A Single Tree Page 2
Fragmentary as they are, true or less than true, all of them say something about what it means to live in this land, and some tell us a little about what it will mean when we learn how to live with it.
James Armour
1864
The shearers being quartered in a hut by the site of the creek, about a stone throw from the main buildings, I took up my abode there with them. The hut was roomy; the walls were formed part-wood slabs, split like huge laths from logs, and having been framed together when it yet green, they had shrunk so much that the hand might have been passed edgeways between any two of them. The roof was composed of great sheets of bark, and happily was rain-proof; there was no need of a window, and no shutting of the door could keep the draught out. Along the walls was a sparred bench of rude construction, on which the first comers had made their beds, the later arrivals having to be content with sheep skins on the floor. The fire-place was big enough to accommodate a sitter on each side within when the fire was low. There was a man to cook, and to attend to the house wants of the company.
Being among strange people, whose manner of living I had yet to get acquainted with, I sat up later than was agreeable to me waiting and wearying for my fellow-lodgers to come home, that I might see how they did about the sleeping. About midnight they came – a noisy multitude, full of brandy and “Old Tom”. . .
On the morning of the third day the sheep shearing commenced, and the packing of the wool in bales became my work. The press consisted of a large box set on end, and without either top or bottom; the sides were detachable, and were merely clamped together when the pressing was being done. A strong coarse canvas bag, exactly fitting the inside of the box, was placed in it; the flaps that were to enclose the top end of the bale were turned over the sides and secured there, so that the bale barely rested on the ground within. Throwing a few fleeces in and armed with a spade, I kept stuffing the wall that lay along the sides down between the bagging and the mass I stood on, until I made it somewhat solid, then more fleeces, and more stuffing, till I reached the top, which, on the flaps being sewn together, was packed by means of a short staff. I did feel proud when I managed to turn out a bale that had no soft spots in it, but my specimens on this first day were few, the shearers were out of condition, their wrists grew feeble, and their backs grew sore, and they adjourned to the tap-room for “a stiffener”, and I saw them no more till late at night, when they came down in a body to the hut bringing disorder and two strangers with them, also some liquor, which however, lasting but a short time, and their fierce humour inclining them to make “a night of it”, a select few were despatched to procure, if at all possible, no matter by what means, a five gallon keg of rum, as they could no longer satisfy themselves with drops in bottles; but the proprietor having an eye to his flocks, which before the public-house was started, had been his main stay, gave them instead a certain warning of police proceedings were the shearing any longer delayed on their account. Shearers were scarce, and consequently were disposed to stand upon their dignity, but these having been made debtors for “slop” goods, and for liquor supplied to them at the rate of twenty shillings a bottle, felt themselves on the wrong side of the law for showing airs, having no money to pay off the score, besides present thirst making them like very Esaus, they gladly for the sake of two bottles more agreed to the terms he now imposed on them. These bottles were soon drained dry as the others, on which the yet unsatisfied began to quarrel among themselves. One sang while the dispute was going on, and another, too drunk to stand, sat on the floor reciting doggerel verse, which he appeared to make as he went on, every now and again stopping to say that he was Fraser of Kilbarchan, and that everybody knew him . . .
After the shearing had been fairly commenced, I was much attracted by the appearance of two new-comers, who, during the rudely animated discussion in the hut, sat quietly smoking their pipes, seldom joining in with more than a chance comment, or a brief reply when asked to verify any assertion, more than usually extraordinary. The undisguised and avowed rascality of many of the others required but little study to understand, but those silent ones – hard-featured, sullen, with eyes ever stealing searching glances at the speakers – seemed undefinable. In the others, a kindly trait would now and again flash out in their outspoken lawlessness, but in these there seemed ever a dark spirit of evil brooding, all the more terrible because unknown . . .
I left the slaughter yard on the second morning after receiving the information, and, carrying only a pair of blankets, and a cook pot, with a little bread and tea, started for Ballarat, there to take the coach for Geelong, thence to Melbourne by the steamer, being much too impatient to think of walking all the way, though my pay of thirty shillings a week with rations, could ill afford the expense. My mind running so much on home during my journey down, I looked with somewhat modified impressions on the scenes traversed; they had no longer novelty to recommend them, and I found myself contrasting them with those of the old country. I thought of the old hawthorn hedges there, of the quiet little villages, where, to the passer by peace and contentment seem to find a home, and where perhaps, when the children were at school, few were to be seen – an ivy-covered spire, rearing its modest head above the thatched roofs near, with a little graveyard, hallowed to the villagers as the resting place of their dead – every nook and corner associated with some story of the past, almost every house intimately connected with the memories of preceding generations – green lanes and shady walks, where the 80’s in their feeble rambles find the young following in their early footprints with just such blushing tales of confidence and love, and just such simple-hearted hopefulness, as they can remember of themselves: whereas here, everything in which man has a hand seems new, and hardly finished, the spell of paint and fresh split timber predominant through all, with occasionally a scent upon the air of green-wood fires. Little for the old world superstition yet to fix upon outside of the mind; the few hillocks that have begun to dot a corner of the township must be multiplied – familiar voices must first be missed, and memory dwell upon the bygone years in which they were accustomed to be heard – the living must feel themselves walking near the dead – before those old home impressions about things unseen, that make men grave and uneasy, they know not exactly how, can renew their troubling influence in dreams and times of loneliness. Without local tradition to establish mental sympathy with the place, and with people of strange dialects and tongues gathering around, the heart may miss much of its accustomed comfort, but there is work to be done, and good reward for it, and while that is being realised, old habits modify, friendships and local interests arise, so that gradually the place becomes to all intents a lasting home.
The Diggings, the Bush, and Melbourne, or, Reminiscences of Three Years’
Wanderings in Victoria, G.D. Mackellar, Glasgow, 1864
Arthur Ashwin
1850–1930
1
Where Horsham is now a large farming town, there was one public house and a store combined and a government pound and a pound keeper stationed there. There were a lot of swagmen travelling for work, some sundowners not wanting work, only an easy life. The stations were pretty close to one another and the majority of travellers only went from station to station, they got their supper and breakfast at almost every station. The Wilsons had two stations seven miles apart and kept a cook and cook’s mate at each station to cook for travellers only.
There was a travellers hut at every station to shelter them. At this time there were about twenty travellers every night. I used to camp at the travellers huts sometimes when giving notice ahead that our travelling sheep were close and I had a good opportunity of seeing the travellers, some very hard cases amongst them. They loafed on Wilson’s stations more than others. They had better accommodation than others. The most travellers that got their supper and breakfast in one day was 101, at both Wilson’s stations. It was shearing time. The squatters now would think it hard on them but in early days they thought nothing of
it. The fact was if they did not feed them they would have a lot of grass paddocks burnt, also log fences. There were a bad lot travelling all the year around, and the stations that only gave them a pint of flour got a lot of paddocks burnt every year and very seldom got a conviction, and there is no doubt the travellers helped themselves to mutton. It paid to feed them all. In time of bushfires nearly every traveller would go and help put the fire out for Wilson’s, but they would not go to help the hungry squatters . . .
I had about ten days going from one station to another and I struck a great variety of travellers as I had to camp at the travellers huts. I heard a lot of yarns about the different tracks or roads. Some tracks were what they called hungry flour tracks, and some the garden tracks, and some the wood tracks, and some they called a White Man’s Track.
The flour tracks they got one pint pannican full of flour, about one pound, for their supper and breakfast, sometimes a small bit of meat, not always. The garden tracks, the station got their gardens dug up by travellers. They had a lot of squares pegged off and a traveller had to dig one of these squares up then he got his supper and breakfast. The wood tracks, there were two stakes about three feet high and three feet apart. The traveller had to cut long wood into two feet lengths, and built it to the top of the stakes.
The White Man’s Track they were treated like gentlemen with good food and good shelter on wet nights . . .
When we got back Mr Meare had finished dipping the 1,500 two tooth ewes and just started to dip the rams. Russell, the new chum, knocked up helping the rams out onto the draining yard and I had to take the job on. The first day all my fingernails were bleeding, the wet wool got under the nails and lifted the nails off the quick and the sulphur and tobacco water made them smart. It was torture but I stuck to it till they were finished. The mixture we were dipping with was one hundredweight of tobacco to two barrels of sulphur in 400 gallons of water, boiled up. We had a 400 gallon tank for a boiler and the sheep had to drain well in the draining yard, the liquid running back into the dip . . .
2
I remember a little more about Newcastle Waters. When camped at the last pool and near the north end of the Ashburton Range, I left Harry Pybus with the sheep and I went exploring a mile or two east in the hills. I came on a niggers township of mia mias all fenced in with a brush fence. I tied my horse up and took the rifle and revolver I always carried on my belt since poor John’s death. There was one large mia mia about 7 feet high in the middle and about 16 feet diameter around and arched off to the ground. There were large bundles of spears stored there and large wooden dishes, 4 and 5 feet long, filled with grain seed as large as rice, with the husk or skin on the seed. I think it is a species of rice and grows in the flooded country, as there is 40 or 50 miles of flooded country north of Newcastle waters. There must have been about a ton of seed stored here, 17 large dishes full, all covered over with paper bark. I counted 17 dishes nearly all 5 foot long and fully one foot deep scooped out of solid wood. There were a lot more weapons and shields. However, I made a fire and carried all the spears and weapons out and burnt them alongside the large mia mia. All around the store room, as I called it, there was about 50 small mia mia or miahs or gunyahs as some tribes call them. The fence around was about 200 yards across and seemed to be always kept in order. There were a lot of netted bags with red ochre and plumbago and white chalk and lots of flint stones they chip their knives off. I would have had a look at the small mia mias only I heard a weya. I think there was some old gins and niggers camped there looking after things while the tribe were away. My horse was a bit restless so I went and started back to the sheep. I was about 3 miles from the waterhole. I think there was a soak or spring in the range not far away from the niggers township. I would have liked to have had a good look around here for a day or two, but could not leave the sheep . . .
3
I have been a true believer in smoking as a disinfectant and smoked all my life and had a long healthy life. When a man is smoking he is breathing through his nose and his nose is a filter which stops all germs from getting to the lungs, some people when they smell a bad smell they hold their nose and inhale the whole of the stinking air straight into their lungs, these are the people that are generally sick and always got something wrong with them. When there is a bad plague you will never see the hard smokers and hard drinkers of alcohol get it, all the fine strong sober young men die. The plague at Mt Brown, New South Wales, 1882 the sober young fellows were dying ten and twelve a day. I got it when out horse hunting and when I got home I got drunk and kept drunk three days and nights and killed the plague. I paid a young lad off on Saturday and buried him Monday morning, eighteen years old and as strong as a bull. The pen is running away with me and I am getting right away from the Palmer.
Well after one month I and Cairns proposed to go over the divide and see what sort of country it was, there was a few more prospectors had come and camped close to us, an old identity Lambing Flat Bill. I had struck him on the Howley line of reef on the Port Darwin goldfields, Tom Ottaway and Jim Fields proposed to divide the gold they got with us while we were prospecting. We started and went over the divide and went down a very gorgey creek, it was afterwards called Hurricane Gorge Creek and a nuggety gully was worked coming into it, J. Cairns and myself travelled on down to the low hilly country and then turned south over the divide to a creek running south west, here we pitched a camp. We stripped a sheet of bark each and flattened them with fire and fixed a bunk each in the tent, the ground was very wet, the wet season was on. I was just going off to sleep when Cairns woke me and said “Light a match, there is something like a snake crawling over my forehead”, and sure enough there was a death adder crawling over his forehead and face. Jack lay quite still and the adder dropped on to the ground then I killed it, a good big one about one foot long. If he had gone to knock it off no doubt he would have been bitten and that meant a quick death by all accounts. Just as daylight was breaking we heard volley after volley of rifles, seemed to be two miles to the south. Jack said the black trackers had got on to a mob of wild blacks which proved to be true. We went over the next day and found the niggers camp, a good big camp, they must have been one hundred strong. There were two large fires still alight where the trackers had burnt the dead bodies. We heard afterwards that the blacks had murdered and eaten three Chinamen packers and the police had tracked the niggers up and got onto them here on the Mitchell River fall. We were very lucky the trackers were ahead of Cairns and I, and cleaned this bit of country of the blacks. For a few months we could prospect without keeping on on watch in the gullies. We got a fair gully coming into the creek we camped on and Jack went back and brought Tom Ottaway and Jim Field over. We worked the gully out in a month and got a fair bit of gold then went back down the river to Uhr’s butcher’s shop, a bough shed and tents, we pitched our camp. Darcy Uhr told us a yarn, he had been out shooting niggers and was only back a couple of days. Darcy’s account of his trip: “There was a Chinaman murdered on the main Palmer River just above the junction of the right hand branch and the niggers cut his head off and stuck the head on a broken spear and stuck it up on a rocky bar on the river. They carried his body away to eat. The murdered man’s brother came to Darcy Uhr and offered him £50 to follow the niggers up and shoot a lot of them. The Chinaman offered to go with him. Uhr got another good nigger man to go with him, I have forgot his name, a hard case. They went for the £50 and had the money put down before they started. They tracked the niggers up a gorgey creek coming out of high hills or mountains. They went a[s] far up with their horses as they could get with their horses then tied their horses up, and went on up on foot another mile and came on a camp of niggers and went back to their horses and went up again. Just before morning they saddled and tied their horses up just breaking day when they could see to shoot. They made a noise and the niggers jumped up and they started firing at them. After a couple of volleys were fired a big mob of niggers came down the creek to a rocky waterfal
l and Uhr then fired on them but they were game and showed fight and threw spears. Uhr kept firing on the leaders and started to get back to their horses, the niggers after them. Darcy Uhr and his mate were dead shots and kept dropping the leaders. He came down to the last cartridge when they got to their horses. Uhr reckoned he never saw such a game lot of niggers before the first came on were only a little mob about twenty and the big mob were camped up above the precipice waterfall and about one hundred strong. The Warden at Maytown down the river got to hear about [it] through the Chinamen and some of the police made inquiries about it and tried Darcy Uhr for taking the law in his own hands and punishing the natives for the murder without permission from him, the Warden. It all fell through and Uhr was acquitted.
Gold to Grass: The Reminiscences of Arthur C. Ashwin, 1850–1930, prospector and
pastoralist, Peter J. Bridge (ed.), Hesperian Press, Perth, 2002
Thea Astley
1999
It’s big out here, big and pocked with little towns hundreds of yearnings apart, house-clusters that become their own heartland. That’s what I sought – anonymity in anonymity.