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[Illustration: THE AUTHOR. 1890.]
Reminiscences
of Queensland
1862-1899.
BY
W. H. CORFIELD.
BRISBANE:
A. H. FRATER,
INNS OF COURT, ADELAIDE STREET.
1921
Printed by
H. Pole & Co. Limited,
Elizabeth Street, Brisbane.
To the Men and Women of the North
and West.
To those who Blazed the Trail, and to
those who Followed.
FOREWORD
The reasons for this book are as follow:--Whilst
talking over early days with Mr. Courtenay-Luck,
the popular Secretary of the Commercial Travellers'
Club, that gentleman suggested that I should write
a paper, to be read at a meeting of the Historical
Society of Queensland.
In writing that paper, so many long-forgotten
men, places and incidents came back to memory
that I thought my reminiscences might prove
interesting to others. I may be occasionally incorrect
in dates, or in the sequence of events, but I relate
facts and personal experiences. As they are, I leave
them to the kind consideration of readers.
W. H. CORFIELD.
_Sandgate,
October, 1920._
Reminiscences of Queensland 1862-1899.
CHAPTER I.
As it is in the blood of most Englishmen from the "West Country" to seek
adventure abroad, it is little wonder that the visit of an uncle from
Australia strengthened a desire I felt to seek my fortune in that
country. This uncle--H. C. Corfield--was the owner of some pastoral
country in the Burnett district, and described in glowing terms life in
the Australian bush. I might say here this was not all it had been
painted, but that by the way.
And so it happened that on a cold, foggy morning in February, 1862, I
found myself with an old schoolmate--George Custard--on board of, as it
was then customary to advertise, "the good ship, 'City of Brisbane,'
1,100 tons burthen, 'Neville,' Master," which lay in Plymouth Sound,
waiting her final complement of passengers for Queensland.
Mr. Henry Jordan, who was representing the Colony, came on board to
address the passengers, who, he said, were going to a land of promise,
where in the evening of his life, a man--as the reward of his
labour--would sit in the shade of his own fig tree and enjoy the rest he
had earned.
Soon the capstan was manned, and the anchor lifted to the old chantey:
For tinkers, and tailors, and lawyers, and all,
Way! Aye! Blow the men down!
They ship for real sailors, aboard the Black Ball,
Give me some time to blow the men down.
Blow, boys, blow, to Californeo-o-!
There's plenty of gold, so we've been told,
On the banks of Sacremento!
This we found was our good-bye to England, and, towed out by a tug, we
commenced our long voyage to Australia. When well clear of the land, the
tug dropped us, and with a favourable breeze, we made quick passage to
the entrance of the channel.
By this time most of the passengers were suffering the usual
disabilities felt by landsmen for the first few days at sea. I soon
gained my sea legs, and was able to take a view of my surroundings.
Here we were--365 human beings, who would be cooped up for weeks in a
sailing ship, and with as many different characters, sympathies and
antipathies, one wondered if it could be possible to live long with
harmony and unselfishness in such daily crowded contact. I suppose we
were representative of the many, who, whether in the poop or steerage of
similar ships, were looking hopefully towards the far off,
not-long-named southern colony, which was becoming known to the people
of Great Britain.
I was just nineteen, and all things looked bright and cheerful, but I
was impatient for the time when, on a bounding steed, I would be
scouring the plains, following the sheep and cattle on my uncle's
property where, as an employee, I was to begin my adventures.
After a passage of 137 days, spent either in glorious runs before
favouring winds, wearisome calms, or battling against heavy gales, we
arrived in Moreton Bay, and in due course at Brisbane.
The city, as it was in 1862, has so often been described, that it is
unnecessary for me to say anything as to its appearance. All I need say
is that it did not enter my mind to anticipate its growth and
importance.
Our ship's surgeon was Dr. Margetts, who, for many years afterwards,
practised his profession at Warwick. It is to his credit that we had no
deaths on the voyage, but immediately after landing, a little girl
passenger died. I helped to dig her grave on the ridges somewhere out
towards Fortitude Valley. My destination was "Stanton Harcourt," 55
miles north-west from Maryborough, which my uncle held as a station. He
was taking an active part in the great developments which, at this time,
were being carried out by the squatters. I was directed by my uncle's
agents, George Raff and Co., to engage five or six of the immigrants as
shepherds. These accompanied me to Maryborough by the old steamer
"Queensland." On arrival at Maryborough the shepherds were taken charge
of by the local agents, and I was instructed to ride on to the station.
I left Maryborough alone the same afternoon, but had not gone far when I
found I was bushed. Riding back I struck the main road, and followed it
to the public house at the Six-mile, which was a favourite camping place
for carriers. My new-chum freshness immediately attracted the attention
of the bullock-drivers camped there, who told me of the dangers I would
meet from the blacks, unless I propitiated them by generous gifts of
tobacco.
These stories so much impressed me that I bought a large quantity of
tobacco from the publican. After that, when I saw any blacks, even if
off the road, I would ride over and give some tobacco, which surprised
and amused them considerably. I arrived at the public house, at a place
known as "Musket Hat," in time for dinner. A gentleman who knew my uncle
happened to be there, and whilst waiting for dinner, said, "Come out,
and I will show you a good racehorse." Outside a horse was being groomed
by a man, who took some pains to describe his good points. I appreciated
the man's kindness, and on leaving handed him a shilling to buy a drink.
This he took with a smile, and thanked me. I felt somewhat small when my
friend told me that I had tipped the owner of the horse himself, and
that he would tell the joke in such a way that it would be long before I
forgot it, and this proved to be so.
Towards sundown, my friend left me at the turn off of the main road. My
first ride through Australian bush was very lonely, and I was very
timid. I heard what sounded like revolver shots, loud shouting, and
much swearing. This I learned later was the ordinary language used when
driving bullocks, while what I took to be revolver shots, was the
cracking of bullock-whips. At the time I imagined a battle was being
fought with bushrangers, but it turned out that it was merely the
station bullock teams going to Maryborough for stores, and to bring up
the hands engaged by me, with their belongings.
I found the station in charge of a manager, and that my uncle had gone
north in search of new country for the sheep. Grass seed and foot rot
were playing havoc with the sheep on "Stanton Harcourt." Shortly after
my arrival, 1,000 head of cattle purchased from White, of Beaudesert,
reached the station. In those days pounds were unknown, and I now had my
first experience in drafting cattle in an open yard. An old cow,
evidently knowing that I was raw, came at me, and would have caught me,
but that my hat fell off and attracted her attention. She impaled the
hat instead of me. My next lesson was in bullock driving. I was sent
with two loads of wool to Maryborough, having a black boy to drive one
team, and another boy to muster the bullocks. These would not allow the
black boys to go near them to yoke up, so I had to do this for both
teams. After capsizing my dray three times on the road, and pulling down
a fence in the town, I delivered the wool. The blacks had a short time
before stuck up several drays, and carried the loading in their canoes
across the river.
On the far side there was a dense scrub through which it was difficult
to track them. My boys said I would be stuck up when passing this spot,
so I rode on the dray, carrying a loaded revolver. However, I was not
molested, probably due to the fact that, unknown to me, Lieutenant
Wheeler with his troopers were at the moment busy among the blacks.
My uncle had returned before me, but had not been successful in securing
country. When lambing came on, Custard and I were sent out without any
special instructions to lamb a flock of ewes. Following the strong mob
back to the yards in the evening, the lambs tried my temper. I provided
myself with stones, and being a fairly good shot, I reduced the
percentage of lambs to some extent.
One night there was a great stampede in the yard, and thinking it was a
dingo among the sheep, I went out with a gun. Seeing an object moving in
the dark, I fired both barrels, and the supposed dingo fell. I had shot
one of the ration sheep which had been dropped during the day. Being
without any control or instructions in regard to the sheep, we decided
our working hours to be--rise at 7 a.m., breakfast at 7.30, start work
at 8. The sheep remained in the yard until the last-mentioned hour.
This did not improve their condition. One morning my uncle arrived
before we had turned out, and expressed himself strongly upon the
laziness of new chums in general. Excusing ourselves by the fact that it
was not yet seven did not calm the atmosphere. My uncle was one who
insisted upon plenty of time for a long day's work. I very quickly
learned the value of early rising in the bush, and in the interest of
the sheep, when necessary, to go without breakfast.
I remember my first night alone in the bush. I was sent to an
out-station with 300 sheep, and a black boy to assist in driving them.
At sundown I could see nothing of the hut. I had read that fires would
keep off native dogs or dingoes. I tied my horse to a tree, and gathered
wood, forming a ring of fires around the sheep. The black boy said
something to me in his own language. Thinking he asked me if he should
bring some more wood, I replied with the only word I knew, "Yewi." After
a little time I missed the boy, and cooeed for him. He replied as from a
distance. I wondered why he had gone so far when there was plenty of
wood close by. He did not return, and it was not long before my horse
broke away. All night was spent walking around the sheep. What weird
sounds I heard, and what strange shapes I saw moving. When one is alone
in the bush at night, even after years of experience, the imagination is
apt to run riot. Especially is it so at midnight and towards the small
hours of the morning. At daylight the sheep commenced to move. I
followed them, carrying my saddle and bridle. About mid-day one of the
station boys found me, and inquired why I sent the black boy home. It
then dawned on me why I had been left alone. The boy had asked to be
allowed to go home, and I had said "Yewi"--yes. I suppose I was only
undergoing the usual bush experience of the new chum, and had a good
deal to learn, but I was undoubtedly learning.