REMINISCENCES OF AN AUSTRALIAN PIONEER

BY

ROBERT DARVALL BARTON

PREFACE

 

          In writing these reminiscences, I have been persuaded by my friends to give my life and anecdotes exactly as they stand in my memory, but in so doing I find some difficulty in blowing my own horn without making myself out to be more than I am. However, as no one else can give my life, I must ask my readers to remember, in the lines of Will Carleton, that:

“For people’s lives, full well we know,

Two sets of things recall,

The one of which we always tell,

The other not at all.”

          I was born in 1842, and, if not a pioneer, I certainly think I was a pioneer baby of those born two hundred miles west of Sydney, and I was probably a year or two old before the first clergyman came into that part of the country. This was a Mr. Gunther, who came from Mudgee, and had a field day of christenings, I believe, at Boree, the wool-shed having to act as church, as there was no room in the house for the families that came to have their offspring christened. Of course, I do not recollect this, but that is what I was told.

          My aim is to record my memories, which may, however, in some cases, have been coloured by circumstances and conditions that followed later.

          Since my birth and first experiences I have been in the van of civilisation all my life, and, though the discomforts and troubles that always go with the pioneer have been mine, I realise that they have never equaled the troubles and privations that were undergone by the real pioneers, among whom were my parents.

The remarks that I shall make about the convicts and assigned servants are, as you will gather, principally very old hearsay recollections, but I should particularly like to point out that these men were not all the hardened ruffians and criminals that they have been represented to be. As far as my knowledge of them goes (and I knew many) they were mainly honest and hard‑working. Those who succeeded in life, of whom there were many, were the best of citizens, and almost invariably left the best of descendants.

I have found it impossible to omit reference to the varied and complicated legislation that has affected the man on the land, and I say advisedly that I consider the greatest trouble that the man on the land has bad, even up to the present day, is the shifting policy of governments with regard to our various holdings. To sum the matter up in a few words, the system of party government, combined with the landlordship of leasehold areas, has been a great mistake, and has retarded development, and I hope that in putting this in my recollections I shall not hurt the feelings of anyone. I shall also touch on the unions and the difficulties that they have caused in the working of all holdings.

I must ask the consideration of any who may read these lines, and trust they will be able to see that I have told nothing except what I really believe to be true.

ABOUT MY FATHER

          My father was a commander in the East Indian Service, and left that employment when that Service ceased to exist, and was, as I understand it, bought out by the English Government. From conversations with him and others, I came to the conclusion that the East India Company had, by their contracts with the Government, secured the whole of the British commerce, and at that time (as pirates were about) the fleet of merchantmen sailed under the escort of a warship.

          Perhaps, whilst on the subject of my father, I ought to relate some of his stories that may interest my readers, but before doing so, I should explain that I learned at an early age that he was a very bad farmer, absolutely unfitted for such an occupation.

          I first discovered this one day when he had bought some poultry, among which was a turkey-cock, at a neighbour’s sale. The birds were duly delivered, and my father went to inspect them. He thereupon got very angry, and told the man who delivered them that he had brought the wrong turkey-cock.

          “You have changed the bird, I am not going to have anything to do with you.” The man assured him that the bird was the one he had bought. “No,” said my father “the bird I bought had a red head; this one has got a blue one," and my mother had to come out and assure him that the bird was probably the correct one, as their heads were not always the same colour.

          One of his ship stories is, perhaps, worth relating- The battleship that conducted the merchantmen carried any passengers there might be, and on one occasion there were two young gentlemen and a very attractive young lady on board. The gentlemen, both became violently attached to the lady, who was prepared to accept either, and the only way to, decide who was to be the lucky man was to fight a duel. They came to my father and asked if they might be allowed to fight a duel on the quarter‑deck (duelling was allowed in those days). He said he had no objection, and would clear the deck for them. They then asked him if he could supply them with pistols. He replied: “No; I cannot do that, but I’ll tell you what I will do‑I'll give one of you the ship's gun at the bow, and the other the ship's gun at the stern, and then you can blaze away." The absurdity of this ended the duel, for the time being, and I do not know what happened afterwards to the young lady.

          There is another story of those, days which may be worth telling; it certainly would be if I could repeat it as he told it, but there is many a story without much point that is inimitable when told by the author, and very poor if put in writing or told by one who has not the gift.

          The East India Company found that they had a great deal of trouble to prevent the ships being filled with all sorts of birds and animals at the various native places where they called. (All birds were called by the natives “parrots,” and all other animals “monkeys.”) An order was issued that no sailor or officer would be allowed to purchase any of these, on account of filling up the ship with rubbish. On one occasion, however, the purser smuggled on board an immense baboon, out of which he hoped to make a fortune when he got back to the Old Country. He got the beast down in the lower hold, and chained him to the foot of the mast, and the voyage progressed for some distance without anyone being aware of the baboon’s presence, the purser being the only one who fed him and knew of his whereabouts. After a while, our friend, the purser, thought that the baboon was quite harmless and tame, and that for the good of his health he would let him have a run off the chain. However, when the chain was undone, he very soon found out his mistake, for the baboon gave him a very rough time, nearly killing him, and then went up through the hatches like a lamp-lighter, frightened the seven senses out of those on deck, and went straight up to the top of the mast. The captain came out of his cabin, and the first thing that he noticed was this object at the top of his mast. He simply ordered up the marines, said “Shoot that beast,” and returned to his cabin.

          Two Scotchmen found a pig’s nest, where a sow had some young ones in a cave, the entrance to which was very narrow, and they decided to steal the young ones before the sow returned. One of them went down to secure the little pigs, which at once commenced to squeal and make a great noise, and the other one stood in the opening to keep guard for the old sow’s reappearance, but he became so interested in leaning over trying to see what was going on, that the sow darted through the opening before he saw her coming. However, true to his trust, he managed to get a turn on her tail with his hands, brace his feet against a rock and hold on till his friend said: “Ye’re keepin’ oot the licht, Sandy; what’s keepin’ oot the licht, Sandy?” and Sandy replied: “Gin the tail breks ye’ll ken what’s keepin’ oot the licht!”

          I will now give you some idea of the pioneer’s life, part of which is derived from recollections, and the earlier part, of course, from hearsay, although I feel as if I had seen it, having been born in the midst of the circumstances.

          Properties were taken up in those days by paying a very small rent and occupying as much country as was required for the amount of stock owned. As the stock increased, other areas were taken up to provide for them, and the result was that in a very short time the holdings of two or three neighbours became very much like a chess board- one had a patch here, and one a patch on the other side of him, and so on, all intermingled. However, inevitable disputes and doubtful boundaries were all amicably settled by a commissioner, against whose award there was no appeal, because neither land nor improvements were of much value when new areas could be taken further out. About that and the land matter I shall tell you when it comes into its right place in my recollections.

          My father took up the property of Boree with some twenty thousand pounds which he brought out, and bought for his holding a number of sheep, cattle and horses, the price of which was at that time very dear. He gave twenty-two shillings and sixpence a head for his sheep (they were a very poor lot); horses were almost at a prohibitive price, but he succeeded in getting a small number of the best imported mares and a stallion (which were imported by a neighbour- Mr. Kater-about whom I shall say a few words later on).

          A few years after he started his farm, sheep fell to two shillings and sixpence a head, and cattle were almost valueless.

          One of my earliest recollections was that my father was boiling down his sheep and cattle. The cattle I remember very distinctly, because his uniform sword was taken to the stockyard to cut the bullocks’ throats. I can distinctly recall that sword, as it was something that I had always coveted, in a small boy’s way, and I saw it at last ingloriously covered with rust and dirt lying in the killing yard on the station.

          It is obvious that this boiling down must have been a loss when one considers that the tallow and hides, as well as the wool, had to be carried to Circular Quay, Sydney. This was done by a bullock-team, which did about two trips in the year, and brought back the necessaries for the farm.

          Can you imagine a household with only assigned servants, with supplies once, or perhaps twice, a year to last for the season, no neighbours and no doctor within sixty miles; further, that my mother never left the station for twenty years; that she educated, clothed, and looked after nine of us! To make things worse, very early in the time my father had a compound fracture of the leg through being thrown out of a gig. I can just remember his being brought home. Dr. Curtis, of Wellington, some sixty miles away was sent for, and said that in his opinion the leg should be amputated, but my mother would not hear of it. Dr. Machattie, of Bathurst, was sent for, and between them, they managed to save the leg, but my father was ever after a cripple, which certainly spoilt his temper, and made him very irritable, though at times no one could be jollier or kinder hearted.

          I have said that no pioneering that has since been done in Australia can in any way equal for hardship that taken up by my parents and by the other families who tried it at the same time. I have told you that my father invested some twenty thousand pounds in his station at Boree, which station was sold some thirty years afterwards, with stock and everything, for the sum of fifteen thousand pounds. This price included three thousand acres of purchased land, fifteen thousand sheep, cattle, and horses. Such was the result of thirty years hardship, and a very similar result was the lot of many of those who brought out any considerable capital to invest in the land of Australia. This, I feel sure, is proved to be correct by the history of the Colony. The successful pioneers have to thank those first adventurers who spent their money in opening up the country; even though New South Wales is now populated and producing wheat and every other thing making for wealth, for thirty years the produce was not more than sufficient to pay expenses.

          I may add, for the information of a great many, that the rations of flour were supplied to everyone on the place in whole wheat, which was ground with a small steel mill and made into flour, bran, etc. This, of course, was always eaten as brown bread, or, if liked, the wheat could be cooked whole; so that a man, after he had done his day’s work, had to grind his flour before he could make his damper, that is, bread made only with flour, water, and salt, as there were no hops or baking-powder in those days. These conditions lasted until the discovery of gold in 1851, when there was an exodus to the gold fields of all free labour, and it was impossible to get men to shepherd the sheep or carry on the work of the station.

          About this time a number of Chinese were brought out as a speculation by Captain Towns, who was one of the greatest pioneer merchants. He owned nearly all the Sydney shipping, and he formed the port on the coast at Townsville, which was named after him. He, like my father, was a ship’s captain, and though at one time he had a great deal to do with stock, he made no success of this; but he made a great deal of money by cornering the tobacco in the country, and his shipping speculations were very successful. I have not doubt also that he made money out of the importation of Chinese labour. I heard a story about him which will show the rough character he was. He had been asked to lunch on board, what for those days was a rather fine vessel, which had just come into the harbour, and was further asked to say a few words about the ship. He had evidently learnt up some few poetic illustrations for the occasion, but when he got up to talk about the ship these apparently left his mind, for he only said one line: “This beautiful ship sails o’er the waters of our beautiful bay like a…like a…she sails o’er the waters of our beautiful bay like a bloody duck,” which image was received with much enthusiasm.

          People who wanted servants could engage Chinese from the ship for a term of three years at a very small monetary wage, with rice and food and some clothes as well. My father got about twenty of these Chinamen, and the first thing he set them to work at when they got to the station was to grind wheat into flour. All the steel mills were brought in from the various shepherds’ huts, and erected in an old shed, and each Chinaman had to grind this wheat, and sift it to get out the bran, pollard, etc. In this way they made fairly good flour- not silk dressed as at the present time, of course- and the bread was rather dark, but otherwise all right. However, this arrangement did not last very long. A Chinaman came on a visit one afternoon, and told his countrymen who were grinding wheat to break their agreement, as they could only be punished by a few months in gaol, and they could then go to the goldfields and make big wages. So that agreement (like all other agreements of industry when they do not suit both parties) counted for nothing.

          That evening, the Chinamen, headed by their visitor (who had told them what tactics to employ), came down, and I can vividly remember what happened, although I had been put to bed, and witnessed the scene in my night-gown (pyjamas not having been invented at that time). The first performance was that my father seized hold of the ring-leader and dragged him into the store, handcuffed him and fixed him up; but when he had got this done all the other Chinamen were in the store, and the fun was to try and get them out. They could not, of course, speak much English, but their ringleader had instructed them in the words- “Me go gaol.”

          Mr. Kater, who was a neighbour living some twenty-five miles off, happened to be there that evening, and he assisted my father in trying to remove these twenty Chinamen. My father was armed with a four-in-hand-whip- rather a useless weapon at close quarters- but it was very soon broken until about two feet of the handle only remained. With this he plied right and left in trying to get these men out of the store. Mr. Kater armed himself with a piece of rope at the end of which were a few links of chain. The strategy of the campaign was to take a Chinaman, hammer him well, drag him out of the store, and throw him on the bricks, and then go in for another; but before they got the next one out, the first had crawled back, and this process was kept up till nearly midnight, my father shouting vociferously, and, perhaps, swearing, the chinamen with their war-cry- “Me go gaol.”

          They succeeded in getting about half of them out of the store, and the door was locked on the other half, together with the man in chains. The following morning the man was released and the whole crowd walked off the station. To have taken them to court would have been a very long and tedious trip to the nearest magistrate, and the only punishment that they would have got for breaking their agreement was about a month in gaol; and, as that was where they wanted to go, it was not worth the trouble of compelling them to do so.

          At this time there was rather a large tribe of blacks at Boree, and I saw many corroborees and festivities when I was young. This tribe, however, got very broken up, even before a raid that was made by the Yass blacks, who came down and killed a number of our blacks, and took away the gins as prisoners of war, or booty. The raid took place right at our house. My father at this time was away in Sydney, and there was a young gentleman, who was out for colonial experience, in charge. The day before the blacks were attacked, one of the black stockmen reported that he had seen the enemy in war-paint, camped some miles back, and he got permission to go and inform the other remnants of the tribe, and fetch them down to meet the enemy.

          However, he never returned, and the few blacks that were camped near the station moved that night to about a hundred yards from the house- between the men’s huts and the house. The first thing that I remember was just at daylight, my black boy, Albert, (who was about the same age as myself but far more advanced in bush knowledge), opening the door of my room and coming in to tell me that the blacks had come down and were spearing the other black fellows; he asked me to let him get under the bed, which I did, and that saved his life. As, hearing a noise, I went out to see what was going on, three gins met me near the door of my mother’s room, and she, also hearing the disturbance, got up and secreted these three poor gins in her room.

          The first thing that struck my attention when I walked into the yard was a very big, stout, black fellow lying about a hundred yards away with several spears through him, but still living, because I saw him half sit up and try to pull out the spears. I then met Mr. Naylor- the gentleman in charge of the station- and he called up another man, and requested him to fetch the gun, which he went away to get, but it was some considerable time before he returned, as he was at first unable to find either ammunition or gun. While standing in the yard with Mr. Naylor I saw a young black- Charlie by name- rush across the paddock, jump in and out of the sweet-briar hedge of the garden, pursued by a number of his enemies. He ran like a deer across the cultivation paddock and up the pine ridge, which was as far as we could see him, still pursued by the other blacks.

          About an hour afterwards, I saw the pursuing blacks coming back, carrying their spears upright, each spear decorated with parts of the human body; they had got poor Charlie, and were carrying his body on different spears as a memento of victory.

          Just after that the leader of the Yass tribe joined Mr. Naylor, myself and the other men on the station, also the man who had been sent for the gun, and who, having at last found it, had come back; although I think there was a deficiency of ammunition.

          Mr. Naylor said-“Oh I don’t think we shall want the gun now,” when Andy, the leader of the Yass tribe, who had been a black-tracker, and was wearing a uniform coat, and who could speak very good English, said- “Oh, no; you will not require the gun now.” The victors then, having collected all the gins they could find, went off at a sort of quick march or run, shouting their own report of victory, which no doubt was complete, for from that day I never saw a camp of blacks on the station.

          From these slight recollections you will see that the first pioneers’ lives were very troubled ones. Although some time after the gold discovery labour again became available, the discovery of the gold completely altered the conditions that reigned formerly. The air was filled with reports of men going to the goldfields without a shilling and picking up a fortune the next day or a few days after; and nothing was said of those that lost all they took to the goldfields and got nothing. However, these rumours completely changed people’s ideas; everybody who possibly could do so rushed off to the goldfields to try and pick up a bagful of gold. This fever remained in our blood for many years, and I think there is a taint of it still left. Nobody is satisfied in this country to work for a good profit, or to get interest on invested money; the idea is always to try and do something that will make a fortune in a very short time. Men of the poorer class who have worked themselves up into owning small homes and living comfortably get struck with this fever, and make all sorts of rash ventures in the hope of getting to the top of the tree in one jump; of course, they almost invariably land back where they originally started, and have to begin life over again; at least, that is my impression of a great many.

          However, when labour again became available after the gold discovery, it was at more than double the former price, but still, prices for stock and meat improved very much, and employers were better able to pay the increased wages. The price of wool (like that of other commodities) fluctuated, but I think I am right in saying that the average price for the best wool in those times was about sixpence a pound, and the weight of greasy wool per sheep was about four pounds. These conditions continued, with fluctuations, until about 1867, which was the year in which I really started a man’s life of responsibility; but of that soon, as I have still some fifteen years to cover before I arrive at that period.

          Now for one word about our convicts and assigned servants, because they (the assigned servants) are the only ones that I knew intimately. I can recollect on first going over the Blue Mountains the men working in irons on the road, and my impression was that they were making the road, but that was wrong, the road was made before I was born, and the chain gangs that I saw were only those keeping it in order. The road from Sydney to Bathurst stands today a monument of labour that was done in the shortest time in which any work of the kind had ever been accomplished. To induce the convicts who cut that road to get on with it as quickly as possible, they were offered their freedom, or their “ticket,” as they called it, if the work was put through in a given time. It was accomplished considerably under the time stipulated, and when we consider the primitive character of the implements and tools that they had- the fact that there was no steam, no horse-power to move their “muck,” everything having to be done with a wheel-barrow, no anything but hard work- then I think that road stands as something to the convicts’ credit. No strikes, no eight-hour, and had such been the case in my young days, Australia would not be as far ahead as it is today. Australia, as it stands at present, (and this is true probably of any other country), was never created by union labour, strikes, and no work.

         

 

 

REGARDING SOME OF THE OLD PIONEERS.

       Now for a few remarks about some of the old pioneers whom I remember intimately. At the head of the list I will put old Parson Thom, who (I be­lieve) was the first man that crossed the Blue Moun­tains       with his own bullock‑dray, and brought a large family with him. His first settlement was twenty miles from Bathurst, but he soon proceeded further, and went about thirty miles the other side of Bathurst, and took up his holding, which he called “Springfield" in those days.

       Parson Thom was of the Wesleyan creed, and spent a great portion of his time in spreading the gospel, which he did most sincerely and devoutly; but one of the greatest things he did for the country was to rear fourteen children. The boys were among the next generation of pioneers, and were the first, I think, to take up a great deal of the Lachlan River country. The popular idea when they first went out was that the open plain country was worthless for grazing, as it was believed that the land was no good. I think I am right in saying that what sent them out to the Lachlan was the terrible drought, which any of the few old pioneers now living will tell you was the worst ever known in Australia, and that none of the other droughts we have since had has been anything like it for severity.

          The Thoms had to move their cattle for want of grass and water from their place at Springfield (which has never to my knowledge been short of either grass or water since for any length of time). They moved their cattle and took them on to the Lachlan River, agisting them, as I understand it, at the big water‑holes then in the Lachlan until the grass got short, when they moved their cattle further on to another water‑hole, and kept them there till the grass wore out.

          By this process of taking up country, which was the possession of the first occupier, as I have previously described, the Thoms became the owners of a big scope of the very finest grazing country, a good deal of which is probably today under wheat.

          With one or two exceptions, all the young Thoms were pioneers, both in New South Wales and Queensland, but none of them ever succeeded in becoming wealthy. They were also the first, or among the first, to find gold‑I think, perhaps, the annals of New South Wales would my they were the first, though not the first to advertise it.

          I may add a few words about poor old Parson Thom. He, with the best possible intentions, drove me out of the church, as you must know that my mother was very anxious to have a son in the church, and picked upon me to fill the gap. She was very careful about our religious teachings, so much so that years afterwards I took the divinity prize at The King's School‑the only prize I ever took, and, un­fortunately, I never got that one, as it was lost in the Dunbar when she was wrecked at The Gap in the South Head.

     My recollections of that examination are these. A boy who was sitting next to me during the examination was not doing much (I must mention that one of the questions to be answered was to write the life and doings of the Prophet Elijah), and when the papers were finished he showed me his account of the Prophet, which was short and sweet, he having written right across his sheet of foolscap in large letters- “Elijah was a Tishbite."

          But to return to old Mr. Thom and his having driven me out of the church. On one occasion, after giving us a discourse, when I was saying good‑night to him before a number of other boys, he put his hand on my head, and said: “When are you going to seek after the Lord and His righteousness?"

        I felt as though I wished the ground to let me through out of sight, but stammered out: “I don't know."

        He said: ‘Now is the appointed time."

        I was a nervous boy, and I took good care to keep away from any‑one who might ask me such scriptural conundrums in the future.

        On another occasion the poor old gentleman came round about the time wax matches first came into fashion, and a large case of these matches had been sent up for the use of the men. Now, none of these matches would strike singly; they would make a puff of smoke and go out, and the only chance of getting a light was by striking about a dozen at a time, when you might get enough latent fire out of them to make a blaze. The poor old man went to his bedroom with a box of these matches to light his candle, and one of his grandsons and I stood outside the door and heard him strike every one of those matches, and

finally go to bed ‑ in the dark- yet he never  said “damn," so I am sure he practised what he preached.

I have said that wax matches had just come into fashion, and in the earliest days of my recollection, the only means we had of making a fire was the old flint and steel and tinder‑box; and the test that I gave a new knife (when I got one) was whether it would strike fire or not; if it did not strike fire it was no good to me. After this there came a wooden sulphur match that burnt blue until it nearly choked you with smoke before you got a blaze, and then of course, came the wax matches, a great many of which (in those days) were like the box with which Parson Thom tried to light his candle; and these boxes cost half‑a‑crown a piece on their first appearance.

Now I will single out another of the old pioneers who certainly did a very great deal for the country- Mr. Kater‑a neighbour of ours, who afterwards had the mill at Caloola, and who brought out probably, if not certainly, the best blood horses that ever came to Australia. The pedigrees to‑day go back to Cap‑à‑pie, a horse Mr. Kater imported, which was the sire of Sir Hercules, and when I say that I think I need go no further. Many of his mares, too, were quite equal to their mate, but pedigrees are not taken from the mare's side (as they are in Arabia); and the good qualities of any of their famous descendants are probably awarded to their sires.

Mr. Kater was, at the time he came out, a very wealthy man; be brought out about thirty thousand pounds worth of horses, cattle, and some sheep. The  last mentioned I know nothing of, and he very soon disposed of the cattle. He also brought out machinery for a wool factory for making cloth, and worked it for a short time, but he found that it was a dead loss, and brought him virtually insolvent; and he had to sell all his horse stock, and put steam machinery for grinding wheat into his factory, and so, by many years of hard graft mid economy succeeded in making a good provision for his old age.

Before concluding these remarks on the old pioneers, I should like to relate a story in which Mr. Arthur Templer did a feat in taking two bushrangers, but I shall have to lead up to it by informing you that at that time there were no banks in the country, and people owning stations a long way out had to take up their money to pay their labour and expenses in cash. The very fact of this was one reason why bushranging was a profitable employment. After the banks got out, and cheques were used, we were too poor to be worth robbing. Mr. Templer at that time owned Nanama Station, close to what is now the town of Wellington, and in taking a trip up from Sydney he had a large parcel of money wrapped in a water‑proof cover, which he strapped on to his carpet‑bag.

He got safely to within about ten miles beyond Bathurst from Sydney; the coach was slowly dragging up a steep hill when two men, carrying flint‑lock guns, stepped into the road and bailed them up. The coach stopped, of course; Mr. Templer was on the box‑seat; one man stood a short distance from the coach covering it with his gun; the other one put his gun down and started to search the passengers for any money they might have about them; and, as there was always a danger of being robbed in those days, you had to secrete your cash in your clothes where you considered it least likely to be found. Of course, the robbers were up to this trick, and each passenger had to undress, or nearly so. While the bushranger was examining the passengers on the coach, Mr. Templer sat on the box‑seat, and when his turn came, the man came round and said: “Now you get off and let me have a look at you."

Mr. Templer was a fine athlete, of splendid physique, and, on the impulse of the moment, he jumped off the box‑seat on to the robber, and caught him by the shoulders, and kept the robber's back to the man with the gun, at the same time calling out to the other passengers to come to his assistance; but their trousers not being quite on, impeded their progress, and the bushranger with the gun, seeing that he would have to do something, attempted to fire, but, fortunately, it was a wet morning, missed fire. He then threw the gun down and made off. Mr. Templer then threw the other man on his back, called out to the other passengers to secure him, and followed the man who ran away, whom he succeeded in catching and dragging back to the coach.

They secured both men with straps and ropes, and amused themselves by kicking them into the first police station, which was at that time near Guyong. The thanks that Mr. Templer got for this action was a paragraph in the Sydney Gazette, and if any one would like to authenticate this story, no doubt the Sydney Gazette with the paragraph in it can be found.

On looking back to the hardships of the pioneers and to what I know of what happened before I was born or old enough to observe for myself, I think that the pluck and grit of the pioneers of New South Wales was grand, as they went through as much hardship as any other pioneers in the world, though, unfortunately, they did not make history, and their works have died with them. I am not writing a history of New South Wales, or I should have endless names to mention, for all the men who came out previous to the gold discovery would be worthy of a place in the book. However, I have heard of the name of Ben Boyd, which I dare say is in some of the histories of early Australia, though his name is completely forgotten. I know nothing of him personally, except from what I gathered from my father and others. I once saw a mare of his, and it was branded BOYD on the ribs, and that made me enquire who Boyd was, and I learned that he was a man who either represented a large company or came out here with a great deal of money, for we hear of his having started a bank (one of the first), having a large whaling fleet at Twofold Bay, and being a large holder of country in New South Wales (I do not know where). But just before the gold discovery the banks or company behind him got alarmed at the magnitude of the investments, and wound up the whole concern. Had they continued for a year or two longer, I believe they would have been the wealthiest corporation in Australia, and I suppose that there is some record of their dealings to be had, which I should like very much to see. Ben Boyd himself was lost; he went away in his schooner to visit some of the Islands, and was never beard of again; but I do not know whether this happened before or after his estates were wound

 up.

ADOLESCENCE.

        To return to the subject, as I seem to have got to an era in which I was an old man by the last chapter, although, in my reminiscences, I am a very small boy.

I have not very much to chronicle about my school days, which I commenced at the age of twelve years at The King's School, Parramatta, and which were, I suppose, not more interesting than any other boy's school days. I had my fights and my fun, and my punishments.

I may say that the master I went to was the Rev. Frederick Armitage, and though no record of him has been made in the annals of The King's School, I firmly believe he was one of the best masters, and a man ideally loved by me as a boy, who would not think of telling him a lie or giving him pain or trouble if I could help it, though with all the other masters I was always prepared to give as good as I got, and I think that was the general condition of school‑boys in the 1850s. The schoolmaster wanted to make as much out of you as he could for his pocket, and the school‑boy wanted to give him as much trouble as he could in making it; but there has been a change since my early school days, and I think that Fred. Armitage was the man to whom this is greatly due.

          He put boys on their honour, and believed them till he found out that they were liars; then he would punish severely, though he was not a man who believed in punishment, but, rather, tried to induce boys to behave properly by kind homilies.

In going to and from school I rode alone‑a boy of twelve to sixteen‑across those mountains four times a year; when I first went to school at Parramatta the railway had only about reached that town. On one trip across the mountains (I think my second from home), I, boylike, selected a very young thoroughbred horse to carry me down, but he was entirely unfitted for the journey, and knocked up completely before I reached Bathurst. However, I toiled along, driving him in front of me, and carrying my carpet bag, which contained all my belongings. I can remember that journey very distinctly. On reaching the hotel at Pulpit Hill (somewhere about five miles from Blackheath), at which my father used to stay on his periodical visits to Sydney, I was running rather short of cash, and feeling desperately ill with a very sore throat, so I went to this hotel and asked Mrs. Head, who kept it, if she would give me some dinner and my horse a feed, and I told her that my money was short, and the horse knocked up, and that I would like to borrow a little from her to carry me on, which she readily gave me. While I was trying to eat my dinner she asked me if I was well; I told her “No; I had a very, very sore throat," and she said: “I will put a flannel round it for you," for which I thanked her. In doing this she took off my jacket, and I shall never forget her exclamation: “Heavens above, the child's a mass of measles!” She asked me to stay for a time, but I felt that I should proceed, and went on, caught up with

a mob of travelling cattle coming in to Sydney for sale, put my horse among the cattle, and walked behind them for two days. When I arrived in Penrith I left the cattle, which were, I think, resting there for a day or two, and came on to school, but, as I was to leave my horse with some friends near Baulkham Hills, on the Windsor Road, my good friends there kept me for some time until I was in

an uninfectious state and able to go on to school.

          I think I may end the school days of my life here, and start on what happened after I left school, though really, as I told you previously, my father being a cripple from my very earliest recollection, I was always engaged in carrying out his instructions on the place, and my holidays, especially at Christmas time, were always spent in looking for lost sheep. There were no fences, of course, in those days, not even a paddock; and the shepherds invariably enjoyed their Christmas, like any other Christians, with a keg of rum (which was the customary drink in those days), and, of course, their sheep were let go where they liked, and my Christmas Day was spent, like a heathen, trying to find these sheep‑but such is life.

        Still, I do not wish you to think that I had no fun at all in my school days, for we had some neighbours whom we saw weekly, at any rate, because there was a church in Molong, and we all used to go to church on Sunday, and meet our friends that day, at any rate, and, of course, the young people planned meetings during the week at one place or another, and we got as much fun, I suppose, as all young people do, no matter where or how they live.

        On one occasion I went (surreptitiously I think) to the Molong races, which took place about once a year. The A.J.C. rules, of course, were not in force in those days, and the races were very much “go‑as-you-please,” and would astonish the race going community of to‑day. I had taken over a horse that could gallop, and I intended to enter him‑all post entrances‑for the Selling Race, which was a prize of ten pounds, and the horse to be sold for ten pounds; if he brought anything over it went to the club. However, when the time for entering the horse for this race came I found that the crack horse of the meeting, called Harkaway, which had just won the big money, was entered for this Selling Race. Being very unsophisticated in racing dodges I thought it was hopeless for me to enter my horse against this Harkaway, and the race started with two only‑Harkaway and another. They galloped slowly along for part of the road, and old Harkaway came round into the straight with his mouth open, leaving the other all behind. Harkaway's owner, when he saw his horse winning by miles, ran into the middle of the course in the straight, pulled a sapling out of the fork and rail fence that enclosed the straight, and swinging that above his head while standing in the middle of the running, called out to the jockey‑“Pull him off the gory course, or I'll knock your brains out." Of course, the horse pulled off and pulled up, and allowed the other one to win the race. This, of course, was a dodge entering Harkaway, as anybody but a simple fool like myself would have known that he would not win, because I think even in those days he was worth fifty or sixty pounds, and he would not be likely to be sold for a “tenner," with the balance to go to the club. However, there was no enquiry, or carpeting, about the matter, and I just wish to point out that there were dodges in racing in those days just as well as to‑day, but they are more refined now.

        However, when I went back to work on the station it was nothing more than I had apparently been doing all my life. Towards the end of the 1850s, my father sold the property, as I have previously informed you, for the sum of fifteen thousand pounds. A small portion of the property and a few head of cattle were retained, and this I was left to manage till my father's death which occurred shortly after.

        The country that was retained from sale was not sufficient to pasture the cattle and the hundreds of wild horses that I was supposed to possess, and I found it necessary to sell something. The horses could not be mustered without great expense, but to this-the horse subject‑I will devote a chapter later on. The cattle were sold to large station‑owners in Riverina by my brother‑in‑law; the bullocks were to be thirty shillings delivered, and the cows twenty shillings. I did enquire before I started with these cattle about how I was to be paid, and what I had to get when I delivered the cattle. I was told that I simply had to get a receipt for the number delivered, and I said: “Is that good enough for the money?” and was told “Yes; it was good enough," that “the buyer was one of the best in Victoria” and “there would be no trouble about my money." I delivered these cattle under trying circumstances. I was not very old, and knew nothing about droving; I had three lads with me and an old chap driving the cart carrying our rations and beds; one of these lads was a cousin of mine, who was sent up to me because his father could do no good with him, and he was certainly more trouble than good on the trip.

        At night we used to camp the cattle, and as there were only four of us to watch, it took two at a time to watch them at first; it meant night after night with only half a night's sleep, and was very trying indeed. On the first night my cousin, who was on watch with me, said about nine or ten o'clock: “It must be time to call those other coves now." “Well," I said, “No; we've got to do our whack," and he grumbled for the rest of the time, and said that it was worse than reefing main‑yards on board a ship. That was the last night he watched; but I could tell you of some pig and dog hunts we had on the road which interested us very much, though I am afraid they would not interest my readers as they did us, with one exception.

        On the Narraburra Creek, between the Marool and Bland Creeks, we sighted one day two big dogs and a number of pups following their hunting. Without considering for a moment the colour of the dogs (they were hounds), and being certain that they were wild dogs, we all started after them, and each caught a pup. I killed the one I got but the other two said that they saw they were not wild dogs, and brought them to the camp, and we took them on with us until (passing another station) the owner said: “Where did you get those pups?" He was told that we had got them in the bush‑run them down. “Oh," he said, “those are from So‑and‑so's hounds; he breeds hounds for hunting native dogs, and these are very valuable; you will have the police after you." On hearing this we were quite satisfied to leave the pups in his possession, though they really were getting quite an institution in the camp, and we were sorry to part with them.

        We toiled on slowly, and on the whole road from Boree to where I delivered the cattle in Victoria we never lowered slip‑rails nor opened a gate; the whole country was unfenced from one end to the other; nobody came to interfere with us or even to look at us as we passed along. Numbers of stations that are to‑day very valuable were abandoned or, at any rate, had nobody living on them.

        The cattle were duly delivered, I got my receipt, which I posted to Mr. Forbes, the agent who sold the cattle in Sydney, and gave him instructions to pay the money to my mother, who was living on the Parramatta River at Gladesville. She got in touch with Mr. Forbes, who delayed the payment under the excuse that he could not get a cheque from the purchasers, and no cheque was ever forthcoming. The law, I believe, is changed now, but at that time the bank had a large mortgage on this property, (I understand), and they had advertised for some nine thousand head of cattle to be delivered between certain months, in which my little lot were included. When all the cattle had been delivered according to the advertisement, the bank foreclosed on the property, which included the nine thousand head of cattle that I had delivered.

A FEW BUSHRANGING STORIES

But I am before my story, and the chapters which will follow this one deal with a new era in my life, when I became a man with responsibilities, but to this I will refer later.

        I have been asked by a number of friends to put in any stories I know of interest concerning bushrangers. The earliest story that I can remember was when I heard the trial of two gentlemen for manslaughter, and the facts, as they came out in court, were these- These two young fellows had taken up a holding, which they worked by themselves entirely, and one evening they came in to a rather late dinner, and were sitting opposite to one another at a small table when two armed men came into the room and ordered them to put their “hands up.” They were searched to see if they had any money about them, and the bushrangers inspected the guns that were in the house, and to make sure of their not being fired on in a hurry (although they were not loaded) poured tea into the barrels (in those muzzle-loading days the barrel would have to be made quite dry again before the powder was put in, which would take some little time).

        After inspecting the place the two bushrangers sat down to eat the dinner which was intended for the owners, and put their revolvers on the table beside them (most robbers and thieves come to grief through overlooking some slight circumstance). These two took no notice when the two gentlemen sat down on opposite sides of the room with the bushrangers between them, but one gentleman was sitting on a home-made sofa, the bars of which were of stringybark, and only fitted into spaces cut for them, and were not fastened in any way. He made signs to his mate that he was ready to use the baton, and, at a given signal, he struck the nearest bushranger on the head and killed him, while the other young fellow seized the other bushranger by the shoulders, and his mate coming round with the baton, they soon secured him. But, for this deed, they were standing their trial for manslaughter, and what struck me as very funny (though I was little more than a child at the time) was the remark of one of the jurymen, a real Irishman, on hearing how the bushranger had been hit on the head with the baton. He jumped up in great excitement, and said: “And did ye hit the man with the bit between his teeth.” Such a gross breach of hospitality was too much for the Irishman. However, the young fellows were acquitted, and left the court without a stain upon their characters; but in my opinion they should have been highly praised for their pluck.

        The next story that I will tell you is not about bushrangers, but I have to write these stories as they come into my head, and I heard this one about the time of the incidents I have just related. Two brothers, John and Andrew Paterson (who married two of my sisters), started their colonial experience somewhere down on the Edward Billabong. I think their cousin, who had come out earlier, had some property there. There were also one or two other young fellows on the station (what we now call jackaroos), and one of these gentlemen, named Bellamy, had some money left to thim, and the diggings having broken out some time previously in Victoria, he went off to “better his position.”

        About a year after he left, Mr. John Paterson took a number of fat sheep to one of the gold diggings (I do not remember which) for sale, but as he could not get the price from the butchers which he thought the sheep were worth, he decided to kill them at his camp, and cart them through the town ready dressed, and sell them by the carcass or the quarter to anyone who wanted them at rather a less price than the butchers were asking for their meat.

        While riding through the diggings one day shortly after he had started this killing and selling, he saw Bellamy standing at the door of a shanty. He got off his horse and spoke to him, and asked him to come in and have a drink; so they went in to a side-room and Paterson rang the bell that was on the table. There was no response, so he rang it again, when a harsh female voice from somewhere at the back called out- “Hi, you Bellamy, there;” he was the barman, and, apologizing, went and brought the drinks. Mr. Paterson then began to question him on what he was doing and what he had done with his money. He replied: “The whole of my worldly possessions now consist of two blooming bull-dogs.” Paterson told him that the best thing he could do was to go down to his camp with him, and he could find him some better work than what he was doing, in which Bellamy agreed, and it was arranged  that the next day Mr. Paterson was to bring up a horse on which Bellamy could ride down to the camp.

        It appears that that night, there was a sort of sing-song social, and Bellamy, who could sing a good song, had apparently cut the baker out of his best girl with the song of “Gaily the Troubadour.” However, Paterson came up in the morning, and a start was being effected, but the “worldly possessions”- the bull-dogs- refused to follow their master on horse-back, so he got down and caught one, which he handed up to Mr. Paterson to carry on his horse, but in endeavouring to catch the other, some of the town dogs tried to assist, and there was a hooray battle going on between the dogs. Added to this, while Bellamy was trying to extricate them, the baker. With his white cap on, ran out from his shop on the other side of the street, and fell on Bellamy furiously, got his arm around his neck, or, as the stadium would say, “his head in pillory,” and commenced to fib him to the chorus of “I’ll teach you to sing ‘Hither I come.” The other dog got away from Mr. Paterson, jumped off the horse, and joined in the dog-fight, and poor Bellamy, who would not leave the dogs, had to be left to fight his own battles.