Reminiscences of Queensland Part 5

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 s.h.i.+ny, 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 pa.s.sing 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 a.s.sembled, 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 G.o.d'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 towns.h.i.+p 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 towns.h.i.+p, 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 pa.s.sed 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 quant.i.ty 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 a.s.sisted 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 coa.r.s.e 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 gra.s.s, 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 gra.s.s 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 fis.h.i.+ng. 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 Pa.s.sage appeal to me. Most of the islands in the pa.s.sage 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 s.h.i.+p. 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p, 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.

CHAPTER VIII.

We arrived at Sydney on a Friday night early in January, 1876. John Dean required a rig out, and being a man of 21 stone weight could not buy a ready-made s.h.i.+rt, so had to be measured. We stayed at the Occidental Hotel, in Wynyard Square, and hearing that "Our Boys" was being played at the Theatre Royal, took seats in the orchestra stalls, which consisted of wooden spring seats. We arrived when all was quiet and the play in progress. As John sat down every screw came out of the seat, and he plumped on the floor to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the audience. The fun was greater when he was seen slowly, but successfully, to lower himself into another seat.

After the performance, thinking we had sufficient b.u.mp of locality to find our hotel without inquiry, we walked, and continued walking until we found ourselves down at the wharves, which, we had been told, was an undesirable quarter at any time, but especially late at night. From a pa.s.ser-by, we learnt that the hotel was a long distance off. After receiving instructions, we reached our lodging just as the bar was being closed at midnight. Dean suggested a drink, which we ordered at a side window, and asked the barmaid to bring the liquor into an adjoining room. A man calling himself Count Bismarck, and who was greatly excited about something, was in the bar. He said to Dean, "Aren't you going to shout for me." Dean replied, "No," at which the Count remarked, "Oh, never mind, I have plenty of money." Dean replied, "You must be a mean blooming beggar, then, to ask me to shout." Dean and I sat at a small table discussing the play, when a revolver shot rang out and something seemed to strike us. We immediately rushed for a green baize door, but saw no one. On returning to the room, the barmaid, who was quite pale, asked "Are you dead?" I answered, "No." At the moment I did not realise the absurdity of the question, or that the answer was unnecessary.

We failed to find the German, who had disappeared. Mr. Yeo, the landlord, ran in to inquire what the trouble was. When we returned to the room I found a bullet under the chair I was sitting on. It had struck the ceiling, and brought down the plaster. Later, in Melbourne, John Dean heard that Count Bismarck had been sentenced to two years'

imprisonment for shooting a man.

After a very pleasant time in Sydney, I found the rheumatism had left me, so I deemed it desirable to return north, and to work. On my arrival in Townsville I found the wet season was not yet over. Many friends prevailed upon me to stay back in Townsville, where I put in a most enjoyable fortnight with some of my old pals.

At the end of the fortnight, the s.s. "Banshee," a boat of about 100 tons, was advertised to sail for Cooktown, _via_ the Hinchinbrook Channel. I booked my pa.s.sage by her, and was informed she would sail at 5 a.m. on a certain day.

I was staying at the Criterion Hotel, on the beach, where the evening previous to my intended departure, I was given a send-off, which lasted into well-advanced morning. Owing to this I missed the boat.

A few hours afterwards it was blowing a cyclone. Spray came over the hotel. It was thought the "Banshee" could not live through the blow, and we were not surprised when we learnt very quickly that she was wrecked about 3 p.m. the same afternoon. It was ascertained later that, finding her engines were not powerful enough to make headway against the wind, the captain tried to weather a rocky point on Hinchinbrook Island, so that he might beach her in a sandy bay beyond. She failed to get around the point, and lifted by a wave over the rocks, became fixed in a cleft, where she soon b.u.mped a hole in her hull. Such of her crew and pa.s.sengers who were not lucky enough to be thrown far inland were drowned, or crushed to death. One pa.s.senger, named Burstall, crawled out on a boom, from which the waves swept him high on to the rocks. A following wave put him out of danger, but left him considerably bruised.

Out of thirty-seven on board, sixteen were saved, one a stowaway, who, it was said, walked out of the hole made in the s.h.i.+p's hull by the rocks.

A few days afterwards I returned to Cooktown by the s.s. "Singapore,"

and saw what was left of the "Banshee" in the distance. In February, 1877, the "Singapore" ran ash.o.r.e on L. Island, off Port Mackay, and became a total wreck.

I had left my riding horses in Cooktown, and a day or so after my arrival, I went on to Palmerville to send my teams down to the Port.

Having done this, and started them two days ahead, Mrs. Jackson, whom I have mentioned as having met some years previously in the Peak Downs district, asked me to take 200 ounces of gold down to the bank. I agreed to do so, carrying it in my valise on the saddle. I was very glad when I reached the waggons to get rid of the gold, as it proved a very dead weight on my legs.

During this wet season (1876), the Government had sent a boat to the Laura River to carry travellers across. These were very few. The boatman was very much alone, and I found that the blacks had taken the opportunity of eating him. While driving the leading team up the bank, I saw numbers of blacks' tracks all around the boat. We drew up a short distance from the bank, and after unyoking, I made my customary visit to water, with towel and bucket, which latter was filled for the cook. The water in the river was running in a channel on the opposite side, and when I was close to it, I heard a chuckle such as the blacks make.

Looking towards the crossing I saw a mob of blacks bathing, and one running towards the bank. Without a second look, I dropped the bucket, and sprinting across the sand and up the bank to the waggons, I called out, "Get the rifles ready! The blacks are at the crossing." After waiting some little time we saw Sub-Inspector Townsend and his black troopers riding towards us. He stayed for dinner, and from mutual explanations I learnt it was his troopers' tracks I had seen. They were returning from an inspection down the river, and had camped at the crossing over night. They decided to have a bogey before dinner, and the boy I saw running, went to get his uniform cap to denote a trooper. Had I taken a second look, I should have seen Mr. Townsend with them. He laughingly described me racing, hidden with sand which my feet were scooping up, in my haste to get the firearms.

Up to now, carrying had been so remunerative that one would have seen one-time station managers, ex-inspectors of police, old naval men, and all sorts and conditions of other men wielding the bullock-whip and making good earnings, but as compet.i.tion became keener, carriage fell much lower and more difficult to obtain. The goldfield was falling off, and more in the hands of the Chinese. I had a very hard time to keep my three teams in employment during the year.

In December, 1877, I again suffered severely from malaria, and having previously sold one of my teams, I decided to make another trip to Sydney, leaving the driver to bring down the two teams to the Laura, and camp there until my return. The wet season was setting in, consequently we could not procure any loading. I had an uneventful trip down to Sydney, and again met with John Dean at Mona House, in Wynyard Square.

I returned to Queensland about the beginning of March, 1878, the malaria having left me.

Pa.s.sing through Townsville, I met Fitzmaurice, who told me that carrying had fallen away between Cooktown and the Palmer, and that he had left that district. He suggested that I should join with him in carrying to the western country, and added that he had been informed by a squatter that there was a good opening for a store at the Conn Waterhole, on the Diamantina River. This is about forty miles down the Western River, from where Winton now is.

The suggestion appealed to me, and it was agreed that I should go on to Cooktown, start my two teams overland to Townsville, then return and drive one of his three teams on our western trip without loss of time.