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Lady's Visit to the Gold Diggings of Australia in 1852-53, A.

<h3> Chapter IV. </h3> <h3> CAMPING UP—MELBOURNE TO THE BLACK FOREST </h3> The anxiously-expected morning at length commenced, and a dismal-looking morning it was—hazy and damp, with a small drizzling rain, which, from the gloomy aspect above, seemed likely to last. It was not, however, sufficient to damp our spirits, and the appointed hour found us all assembled to attack the last meal that we anticipated to make for some time to come beneath the shelter of a ceiling. At eight o'clock our united party was to start from the "Duke of York" hotel, and as that hour drew nigh, the unmistakeable signs of "something up," attracted a few idlers to witness our departure. In truth, we were a goodly party, and created no little sensation among the loungers—but I must regularly introduce our troop to my readers. First then, I must mention two large drays, each drawn by a pair of stout horses—one the property of two Germans, who were bound for Forest Creek, the other belonged to ourselves and shipmates. There were three pack-horses—one (laden with a speculation in bran) belonged to a queer-looking sailor, who went by the name of Joe, the other two were under the care of a man named Gregory, who was going to rejoin his mates at Eagle Hawk Gully. As his destination was the farthest, and he was well acquainted with the roads, he ought to have been elected leader, but from some mis-management that dignity was conferred upon a stout old gentleman, who had taken a pleasure-trip to Mount Alexander, the previous summer. Starting is almost always a tedious affair, nor was this particular case an exception. First one had forgotten something—another broke a strap, and a new one had to be procured—then the dray was not properly packed, and must be righted—some one else wanted an extra "nobbler"—then a fresh, and still a fresh delay, so that although eight was the appointed hour, it was noon ere we bade farewell to mine host of the "Duke of York." At length the word of command was spoken. Foremost came the gallant captain (as we had dubbed him), and with him two ship doctors, in partnership together, who carried the signs of their profession along with them in the shape of a most surgeon-like mahogany box. Then came the two Germans, complacently smoking their meerschaums, and attending to their dray and horses, which latter, unlike their masters, were of a very restless turn of mind. After these came a party of six, among whom was Gregory and two lively Frenchmen, who kept up an incessant chattering. Joe walked by himself, leading his pack-horse, then came our four shipmates, two by two, and last, our own particular five. Most carried on their backs their individual property—blankets, provisions for the road, &c., rolled in a skin, and fastened over the shoulders by leathern straps. This bundle goes by the name of "swag," and is the digger's usual accompaniment—it being too great a luxury to place upon a dray or pack-horse anything not absolutely necessary. This will be easily understood when it is known that carriers, during the winter, obtained 120 pounds and sometimes 150 pounds a ton for conveying goods to Bendigo (about one hundred miles from Melbourne). Nor was the sum exorbitant, as besides the chance of a few weeks' stick in the mud, they run great risk of injuring their horses or bullocks; many a valuable beast has been obliged to be shot where it stood, it being found impossible to extricate it from the mud and swamp. At the time we started, the sum generally demanded was about 70 pounds per ton. On the price of carriage up, depended of course the price of provisions at the diggings. The weight of one of these "swags" is far from light; the provender for the road is itself by no means trifling, though that of course diminishes by the way, and lightens the load a little. Still there are the blankets, fire-arms, drinking and eating apparatus, clothing, chamois-leather for the gold that has yet to be dug, and numberless other cumbersome articles necessary for the digger. In every belt was stuck either a large knife or a tomahawk; two shouldered their guns (by the bye, rather imprudent, as the sight of fire-arms often brings down an attack); some had thick sticks, fit to fell a bullock; altogether, we seemed well prepared to encounter an entire army of bushrangers. I felt tolerably comfortable perched upon our dray, amid a mass of other soft lumber; a bag of flour formed an easy support to lean against; on either side I was well walled in by the canvas and poles of our tent; a large cheese made a convenient footstool. My attire, although well suited for the business on hand, would hardly have passed muster in any other situation. A dress of common dark blue serge, a felt wide-awake, and a waterproof coat wrapped round me, made a ludicrous assortment. Going along at a foot-pace we descended Great Bourke Street, and made our first halt opposite the Post-office, where one of our party made a last effort to obtain a letter from his lady-love, which was, alas! unsuccessful. But we move on again—pass the Horse Bazaar—turn into Queen Street—up we go towards Flemington, leaving the Melbourne cemetery on our right, and the flag-staff a little to the left; and now our journey may be considered fairly begun. Just out of Melbourne, passing to the east of the Benevolent Asylum, we went over a little rise called Mount Pleasant, which, on a damp sort of a day, with the rain beating around one, seemed certainly a misnomer. After about two miles, we came to a branch-road leading to Pentridge, where the Government convict establishment is situated. This we left on our right, and through a line of country thickly wooded (consisting of red and white gum, stringy bark, cherry and other trees), we arrived at Flemington, which is about three miles and a half from town. Flemington is a neat little village or town-ship, consisting of about forty houses, a blacksmith's shop, several stores, and a good inn, built of brick and stone, with very fair accommodation for travellers, and a large stable and stock-yards. After leaving Flemington, we passed several nice-looking homesteads; some are on a very large scale, and belong to gentlemen connected with Melbourne, who prefer "living out of town." On reaching the top of the hill beyond Flemington there is a fine view of Melbourne, the bay, William's Town, and the surrounding country, but the miserable weather prevented us at this time from properly enjoying it. Sunshine was all we needed to have made this portion of our travels truly delightful. The road was nicely level, fine trees sheltered it on either side, whilst ever and anon some rustic farm-house was passed, or coffee-shop, temporarily erected of canvas or blankets, offered refreshment (such as it was), and the latest news of the diggings to those who had no objection to pay well for what they had. This Flemington road (which is considered the most Pleasant in Victoria, or at least anywhere near Melbourne) is very good as far as Tulip Wright's, which we now approached. Wright's public-house is kept by the man whose name it bears; it is a rambling ill-built, but withal pleasing-looking edifice, built chiefly of weather-board and shingle, with a verandah all round. The whole is painted white, and whilst at some distance from it a passing ray of sunshine gave it a most peculiar effect. In front of the principal entrance is a thundering large lamp, a most conspicuous looking object. Wright himself was formerly in the police, and being a sharp fellow, obtained the cognomen of "Tulip," by which both he and his house have always been known; and so inseparable have the names become, that, whilst "Tulip Wright's" is renowned well-nigh all over the colonies, the simple name of the owner would create some inquiries. The state of accommodation here may be gathered from the success of some of the party who had a PENCHANT for "nobblers" of brandy. "Nothing but bottled beer in the house." "What could we have for dinner?" inquired one, rather amused at this Hobson's choice state of affairs. "The eatables was only cold meat; and they couldn't cook nothink fresh," was the curt reply. "Can we sleep here?" "Yes—under your drays." As we literally determined to "camp out" on the journey, we passed on, without partaking of their "cold eatables," or availing ourselves of their permission to sleep under our own drays, and, leaving the road to Sydney on our right, and the one to Keilor straight before us, we turned short off to the left towards the Deep Creek. Of the two rejected routes I will give a very brief account. The right-hand road leads to Sydney, VIA Kilmore, and many going to the diggings prefer using this road as far as that township. The country about here is very flat, stony and destitute of timber; occasionally the journey is varied by a water-hole or surface-spring. After several miles, a public-house called the "Lady of the Lake" is reached, which is reckoned by many the best country inn on this or any other road in the colonies. The accommodation is excellent, and the rooms well arranged, and independent of the house. There are ten or twelve rooms which, on a push, could accommodate fifty or sixty people; six are arranged in pairs for the convenience of married persons, and the fashionable trip during the honey-moon (particularly for diggers' weddings) is to the "Lady of the Lake." Whether Sir Walter's poem be the origin of the sign, or whether the swamps in the rear, I cannot say, but decidedly there is no lake and no lady, though I have heard of a buxom lass, the landlord's daughter, who acts as barmaid, and is a great favourite. This spot was the scene last May of a horrible murder, which has added no little to the notoriety of the neighbourhood. After several miles you at length arrive at Kilmore, which is a large and thriving township, containing two places of worship, several stores and inns. There is a resident magistrate with his staff of officials, and a station for a detachment of mounted police. Kilmore is on the main overland road from Melbourne to Sydney, and, although not on the confines of the two colonies, is rather an important place, from being the last main township until you reach the interior of New South Wales. The Government buildings are commodious and well arranged. There are several farms and stations in the neighbourhood, but the country round is flat and swampy. The middle road leads you direct to Keilor, and you must cross the Deep Creek in a dangerous part, as the banks thereabouts are very steep, the stream (though narrow) very rapid, and the bottom stony. In 1851, the bridge (an ordinary log one) was washed down by the floods, and for two months all communication was cut off. Government have now put a punt, which is worked backwards and forwards every half-hour from six in the morning till six at night, at certain fares, which are doubled after these hours. These fares are: for a passenger, 6d.; a horse or bullock, 1s.; a two-wheeled vehicle, 1s. 6d.; a loaded dray, 2s. The punt is tolerably well managed, except when the man gets intoxicated—not an unfrequent occurrence. When there was neither bridge nor punt, those who wished to cross were obliged to ford it; and so strong has been the current, that horses have been carried down one or two hundred yards before they could effect a landing. Keilor is a pretty little village with a good inn, several nice cottages, and a store or two. The country round is hilly and barren—scarcely any herbage and that little is rank and coarse; the timber is very scarce. This road to the diggings is not much used. But to return to ourselves. The rain and bad roads made travelling so very wearisome, that before we had proceeded far it was unanimously agreed that we should halt and pitch our first encampment. "Pitch our first encampment! how charming!" exclaims some romantic reader, as though it were an easily accomplished undertaking. Fixing a gipsy-tent at a FETE CHAMPETRE, with a smiling sky above, and all requisites ready to hand, is one thing, and attempting to sink poles and erect tents out of blankets and rugs in a high wind and pelting rain, is (if I may be allowed the colonialism) "a horse of quite another colour." Some sort of sheltering-places were at length completed; the horses were taken from the dray and tethered to some trees within sight, and then we made preparations for satisfying the unromantic cravings of hunger—symptoms of which we all, more or less, began to feel. With some difficulty a fire was kindled and kept alight in the hollow trunk of an old gum tree. A damper was speedily made, which, with a plentiful supply of steaks and boiled and roasted eggs, was a supper by no means to be despised. The eggs had been procured at four shillings a dozen from a farm-house we had passed. It was certainly the most curious tea-table at which I had ever assisted. Chairs, of course, there were none, we sat or lounged upon the ground as best suited our tired limbs; tin pannicans (holding about a pint) served as tea-cups, and plates of the same metal in lieu of china; a teapot was dispensed with; but a portly substitute was there in the shape of an immense iron kettle, just taken from the fire and placed in the centre of our grand tea-service, which being new, a lively imagination might mistake for silver. Hot spirits, for those desirous of imbibing them, followed our substantial repast; but fatigue and the dreary weather had so completely damped all disposition to conviviality, that a very short space of time found all fast asleep except the three unfortunates on the watch, which was relieved every two hours. WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8.—I awoke rather early this morning, not feeling over-comfortable from having slept in my clothes all night, which it is necessary to do on the journey, so as never to be unprepared for any emergency. A small corner of my brother's tent had been partitioned off for my BED-ROOM; it was quite dark, so my first act on waking was to push aside one of the blankets, still wet, which had been my roof during the night, and thus admit air and light into my apartments. Having made my toilette—after a fashion—I joined my companions on the watch, who were deep in the mysteries of preparing something eatable for breakfast. I discovered that their efforts were concentrated on the formation of a damper, which seemed to give them no little difficulty. A damper is the legitimate, and, in fact, only bread of the bush, and should be made solely of flour and water, well mixed and kneaded into a cake, as large as you like, but not more than two inches in thickness, and then placed among the hot ashes to bake. If well-made, it is very sweet and a good substitute for bread. The rain had, however, spoiled our ashes, the dough would neither rise nor brown, so in despair we mixed a fresh batch of flour and water, and having fried some rashers of fat bacon till they were nearly melted, we poured the batter into the pan and let it fry till done. This impromptu dish gave general satisfaction and was pronounced a cross between a pancake and a heavy suet pudding. Breakfast over, our temporary residences were pulled down, the drays loaded, and our journey recommenced. We soon reached the Deep Creek, and crossed by means of a punt, the charges being the same as the one at Keilor. Near here is a station belonging to Mr. Ryleigh, which is a happy specimen of a squatter's home—everything being managed in a superior manner. The house itself is erected on a rise and surrounded by an extensive garden, vinery and orchard, all well stocked and kept; some beautifully enclosed paddocks reach to the Creek, and give an English park-like appearance to the whole. The view from here over the bay and Brighton is splendid; you can almost distinguish Geelong. About a quarter of a mile off is a little hamlet with a neat Swiss-looking church, built over a school-room on a rise of ground; it has a most peculiar effect, and is the more singular as the economizing the ground could not be a consideration in the colony; on the left of the church is a pretty little parsonage, whitewashed, with slate roof and green-painted window-frames. I still fancy, though our redoubtable captain most strenuously denied it, that we had in some manner gone out of our way; however that may be, the roads seemed worse and worse as we proceeded, and our pace became more tedious as here and there it was up-hill work till at length we reached the Keilor plains. It was almost disheartening to look upon that vast expanse of flat and dreary land except where the eye lingered on the purple sides of Mount Macedon, which rose far distant in front of us. On entering the plains we passed two or three little farm-houses, coffee-shops, &c., and encountered several parties coming home for a trip to Melbourne. For ten miles we travelled on dismally enough, for it rained a great deal, and we were constantly obliged to halt to get the horses rested a little. We now passed a coffee-shop, which although only consisting of a canvas tent and little wooden shed, has been known to accommodate above forty people of a night. As there are always plenty of bad characters lounging in the neighbourhood of such places, we kept at a respectful distance, and did not make our final halt till full two miles farther on our road. Tents were again pitched, but owing to their not being fastened over securely, many of us got an unwished-for shower-bath during the night; but this is nothing—at the antipodes one soon learns to laugh at such trifles. THURSDAY, 9.—This morning we were up betimes, some of our party being so sanguine as to anticipate making the "Bush Inn" before evening. As we proceeded, this hope quickly faded away. The Keilor plains seemed almost impassable, and what with pieces of rock here, and a water-hole there, crossing them was more dangerous than agreeable. Now one passed a broken-down dray; then one's ears were horrified at the oaths an unhappy wight was venting at a mud-hole into which he had stumbled. A comical object he looked, as, half-seas-over, he attempted to pull on a mud-covered boot, which he had just extricated from the hole where it and his leg had parted company. A piece of wood, which his imagination transformed into a shoe-horn, was in his hand. "Put it into the larboard side," (suiting the action to the word), "there it goes—damn her, she won't come on! Put it into the starboard side there it goes—well done, old girl," and he triumphantly rose from the ground, and reeled away. With a hearty laugh, we proceeded on our road, and after passing two or three coffee-tents, we arrived at Gregory's Inn. The landlord is considered the best on the road, and is a practical example of what honesty and industry may achieve. He commenced some nine months before without a shilling—his tarpaulin tent and small stock of tea, sugar, coffee, &c., being a loan. He has now a large weather-board house, capable of making up one hundred beds, and even then unable to accommodate all his visitors, so numerous are they, from the good name he bears. Here we got a capital cold dinner of meat, bread, cheese, coffee, tea, &c., for three shillings a-piece, and, somewhat refreshed, went forwards in better spirits, though the accounts we heard there of the bad roads in the Black Forest would have disheartened many. Mount Macedon now formed quite a beautiful object on our right: a little below that mountain appeared a smaller one, called the Bald Hill, from its peak being quite barren, and the soil of a white limestone and quartzy nature, which gives it a most peculiar and splendid appearance when the sun's rays are shining upon it. As we advanced, the thickly-wooded sides of Mount Macedon became more distinct, and our proximity to a part of the country which we knew to be auriferous, exercised an unaccountable yet pleasureable influence over our spirits, which was perhaps increased by the loveliness of the spot where we now pitched our tents for the evening. It was at the foot of the Gap. The stately gum-tree, the shea-oak, with its gracefully drooping foliage, the perfumed yellow blossom of the mimosa, the richly-wooded mountain in the background, united to form a picture too magnificent to describe. The ground was carpeted with wild flowers; the sarsaparilla blossoms creeping everywhere; before us slowly rippled a clear streamlet, reflecting a thousand times the deepening tints which the last rays of the setting sun flung over the surrounding scenery; the air rang with the cawing of the numerous cockatoos and parrots of all hues and colours who made the woods resound with their tones, whilst their restless movements and gay plumage gave life and piquancy to the scene. This night our beds were composed of the mimosa, which has a perfume like the hawthorn. The softest-looking branches were selected, cut down, and flung upon the ground beneath the tents, and formed a bed which, to my wearied limbs, appeared the softest and most luxuriant upon which I had slept since my arrival in the colonies. FRIDAY, 10.—With some reluctance I aroused myself from a very heavy slumber produced by the over fatigue of the preceding day. I found every one preparing to start; kindly considerate, my companions thought a good sleep more refreshing for me than breakfast, and had deferred awakening me till quite obliged, so taking a few sailors' biscuits in my pocket to munch on the way, I bade farewell to a spot whose natural beauties I have never seen surpassed. Proceeding onwards, we skirted the Bald Hill, and entering rather a scrubby tract, crossed a creek more awkward for our drays than dangerous to ourselves; we then passed two or three little coffee-shops, which being tents are always shifting their quarters, crossed another plain, very stony and in places swampy, which terminated in a thickly-wooded tract of gum and wattle trees. Into this wood we now entered. After about five miles uncomfortable travelling we reached the "Bush Inn." I must here observe that no DISTINCT road is ever cut out, but the whole country is cut up into innumerable tracks by the carts and drays, and which are awfully bewildering to the new-comer as they run here and there, now crossing a swamp, now a rocky place, here a creek, there a hillock, and yet, in many cases, all leading BONA FIDE to the same place. The "Bush Inn" (the genuine one, for there are two) consists of a large, well-built, brick and weather-board house, with bed-rooms for private families. There is a detached weather-board, and stone kitchen, and tap-room, with sleeping-lofts above, a large yard with sheds and good stabling. A portion of the house and stables is always engaged for the use of the escort. About two hundred yards off is the "New Bush Inn," somewhat similar to the other, not quite so large, with an attempt at a garden. The charges at these houses are enormous. Five and six shillings per meal, seven-and-sixpence for a bottle of ale, and one shilling for half a glass or "nobbler" of brandy. About half a mile distant is a large station belonging to Mr. Watson; the houses, huts and yards are very prettily laid out, and, in a few years he will have the finest vineyard in the neighbourhood. Two miles to the east is the residence of Mr. Poullett, Commissioner of Crown Lands, which is very pleasantly situated on the banks of an ever-running stream. The paddock, which is a large one (10 square miles, or 6400 acres), is well wooded. Some new police barracks and stabling yards are in the course of erection. We did not linger in the "Bush Inn," but pursued our way over a marshy flat, crossed a dangerous creek, and having ascended a steep and thickly wooded hill on the skirts of the Black Forest, we halted and pitched our tents. It was little more than mid-day, but the road had been fearful—as bad as wading through a mire; men and beasts were worn out, and it was thought advisable to recruit well before entering the dreaded precincts of the Black Forest. Fires were lit, supper was cooked, spirits and pipes made their appearance, songs were sung, and a few of the awful exploits of Black Douglas and his followers were related. Later in the evening, an opossum was shot by one of us. Its skin was very soft, with rich, brown hair. SATURDAY, 11—A dismal wet day—we remained stationary, as many of our party were still foot-sore, and all were glad of a rest. Some went out shooting, but returned with only a few parrots and cockatoos, which they roasted, and pronounced nice eating. Towards evening, a party of four, returning from the diggings, encamped at a little distance from us. Some of our loiterers made their acquaintance. They had passed the previous night in the Black Forest, having wandered out of their way. To add to their misfortunes, they had been attacked by three well-armed bushrangers, whom they had compelled to desist from their attempt, not, however, before two of the poor men had been wounded, one rather severely. Hardly had they recovered this shock, than they were horrified by the sudden discovery in a sequestered spot of some human bones, strewn upon the ground beside a broken-down cart. Whether accident or design had brought these unfortunates to an untimely end, none know; but this ominous appearance seemed to have terrified them even more than the bushrangers themselves. These accounts sobered our party not a little, and it was deemed advisable to double the watch that night. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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