned and suffered enough
for that. Keep it, and take care of it, and may you live to enjoy it.”
We camped all together that night, after sitting yarning for some
hours, and when we had all eaten a very hearty breakfast we separated,
each party going on its way, like ships that pass in the night, never
to meet again.
Our track that day was very bad, just slush and mire, the horses at
every step sinking up to their knees. We were ready and expected to
meet with hardship on the road, but to realize the suffering to man
and horse dragging themselves along that quagmire is better felt than
described. Every moment we were afraid of them breaking down, and
when about two p.m. we got on a stretch of solid ground, we pitched
our tent, and gave them a good rest. So far we had not seen a living
bird or animal since leaving Cooktown. Had we been depending on our
guns supplying our larder with food we should have had to go short,
fortunately for us we were not.
The next day it was terribly hot, and, to add to our discomfort, we
had several heavy showers, which soon wet us through and through. When
these stopped and the sun came out again our clothes steamed on us,
just as though we were near a fire; this and the steam arising from
the ground made us feel faint and feverish. We were also pestered with
a common little house fly that swarmed around us and was a perfect
nuisance. At sunset we felt we could go no farther, so pitched our
tent on a patch of stony ground close to a creek, where there was good
grass, so we hobbled the horses and let them graze.
We turned in early, for we were dead tired, and the mosquitoes were
buzzing round in myriads, with their incessant cry of “cousin, cousin,”
when about midnight we were roused by a tremendous row near us, a
peculiar indescribable noise was coming down from the creek, which we
could not account for. We both sprang up and seized our guns, but the
night was pitch dark. What it might be we did not know, we did not go
out, but remained in our tent on the defensive. Never had either of us
heard anything like it; it was as one often hears, “sufficient to raise
the dead.” We began to wonder if we were surrounded by a mob of the
blacks, who were lurking around us, or was it the spirits of those who
had perished on this lone track, and who were trying to make us return
to civilization, but whatever it was, it was awful and above all the
noise could be heard quite distinctly--a piercing yell of pain, such
as no human being or animal we knew could utter. Thinking to frighten
the blacks, if it were indeed they, we shouted out to each other in
different tones and names, to give them the impression that we were
neither alone or unarmed.
When the welcome daylight came we Went in search of the horses. We
could only find two, but on the bank of the creek, not far from the
tent, was the forepart of our third horse. It was bitten off right
under the forelegs, all the rest was gone. There on the ground and in
the soft mud were the signs of a struggle, and the marks of some big
body having been dragged towards the water. Close to the water were the
tracks of a huge alligator, and where it had come out of and entered
the creek, a deep furrow had been turned up by its tail. This explained
the noise in the night, it was the struggle and death agony of the poor
beast, it must have been drinking at the creek and been seized by the
alligator. This was a very serious loss to us, and made us feel quite
disheartened.
We remained where we were until noon. Then crossed the creek and went
on our way--our horses more heavily weighted than before owing to the
loss of the packhorse--and at sundown we pitched our tent. Our fire was
barely lighted to boil the billy for tea, when three men crawled up
to the tent. We were so surprised, that for the moment we stood still
looking at them, for they looked like scarecrows with their clothes
hanging in rags upon them.
“For God’s sake mates, give us something to eat, we are starving, we
have lost everything crossing the Normanby.”
“Aye, aye, lads,” said Brown. “Come up to the fire, and you shall
share our meal. Have you come from the Palmer?”
“No, we could not get there. It is six weeks since we left Cooktown,
and we are trying to get back. Our provisions gave out, and we could
neither go forward or get back, owing to the district being flooded
and impassable. Three days ago the strength of the river eased down a
bit, and we managed to cross by strapping our bits of clothes, and the
little food we had on the horses’ backs, then we got on their backs
and forced them into the water, but the current was so great that they
were borne down the stream, so we slipped off, and getting hold of
the horses’ tails with one hand, we swam with the other. We managed
to cross, but it was a desperate undertaking, and we were so done up
that we were too weak to tie up the horses. We just lay where we landed
and went to sleep. We never saw the horses again, and have not the
slightest idea what has become of them. And now mates, we are stranded
here, without a bite of food, and unless you can help us here we must
die; we can go no farther. What is it to be?”
“Well, strangers,” said Brown, “my mate here and I were bound for the
Palmer. We have had a tough job of it so far, and we have had quite
enough of it. Hal a good meal, and rest yourselves well, and we’ll all
go back together.”
The poor fellows could hardly find words to thank him. They ate a
hearty meal, and washed it down with a good pot of tea, and very soon
after were in a sound sleep.
Brown and I sat talking far into the night. To tell the truth I was not
sorry he had decided to return, for with one thing and another, I had
begun to ask myself whether the game was worth the candle, and seemed
all at once to have sickened of the roaming about, and felt that the
ups and downs of sea life were luxury in comparison to hunting for
goldfields.
The following day we divided the stores between the two horses, and
prepared to tramp back to Cooktown.