Owing to depredations and murders committed by the blacks between
Cooktown and the Palmer, it was found advisable for teams and packers to
travel in numbers for mutual protection. On the trip to Palmerville, I
travelled in company with nine other teams, and after crossing the
Normanby River we camped on the bank. Our bullocks strayed some miles
down the river, and on mustering them in the morning we found the trend
of the river was towards the Deighton, one of its tributaries, and in
the direction of where the old road crossed it. A party was formed, of
which I was one, to ascertain if it was possible to reach the Deighton
without going through the "Welcome Water-hole Sand." We found good, firm
country which made it practicable. On returning, we rode our horses
single file, thus making a good pad for the bullocks to follow. Our
first night out we camped between two lagoons. A mate and I went out to
get some ducks or geese, which swarmed on the lagoons. We had previously
noticed that the blacks' tracks had formed beaten pads, like sheeps'
tracks, round the lagoons.
We crossed a soakage running through sand; there were dense patches of
scrub near the lagoons, and I had an impression that it was not safe to
go farther on foot, and said I would go back. My mate at first demurred,
but eventually yielded. When we came back to the wet sand we saw blacks'
tracks over our boot prints. It was evident we had been followed, and
had we not returned would most certainly have been speared in some
convenient place. That night dogs were barking incessantly. My waggon
being on the outside, I let the tarpaulin down and slept on the ground
instead of on the bunk, rigged up between the spokes of the hind
wheels--there was less likelihood of a spear catching me there.
After crossing the Deighton we met some empty teams coming down, and
told them of the new road we had opened up. The carriers said they would
go that way. We cautioned them to be careful of the blacks, as there
were numbers of them in the vicinity. Some time after the carriers told
us they found that the blacks had covered the road with bushes, sticks
and small trees to screen their hunting grounds. They also said they had
met a German, his wife and little girl, at the turn-off on the Normanby,
and advised them not to go on the new track as the blacks were bad, and
they had no firearms. However, the German, whose name was Johan Strau,
persisted, saying he was not afraid of blacks, as he had been used to
them.
On arriving on the Palmer, we met two carriers who were riding down with
their gold. We told them also of the new road we had opened up, and they
decided to ride that way.
We also advised them to be careful as the blacks were numerous near the
lagoons, which they would pass. They said they had a revolver, but only
three cartridges, which they deemed sufficient for protection, as they
were riding.
Later these carriers had reported to the police, that on reaching the
open space around the lagoons I have mentioned, they saw a large number
of natives, and thinking mischief had been done, they discharged the
revolver amongst the blacks, who decamped. When the carriers reached the
abandoned spot they found Strau's body beneath the dray. The dead body
of his wife was a little distance away. A spear had been driven through
her mouth, and had pinned her to the ground. Both bodies were warm.
Three horses were lying dead, but there was no sign of the little girl.
The carriers immediately galloped on to the fifteen-mile bend of the
Normanby River, where a number of teams and packers were camped. In the
morning a well-armed search party was formed. On arrival at the scene of
the murders, scouts were posted to give notice if the blacks were
returning. A grave was dug, and the bodies lowered into it. While this
was being carried out noises were heard in the scrub. The party
proceeded in the direction of the sound and found the little girl, a
large gash across the forehead, her stomach ripped up by the blacks'
wooden knives, and her eyes picked out by crows. The body was brought
in, and buried with the father and mother. Flour, sugar, tea, gunpowder,
etc., etc., were heaped up on the ground, but there was no sign of the
dray. Inspector Douglas, in charge of the native police, was informed.
His detachment followed the murderers across the Normanby River, where
they overtook and dispersed them. Portions of the dray, stripped of all
the iron work, were also found.
The police learnt, through the troopers from some blacks who were
captured, that Strau's party was camped for dinner when the blacks
attacked them. The man was speared while reading a book beneath the
dray, and the woman was sewing, sitting against the wheel of the dray.
Before being killed outright, the woman was subjected to horrible
outrage by the blacks. It was intended to keep the little girl, but two
old gins quarrelled over her possession, and it was decided to kill the
child, and so avoid dissension among the tribe. From these murders the
lagoons were known as the "Murdering Lagoons."
On my way back to Cooktown I camped near the grave. That night I laid
down in the centre of the bullocks when they camped after feeding,
holding my loaded rifle and horse by the bridle. Bullocks are very
sensitive to the smell of wild blacks, and will almost certainly
stampede should any be about. Camping among the bullocks is considered
the safest place one can find.
Some time later, while at this camp, I was mustering my bullocks on the
plain between the scrubs, when they stampeded. I looked, I could see
nothing, but I knew that blacks must be the cause. On returning to the
waggons, I was informed that three troopers, who had run away from Cape
York, had been to the camp. They had no clothes, but rusty rifles, and
had fought their way through the wild tribes of the Peninsula. My
bullock bells were the first sign of civilisation they had met for three
months.
Mr. William Hann had just arrived at Palmerville with a mob of fat
bullocks from his Maryvale Station. I purchased 13 steers from him at
£16 per head. The cattle were very quiet after their long droving, and
as I was returning to Cooktown with my empty waggon, I was enabled to
break them in. At that place I bought another waggon, and with spare
bullocks from my first team, I was able to put two full teams on the
road.
Sub-Inspector O'Connor's camp was at the Laura River. On one occasion,
when dispersing some blacks, the troopers, who were all Fraser Island
natives, saw the shiny, black skin of an aboriginal hiding in the bush
some distance away. They fired, and a little fellow about six years of
age got up and ran towards them. The troopers picked him up, and he
became a favourite with them. They delighted in instructing him in drill
and discipline, and he proved an apt pupil. O'Connor and myself became
great friends, and many a happy hour I've spent at his barracks when
passing to and fro to the Palmer. Knowing I had no black boy, he gave me
the little fellow he had so well drilled. I bought a pony for him to
ride, and it was laughable to see him, if we happened to meet the
troopers on the road, straighten himself up and salute the officer.
O'Connor told me an amusing incident which occurred at Government House
in Sydney, when his cousin, Sir Hercules Robinson, was Governor.
Invitations had been issued for a reception, at which Captain St. John,
the aide-de-camp, called out the names of the guests as they arrived.
Presently, he called out "Mr. Smith!" In response, one of those present
walked towards the Governor, saying, "I don't think your two-year-old
filly will win the Stakes this year," and went on talking racing
matters. The captain relieved the situation by informing him that there
were refreshments in the other room. When all the guests were assembled,
Sir Henry Parkes, the then Premier, asked Captain St. John, how that
man, pointing to Mr. Smith, came to be there, and said, "Do you know
that he is one of the greatest scamps in Sydney," and added, "For God's
sake get him out of here, or there'll be a scene." Captain St. John said
he only knew that his name was Smith, but acting on Sir Henry's advice,
he approached him, stating that he had by mistake received the
invitation intended for another Mr. Smith. The man retaliated by saying
in a loud voice, "Oh, ah, very well; I've had two whiskeys and a soda,
which comes to eighteen-pence. Here is half-a-crown; you may keep the
change yourself."
In 1875, I loaded my two teams for a new diggings which had broken out
about 40 miles S.W. of Cooktown. The township had been called Byerstown,
after Johnny Byers, who had established a business there. Mr. Byers,
many years after was appointed Government Land Agent at Hughenden, and
subsequently Land Commissioner there. He is now stock and station agent,
doing good business in that town.
Finding carrying paid well, I purchased another waggon, and by breaking
in more steers, established my third team. These I now loaded for
Edwardstown. This was the popular name for the main township, about 40
miles up the Palmer River from Palmerville. It was officially known as
Maytown, but the diggers would not recognise the latter name. To reach
this place we had some very rough country to negotiate by a new road
opened from the Laura, over what was called the Conglomerate. Although
not as good as the road _via_ Palmerville, it was much shorter. On
returning to Cooktown I loaded my three teams for Blacksoil, where
there was a store kept by Sam Burns, who, I understand, is still in that
locality.
The wet season set in much earlier this year, and caught us in the
flooded country beyond the Normanby River, but by double banking the
teams, and working in the rain, we reached an anthill flat which was so
boggy that it was impossible to cross unless we made a sound road. We
had passed two teams camped, but as I was within 15 miles of my
destination, I determined to push on. My drivers and I cut down
saplings, and made a corduroy, across which we sledged the twelve tons
of loading. This was rather risky, as we had a quantity of dynamite on,
the explosive caps of which were inserted in 50lb. bags of flour. During
our work, which took three days to complete, the other teamsters would
frequently ride past and say, "That's right, boys, make a good road for
us," but did not offer to help. This riled me and my men.
Sub-Inspector O'Connor, knowing we were close, rode over with his
troopers to give us a hand. When we had got the last of the waggons
through, and put the loads on again, it was quite dark. After supper I
said it would serve the other fellows right if we took up the saplings
and burnt them. The idea caught on with the men, and by the aid of the
troopers, we took up every stick and, with some trouble, made a huge
bonfire of them. As they were saturated with water it was difficult
setting them alight, and the rain continued the whole time. However, by
about midnight we completed our job, tired out, wet through, and no dry
blankets to sleep in. Next morning, we were yoking to move on when the
owner of the other teams came up and threatened us with revenge for
burning the timber. When he saw O'Connor and his troopers he calmed
down, and returned to his teams, regretting he had not assisted us. He
now had to do as we had done, but with all the saplings which had been
in close proximity cut down. The next day we reached our destination,
and formed a good camp at the Blacksoil to enjoy our Christmas dinner
and a well-earned rest.
I now began to feel a tinge of rheumatism in my arms through wearing wet
clothing continuously. About the new year one of my saddle horses came
into the camp with a portion of a spear stuck in his rump. We threw him
and cut out the barbed head of the spear, but the wound afterwards
remained a running sore. I caught the camp horse, which we always kept
hobbled, and started in search of the others. In following the tracks, I
found where the blacks had rounded them up--killing two, one my
favourite hack--and had taken away the meat for consumption.
After mustering the others, I reported the matter to O'Connor, who had
just received the information of the murder of two packers, and was
preparing for a long patrol. Six troopers, O'Connor and myself,
started--all being fully armed. I took them to where the blacks had
killed two horses; the boys then followed the track by instinct, as I
thought. The rain had washed out all signs to me. When crossing a high
ridge, so bare and hard that our horses left no tracks, two of the
trackers were riding ahead, the others driving the pack horses behind. I
said to O'Connor, "I don't believe they are on the tracks." "Well," he
said, "I can't see any, I will call them back." He called out "Sambo!"
which was the name of the Corporal, "Where track?" Sambo pointed to a
blade of spinifex. I asked "Where?" He answered, "There." So I got off
my horse, and there was a tiny speck of blood which had dropped on the
root, and had not been washed off by the rain. It turned out the Myalls
had been carrying the flesh of my horses, and the blood had dropped here
and there.
We came to where the blacks had had a great feast on the bank of the
Kennedy River. At this spot it was rather wide, with a sandy bed, the
water running over it about two feet deep. I found the shoes, tail, and
mane of my favourite horse on the bank. We held a consultation, and it
was decided to send two of the boys with the pack horses back some
distance from the river, and then to travel parallel with it, as the
country close to this river was very broken. The rest of the party were
to follow the river down towards Princess Charlotte's Bay. We had a boy
out on each side to see if the Myalls had left the river bed. They knew
we could not track them in the water. We followed the river down for two
days, and I shall not forget the torture of walking bare-footed on
coarse sand with water running over it. I tried walking in the water
with my boots on, but the sand came into my boots and made my feet quite
sore. O'Connor was in the same plight as myself.
On the afternoon of the third day, the boys saw smoke rising about a
mile ahead. We immediately left the river and put up our tents for a
camp, short hobbling the horses with no bells on, but could not boil the
billy, as smoke from the fire would be seen. The moon rose about
midnight, and as the rain had ceased, we decided to start about 2 a.m.,
leaving our horses and belongings in camp.
It was a rather weird procession as we made our way along the river.
Five naked black troopers in single file in the lead, their only dress a
cartridge belt round the waist and cap on head. They were most
particular in wearing it when going into action, otherwise there would
be difficulty in recognising them or each other. O'Connor, myself and
the corporal brought up the rear.
After travelling some distance through grass, which in places was over
our heads, we heard a peculiar chuckle on an island in the bed of the
river. It was decided to send the five boys round to the other side,
whilst we, O'Connor, Sambo, and myself remained, and waited. Towards
daylight we heard shots apparently about a mile down the river, and ran
in their direction. We had not gone far when a big black fellow sprang
up from the river, disappearing in the long grass before I could bring
my rifle to the shoulder. I then heard a shot behind me. We afterwards
found the Myall dead, and eventually reached the place where the blacks
had camped. The boys had previously dispersed most of them. If at any
time I felt a compunction in using my rifle I lost it when I thought of
the murders of Strau, his wife and daughter, and the outrages committed
upon them, and again of the murder, and eating, of two packers a short
time before.
We burnt all the blacks' weapons and several dilly bags containing the
dead bodies of infants which they carried about with them. The stench of
burning human flesh was sickening.
I went with one of the troopers down the river, where the soil at the
roots of a large gum tree had been hollowed out by the water. Underneath
it resembled a huge cave. Without saying anything to me, the trooper
fired two shots into the cave. I then asked, "What are you firing at?"
He replied, "Two fella sit down there." After which he hauled out the
dead bodies of two blackfellows.
On our way back we met the troopers from the Palmer, who were also out
for the same tribe. The Palmer police went on down the river, and we
returned to the Laura Camp quite tired out. The troopers told us the
reason they did not stop at the island on their way down was because it
contained only a mob of old gins, who had knocked up the previous
evening, and could not make the camp.
When preparing to return to Cooktown, O'Connor prevailed upon me to wait
at the police camp while he and the troopers patrolled the road past
Murdering Lagoon. On his return, he told me the blacks had been there
during the wet season, and had dug up Johan Strau's grave, and carried
off the bodies. When I arrived at the place with the teams, I saw the
stains made by the chest of tea the blacks had pillaged off the dray on
the day of the murder.
Sub-Inspector O'Connor was a cultured Irish gentleman. Being possessed
of a private income, he would provide money prizes for shooting amongst
his troopers, and despite being only possessed of the old Snider rifle,
they quickly developed into good shots. Probably this and their known
capabilities in tracking induced the Victorian authorities to
requisition their services to track the noted Kelly Gang bushrangers in
1878. Mr. O'Connor and his boys, with Constable King, from Maryborough,
were at Glenrowan when Ned Kelly was taken prisoner, and the remainder
of the gang burnt in the public house.
[Illustration: NORTH GREGORY HOTEL. ROBT. FITZMAURICE, LICENSEE. 1879.]
On reaching Cooktown I again loaded my three teams for Maytown,
returning to Palmerville empty, where I sold one of my teams. On the
trip my rheumatism became so bad that I determined to take a trip to
Sydney, leaving my teams to camp during the wet season now commencing,
in charge of one driver and the black boy.
I left Cooktown in the E. and A. Company's s.s. "Singapore" in December,
1875. On board I made the acquaintance of Captain Pennefather, lately
Comptroller of Prisons, who, at that time, had a fleet of boats at
Thursday Island, engaged in pearl fishing. On arrival at Townsville,
John Dean (late M.L.C.), came aboard, and we renewed an acquaintance
formed some years before when he was butchering at Townsville, and where
I had purchased steers from him.
It was my first trip on the coast, and with fine weather, I was
delighted with the beautiful scenery. Owing to the early rains the
numerous islands were clad in their richest verdure, especially did the
Whitsunday Passage appeal to me. Most of the islands in the passage were
inhabited by aboriginals, who made a practice of coming out in their
canoes to the steamers, picking up food, etc., thrown to them from the
ship. One of our crew threw out a loaf of bread, which was attached to a
piece of rope. A blackfellow and his gin in a canoe close by the ship
caught the loaf, but the moving of our boat tightened the line, which
pulled him out, his canoe being capsized, and he and his gin were
struggling in the water. However, as they were good swimmers, they soon
righted their canoe with the loss only of the loaf of bread. During the
trip lunch was spread daily under the awning on the top deck. This was
much more pleasant than down in the stuffy cabin. After leaving Moreton
Bay the sea became rough. A water spout formed not far from the ship,
and it appeared large enough to swamp us had we been under it. The wind
made it hard to light matches for a smoke, so Captain Pennefather
introduced his flint and steel, and lit a stick composed of dry buffalo
manure; this we found very useful with which to light our pipes.