WE RETURN TO COOKTOWN
THE first day of our return journey we travelled as far as the creek
where we had lost our horse the day before. The poor fellows we had
rescued were completely done up, so Captain Brown determined to go
along slowly, and so give them a chance to pick up their strength.
Their names, they told us, were James Whitefield, Henry Bagly and
Thomas Pain. Whitefield, it seems, had been on almost every goldfield
in the colonies, and had three times been in possession of twenty
thousand pounds worth of gold. According to his own account, which
I afterwards verified, the man had not a friend in the world, or a
relative living. He was utterly indifferent to worldly possessions, and
after returning from the Victorian goldfields had spent, or squandered,
twelve thousand pounds in Melbourne in three weeks. A woman in Burk
Street took his fancy, and he bought and furnished a house for her
that cost him five thousand pounds, then, after living with her there
for ten days, he grew restless and cleared out to the Charter Tower
goldfields. He could neither read nor write distinctly, because, as he
said, he had no use for either. The other two men were runaway sailors,
who had been working ashore for twelve months at Brisbane before
starting for the Palmer.
The following morning we swam the creek after firing our guns and
shouting to scare any alligators that might be about. The creek was
about two hundred feet across, and for about sixty feet from the south
shore the depth was only about four feet, then the bed suddenly dropped
and the current rushed very strongly until the north shore was reached,
and there the landing was very bad as the scrub came right down to the
water. The way we crossed was as follows: A small line was made fast
to the after part of the saddles and stretched along each horse’s back
and a half hitch round its tail. The horses were then driven into the
water, and at once began to swim across. Captain Brown and Whitefield
hung on to the rope of one horse, and the other two men and I took the
other. Before we started Brown told me to keep next the horse and watch
it closely, and to keep my sheath-knife handy for fear the current
might sweep it away. Brown’s horse led, and we stood to watch it land.
When about half way across Whitefield let go the rope, and with a swift
stroke brought himself alongside the horse on the lower side, then he
kept one hand on the saddle and used the other to propel himself. This
eased the horse somewhat, and he got over fairly easily.
After they had safely landed, Brown called out to me to ease all
weight off the horse. We started, and I swam alongside the horse like
Whitefield had done. The other men held on to the rope with one hand
and swam with the other, and we got along first class until about fifty
feet from the other side, when I felt my feet touch something, and my
heart came into my mouth. The next minute the horse seemed to be jerked
backward, and terrified he began to plunge, snorting and neighing. Then
I heard Whitefield sing out:
“Cut the rope! Cut the rope!”
I drew my knife, and while holding on to the saddle with my left hand,
reached over and cut the rope near the saddle, in my haste cutting
a gash in the horse’s back. At the touch of the knife, and with the
strain from behind relieved, the horse plunged ahead, and in a minute
we landed. I looked round for the other men, but they had gone under.
“Whatever was the matter, Brown?” I asked.
“Well I don’t know,” he replied. “We saw the fellows go under, and saw
the horse floundering, and Whitefield called out cut the rope, and if
it had not been cut at that moment, the horse would have gone under,
and you, too, I expect.”
“But what do you think took them under?” I persisted. “We were going
along all right at first. Do you think it was an alligator, Whitefield?”
“Oh, no,” he replied, “if it had been he would have gone for the horse
first. I think there must be a dead tree, or a snag down there, and
they must have struck it and been drawn down in the eddy. They are dead
enough by this time, anyhow.”
“But good heavens, mates, it’s awful,” said Brown, “to think we all had
breakfast together, and now two of us are dead. Were they friends of
yours, Whitefield, you seem to take it pretty coolly if they were?”
“No,” he replied, “I didn’t know them. We met on the road over the
Normanby river, and beyond their names, I know nothing about them,
except that they had been sailors. They were jolly good mates--I know
that much, anyhow. As to my taking it coolly, well, mates, my fussing
about it would not bring them back, it may be our turn next, we are not
in Cooktown yet. I expect they suffered less in that last lap of their
race in life, than in any other part, and by this time they’ll have
learnt the grand secret.”
“Well, look here,” said Brown, “spread the tent and make some tea, and
I’ll go along the bank and see if there is any sign of their bodies
washing up.”
Whitefield and I soon had the tent spread, and the tea made. The horses
were hobbled, their loads taken off, and they were turned out to
graze. There was not much grass in the place, but a small shrub that
grew in abundance they ate freely of and seemed to enjoy. Strange to
say, although all our stores had been in the water there was not much
damaged. The two small bags of flour I thought would have been ruined,
but they were not. The water had only formed the flour into a cake on
the outside, but the inside was all right.
When the billy was set on to boil I strolled along the bank to meet
Brown, whom I saw was coming back. When I was close to him I suddenly
espied, about twenty yards from the edge of the river, a bundle tied
up with a stick through it, as though it had been carried over a man’s
shoulder. I walked towards it, and Brown, seeing it too, walked over
towards it. He gave it a kick with his foot, and the next minute was on
his knees untying it.
“Some Johnny’s swag,” he said, as he opened the bundle.
The covering was a piece of tent duck, inside it were a pair of socks,
and a wool shirt, both filthy dirty, rolled up inside the shirt was
a piece of canvas, which had apparently been the sleeve of a canvas
jacket. Both ends were tied with a strong grass like flax, and inside
was about eleven pounds of fine gold, that looked just like birdseed.
“Halves, Brown,” I said.
“Oh, no, not halves, mate,” he replied.
I drew my revolver and covered him.
“Why not?” I asked, my temper rising to a white heat at the sight of
the gold.
Brown smiled:
“Put back that revolver,” he said, “you mad-brained young beggar. What
about the other chap shan’t we give him a bit, he needs it just as much
as we do.”
“Oh, yes,” I replied, feeling a bit ashamed, “I agree to that.”
So we shared it out, five pounds each for Brown and me and one pound
for Whitefield. He thanked us, and said he had no claim to any share,
as he was only a stranger, and we were old mates. Who he was, or
what had become of the owner of the swag will never be known. It was
evident he had come from the diggings and had safely crossed the river.
Perhaps he was another of those without food, who became exhausted,
went mad, under the broiling sun, and had wandered off, or he may only
have lain down to sleep and during the night had been seized by one of
the alligators, which were very numerous in the Normanby at the early
stages of the gold rush. The truth will never be known.
After we had eaten a good feed of damper and tea, we caught the horses,
loaded them up and continued our journey. It was terribly rough the
first few miles. The track was just a spongy quagmire, into which we
and the horses sank knee deep and could hardly pull our feet out again
so great was the suction. And every now and then the poor beasts would
look pitifully at us, as they bravely tried to get along. However, just
at sunset, we found a pitch of dry ground and rested there for the
night.
The following day we got along a little better, but our stores were
getting very low, and the sky began to look very threatening, and the
next morning we were up and off at daylight, but we had only gone a few
miles when the storm burst over us, and the rain came down in sheets.
We spread the tent, but it leaked like a sieve, while the thunder
and lightning was awful. We were soon wet through to the skin, and
everything else we had was in the same condition. We were afraid to let
the horses stray for fear of losing them altogether. All night the rain
came down in torrents, and when daylight came the whole face of the
country was a sheet of water;
“Pack up, lads,” said Whitefield, “we must get away from here before
the floods come down, and then we shall get bogged and that will be
the end of us. I’ve been through that once, and had to shoot as good a
horse as a man need wish for, he was slowly sinking in the bog. I could
not get him out, and the pitiful look in his eyes as he sank deeper
and deeper was more than I could stand, so I just ended his misery by
putting a bullet in his brain, so let’s get on while we can.”
We managed to make a pot of tea, for we had very little else by now,
and started off again, but what a journey! Every hole and hollow was
full of water, and first one animal and then the other would stumble
into them, both man and beast, I think, had the roughest time of their
life that day, for at the best of it we were nearly up to our knees,
and sometimes a good bit above them. At sundown Brown wanted to camp,
but Whitefield urged us to push ahead until we reached more solid
ground. After a few miles of this quagmire, which seemed to get worse,
and when it was near midnight, we came up to some bushes or scrub; we
found the ground was a little higher and, though still wet and sloppy,
we felt we could go no further, so here we camped for a few hours’ rest.
At daylight we found, to our surprise, that we were near a camp of men
making for the Palmer. There were quite twenty of them, and they seemed
to be well supplied with stores and horses, in fact, they looked the
most likely and best equipped party that I ever saw on the way to the
goldfields. They had two light-built carts, made specially for that
purpose. These carts were four-wheeled, of light, tough material, the
seams were well puttied and painted and over all the outside was a
cover of strong painted canvas, with two cane wood runners underneath.
When crossing the rivers, the horses were taken out of the shafts, and
the harness was put into the cart with the stores, the horses would
then swim over to the other side, taking the end of a long line with
them. On landing, the other end of the line was made fast to the cart,
and the horses who were on the river bank easily pulled it across,
thus keeping the stores dry. It was a capital idea and had been well
thought out, and would answer its purpose well. They also had with them
a powerful dog of the Newfoundland breed that had been trained to swim
across the creeks and rivers with a light rope. The party were prepared
for any emergency that might offer itself, and their outfit must have
cost a good sum of money. When Whitefield saw them he offered to go
and assist them for his food, until they arrived at the diggings. Such
was the fascination that the goldfields held for this man. The party
readily accepted the offer of his services, and he joined them at once.
After watching the party start off, we also continued our journey, and
arrived in Cooktown twenty-four hours later. Many were the enquiries
made of us as to the state of the roads and prospects of reaching
the Palmer. There were still hundreds of men waiting in idleness at
Cooktown for the rainy season to pass. The place seemed worse than when
we left it, for wherever you turned there were the loafers hanging
round in scores. Brown was able to dispose of his horses and tent for
forty pounds, clearing ten pounds by the deal, for horses were scarce
and dear, and he might have got more if he had stood out for it. We
sold our gold to the bank and received from them cash and notes to
the value of two hundred and ten pounds each. Then we put up at a
second class restaurant and that day I posted a money order, value
one hundred and fifty pounds, to a friend in Sydney, to bank for me
until I came back, and in the event of my death it was to be sent to
my mother in Liverpool, and Captain Brown posted a draft to his wife
at Newcastle, New South Wales. It was not safe by any means to have it
known about the town that you had any money on you, especially after
dark, as there were plenty of men in Cooktown at that time who would
have cut your throat for half-a-crown, and think themselves well off to
get that much.