What Scenes Of Bitter Quarrels These Watering-Places Have Witnessed!
The Selfish Striving, Each To Help Himself, The Awful Sufferings
Of man
and beast, horses and camels mad with thirst, and men cursing the country
and themselves, for wasting their
Lives and strength in it; but they have
witnessed many an act of kindness and self-denial too.
Where the now prosperous and busy town of Coolgardie stands, with its
stone and brick buildings, banks, hotels, and streets of shops, offices,
and dwelling-houses, with a population of some 15,000, at the time of
which I write there stood an open forest of eucalyptus dotted here and
there with the white tents and camps of diggers. A part of the timber had
already been cleared to admit of "dry-blowing" operations - a process
adopted for the separation of gold from alluvial soil in the waterless
parts of Australia.
Desperate hard work this, with the thermometer at 100 degrees in the
shade, with the "dishes" so hot that they had often to be put aside to
cool, with clouds of choking dust, a burning throat, and water at a
shilling to half a crown a gallon! Right enough for the lucky ones
"on gold," and for them not a life of ease! The poor devil with neither
money nor luck, who looked into each dishful of dirt for the wherewithal
to live, and found it not, was indeed scarcely to be envied.
Water at this time was carted by horse-teams in waggons with large tanks
on board, or by camel caravans, from a distance of thirty-six miles, drawn
from a well near a large granite rock. The supply was daily failing, and
washing was out of the question; enough to drink was all one thought of;
two lines of eager men on either side of the track could daily be seen
waiting for these water-carts. What a wild rush ensued when they were
sighted! In a moment they were surrounded and taken by storm, men swarming
on to them like an army of ants. As a rule, eager as we were for water,
a sort of order prevailed, and every man got his gallon water-bag filled
until the supply was exhausted. And generally the owner of the water
received due payment.
About Christmas-time the water-famine was at its height. Notices were
posted by order of the Warden, proclaiming that the road to or from
Coolgardie would soon be closed, as all wells were failing, and advising
men to go down in small parties, and not to rush the waters in a great
crowd. This advice was not taken, and daily scores of men left the
"field," and many were hard put to it to reach Southern Cross. It was a
cruel sight in those thirsty days to see the poor horses wandering about,
mere walking skeletons, deserted by their owners, for strangers were both
unable to give them water, and afraid to put them out of their misery lest
damages should be claimed against them. How long our own supplies would
last was eagerly discussed, as we gathered round the butcher's shop, the
great meeting-place, to which, in the evenings, most of the camp would
come to talk over the affairs of the day.
Postmaster, as well as butcher and storekeeper, was Mr. Benstead,
a kind-hearted, hard-working man, and a good friend to us in our early
struggles. What a wonderful post-office it was too! A proper match for the
so-called coach that brought the mails. A very dilapidated buckboard-buggy
drawn by equally dilapidated horses, used to do the journey from the
Southern Cross to the new fields very nearly as quickly as a loaded waggon
with eight or ten horses! The mail-coach used to carry not only letters,
papers, and gold on the return journey, but passengers, who served the
useful purposes of dragging the carriage through the sand and dust when
the horses collapsed, of hunting up the team in the mornings, and of
lightening the load by walking. For this exceedingly comfortable journey
they had the pleasure of paying at least five pounds. It was no uncommon
sight at some tank or rock on the road, to see the mail-coach standing
alone in its glory, deserted by driver and passengers alike. Of these some
would be horse-hunting, and the rest tramping ahead in hope of being
caught up by the coach. There would often be on board many hundred pounds'
worth of gold, sent down by the diggers to be banked, or forwarded to
their families; yet no instance of robbing the mail occurred. The sort of
gentry from whom bushrangers and thieves are made, had not yet found their
way to the rush.
Many banks were failing at that time, and men anxiously awaited the
arrival of news. The teamsters, with their heavy drays, would be eagerly
questioned as to where they had passed Her Majesty's mail, and as to the
probability of its arrival within the next week or so! The distribution of
letters did not follow this happy event with great rapidity. Volunteers
had to be called in to sort the delivery, the papers were thrown into a
heap in the road, and all anxious for news were politely requested to help
themselves. Several illustrated periodicals were regularly sent me from
home, as I learnt afterwards, but I never had the luck to drop across my
own paper!
On mail day, the date of which was most uncertain as the coach journeys
soon overlapped, there was always a lengthy, well-attended "roll-up" at
the Store. Here we first made acquaintance with Messrs. Browne and Lyon,
then negotiating for the purchase of Bayley's fabulous mine of gold.
No account of the richness of this claim at that time could be too
extravagant to be true; for surely such a solid mass of gold was never
seen before, as met the eye in the surface workings.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 3 of 125
Words from 2027 to 3032
of 127189
