C. FETHEBSTONHAUGH
 
 AFiER MANY 
 
 BEING THE REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 CUTHBERT FETHERSTONHAUGH 
 
 E. W. COLE, Book Arcade, Melbourne 
 
 Sydney and Adelaide
 
 Stack 
 Annex 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 Urged by my wife, and indeed also by many 
 friends, I have for a long time intended to record 
 my experiences of many years with a view to pub- 
 lishing them. 
 
 I do not think I would have carried out my inten- 
 tion but for the insistence of my good friend Walter 
 G. Henderson, of Albury, author of Midnight's 
 Daughter, The Bathers, and other works depicting 
 Australian life. 
 
 When staying with me in Blackheath last year he 
 so pressed me to make a start that I did so. His 
 enthusiastic appreciation of my work has been unfail- 
 ing ever since, and has greatly helped to the con- 
 clusion of my task in setting forth these experiences 
 of 35 years of my life. 
 
 All I have narrated is at first hand and actual 
 fact. If by any chance these "memories of the 
 past" should "take on," I hope to put the experi- 
 ences of the following 45 years into another volume 
 
 C.F. 
 
 Blackheath, 
 November, 1917. 5.O05B08 < 
 
 1SS2G19
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 To the bushmen of Australia more especially to 
 those of "the blood of the don't give in," who have 
 so heroically made Australia historic in this Great 
 War. 
 
 God Ness them for their big soft hearts 
 And the brave, brave grins they wear. 
 
 HENRY LAWSON.
 
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 1 - -^ B IP BmL^ ^s ' 
 
 . .,. 
 
 PRINCE'S BRIDGE, MELBOURNE, 1853 
 
 SHIP SUSSEX, 1853
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Books of reminiscence are many, yet the happen- 
 ings of seventy years, beginning in Ireland, continu- 
 ing in Germany, and for sixty-three years extending 
 over the States of New South Wales, Victoria, Queenh- 
 land and South Australia, covering many strange 
 occurrences, and embracing many striking and 
 characteristic personalities, may well justify the 
 further use of pen and ink. 
 
 I am satisfied that the material is there, rich and 
 abundant. My only doubt is as to whether or not 
 my pen is of sufficient candle power to light up to 
 the reader, so that he or she may see it as I have 
 seen it the interesting past. I therefore make no 
 apology for writing this book, but shall "clap into't 
 roundly" and do my best. After all, folk need not 
 read it unless they like, but if they will come a little 
 way with me I think we shall become good friends 
 and keep together to the end of the journey. Some- 
 times we may trot along merrily, sometimes the pace 
 may be only a walk, but I hope there will be a 
 glorious gallop or two even if we have to camp 
 occasionally for a bit. 
 
 I have the honour of having been born on the day 
 Queen Victoria came to the throne, the 22nd of June, 
 ls:}7. My birthplace was Dardistown, my father's 
 home in County Westmeath, Ireland, not far from 
 Mullingar, famous for its fat cattle, from which 
 originated the saying applied to girls with thick 
 ankles, "beef to the heel like a Mullingar heifer." 
 
 7
 
 8 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 I remember but little of the first six years of my 
 life, beyond, from A window, seeing my father driv- 
 ing with long reins a colt from whose mouth flew 
 foam, flecked with blood. Also 1 just remember one 
 night seeing a four-in-hand drag, lamps lighted, 
 leaving Dardistown, having on board a lot of my 
 uncles, all smoking cigars, bound for my grand- 
 father's place, "Mosstown." The late Beresford 
 Cairnes, of Parramatta, seemed to know a lot about 
 my people, for he told me that not only were there 
 usually forty blood horses in the Mosstown stables, 
 but that often forty people sat down to dinner there 
 This is not to be wondered at when I mention that 
 my grandmother bore no less than twenty-eight chil- 
 dren to my grandfather. She outlived her husband 
 to whom she was married at sixteen. In her old age 
 she used to go to sleep in her armchair after dinner, 
 and one evening in her seventy-fifth year she did not 
 awaken again in this world. Seventeen of the chil- 
 dren grew up. The men were tall and handsome, 
 all of them good horsemen and good shots, and I 
 think there were some pretty gay boys among them. 
 Some of my aunts I can remember as beautiful women. 
 
 With such a famity, accompanied too with pro- 
 verbial Irish prodigality, is it any wonder that my 
 father sold Dardistown in 1843, under the Encum- 
 bered Estates Act, and took his family to Germany 
 for economy's sake. Living and education were very 
 cheap then in Germany. My father's family con- 
 sisted of my mother, three sons and five daughters 
 so that moving to Germany with our belongings was 
 no joke. We went to "Neuwied-am-Rhein" for a 
 year, and I remember a big flood on the Rhine, and 
 going up to the counter of a shop in a boat. From 
 Neuwied we went to "Frankfurt am Main," where 
 we lived for four years, until the revolution in 1848 
 scared us back to old Ireland. I must confess that 
 we carried away very happy memories of Germany 
 and of the Germans. My recollections of them after
 
 all these sixty-eight years are of a kindly, friendly, 
 sociable and thrifty people, a people, too, steeped in 
 music. Alas that the name " German" now gives 
 one a shuddering feeling of horror and disgust. We 
 can quite agree with Kipling when he says that the 
 world consists of human beings and Germans, and 
 applaud the Bulletin prize definition of a German: 
 "A German why, he's just a German, blast him." 
 
 Yet for German I fain would substitute "Prus- 
 sian," for it must be remembered that in Frankfurt 
 we were among Saxons, and that after the Prussians 
 had beaten Austria in 1866 they attacked the minor 
 German States that had been allied with Austria, 
 treating them most brutally and perpetrating 
 " f rightf ulness " almost as great as that which they 
 inflicted on Belgium and France in the Great "War 
 raging (1917) as I write. Saxony, which had been 
 allied with Austria, after being subjected to atroci- 
 ously cruel treatment, was made to pay an indemnity 
 of ten million thalers, and was forced to join the 
 North German Confederation. Almost as I write I 
 read how the Prussians greeted the arrival of the 
 Australians in the trenches by exhibiting a board 
 written on it, "The scum of the earth have arrived." 
 Soon after this greeting a savage attack was made 
 by the Prussians, who were completely driven back 
 by the Australians. The Prussians were relieved by 
 a regiment from Saxony, and the latter again put up 
 the board, but this time it bore the words, ' ' The scum 
 of the earth have beaten the Prussians." There is 
 no love lost between the Saxons and the Prussians, as 
 we have often heard from our soldiers in this War. 
 
 Frankfurt is still very real to me the Zeil, the Ross 
 Market, the Hotel D 'Angleterre, Bethman's beautiful 
 place with the far-famed Ariadne sculpture, the 
 Promenade round the town, made after the fortifica- 
 tions were taken down, and finally the Judenstrase 
 where the Jews had to live. Our house, the "Burgen- 
 meisterhaus, " a large three-storied building, fronted
 
 10 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 the "Promenade," and a very liappy and cheerful life 
 we young people lived in it. There were a good many 
 British families living in Frankfurt, but we were on 
 very friendly terms with a number of nice German 
 families also. My eldest sister and my brothers used 
 to go to the German balls and parties. We Irish 
 seemed somehow to get on better Avith the Germans 
 than did the English. We were, I take it, more free 
 and easy, not so stand-off, ' ' don 't you know. ' ' 
 
 My father was then forty, quite a young man, 
 though to me he seemed quite old. He was a splendid 
 shot. (Years afterwards, on the morning of his 
 eightieth birthday, he came to my bedroom and held 
 out a bag of snipe he had shot before breakfast.) He 
 and a great friend of his, Robert McCarthy, used to 
 go on shooting excursions in Germany. They im- 
 ported a fine upstanding Irish mare, and a real Irish 
 jaunting car, which rather amazed the Germans and 
 caused some amusement. 
 
 In Frankfurt I went to a German school, and for 
 four years I was taught as if I were a German boy 
 (how I praise God that I was not!), with the result 
 that when we left Germany I spoke German better 
 than 1 did English. 
 
 At school I found the German masters kind and 
 fair, making no distinction with the " Englanders, " 
 and the boys were friendly too. The only game I 
 remember playing was ball. The German boys could 
 not fight for "sour apples." Any one of us could 
 take on two of them. I well remember a street fight 
 (one of many) in which six of us retired unbeaten 
 though set upon by some fifteen German lads. Among 
 our crowd were several young Huxhams real devils 
 to fight. I met them sixteen years afterwards on the 
 Burnett in Queensland, married and sobered down. 
 Their elder brother a lieutenant in the Royal Navy 
 when on a visit to his people in Frankfurt got the 
 name of "Der Veruckte Englander" the mad Eng- 
 lishman and truly he was as wild as a Warrigal
 
 , AFTER MANY DAYS 11 
 
 Black and absolutely fearless. On one occasion when 
 the ice broke on the river Main he jumped on one of 
 the floating blocks, and bounding along from block 
 to block he reached the middle of the river, while 
 crowds of people rushed to the river banks to witness 
 his apparently inevitable death. However, as he 
 passed under a bridge some gendarmes lowered a rope 
 to him and he climbed up sailor like hand over 
 hand, reaching safety perfectly cool and unperturbed. 
 He was duly fined next day. 
 
 Among the English living in Frankfurt when we 
 were there was a Dr. Leighton and his family. His 
 eldest son Fred, who afterwards became famous as 
 Sir Frederick Leighton, was much at our house, and 
 became a prime favourite with my father, who always 
 called him "Fritz." He was a handsome boy then, 
 about eighteen, and very attractive. He was study- 
 ing to be an artist and was a clever caricaturist. My 
 brother had quite a collection of his caricatures and 
 little sketches of friends. I had a little oil painting 
 of his done on the cover of an old book, and I have 
 still a pencil sketch of what he intended to be a paint- 
 ing of the Babes in the Wood. "Fritz" thought him- 
 self at that time to be very much in love with my 
 eldest sister. 
 
 It was very cold in Frankfurt in the winter. The 
 River Main at times was frozen so thickly that I have 
 seen loaded carts cross on the ice, and we could skate 
 for miles on the river straight on end. My father 
 never wore a greatcoat in winter. How the Germans 
 used to stare at him! He took his cold bath every 
 morning even when the ice on it had to be broken. 
 We used to see an oldish Englishman going to have a 
 bath in the river accompanied by a man with a pick- 
 axe to break the ice. The Germans very rightly con- 
 cluded he was mad. On the ice you could hire chairs, 
 and it was the custom to ask any lady without an 
 introduction to take a turn on a chair on the ice, 
 the chair being pushed along at a great pace by the 
 skater.
 
 12 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Then came the troublous upheaval year of 1848, 
 and not thinking it safe to remain in a country 
 seething with revolution, we decided to leave. Even 
 before we left there was street fighting in Frankfurt. 
 Then in my twelfth year, I, to my great excitement, 
 one day saw a mob of revolutionists march up the 
 Zeil (the main street) headed by a big truculent look- 
 ing man with a red sash crossed over his shoulders, 
 while his head was bound up with a blood-stained 
 bandage. These were a lot of the "Saxon hausers," 
 being men of the baser sort low rascals, ever ready 
 for revolt and disorder. Some time before this I 
 heard Prince Metternich address a large audience from 
 an hotel window. I also remember hearing Jenny 
 Lind in "der Freishutz." We schoolboys spent one 
 never-to-be-forgotten summer holiday on a delightful 
 walking excursion with one of the masters, a right 
 good fellow he was. He seemed to enjoy the trip as 
 much as we did. On one occasion I stood on the middle 
 of the bridge at Strasburg with one foot in Germany 
 and one in France. Alas, both feet would be in 
 Germany now. Then there was the wonderful old 
 clock in Strasburg Cathedral in which there was a 
 cock that crowed twelve times at noon. We, of course, 
 had German servants, and the wages were horribly 
 small. Such nice women they were, too. Marie, the 
 cook, and Lenchen, the housemaid, I liked greatly. 
 I remember the latter with a charm stopping in a 
 few seconds the bleeding from a bad cut I got. My 
 great ambition in those days was to be a circus rider, 
 while my mother's great wish was that I should take 
 holy orders. Also 1 wanted, like most boys at that 
 time, to join the navy. 
 
 We returned to Ireland at about the end of the 
 frightful famine of 1847 and 1848. The worst was 
 over before our return, but of the many terrible 
 times of trouble and distress through which poor old 
 Ireland has passed, none pressed more hardly on her 
 than the disastrous famine caused bv the failu're of
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 13 
 
 the potato crop, the staple food of my countrymen. 
 The poor people died in hundreds of thousands, of 
 absolute starvation. The greatest loss of course was 
 among children and the aged. Children died in such 
 numbers that often five and six little bodies were put 
 in one big case and carted away for burial. A great 
 deal of help was given by England, but will it b: 
 believed that during this famine quantities of food 
 was exported from Ireland to England. Towards 
 the end of the famine quantities of fat pork and of 
 Indian meal were sent to Ireland from America. The 
 people did not take to the yellow meal. They had 
 a doggerel about it 
 
 Eat it up, eat it up, 
 
 It will blow your belly out. 
 
 It will cure the chincough, 
 The measles and the gout. 
 
 For years I have been a Home Ruler, not an ardent 
 one, but still a Home Ruler. Ireland should be given 
 the opportunity of Home Rule it is due to her she 
 has a right to demand it. 
 
 On one occasion some years ago when Home Rule 
 was being much discussed in Australia, I gave expres- 
 sion to my feelings in our local Castlereagh paper. 
 Shortly afterwards at a show at Coonabarabran, a 
 wild Irishman, who had been making acquaintance 
 with John Barleycorn, jumped up on the step of 
 my buggy, and to my wife 's great amusement shouted 
 out, "Sure, and you're the man for us. Say the 
 word, and begorra we'll follow you through blood 
 and slaughthery. " I felt rather abashed, for I was 
 much more seeking "Peace and Goodwill" than blood 
 and slaughthery. 
 
 As our old home "Dardistown" had been sold when 
 we returned to Ireland, we rented a place in County 
 Westmeath called Rath-Caslin, where we were near 
 many relatives. I then went to a large school in 
 Wales. All I learned there was to fight and be a
 
 14 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 blackguard. T am sure the Heads of the school were 
 good men, but I honestly believe that every boarder 
 of the eighty or ninety in the school was depraved 
 in mind. I was generally in trouble, and had enor- 
 mous impositions to write out, and once (deservedly) 
 had to spend one whole vacation at the school by 
 myself. I spent much of the time trapping sparrows 
 and roasting and eating them. I had no books and 
 saw no one. I was, in fact, a prisoner. We boys 
 several times visited the Britannia tubular bridge, 
 then being erected over the Menai Straits. It was 
 intensely interesting. 
 
 After a year in Wales I went to school at Belfast 
 at the old Academy, over which reigned a Dr. Bryce 
 a Presbyterian clergyman and a gentle good man. 
 It was also a large school about one hundred 
 boarders and a large number of day boys. While in 
 Wales I had to fight every boy in the school anywhere 
 near my own age. At Belfast I really do not remem- 
 ber having had a fight at all. The boys were morally 
 a much better lot. I did better at Belfast and learnt 
 a good deal, and got on well with my French, and, 
 mirable dictu, got a prize for writing! Belfast 
 was the most drunken town (1850) that I have ever 
 been in. I have seen women lying in the gutter blind 
 drunk in the daylight. The old charwoman at the 
 Academy emptied all the bottles containing speci- 
 mens of lizards, snakes, and so forth, preserved in 
 spirits of wine, and she actually, out of the goodness 
 of her heart, poor old soul, let me have a pull at the 
 awful decoction! And didn't the tears run out of 
 my eyes! 
 
 Sectarianism was (and no doubt still is) rampant 
 in Belfast. As an illustration of this there was a 
 story current of an Ulsterman who had fallen down a 
 well and who in his extremity essayed to pray, but all 
 he was able to get out was, ' ' To Hell with the Pope. ' ' 
 
 While at Belfast I spent two of my winter holidays 
 with a cousin Charley Kelly at his father's place,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 15 
 
 Lunestown, iii Westmeath. A kind old uiicle, and a 
 house full of pretty cousins, and always some girl 
 friends, plenty of horses, and just do as we liked. 
 My cousin Charley smoked. Although I was only 13, 
 nothing would do me but to smoke also. It took me 
 a whole holiday to learn, but, sick as it made me, I 
 persevered. I continued to smoke till I was 18. Then 
 finding I was fast becoming a slave to the habit in 
 fact, I smoked before getting out of bed in the morn- 
 ing I gave it up for good and all. I learnt to ride 
 at Lunestown. My first experience was one day when 
 Charley, who was four years older than I I was 
 thirteen threw me up on his sixteen-hand-high 
 chestnut hunter, put the reins in my hand, and gave 
 the horse a "skelp" of his whip. Off the animal 
 sprang, and never stopped till he reached the stable 
 door. I hung on and was greatly delighted. Then 
 my cousin Kate a lovely girl of about eighteen lent 
 me her grey thoroughbred mare. She, dear girl, was 
 in a rapid consumption, and not able to ride and oh ! 
 what a time we two boys had. "We used to muster 
 up a pack of dogs of all sorts and sizes greyhounds, 
 terriers, a beagle or two, and "a-hunting we would 
 go." After jumping a big fence, Charley at our first 
 ride called out, "Better not tackle it, you might hurt 
 the mare," and then after we got home he told the 
 girls I had been afraid to follow him. He did not 
 tell them so again, though, for after that I'd have 
 followed him over a precipice. It was not very long 
 before the ' ' grey mare proved to be the better horse. ' ' 
 Charley was an awfully mischievous beggar, and used 
 to get up fights between me and a cousin of his, 
 Johnny Meares, of Mearescourt, and on one occasion 
 he got us to go out of church before the service was 
 ended and engage in fisticuffs in the churchyard. 
 We were hard at it when the congregation came out 
 among them Mrs. Meares, Johnny's mother, and 
 didn't I get a wigging! Charley Kelly became an 
 engineer, and went to India was there during th
 
 16 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Mutiny volunteered, and fought all through it did 
 splendidly and was mentioned in despatches. Later 
 on he earae to Australia and bought Kamarooka 
 Station, near Bendigo, Victoria. He kept a pack oi 
 hounds, and my dear old father when over seventy 
 had many a run with them. 
 
 It was, of course, only in my holidays thai I got a 
 chance of riding, and at home I had no horse to ride. 
 But once on a visit with my father to a friend one 
 Jack Rynd, of Reynella I had a great day. If 7 
 live to a hundred years I shall not forget it - i! 
 was truly a red-letter day. The evening before Jack 
 Rynd asked me if I could ride. Of course i said 
 "Yes." Well he said, "My daughter's pony is too 
 much for her, and is spoiling for a good day out. 
 He is a bit fresh, but no vice, and you can ride him 
 to hounds to-morrow." The pony was a perfect 
 beauty. During the first run he took me over a l>i.ir 
 bog drain greatly to Jack Rynd's delight, and shortly 
 after, pulling hard, he got me too close to the hounds 
 and someone swore at me. But the master said, "Let 
 the boy alone; after jumping that bog drain he can 
 go where he likes." At one time in the hunt I 
 jumped the pony up on top of a strong wide stone 
 wall, and as we got there the hounds turned and 
 came back over the Avail. I rode the pony a bit along 
 the top and jumped him back the same side up- 
 started from. I have seen a pony, 14.2 high, jump 
 a 6-foot stone wall in Ireland. He just tipped the 
 wall with his hind feet. 
 
 There was a memorable and never-to-be-forgotten 
 steeplechase meeting at Mullingar, to which Charley 
 Kelly took me surreptitiously I riding my cousin 
 Kate's grey mare. Over one fence during the meet- 
 ing there were no less than five horses killed or had 
 to be shot they broke their backs. It was not a JHK 
 fence, for I took the grey mare over it at the end of 
 the day. The fence was just a ditch and bank, but 
 it was uphill. After the fifth horse came to grief, 
 the stewards took the fence out of the course.
 
 SIR GARXET WOLSELEY
 
 LADY C'OLVIX (WHEN MRS. SITWELL)
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 17 
 
 Jenimy Kelly, of Douovaii Brown fame, will be 
 remembered by all old Victorian sportsmen Jemmy 
 Avith his ash plant in his hand saying "Aisy Donovan., 
 aisy Donovan." Jemmy was an "illigant" horseman 
 across country and a great judge of pace. Well, he 
 rode four winners at this same steeplechase meeting 
 at Mullingar in 1852, and he carried an ash plant 
 in his hand then. I little thought I'd see him riding 
 steeplechases in Australia some six or seven years 
 later on. 
 
 After a while we left Rath Casliu and went to live 
 at Kingstown, on the sea near Dublin. Our greatest 
 friends there were the Brookes. The Reverend Mr. 
 Brookes was a delightful man, and he had an equally 
 delightful family. There was a charming Roman 
 Catholic clergyman in Kingstown at the time, a tall 
 thin man, and these two men, Mr. Brooke and Father 
 Germaine, might often be seen coming along the street 
 arm in arm, the best of friends, and yet probably 
 the very same evening Mr. Brooke would be preach- 
 ing a controversial sermon and dealing sledge- 
 hammer blows at the other's church. 
 
 The eldest son, Stopford, who took holy orders, 
 died lately. His name has become a household word 
 in religious and literary circles. His life of that 
 magnificent and most lovable man, the Reverend F. 
 W. Robertson, is an enthralling book. Stopford 
 Brooke's sermons are broad, poetical and very uplift- 
 ing. He was a light and comfort to all who knew 
 him. He radiated happiness, and, as was well said 
 of him, "He was the prophet of love and joy. He 
 opened our blind eyes to heavenly visions and filled 
 our dull ears with the music of the world." 
 
 In our avenue lived the Wolseleys. Garnet, after- 
 wards Field-Marshal Sir Garnet Wolseley, was then 
 a lad, bright and winning. Another brother, who 
 was a constant visitor at our house, became an army 
 surgeon, and there I first met my great friend Fred
 
 18 
 
 \VoJsclcy. so well known in Australia as the inventor 
 of the shearing machine, of whom more anon. 
 
 My great delight at Kingstown was to go to the 
 end of the pier when a gale was blowing from the 
 East and watch the mail boats steam out for Holy- 
 head. No gale was ever known to stop a mail steamer. 
 I had hired a boat, very broad in the beam, conse- 
 quently heavy to pull, but impossible to upset. My 
 swimming belt on, I one day sailed her right out into 
 the bay, when it was blowing great guns, and did my 
 best to upset her. I only succeeded in getting the 
 mast carried away, whereupon a pilot schooner closely 
 reefed, bore down on me to "rescue" me, but I 
 treated her with contempt. I was not able to make 
 the harbour again, but I beached the boat all right. 
 
 One day when out in the harbour with some friends 
 a son and daughter of General Pratt (then in New 
 Zealand) we noted a commotion on the pier, and 
 we at once pulled over. There we saw an old lady 
 floating on the water, her eyes shut and one hand 
 firmly clasped on a little black reticule. She lay quite 
 quiet, and not one of a number of men on the pier 
 offered to go in and pull her out. We soon got her 
 into our boat, and then into a cab, and I never heard 
 any more of her. Ten years afterwards I met Miss 
 Pratt in Melbourne, but she was then Lady Barkley 
 the Governor's consort. 
 
 In 1852 my father, two brothers and a cousin, 
 Travers Adamson (afterwards for years Crown Pro- 
 secutor in Melbourne) started off for Melbourne to 
 try their luck at the diggings. I pulled out into 
 Dublin Bay in my boat, met them in the Bay and 
 waved by last farewell to them. 
 
 The loss of the troopship Birkenhead off the Cape 
 of Good Hope occurred in this year. I do not suppose 
 there was ever a finer instance of cool collected 
 courage and of heroism. The troops helped to get 
 the women and children into the boats, helped the 
 sailors required to man the boats, and then, under the
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 19 
 
 eommand of a young cornet, they formed up on the 
 deck as if on parade, presented arms, fired a volley, 
 and went down with the ship, cheering as they went. 
 When this news reached Germany the Emperor 
 grandfather of the present Kaiser ordered a parade 
 of 100,000 troops and had the account of this splendid 
 instance of discipline and heroism read to them. I 
 guess it was the discipline that appealed to the old 
 Emperor. 
 
 Most of the twelve months after my father left 
 for Australia I spent at home and at my uncle's, 
 as I was delicate and had to leave school 
 several times. My mother (a Curtis) came of a 
 clever talented family she was very musical and 
 well read, and to a certain extent a classical scholar. 
 She could read her New Testament in the Greek text 
 and had a little knowledge of Hebrew. 
 
 Just at this time Dickens' works were coming out 
 in serial form, and I remember how eagerly we all 
 looked forward to a new number of David Copper- 
 field. Truly, our home was a happy one. My mother 
 used to read Dickens and Thackeray to her five 
 daughters, and to me when at home. She was deeply 
 religious hers was not the church-going and psalm- 
 singing, and pulling a long face sort of religion, but 
 real religion the religion of Christ. With all she 
 was strictly orthodox. About eight years ago one of 
 Mr. Brooke's sons, Edward Brooke, came out here 
 for his health with his sister, and I called on them 
 at Medlow Bath, in the Blue Mountains. We had not 
 met for over fifty years. I left him in 1853, a slim, 
 handsome lad, and I met him again in 1907 a stiff 
 old Major-General with white hair, but the dearest 
 of men and full of humour. Our meeting was a very 
 happy one, and we parted with mutual regret he 
 died not long after returning to England. 
 
 Four of my sisters are still alive one married a 
 French engineer, M. Ponsarde. She and he went 
 through the two sieges of Paris. Mon Dieu ! how she
 
 20 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 did hnte the Prussians "cochons" she always called 
 tliom and I can now readily believe all the atrocities 
 she attributed to them. The Ponsardes' sympathies 
 were with the Communists until they murdered the 
 Archbishop of Paris and started burning the beauti- 
 ful city. For many years I had in my possession a 
 letter from my sister with Par ballon monte (by 
 balloon post) on the envelope. I wish I had managed 
 to keep some of her letters from Paris under siege. 
 She nursed in the hospitals most of the time. Her 
 husband was afterwards at the Panama Canal doing 
 engineering work. 
 
 Another sister, Fanny Sitwell, when a widow, mar- 
 ried late in life Sidney Colvin, afterwards knighted. 
 She and her husband, as is well known in literary 
 circles, were Louis Stevenson's greatest friends. 
 When I was in San Francisco in 1896 I called on 
 Mrs. Stevenson, and as soon as I told her who I was 
 she put both arms around me and gave me a hearty 
 kiss. This sister appears in E. V. Lucas's book Her 
 Infinite Variety, under the heading "A Thorough- 
 bred." 
 
 Dickens, Thackeray, and later on George Eliot, 
 formed a good literary introduction for a lad of 
 fourteen. Also I was a great admirer of Longfellow, 
 and especially of his Hyperion. My other reading 
 consisted of Cooper, and Marryat, and Tom Cringle's 
 Log, and I remember being greatly taken with Georges 
 Sandes' Consuelo, so that although I left school at 
 fifteen, I had the advantage of a talented mother, 
 and an introduction to the works of the best authors 
 of that day who, in my opinion, have never been 
 excelled as novelists. When I was thirteen I was 
 given my choice of whether I would have a profes- 
 sion or be a business man, and as the latter choice 
 obviated learning Latin and Greek, naturally I chose 
 it. However, in 1853, five of ray relations made up 
 their mind to sail for ' ' El Dorado, ' ' and I persuaded 
 my mother to let me join them. Prior to this my
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 21 
 
 oldest brother had returned invalided he never had 
 been strong though he lived to be over eighty. One 
 morning at breakfast ray mother told us she had 
 dreamed that she had had a letter from my brother 
 saying he was ill and returning home. When the 
 postman came he delivered a letter exactly in accor- 
 dance with the dream. 
 
 I remember when in Frankfurt an old English lady 
 who had a son a middy in the navy, telling us that 
 she awoke one night with a heavy weight across her 
 feet conveying to her the impression of a. wet body 
 lying across the bed. She was greatly perturbed, and 
 made a note of the occurrence. Later on she heard 
 of the death by drowning of her son on that very 
 night. Richard Blackwood, of Hartwood, told me 
 of two rather remarkable dreams. When he was 
 managing Macmeikan Blackwood 's business during 
 his brother's absence in England, he one morning 
 got news of the loss of the Gothenburg on the coast 
 of Queensland. He at once sent a confidential clerk 
 to break the news to the Captain's wife. As the 
 clerk approached the house, the Captain's daughter 
 came out to meet him and said, "I know what you 
 have come about. I saw my father on his ship on 
 the rocks last night with the waves breaking over 
 him. I know he has been drowned." The same 
 morning the landlady of a house where Judge Cope 
 resided said to the Judge, "I had a dreadful dream 
 last night. I receive a telegram with two great black 
 strokes across it. I am sure something has happened 
 to my husband." The judge put her off; but the 
 woman's husband was Chief Engineer on the Gothen- 
 burg, and he was drowned the night his wife dreamt 
 about the telegram. 
 
 Richard Blackwood told me of another strange 
 occurrence in connection with the wreck of the 
 London. A man he knew well was dying of delirium 
 tremens, and he sat up in his bed and described a 
 wreck as circumstantially as if he were looking at it.
 
 22 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Of course his action was attributed to delirium, but 
 just then (allowing for difference in time) his wife 
 and children went down in the London. 
 
 To me there is nothing extraordinary at all in these 
 stories, for I believe in telepathy, and I also am 
 confident that at the moment of dissolution the 
 departing spirit can often in some way appear to 
 friends or relatives at any distance, but I must not 
 be led into opening out on the occult. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In 1853, then, we six fellows, going to try our 
 luck, took second-class passages on the good clipper 
 ship Sussex. We sailed from Plymouth in May. A 
 Mr. Llewellyn, a sailor, and a gentleman, and an old 
 chap named Jobson, were put with us in No. 3 mess, 
 and we eight occupied for the voyage a cabin which 
 measured 10 feet by 8, and was about 6 to 7 feet 
 high. There were no portholes, and we did three 
 months in this confined space. It opened out on 
 'tween decks, where we had our meals. Jobson soon 
 left our mess, and no wonder, for No. 3 mess no 
 doubt contained a fairly boisterous lot of fellows. 
 I dropped into the billet of cook, as no else would 
 take it on, and if I had not also cleaned out the 
 cabin it would never have been cleaned out. In 
 heavy weather (and once we had ten days of it) we 
 were battened down, and a nice Black Hole of Cal- 
 cutta sort of place we found ourselves in. No matter 
 how hard it was blowing I managed to get up on 
 deck, in a sou '-wester and oilskin, and one one occa- 
 sion T had to be lashed to tho rigging. The sailors 
 were awfully good to me one old chap used many 
 a time to share his tot of rum with me. We did not 
 think we were well fed, but I think now that the 
 rations were good enough, though we always ran
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 23 
 
 short before the next week's rations were issued. We 
 all had good appetites, and nothing to do except eat 
 and drink. We got salt junk, soup and bouillet, canned 
 meat, preserved potatoes, flour, currants, and plums 
 and suet. What more could we want ? We had bread 
 sometimes, but mostly ship's biscuits at times 
 weevily. I used to tow the salt junk overboard to 
 get the salt out of it before boiling it. I may say 
 that I was complimented on my plum duffs. 
 
 It was a good breaking-in for a lot of fellows intend- 
 ing to rough it in Australia. The worst of it was 
 that we managed to get a good deal of brandy through 
 the kind (?) intervention of some friends we made 
 among the saloon passengers, and the end of it was 
 that we spent nearly as much on brandy as would 
 have made up the difference in the passage money. 
 Yet we had the experience, and that was worth it all. 
 When we arrived in Port Phillip Bay I was stone- 
 broke, and as thin as a whipping post. My father 
 thought me a scarecrow, but all the same I was quite 
 well and right. We landed on Liardets Beach, now 
 Sandridge, and went up to Melbourne on a jingle, 
 past Canvas Town. I was in the seventh heaven at 
 finding myself with my father and brother in a nice 
 comfortable home with good food. My people were 
 keeping house with two Misses Henderson, and their 
 brother Jack the dearest of good nice Scotch gentle 
 folk. We became very fast friends and ever re- 
 mained so. 
 
 Within three days I got a position as wharf clerk 
 to Lyall, Mackenzie & Co. I had 2/10/- a week, 
 and had to work pretty hard for it. I had to attend 
 to a defined number of lighters unloading goods at 
 the wharf. I was given the invoices, and if I neglected 
 to take delivery of any of the goods recorded in my 
 invoices these goods would be stored at my expense. 
 On one occasion nine octaves of port wine were 
 landed for us, but the office had not given me the 
 invoice, and they were left on the wharf. Next morn-
 
 24 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 ing tUey were empty. Some rascals had drawn all 
 the wine off into other casks and carted.it away. In 
 addition to discharging at the ordinary wharves, 
 lighters used to discharge "below Raleigh's Wharf." 
 In wet weather this part was a quagmire. Below 
 Raleigh's reminds me of three friends, John, 
 Willie and Joe Raleigh. All now have passed on. 
 In 1853 John, the eldest, was quite a feature in Mel- 
 bourne as he rode down Collins-street on his brown 
 stallion, "Necromancer." A handsome pair they 
 were, and they knew it. John married Mies Ryder, 
 sister of the Ryder brothers, well known as the 
 pioneers of Fiji and as the owners of Calga Station 
 in New South Wales. They were the first growers 
 of cotton in Fiji. John and his wife were a very 
 handsome couple, and I think divide honours vHh 
 the Keightlys, who have been immortalized in Rolf 
 Boldrewood's Robbery Under Arms. 
 
 We wharf clerks didn't have a bad time of it all 
 outdoor except one hour a day in the office before 
 going home. Latrobe was Governor of Victoria in 
 1853, and I'm afraid we boys used to join in "Joe- 
 ing"* him when he happened to come to the wharf. 
 I am afraid also we boys all smoked and took nips 
 too, but we were tired when we got home, and we 
 went to bed early and came to no harm. I can speak 
 for myself, at all events. 
 
 One of the first things my father did for me was 
 to take me to Milton, the tailor in Collins-street, and 
 get a coat made for me. It cost 7/10/-. My board 
 cost me 2/10/- a week. While on the wharf I 
 noticed that the draymen appeared to be making 
 money. There was one man, evidently a gentleman, 
 who had two horses and drays, one of which he drove 
 himself. One evening a friend asked me to dine with 
 him at the Criterion Hotel, and to my surprise at a 
 
 *The diggers used to "JO" the officials at the diggings whenever 
 they had any fault to find. They would call out Jo Jo Jo as 
 the officials went past.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 25 
 
 table near us was seated the drayman, very nicely 
 dressed, and quite a swell. Moreover, he was having 
 a small bottle of champagne with his dinner. I made 
 some enquiries, and found that a. man driving his 
 own horse and dray could clear from 12 to 15 a 
 week. I told my brother about this, with the result 
 that he and a friend purchased four horses and drays 
 and harness, while I, much to my joy, was given the 
 superintendence of them at a salary of 5 a week. 
 
 The history of this transaction is interesting. I 
 was very friendly with most of the wharf clerks, so 
 could be sure of getting loading, but to make certain 
 I promised some of the clerks 6d. a load for all the 
 loading they gave me. The rate of pay was seven 
 shillings a load for any distance in the town, and 
 even if it was only across the street seven shillings 
 had to be paid. This was the unwritten rule of the 
 road unless one took a contract to unload a big line 
 of goods. Our best horse was a very handsome up- 
 standing bay called Samson he came from Tasmania 
 -then Van Dieman's Land and he cost 160. The 
 next in value was a beautiful white horse called 
 Prince; his price was 130. The next was a raw- 
 boned three-cornered looking horse called Napoleon; 
 he cost 110* and the fourth was a bay mare not so 
 heavy as the others, and she cost us 90. The drays 
 and harness ran into 50 for each. The dray-men's 
 wages were 4 a week each, and feeding the horses 
 ran into another 4 a week each, so with my pay we 
 had to pay out 37 a week before we made any profit. 
 For some months we grossed 72 a week, and things 
 looked very rosy, but after a while some of the men 
 took 6/- a load, and later on the rate tumbled down 
 to 4/-, and "the game was not worth the candle." I 
 was offered at that time 100 a ton to take flour to 
 Bendigo, about one hundred miles, and I would have 
 done so but my brother did not care to take the job 
 
 *Xapoleon regularly ''took ill" on Sundays. Want of exercise, I 
 take it. Some people do the same.
 
 26 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 on. The horses and drays were eventually sold at 
 a loss. 
 
 1 had a great time while this dray venture was on. 
 I had one contract for a big line of hay at 6/- a 
 load, and the hay was sold and the buyer gave us 
 another 5/- a load to take it a shorter distance. I 
 used to get 20/- to take a load to Richmond, where 
 we lived on the Punt-road. Ten bags of flour went 
 to a load, and many a bag of flour I have humped on 
 my back and loaded, for often when I could not get 
 a drayman, I had to drive the dray myself. I had 
 my carter's licence for years as a memento. Three 
 bales of hay or three hogsheads of beer went to a 
 load, and as many cases of case stuff as we could put 
 on. We were supposed to take a ton to the load, but 
 our loads did not average 15 cwt. In the Punt-road, 
 almost opposite where we lived, was a deep boggy 
 place. The draymen declared that 1 had dug it, and 
 they christened it " Fetherston 's gully." No Mel- 
 bourne draymen would tackle it in wet weather. 
 When they reached it they used to unload and clear 
 out, whereupon I would make a good bargain, get- 
 ting the full rate from Melbourne to take the load 
 on. A nice job it was. I used to put Samson in the 
 shafts and Polly in the lead, and go into the bog 
 nearly up to my waist, but I never got stuck ! Many 
 a time also in flood time, I have had a shilling a head 
 to take people across Elizabeth-street. I remember a 
 woman being drowned in Elizabeth-street. One day 
 I was driving old Napoleon up Collins-street, and 
 contrary to the regulations I was trotting, so was 
 looking out for a policeman. I turned the corner 
 into Queen-street, where the Union Bank then stood. 
 Three "swells" took off their hats to me. They were 
 Mr. Stawell afterwards Chief Justice Sir William 
 Stawell, Mr. Childers, Collector of Customs, and my 
 father. They seemed greatly amused. Childers' 
 Christian names were Hugh Culling Eardly. Mel- 
 bourne Punch (we had a Punch even then) used to 
 call him Huge Curly-Eaded Childers.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 27 
 
 My first business with Dalgety & Company, then 
 as now in Little Collins-street, was rather interesting, 
 One of my draymen had dropped a cask of porter 
 and sprung it, so I went to Dalgety 's about it. They 
 said I must pay for it. "All right," I said, "but 
 you will, I suppose, only charge me the invoice 
 price?" This they agreed to, and I took the cask 
 out to Richmond and made 4 profit on the trans- 
 action by selling it to a publican. 
 
 I knew a good many people in Melbourne at that 
 time, and even though I happened to be driving a 
 dray my lady friends always bowed to me. 
 
 The seven shillings a load tariff (and this had to 
 be paid equally for a case of beer, as for a ton of 
 flour) did not last very long. I would have made a 
 good Unionist, for when some of the carters began 
 to carry for 6/- I put one of my draymen, who could 
 use his fists, on the first man I found loading at that 
 rate. My man knocked the other out, but the police 
 got wind of it, and I had to drive one of the drays 
 , for a fortnight while my man "lay low." 
 
 Some parts of the Melbourne streets were then in 
 a shocking state in wet weather. One day I got 
 bogged in Collins-street. I was driving Samson, and 
 I had three bales of hay on. I went to a timber yard 
 and borrowed a plank. As I got near the dray I 
 called out to Samson, "I'm coming, old chap." Sam- 
 son put his head down, took up a mouthful of mud, 
 flung it in the air, and in a minute he had the load 
 out on hard ground. I could have kissed the old chap. 
 This occurred close to where St. James' Church then 
 stood, between King and Spencer streets. 
 
 One Saturday, on my way home to Richmond, just 
 as I was going up the hill to the Parade Hotel, I 
 heard a shout. Looking round I saw two fellows 
 trying to stick up a drayman, who, however, flogged 
 his horse and got away. As he passed me, I jumped 
 into the dray as I had a good deal of money on me, 
 Saturday being pay day, and I was just too late to
 
 28 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 bank the money. Cases of sticking up were frequent 
 in those days. The Parade Hotel reminds me of one 
 day when I was dining there, and the conversation 
 turned on curious food people had eaten one had 
 eaten shark, another had eaten 'possum, and so on. 
 Some one turned to a dour looking Scotchman sitting 
 beside me and said, "Grant, you have had some weird 
 experiences. What may you have eaten?" Grant 
 did not look up, but just said, "I have eaten won," 
 and went on eating. It was quite true, too. One of 
 Grant's police experiences was bringing a murderer 
 overland from South Australia to Victoria, single- 
 handed. At night he handcuffed the bushranger to 
 his own wrist. 
 
 I knew two men who later on were well known and 
 very wealthy Riverina "squatters." In those early 
 days, one drove a dray and the other was in a store. 
 Williamson's was the swell ladies' shop in Collins- 
 street, where Alston & Brown's was later on. Ger- 
 main Nicholson's was a big grocery establishment at 
 the corner of Collins and Swanston streets. Milton 
 was the tailor par excellence. 
 
 Magistrate Panton was another notable Melbourne 
 man of the old times. He was handsome, and stood 
 a good bit over six feet. He was a good conversa- 
 tionalist, and the type of a high-class English gentle- 
 man of the old school, as was Evelyn Sturt, whom 
 he succeeded as Police Magistrate in Melbourne. 
 Panton was offered knighthood, but declined. When 
 I first met him at Bendigo he was Chief Commissioner 
 of Gold Fields. He held his first court at Bendigo, 
 sitting on a packing case, while his clerk was seated 
 on a keg of rum. He did some good exploring work, 
 and withal was very artistic. A staunch friend and 
 a most delightful man to meet or with whom to spend 
 an evening, in fact one of the most charming person- 
 alities I have ever had the good fortune to call 
 friend. 
 
 That grand old man, Dean Macartney, who was
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 29 
 
 born in 1798 and reached the great age of ninety -six, 
 came out to Melbourne with Bishop Perry (another 
 splendid man) in 1847. In speaking of Melbourne in 
 the time of the gold fever, he said that one night 
 there was only one policeman left in Melbourne, and 
 that he personally knew of sick people in the hotels 
 who had no one at all to look after them. 
 
 Many a "Digger's" wedding party have I seen 
 passing along Collins-street. The bride and bride- 
 groom in a "barouche," the horses gaily decked with 
 wedding favours, the bridegroom with one arm 
 round the bride, in the other hand a bottle of cham- 
 pagne, out of which he was prepared to regale all 
 and sundry. How often the bride had gone through 
 the marriage ceremony it would be hard to say 
 probably the "woman of Samaria" was not in it 
 with her. The old Dean graphically recounts "How 
 in those days, rough-bearded men, in blue or red 
 shirts, leather belts in which were stuck bowie knives 
 and a revolver, and with trousers, the material of 
 which was concealed by layers of soil, would apply 
 to him for marriage licenses. But to his astonish- 
 ment, on the day of the ceremony would appear a 
 bridegroom trimly shaven, with oiled hair, white 
 satin waistcoat, patent leather shoes, and jewellery 
 galore, together with a lady in still more resplendent 
 get-up. Only the glimpse of wrist accidentally dis- 
 played between sleeve and glove would betray the 
 fact that the bride did not favour soap and water." 
 
 The "Bull and Mouth" was a favourite hostelry 
 in Bourke-street. I remember a shooting affray 
 there. A jealous husband while at dinner pulled 
 out a revolver and across the table shot his "suspect" 
 right on the forehead. The man fell, but in a few 
 minutes got up apparently all right, and yet there 
 was the hole in the forehead where the bullet had 
 entered, and another hole at the back of the head 
 where the bullet had come out. Examination showed 
 that the bullet had glanced off the frontal bone and
 
 30 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 traversed right round the skull just under the skin, 
 coming out exactly opposite to where it had entered. 
 A similar thing happened to me once. I shot a dog 
 one morning, quite close to me, in the forehead and 
 left him for dead. When I returned in the afternoon 
 the poor thing fawned on me. 
 
 The old Ship Inn in Elizabeth-street was rather 
 out of the way, and was patronised by drovers and 
 working bushmen. The Old Port Phillip Club Hotel 
 and the old Lamb Inn was where the "upper ten" 
 from the bush foregathered. I do not remember in 
 what year Menzies started in Lonsdale-street, but 
 it was in the fifties. The old White Hart at the top 
 of Bourke-street was then going strong, and opposite 
 it was the "Sallede Valentino." It was there I first 
 heard Madame Carandini sing, and what a fine voice 
 she had, and what a favourite she was, and what 
 splendid audiences she had at the old "Sally" as it 
 was always called. 
 
 There was a good comic man who used to sing 
 "Billy Barlow" and a topical song that ran: 
 
 And then the price of greens and taters, 
 
 Oh dear me, 
 
 It's enough to give a cove the Vapours, 
 To drink the Colonial tea. 
 
 And so it was. The Colonial tea had two names, 
 "Jack the Painter," that was the green tea, and it 
 had a whiff of paint. The other name was "Post and 
 Rails," which speaks for itself. The favourite sen- 
 timental songs of the fifties were "Ben Bolt" and 
 "The Old Folks at Home," and are they not in 
 favour still? Then there was Braid's dancing acad- 
 emy possibly some of my readers will remember 
 learning their steps there. In Russell-street there 
 was a very popular dancing-place called " Denning 's 
 Polite Assembly Rooms," which the "Knuts" of 
 those days used to frequent. A great shindy took
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 31 
 
 place there one night between "the Duke of York" 
 mob, and other frequenters of the rooms. The 
 former consisted of C. M. Lloyd (the squire of 
 Yamma), my brother and four or five other choice 
 spirits. Wild boys, but no harm in them there was 
 a wild element in the spirit of those young digging 
 days of Victoria. It was these boys, more particu- 
 larly Charley Lloyd and my brother, who initiated 
 the block in Collins-street. Who would have thought 
 that people actually did the block in 1854 ? But such 
 was the case. 
 
 A new arrival, a business man, took a room at the 
 Duke of York at this time, and he was not at all to 
 the taste of the boys. Next morning the whole six 
 appeared at the breakfast table clad only in blankets 
 fastened round the neck. They were very solemn 
 and polite, but the newcomer thinking he must have 
 got into a private lunatic asylum, cleared out at 
 once. 
 
 This reminds me of a good story about Tom Lloyd, 
 Charley's brother, and a more humorous man even 
 than Charley, and that is saying a good deal. One 
 night at a bush "pub" the only sleeping accommoda- 
 tion available for Tom was to share a bed with a man 
 already ensconced in the blankets. Tom was equal to 
 the occasion. Standing in front of the looking-glass 
 he commenced to strop his razor, casting furtive looks 
 at the man in the bed, and making some ugly grimaces 
 at himself in the glass. Very soon the alarmed 
 occupant of the bed, feeling sure that he was about 
 to be murdered, stretched out his arm, grabbed his 
 trousers, and made a dash out of the door, while Tom 
 gave a wild whoop, brandishing his razor. As soon 
 as the man was out he locked the door, went to bed, 
 and slept the sleep of the righteous. 
 
 Tom Lloyd was digging at Bendigo when my father 
 was there at the time the Government enacted that 
 all persons mining for gold must hold licenses for 
 which they had to pay. There was much grumbling
 
 32 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 and dissatisfaction over these licenses. One day a 
 trooper went down Tom's shaft and asked him for 
 his license. Tom feigned deafness and said "Yes, 
 it's a fine day." The bobby, in a little louder tone, 
 "I want to see your license." "Well," said Tom, 
 "I'm only doing fairly well." "Your license," 
 shouted the trooper. Tom made some other irrelevant 
 remark. The trooper put his mouth to Tom's ear 
 and yelled, "Your license." "Oh," said Tom, pull- 
 ing it out of his pocket. " Is it my license you want ? 
 Here it is." 
 
 In the roaring fifties, Kirk's Bazaar in Bourke- 
 street was the great rendezvous for horsey men and 
 bushmen of all classes. There you would meet George 
 Watson, Master of the Melbourne Hounds, looking 
 the part to the life, and not to be beaten at that time 
 whether he donned scarlet on the hunting field or silk 
 in a steeplechase. His horses that I can remember 
 were. Lottery, White Squall, Blackboy, and that 
 cleverest of ponies, the Little Doctor. Pop Seymour 
 was often to be seen at Kirk's. He was called Pop 
 because he used to ride "Pop goes the Weasel." He 
 might have come out of one of Lever's novels. Then 
 there was little Jimmy Henderson, the nattiest and 
 neatest of men. Rolf Boldrewood was then no doubt 
 busy at Squattlesea Mere, or he could not have 
 kept away. William Stawell, afterwards Chief Jus- 
 tice, would find some excuse to look in. Charley 
 Lyons and Lloyd Jones were sure to turn up, and 
 Tom Chirnside and Hector Norman Simson, owner 
 of Flying Doc. Also Billy Lang and John Orr, and 
 Anthony Green, the trainer and vet. afterwards 
 murdered in the Bazaar by Martin Eice. Dick Golds- 
 borough, not so burly then as in later years, was a 
 frequent visitor to the Bazaar, as also G. T. Rowe, 
 and Tozer, who bred Mariner. I do not remember 
 meeting the Powers in those early days. I was only 
 a youth, and Robert was the only one of the three 
 brothers older than I they were probably then in
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 33 
 
 South Australia. Later on there were no more 
 accomplished horsemen with the Melbourne hounds 
 than "Bob" on the Wandering Jew, and Herbert on 
 Freetrader, and they were both hard to beat over the 
 sticks. Willie, the younger brother, was also a great 
 horseman. Peter Snodgrass, Janet Lady Clarke's 
 father, then living with his family on the bank of 
 the Yarra opposite Richmond, was often to be seen at 
 Kirk's Bazaar. 
 
 He was the son of Colonel Snodgrass, for a time 
 Administrator of the Government of New South 
 Wales. He was one of the founders of the Melbourne 
 Club, and, if I don't mistake, he had fought more 
 than one duel. When in Melbourne in these roaring 
 fifties I more than once met a Mr. Harry Fowler, who 
 had a very ugly scar on his face. He got the scar in 
 an encounter with four desperate bushrangers. 
 Fowler was a squatter, and he and three other squat- 
 ters, Peter Snodgrass being one, and a Melbourne 
 business man, a Mr. Gourlay, very pluckily volun- 
 teered to tackle the bushrangers who were carrying 
 on their depredations in the neighbourhood of Heidel- 
 berg. Fowler was elected leader of the party. They 
 came on the bushrangers in a house they had stuck 
 up. The bushrangers had got five inhabitants of the 
 house bailed up when the relieving party hove in 
 sight. The prisoners, having given their word not to 
 take part in the approaching fight, were released. A 
 fierce fight ensued. The attacking party fought 
 gallantly, while fully exposed to the fire of the bush- 
 rangers from the house, and pretty well all of them 
 were wounded. Fowler was badly hit twice in the 
 face and head and became Iwrs-de-combat. Gourlay 
 had a narrow escape. He fought his way into the 
 house and was then knocked over, stunned by one 
 of the bushrangers, but was saved by Snodgrass and 
 Chamberlin, who shot his assailant dead. Snodgrass 
 had several narrow escapes. The fight lasted from 
 early morning till two o'clock, when Hopping Jack, 
 
 B
 
 34 
 
 mentioned below, volunteered to try and induce the 
 bushrangers to surrender. His friends tried to dis- 
 suade him from interviewing the desperadoes, but 
 Jack pluckily approached them and actually per- 
 suaded the three left to surrender. 
 
 The three bushrangers were tried, found guilty, 
 and duly hanged near the site of the present gaol. 
 Thousands of well-dressed men, women and children 
 turned out to see the unfortunate men "done to 
 death," and this was no longer ago than 1842. 
 
 Snodgrass' friends, the five Hunter brothers, could 
 not come to Melbourne without calling in at the 
 Bazaar, where too would crop up that well-known 
 "horse couper" Jack Ewart, but better known as 
 "Hopping Jack," who rode from Sydney to Mel- 
 bourne, six hundred miles, in ten days, on the same 
 horse. Grand men were those Hunters, and all of 
 them splendid dare-devil horsemen, straight goers 
 whether over fences or in business. In all their many 
 wild escapades none could ever throw a stone at them 
 or dare to challenge their rectitude. Alec was the 
 only one whom I knew well. I worked for him and 
 Peter Snodgrass for most of twelve months after a 
 mob of wild horses on the Goulburn. The last time 
 1 saw Alec Hunter I dined with him in Melbourne 
 and with his beautiful daughter, who afterwards 
 married Charley Rome, and I think a son of theirs, or 
 perchance a grandson, is at the front in France. 
 Alec Hunter told me an amusing incident that 
 occurred at the old Port Phillip Club Hotel. He and 
 Jack Graves (brother of Warden Harry Graves, the 
 well-known stock and station agent) were in the 
 lounge at the back of the hotel. A number of other 
 people were about. Jack Graves, one of the coolest, 
 cheekiest, and most plucky of men, was stretched full 
 length on a lounge. Alec some distance away on 
 another. "1 say, Alec," said Jack, "You remember 
 this place a few years ago?" "Yes, of course I do," 
 replied Alec. "Well, you used to see gentlemen here
 
 35 
 
 then ; you never see a gentleman here now. ' ' As Alec 
 was about to reply one of the fellows strode up to 
 Graves, and looking down at him, said, "Look here, 
 sir, do you know what you have just said?" "Well, 
 what about it?" said Graves. "Well, you said you 
 never see any gentlemen here now. Do you mean 
 to tell me I'm not a gentleman?" Graves did not 
 move, but looking him over from head to foot, replied, 
 "Well, you may be a gentleman, but I'm damned if 
 you look like one." The chap took it and walked off, 
 but had he attempted to take to Jack, the latter 
 would have had him by the throat in an instant. 
 
 Jack Bellew Graves carried his eccentricity to an 
 extreme, for having become engaged to a very pretty 
 and accomplished cousin in Ireland, he, fearing to 
 lose his liberty, wanted to break off the engagement. 
 He was remonstrated with and said, "Oh, all right, 
 I '11 marry her. ' ' He left her at the church door, and 
 she divorced him. Many years afterwards he went to 
 a well-known phrenologist in Melbourne, a Professor 
 Hamilton. Hamilton, after running his hand over 
 his head, told him, among other things, "You are 
 the sort of man that would leave your wife at the 
 church door the day you were married." Graves 
 jumped up, and was about to strike the Professor, 
 but calmed down when assured that it was really 
 only a happy hit. 
 
 The five Hunters arrived in Victoria one after 
 the other from 1839 to 1851. They started a land 
 company, but did not succeed, and then more suc- 
 cessfully went in for pioneering, chiefly in South 
 Australia. That well-known station, Kalangadoo, 
 belonged to them. Bendleby, in an interesting article 
 in the Australasian, on the Hunters, relates that on 
 one occasion Alec Hunter, having been cast in dam- 
 ages to the tune of 500 over a collision between his 
 four-in-hand and a hawker's cart in Melbourne, when 
 he asked for time to pay was told not to worry the 
 damages had been paid by the sportsmen of Mel-
 
 36 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 bourne, headed by William Stawell, afterwards Chief 
 Justice, and the opposing counsel in the case. 
 
 Jimmy Hunter was another magnificent horseman. 
 Frank Hunter, another brother, was killed in South 
 Australia. In spite of warnings he would keep in 
 the yard with a vicious old cow, and she caught him 
 on the fence and carried him round the yard on her 
 horns. This happened the year after I arrived. 
 Willie got crippled when a boy, and had to use 
 crutches, but was just as good a horseman, and just 
 as daring as his brothers if anything he was more 
 full of fight. He was one day dining at a restaurant 
 in Melbourne, sitting opposite a stranger at a small 
 table. The latter somehow insulted Willie, who 
 reached across the table, dragged the stranger over 
 and gave him the "father of a hiding." Willie was 
 in Fiji for many years. While there the natives 
 resolved on his death, and one evening about a dozen 
 of them trooped into his hut one after the other. 
 Willie was seated by the fire, and no firearms within 
 reach, and remember he was a cripple. He was smok- 
 ing, and quietly bidding the natives welcome, he con- 
 tinued to smoke. The natives squatted on the floor 
 and told Hunter they had come to kill him. He still 
 continued to smoke apparently quite unperturbed, 
 but actually very alert, and meditating mischief. 
 Suddenly he grasped a crutch and hit out, and with 
 such vigour that in a few minutes the hut was clear 
 of natives. But the wildest of the five brothers, and 
 most daring, was Jack, the eldest, "Daredevil Jack." 
 One time the police were after him for one of his 
 escapades, and he was in hiding. Jack wanted to 
 see the Melbourne races, and went to them dressed 
 in a riding habit and on a side-saddle. The police 
 recognised and tried to capture him, but Jack sailed 
 away over the fences and soon lost the "bobbies." 
 He was quite at home in a side-saddle. 
 
 The following, by Bendleby, appeared in the Aus- 
 tralasian, and I reprint it by permission:
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 37 
 
 "An instance which has recently been supplied to 
 me, concerning Jack Hunter, serves to illustrate the 
 complete understanding which it is possible for a 
 thorough horsemaster to establish between himself 
 and his mount. It appears that, when he was still 
 a young man, Jack Hunter broke in a very promising 
 colt, upon which he bestowed the name of The 
 Badger, and, as he had a reason for most things that 
 he did, one may feel fairly confident that this colt 
 had a dark streak down its back. Hunter was in the 
 habit of walking down to the paddock every day with 
 his bridle, of catching this colt, and riding it up bare- 
 back to the homestead. At first he made a practice 
 of opening the various gates between the paddock 
 and the stable yards. This proving troublesome and 
 monotonous, it was not long before the colt was 
 taught to jump the fence, nor was it long before 
 Hunter also got into the habit of going down to the 
 paddock without a bridle, and of catching the colt, 
 and thus riding it home. What with the latter 's 
 eagerness to get to his feed, and the pace at which 
 Hunter would start the horse off as soon as he was 
 on its back, it proved just as easy to take a straight 
 course for the yards, and jump all the intervening 
 fences without a bridle as with one. Rolfe Boldre- 
 wood states that he was present on one occasion at 
 Kilfera Station when Jack Hunter went through one 
 of these performances on The Badger, without either 
 saddle or bridle. 'He had only a switch in his hand, 
 came at a swinging gallop, took the creek at a fly, 
 and then a three-rail fence at the stable, and came 
 down as square as if in the park, holding his hat in 
 both hands, jumped off on the straw heap in the 
 yard, and fell on his legs like a cat.' ' 
 
 I understand that the following incident has not 
 been made public. One of the favourite stopping- 
 places in Melbourne with the young bloods of that 
 period, or that portion of them which was styled the 
 "Goulburn mob," was the Lamb Inn. Jack Hunter
 
 38 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 was at this time under one of these temporary clouds, 
 which necessitated his keeping clear of the police. 
 Having successfully gained admittance, as he 
 thought, unobserved, into the Lamb Inn, he was soon 
 engaged with an acquaintance in a game of billiards. 
 During the course of the game he caught sight of a 
 police-trooper at the front door, and it was not long 
 before he realised there was another individual of 
 the same persuasion at the back door. He therefore 
 made up his mind to face the inevitable, and at the 
 conclusion of his game, sauntered out with his pipe 
 in his mouth, tobacco in one hand, and knife in the 
 other, busily at work upon a plug. He at once ex- 
 changed greetings with the trooper at the front door, 
 who remarked that there could be no doubt that they 
 had him this time, which view of the situation Hunter 
 was quite prepared to endorse; but pleaded to be 
 allowed to ride up to the watch-house instead of 
 having to walk, a form of exercise for which he had 
 no liking. To this the trooper readily agreed, on 
 condition that he was allowed to take the reins, and 
 lead the horse. To this, in turn, Jack Hunter agreed, 
 and was soon on the back of the horse, and, continuing 
 the process of cutting up tobacco. After going a part 
 of the way, Hunter's horse gradually dropped a 
 little behind the trooper's. At an opportune moment 
 the supposed prisoner leant forward, and cut the 
 bridle between the horse's ears. As soon as this was 
 done, Hunter dug in his spurs, the animal gave a 
 bound forward, and the bit dropped out of its mouth. 
 Away went Hunter, and it is generally understood 
 that many days elapsed before he was even again 
 seen by the policeman. Eventually he went to South 
 America and died there of cholera. 
 
 Rolf Boldrewood, in writing of the death of Willie 
 Hunter, who died peacefully in his bed at Warragul, 
 in Gippsland, says: "That any of the Hunters of 
 that generation should have died in their beds is a 
 matter of wonder and surprise to all having know-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 39 
 
 ledge of their reckless horsemanship, their deeds of 
 derring-do, and their desperate adventures by flood 
 and field, in all sorts of climates and in all kinds of 
 countries. There must be a special interposition of 
 Providence for men of their temperament who habitu- 
 ally defy danger and challenge death in their daily 
 lives." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 More than likely you would meet at the Bazaar 
 one of the Greenes from "Woodlands. 
 
 There, were four of the brothers, Molesworth, 
 Rawdon, George, and Charley. Their father, Mr. 
 Pomeroy Greene, came out to Victoria in 1842, and 
 settled down at Woodlands thirteen miles out of Mel- 
 bourne a beautiful home not far from Broad- 
 meadows. He brought out quite a little colony of 
 retainers from the "ould country," and some valu- 
 able blood sires. Among the last a big up-to-weight 
 Irish hunter, Rory O'More, by Irish Birdcatcher, 
 who left his mark behind him. 
 
 Three of the boys took to ' ' squatting, ' ' but Charley 
 took holy orders and a right good parson he made. 
 Readers of Rolf Boldrewood's Old Melbourne 
 Memories will rememFer the chapter giving such a 
 graphic description of a steeplechase at "Woodlands, 
 in which the competitors were 
 
 Molesworth Greene's " Trifle," ridden by his 
 
 owner. 
 William Stawell's " Master of the Rolls," ridden 
 
 by owner. 
 
 E. McNeil's "Thurrum," ridden by owner. 
 Acland Anderson's "Spider," ridden by Raw- 
 don Greene. 
 W. Anderson's ''Chestnut," ridden by Acland 
 
 Anderson. 
 
 Leslie Fisher's "Achmit," ridden by Rolf 
 Boldrewood.
 
 40 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Stawell won a great race, Molesworth Greene 
 second. I had the opportunity of going to Wood- 
 lands as a "cadet," as jackeroos were more euphoni- 
 ously styled in those days. But I did not cotton to 
 sheep, and I did not go, and so lost a fine opportunity 
 of starting life in Australia under good auspices. 
 Rawdon and I were fast friends later on "Wawdon 
 Gweene, of Ten Mile Wace Fame." He got up the 
 Great Ten Mile Race at Wagga Wagga; he used to 
 pronounce the letter "R" as if it were "W," which 
 most people put down to side, but it wasn't. Moles- 
 worth, whose death occurred in October, 1916, I met 
 at intervals since 1854. George and I used to fore- 
 gather often during the forty years preceding his 
 death. George made a name for himself at landra, 
 in the Grenfell district, New South Wales, a property 
 of 36,000 acres, which he purchased in 1878, against 
 the advice of friends and bankers, from J. A. Mac- 
 kinnon. landra lies now the timber has been 
 cleared off in full view of the Weddin Mountains, 
 one of the haunts of Frank Gardiner, Ben Hall, Gil- 
 bert, Dunn, and other notorious bushrangers whose 
 doings have been made familiar to readers in all parts 
 of the globe through Robbery Under Arms. George 
 Greene made a great success of landra, of which per- 
 haps more hereafter. His son Roy (Pomeroy) is at 
 the front somewhere in France doing his bit for us 
 all and more power to him. Molesworth Greene 
 married Miss Browne, the Brownes having come out 
 to Victoria two years earlier that would be in 1840. 
 Rolf tells us that at that date there were some 
 weatherboard and brick cottages in Melbourne, but 
 no bridge over the Yarra. 
 
 At Rolf Boldre wood's (T. A. Browne) death I 
 sent to the Australasian the following obituary notice, 
 which, by permission, I now republish, as also my 
 obituary notice of "Vessey" Browne, Rolf's brother, 
 by permission of the owner of the Pastoral Review : 
 
 I met "Rolf Boldrewood" first in Melbourne sixty-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 41 
 
 one years ago. I was then a lad of 17, and he was 
 a man of 27, so we saw but little of each other, and I 
 do not remember even his appearance at that date. 
 
 Some seven years later I first met his brother 
 Sylvester, generally known as "Vessey," then a slim 
 youth, and well known as a pioneer pastoralist, suc- 
 cessful mining speculator, and staunch sportsman. 
 ' l Vessey ' ' was trying conclusions with the gloves with 
 a Jew boy, and, good as he was with his fists, could 
 make no impression on the Jew. If "Vessey" had 
 but jotted down his reminiscences, his many adven- 
 tures, his pioneering experiences with dear old Fred. 
 Wolseley and quaint, humorous Langloh Parker, 
 what a good Australian book we should have had, 
 especially if he had written in anything resembling 
 the vein of his brother Tom. 
 
 1 met "Rolf" next at Mudgee in the late seventies, 
 at one of those never-to-be-forgotten Bligh Amateur 
 Race Meetings, where we used to have some of the 
 good old-fashioned real picnic races, with such fine 
 sportsmen to the fore as Vincent Bowling always 
 a hot member over the sticks; Cob Cox and his 
 brother Stan, not omitting Brindley Bettington, on 
 one of his own horses, for the welter events, and rid- 
 ing, too, many a ding-dong finish. 
 
 Then I used later on to come across "Rolf," as we 
 stayed a night at Dubbo, on our way to Sydney. I 
 well remember one day on the railway platform at 
 Dubbo meeting him and several of his daughters at 
 the time Robbery Under Arms was coming out week 
 by week in the Sydney Mail. Many people were tak- 
 ing exception to the author's making his bushrangers, 
 and more especially Starlight, such attractive char- 
 acters, so I said to him, "Look, Browne, if you don't 
 hang Starlight, there will be trouble." One of his 
 daughters instantly flashed out, "Father, if you hang 
 Starlight I'll never speak to you again." For- 
 tunately the original Starlight was shot down by
 
 42 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 the police, exactly as is depicted in Robbery Under 
 Arms, so that situation was saved. 
 
 Although Tom Browne had written several earlier 
 novels, it was Robbery Under Arms that made his 
 name, and gave him a world-wide reputation. 
 Robbery Under Arms is, in my opinion, a long way 
 the best Australian novel ever written, and I put 
 Mrs. ^Eneas Gunn's We of the Never Never next. 
 
 I ain not at all losing sight of that great and 
 powerfully-written novel For the Term of His 
 Natural Life; but Marcus Clarke deals almost entirely 
 with the convict system, which he exposes in the most 
 poignant manner, and with the life of one great and 
 most pathetic character; but it cannot be looked on 
 as illustrative of Australia as a country or of Aus- 
 tralian life. 
 
 Geoffrey Hamlyn, too, although very truthfully 
 portraying life in Australia, all the time bears the 
 impress of the Britisher who wrote it. The author 
 is never heart and soul with the Australian bush or 
 with the Australian bushman. The Britisher is 
 sticking out all the time. 
 
 Far different is it with Robbery Under Arms. It 
 is pure Australian, redolent of the gum-trees; the 
 writer is one with it all, and does he not love a good 
 horse? At one time he was not to be despised across 
 country, or in a point-to-point steeplechase. 
 
 An article of Tom Browne's that appeared in the 
 Australasian many years ago, telling of the starting 
 of a pair of high-bred, nervous, buggy horses, is, I 
 really think, the best thing he ever wrote. It is just 
 perfect. These horses, Steamer and Eumerella, were, 
 as, indeed, are most high-spirited horses, not to be 
 depended on as starters ; they were always more than 
 a bit balky. Much diplomacy had to be observed. 
 The family were allowed to settle themselves in the 
 buggy at their leisure ; the horses must on no account 
 be allowed to suspect that those in the buggy wished 
 to start. Small talk must be indulged in; a news-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 43 
 
 paper might be opened; and some of the matter read 
 out ; but not a hint as to starting. After five minutes 
 or so one horse would poke his head round to the 
 other (not a move for their lives on the part of any 
 of the occupants of the buggy), then there would be 
 a sniff or two, and away the animals would go, 
 sidling and prancing, and gaily blowing their noses. 
 If the driver had tried to start them, or, worse still, 
 had flicked his whip good-bye to starting that day. 
 Broken swingle-trees, or mayhap, a broken pole, 
 would have been the result of the least indiscretion. 
 
 The best drawn character in Robbery Under Arms is 
 old Marsden, the father of the two bushranger brothers. 
 He is drawn to the life. I had an old dog-poisoner 
 in the Warumbungle Ranges, from whom I verily 
 believe "Rolf" drew the old man, and, as he came 
 from Mudgee, it is quite possible. He always 
 reminded me of old Marsden. He had been in many 
 a "cronk" bit of cattle and horse work a hard, 
 inscrutable man, but faithful and loyal, and like a 
 sleuth-hound on the track of a dingo. Once on the 
 track he would follow for days, sleeping on it at 
 night, and never resting till he had got his quarry. 
 He always set three traps for a dingo. He said a 
 dingo knows there is a trap if there is only one, but 
 he does not know that there are three, and fools 
 about till he gets caught in one of them. I saw an 
 old slut caught in all three of his traps once. The 
 nose was caught in one, and two feet in the others. 
 
 I was in Riverina when Tom Browne's first book 
 the first I remember came out. It was called Ups 
 and Downs of Australian Life. This was afterwards 
 changed to The Squatter's Dream. At that time I 
 think Tom Browne was owner of Bundidgerie Sta- 
 tion, just above Narandera. We were all delighted 
 with Tom Browne's first book, The Squatter's Dream, 
 as the station on the Murrumbidgee where the scene 
 was laid was well known to so many of us, and the 
 characters were our friends. Mr. Countemount was
 
 44 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 overseer on a large station on the river, and after- 
 wards a stock inspector. He is drawn to the life. 
 I well knew the man Greffem, in The Miner's Right. 
 He was a commissioner of goldfields in North Queens- 
 land in the early sixties. He murdered two of his 
 own troopers in cold blood, and paid the penalty 
 went to the gallows with a cigar in his mouth, with- 
 out turning a hair. 
 
 Old Melbourne Memories is a great favourite of 
 mine, possibly because I knew so many of the old 
 Victorian pioneers to be met in it, and most of the 
 places. I remember Joe Burge telling us how a big 
 old man kangaroo, when at bay, took him up in his 
 arms (and Joe was a big man) and carried him along. 
 He escaped serious damage only by ripping the "old 
 man's" belly open with his bowie-knife. "Rolf" 
 could have told many good stories of "Billy" Rut- 
 ledge. Billy had some passages-at-arms with Edward 
 Henty, of Muntham, and the latter christened him 
 "Terrible Billy." Billy turned the tables on Henty 
 by giving him the cognomen of ' ' Teddy the Nipper. ' ' 
 
 I have no doubt we would have had many good 
 yarns of many of those old pioneers whose names 
 crop up in the Old Melbourne Memories, but that 
 "Rolf" who was a gentleman and a sportsman 
 from top to toe probably thought it would not be 
 playing the game to tell tales out of school. 
 
 Sylvester Browne, a brother of Tom's always 
 known as "Vessie" was one of our old-time Queens- 
 land pioneer squatters. There are few of them left. 
 I can only think of Jesse Gregson, P. F. McDonald, 
 Ernest Davies, Ernest Henry, and myself, and I am 
 an 1861 man. 
 
 It is rather singular that at the end of his very 
 varied and adventurous life "Vessie" should have 
 settled down in the far north of the State in which 
 he did good work in his young days. After many 
 ups and downs, ending with reverses severe enough 
 to have knocked most men out, "Vessie" hopefully
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 45 
 
 and pluckily started life again right away in the 
 Flinders country in North Queensland on a place 
 called Garomna, on Julia Creek. While residing 
 there with his youngest son, Sylvester, he was quite 
 knocked over by receiving on the 4th August last a 
 telegram telling him that his second son, Roderick, 
 had been killed in action at the Dardanelles. When 
 his son went to see his father next morning he found 
 that he had passed away quietly during the night in 
 his sleep. 
 
 The Browne's eldest son, Ulick, has been invalided 
 back from Egypt; he was in the 5th Queensland 
 Light Horse. The third son, Denis, is regimental sur- 
 geon to the 13th Light Horse in Egypt, and the 
 fourth, Sylvester, had fully intended to join his 
 brothers as soon as his father could have spared him. 
 ' ' Vessie ' ' Browne stood 6 ft. 5 in. in height. He was 
 broad in proportion. I have often followed him down 
 the street wondering at his stalwart proportions. An 
 incident that happened to him one day near Mel- 
 bourne will show how massive and powerful he was. 
 He was crossing the Balaclava-road when suddenly 
 round a corner there bore down on him a butcher 
 boy going "hell for leather." "Vessie" widened his 
 legs, set himself firmly, and sticking one shoulder 
 well out, stood steadily to meet the shock. In a 
 second the boy and horse were sprawling in the dust. 
 
 " Vessie V mining experiences were very varied 
 indeed. At one time he practically owned the Junc- 
 tion Mine at Broken Hill, and about that time he 
 told me he was worth 200,000. That went. In 1893 
 he went up to Coolgardie with his nephews, Everard 
 Browne and H. P. Cockshott. 
 
 Bayley's Reward was purchased on this occasion, 
 and in six weeks "Vessie" and his nephews took 
 10,000 worth of gold out of a hole about 10 ft. square 
 and 6 ft. deep. All dollied out with a pestle and 
 mortar. The- miners from about used to stand open- 
 mouthed watching "Vessie" and his mates getting
 
 46 
 
 the gold out, as it were, in junks. So rich was the 
 vein that one of the party always slept on it, as any- 
 one with a pick and shovel could easily have got 
 200 ozs. out in half an hour. 
 
 "Vessie" Browne was seventy-four when, as Bret 
 Harte has it, "he paid in his checks." 
 
 Jemmy Wilson, later on of St. Albans, was a 
 notable horseman and racing man in the old times, 
 but would not at this time have appeared at Kirk's 
 Bazaar. In those days he displayed his horsemanship 
 in the "Western District of Victoria. He lived at the 
 Grange (Hamilton now), and he raced and rode 
 about there and at Casterton, Port Fairy, and Warr- 
 nambool, and also at Ballarat and Geelong. I think 
 he won his first race in Melbourne with Musidora, and 
 thereby hangs a tale. 
 
 I met old Colonel Robbyns in Hamilton when he 
 was in Victoria buying horses for the Indian Govern- 
 ment, and he asked me to take him out to Jemmy 
 Wilson's. The old Colonel was a real old sport and 
 a fine judge of a horse. That day there stood on a 
 dung-heap in Wilson's yard a filly, rough-coated and 
 in rather low condition. I might have thought of 
 offering about 10 for her. The Colonel said to me, 
 "Ask Wilson if he will sell that filly." Wilson 
 declined. Before leaving, the Colonel whispered to 
 me, ' ' Offer him a hundred for the filly. ' ' Again Wil- 
 son declined, and very definitely. The filly was 
 Musidora, so well known on the turf later on. The 
 Colonel wanted her for a Nursery Stakes to be run 
 in Melbourne, in which she was entered, and which 
 she won quite easily. As Jemmy Wilson was return- 
 ing from Flemington after the race he passed Colonel 
 Robbyn's funeral; it was rather a coincidence. 
 Musidora was the gggg dam of Newhaven. She was 
 out of that wonderful old mare Dinah, the founder 
 of Wilson's fortunes. Dinah came to Hamilton 
 behind a mob of New South Wales store cattle. She 
 caught Wilson's eye and he tried to buy her but the 
 drover, to his surprise, asked a ridiculously large sum
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 47 
 
 for her. However, the drover got on the spree, and 
 Dinah passed into the hands of a publican, and 
 thence into Jemmy Wilson's possession. Dinah was 
 by Gratis, but her dam's pedigree cannot be traced 
 beyond that she was by Emigrant, out of a Camerton 
 mare, consequently Newhaven has not been admitted 
 into the Stud Book. But what a horse he was! It 
 was all the same to Newhaven whether the distance 
 was half a mile or three miles. In 1896 he made a 
 perfect show of the rest of the field in the Melbourne 
 Cup, and in the old country he ran till he was 
 too old, winning many good races. Eventually he 
 returned to Australia. Dinah bred Buckly, Eleanor, 
 Ebor and Musidora the latter two were by The 
 Premier. Of Musidora it has been well said, "She 
 was certainly the best racer in Victoria and the truest 
 runner that ever lived." When she was right and 
 fit the betting was never big enough for Jemmy Wil- 
 son. A great mare indeed. Wilson's success on the 
 turf as an owner and trainer is well known; his 
 mantle has fallen on his son. Jemmy Wilson passed 
 on in October, 1917, in his eighty-ninth year, a great 
 horseman, a keen sportsman, one whose memory will 
 ever live in the sporting annals of Australia. 
 
 Once at a steeplechase in Geelong, when riding 
 Triton, Wilson was taken under the rail of the wing 
 of one of the fences, without getting a scratch. Old 
 Triton dived under the rail and his rider must have 
 dipped down alongside as we read the Indians used 
 to do. On another occasion, with his collar-bone 
 broken, he rode a steeplechase out and won it. 
 
 Jemmy was not a hunting man. There were no 
 hounds in the West to ride to in the fifties. But 
 until he got too heavy to ride he was a hard man to 
 beat over the sticks, and was very handy with his 
 fists. I saw him one day at Casterton talking to a 
 friend. A drunken man squared up to him and made 
 a swipe. Jemmy scarcely seemed to me to move or 
 even look round; he never stopped talking, but in a 
 second the man was on the ground and quite quiet.
 
 48 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 The first time I met Jemmy Wilson was at a race 
 meeting at the Grange (Hamilton). There was a 
 steeplechase, and Jemmy had got hold of the "old 
 Doctor" previously mentioned. I was then at Mun- 
 tham, and Tom Henty had brought over a Muntham 
 horse, Old "Woodbine, for the race, and I had the 
 mount as I had been schooling the old horse. He was 
 a certain fencer if a man could only stick to him. 
 He had never baulked with me, and never fallen, 
 and I had schooled him a lot. He was fast, but no 
 stayer. Going at a moderate pace he generally fenced 
 all right, but when racing he often never rose at his 
 fences, and yet if his rider could only stick on, the 
 old horse would never fall. How he scrambled over 
 his fences I do not know to this day, but I have had 
 him land right on his head and yet not roll over, and 
 once my left foot was on the ground as he landed, but 
 yet he stood up. Once, not going very fast, he 
 landed looking back over the fence.. After one 
 steeplechase at Casterton he had the skin off from 
 one shoulder to the knee, and the other leg skinned 
 from the knee to the fetlock, and both stifles red raw 
 yet he had not fallen. The only way I could hang 
 on to the saddle was to catch a firm hold of the cantle 
 with my right hand when negotiating a fence. Had 
 I let go the cantle I would have gone up in the air. 
 Woodbine was clean bred, by Robin Hood out of a 
 Wanderer mare, and was an ugly rawboned sixteeu- 
 hand high horse with a lean and very intelligent 
 head. He had done a lot of cattle work. 
 
 The Hamilton course, a pretty one, ran right 
 through the township, and was fairly stiff. We 
 crossed a number of newly fenced-in allotments, and 
 went through back yards, one belonging to Cox, the 
 well-known solicitor. There was only one "made" 
 fence, and it was the stiffest "lep" in the course. 
 It was out on the flat close to the winning-post, and 
 consisted of a big new two-rail fence about 4 ft. 8 in. 
 high about three panels wide to jump and a single
 
 49 
 
 panel for a wing. On lauding over this fence we had 
 to turn almost back again to get to the winning 
 post, which was quite close. We, who were not in 
 the swim, came to the conclusion that the course, 
 which all through was a bit intricate and involved 
 several sharp corners, was laid out in the interests of 
 the ' ' old Doctor ' ' my most dangerous opponent. The 
 Doctor was that well-known white pony with whom 
 George Watson had pulled off many a lep race. He 
 was a great favourite, and I wonder he ever parted 
 with him. No more clever fencer ever appeared in 
 Victoria. There was no fence or obstacle too difficult 
 for the Doctor. Though not over 14.3 (if that) to 
 negotiate a five-feet post and rail fence was nothing 
 to him. He was well known in Melbourne, and a 
 great favourite with the public. 
 
 Johnny Gorry, a well-known steeplechase jockey, 
 was on the Doctor, Jemmy Wilson being over weight. 
 I cannot remember now who the other competitors 
 were, and indeed the race lay entirely between the 
 white pony and my big mount, Old Woodbine. The 
 betting was odds on the Doctor, and no one but 
 myself and my friends thought I had any chance a 
 green horse and a green rider do not attract backers. 
 The "Old Governor," of course, was most interested, 
 and had a good view of the race from start to finish. 
 My sisters, too, were onlookers, and, although my 
 mother would not admit it, I feel sure she had a look 
 at us as we swept past near where she lived. 
 
 It was a right good race. We were the only two 
 left in after we had gone half the distance neck 
 and neck into the backyard of Cox, the solicitor, and 
 right together into the police paddock, where I got 
 a cheer of encouragement from the "Old Governor." 
 As we rose at the last fence but one going out of 
 the police paddock, Johnny Gorry bumped me hard, 
 hoping to throw me, but the pony got the worst of 
 it, and I then drew away determined to take no 
 chances. The last fence was a corker, and I never
 
 50 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 took a pull, but gripping my saddle with my right 
 hand, I sat back all 1 could, and awaited the shock. 
 Old Woodbine struck the new top rail with his chest. 
 It bent and nearly shot out of the mortices, but as 
 we slid over it, bounced back into its place with a 
 loud crack. 1 turned sharp round, and saw the 
 Doctor just coming at the fence, but I had the 
 advantage of him and passed the winning-post an 
 easy winner. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 My father, afterwards known, far and wide as the 
 "Old Governor," brought 8,000 with him to Aus- 
 tralia, and my brother and he and my cousin, Travers 
 Adamsou, later on Crown Prosecutor, tried their 
 luck digging at Bendigo, but without success. My 
 father started gold buying, but was one night robbed 
 of eight hundred ounces, from under his pillow, too. 
 Had he only bought land in the suburbs of Mel- 
 bourne, he must have become very wealthy, which, 
 no doubt, would have been a most unfortunate thing 
 for me, for, instead of having to work hard all my 
 life I might have become a drone. From my heart 
 and soul, I honestly say, "I thank God I was not 
 born with a silver spoon in my mouth. " Instead of 
 buying land, my father was ill-advised enough to 
 build some stone houses 011 leased land in Swanston- 
 street, opposite the gaol. Although at prices for 
 labour and material then ruling, the cost of build- 
 ing these houses was very great, they paid very 
 well for a while. He got 1,000 a year rent for one 
 of them; but this did not last, and eventually the 
 rent and upkeep of the houses barely covered the 
 ground rent, and they were sold. I remember tak- 
 ing my stand in 1854 in a window of one of these 
 houses to see an unfortunate man hanged.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 51 
 
 After a bit my father was appointed Police Magis- 
 trate at the Buckland River, out from the Ovens 
 (now Beechworth). Frederick H. Puckle was warden 
 there at that time a tall, fair-haired, handsome 
 Englishman a bit too haw-haw in his style for the 
 diggers. Joe Mason, afterwards well known in the 
 Western District of Victoria, was Inspector of Police 
 at the Buckland. Both he and Puckle were very fond 
 of my father the "Old Governor" and who was 
 not? 
 
 I have often dropped across old diggers from the 
 Buckland, whose eyes would brighten up when they 
 knew I was a son of the Old Governor. They all 
 swore by him, and he and his handsome little brown 
 Tasmanian stallion, Phosphorus, were well known all 
 up and down the old Sydney-road, and across by the 
 Ovens and the Buckland. At that time Charley 
 Ryan, so well known in Melbourne, father of Charley 
 Ryan, of Plevna fame, who more lately has done 
 good work in France and earned his C.M.G., and 
 who was known as a boy by the name of Bunty, owned 
 Killeen now Chomleys near Benalla. Charley 
 Ryan and the Old Governor were great pals. Joe 
 Mason, mentioned above, was an immense man, and 
 as strong as a bullock. It was good to see him when 
 a row was on. I saw him once push his way quite 
 quietly into a seething mass of men fighting. Joe 
 had a pipe in his mouth. As he advanced perfectly 
 imperturbable, he would give what seemed a slight 
 push, and down would go a man on one side of him, 
 another little push and down would go another on 
 the other side. Very soon that row was over, Joe 
 quietly smoking his pipe all the time. Once he 
 caught hold of two big men who were fighting, and 
 he just knocked their heads together till they were 
 silly and glad to clear out. 
 
 In 1855 my father and Puckle, and later on Joe 
 Mason, were moved to the Grange, in the Western 
 District of Victoria. The pretty and appropriate
 
 52 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 name, the Grange, was by some vandal changed to 
 Hamilton, and the latter name remains to this day. 
 
 I do not think I can do better than at this stage 
 of my reminiscences reprint here the sketch of my 
 father that appeared in the Hamilton Spectator on 
 the occasion of his death in 1892, in his ninetieth 
 year, after having lived for nearly forty years at 
 Hamilton : 
 
 "A well-known, venerable, but, nevertheless, 
 sprightly figure, that of an old colonist, respected by 
 all; the man who had a kindly word and smile for 
 everybody, and upon whom everybody smiled in 
 return, will be seen amongst us no more. 'The dear 
 old Governor' is dead. Not an Excellency, but 'The 
 Governor,' for by this name Mr. Cuthbert Fether- 
 stonhaugh, who reigned in the hearts of many people 
 of this district, will be better and more fondly remem- 
 bered than by his ancient and historical family 
 patronymic. Now and again he might be addressed 
 as 'Mr. Fetherston,' for short, but the nonogenarian 
 who expired at his residence, 'Correagh,' at five 
 o'clock on Wednesday, better liked to be addressed 
 by the title given him by his many friends years 
 ago. How it came to be conferred upon him we 
 know not ; but we do know that he was from time to 
 time introduced to various Excellencies, including 
 Lord Hopetoun, as 'The Governor,' and acknow- 
 ledged by them as such. Many hearing of his death 
 will be apt to exclaim, 'Shall we ever look upon his 
 like again?' He was a man amongst men, a genuine 
 unaffected Irish gentleman which, all the world 
 over, is admitted to be the best type of a man. 
 
 "Cuthbert Fetherstonhaugh, born at Grouse 
 Lodge, County "Westmeath, Ireland, on the 27th 
 November, 1803, was a son of Theobald Fetherson- 
 haugh, of Mosstown, and had no fewer than twenty- 
 seven brothers and sisters, seventeen of whom grew 
 up tall, handsome men and women. In 1827 he 
 married Miss Susan Curtis, who bore him six daugh-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 53 
 
 ters and three sons, of whom five daughters and two 
 sons are still alive. Of her it is said by those who 
 had the pleasure of her acquaintance, 'She was a 
 devout Christian and faithful friend and helper of 
 the poor and sorrowful.' This lady went to her rest 
 in 1871. 
 
 "In 1852 'the Governor' came out to Australia, 
 where about that time gold was said to be so abundant 
 that one could hardly avoid making a fortune. 'The 
 Governor/ however, managed to avoid it. Two of 
 his sons came out with him, and in 1853 he was joined 
 by his younger son, Cuthbert. In 1856 he was fol- 
 lowed by his wife and five daughters, and thus hap- 
 pily united with his loved ones, he strove to make 
 his way in the world. Like many other scions of old 
 families, he tried his luck on the goldfields. He 
 endeavoured in various ways to make a fortune, but 
 felt his lack of commercial knowledge, and, whilst 
 making a large pecuniary loss, merely gained experi- 
 ence. But he was an educated man, and his attain- 
 ments in 1854 enabled him to secure the position of 
 Police Magistrate at the Buckland River. He soon 
 became a well-known figure to the diggers, and his 
 cheery manner, straight-forwardness, and never- 
 failing courtesy quickly gained for him the popu- 
 larity he never subsequently forfeited. 
 
 "About 1855 Mr. Fetherstonhaugh came to Hamil- 
 ton, then known as 'the Grange,' when Acheson 
 Ffrench was squire of Monivae, F. Hale Puckle, 
 Commissioner of Crown Lands, and wire fences an 
 unknown quantity. 'The Governor's' jurisdiction 
 extended from Hamilton to Casterton, Coleraine, 
 Digby, Branxholme, and in fact all over the country 
 of which those were and still are the centres. There 
 were no shire councils in those days, no roads level 
 as bowling greens, no bridges across rivers or creeks, 
 but blow high blow low, with rivers running bankers, 
 he had periodically to put in an appearance at all 
 those places and administer the law. He was always
 
 54 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 well mounted, was as regular as clockwork in his 
 rounds, and never once failed in keeping his official 
 appointments to the day, nay, to the very minute. 
 There was no waiting for the Police Magistrate to 
 appear, no cause to wonder where he could be; this, 
 although many a time and oft he, in order to reach 
 his destination, had to swim the Wannon, and the 
 creek on the banks of which the town of Coleraine 
 is situate, when in flood. Many were the narrow 
 escapes he had from being carried away. Needless 
 to add that such a man received a hearty welcome 
 wherever he went. And so he continued honestly and 
 zealously to perform his allotted tasks until the year 
 1869, when, owing to some political jugglery, whilst 
 in possession of all his vigorous faculties, his mind and 
 judgment unimpaired, his services were dispensed 
 with, and he was superannuated. Twenty years after 
 his superannuation, when on a visit to New South 
 Wales, he rode over fifty miles to and at a kangaroo 
 hunt, and, as our informant tells us, 'came in as 
 fresh as a lark,' which, we submit, no man with im- 
 paired physical or mental faculties could have done. 
 As a magistrate, who knew him well, says, 'His 
 decisions were not only considered equitable, but 
 always good law.' 
 
 "No keener sportsman ever hunted fox or put gun 
 to shoulder. Even in his youthful days in Westmeath 
 he was known as the daring fox-hunter, and his 
 prowess on Lancer is not yet forgotten in that county. 
 As a snipeshot he could, even during recent years, 
 'wipe the eye' of many a younger man. In fact we 
 have never known of anyone possessed of a finer con- 
 stitution, and one could easily believe him a year or 
 two ago when his heart's action commencing to fail, 
 he was wont to say : ' I have never had a headache or 
 taken a dose of physic in my life, and don't know 
 what a liver is.' 
 
 "In a somewhat hastily, and must we say, sorrow- 
 fully, written account of a long and good life like
 
 55 
 
 'the Governor's,' many circumstances in connection 
 therewith are apt to be overlooked, but we can men- 
 tion a few episodes in connection with him as a 
 sportsman. On one occasion he was riding to hounds 
 near Hamilton and smoking a short pipe. His horse 
 slipped in taking off at a rasper, and he came a 
 regular cropper, landing on his head and smashing 
 a new hat. Coolly he rose to his feet, and laughingly 
 remarked to the late Thomas Seymour, who was 
 close behind him, ' Ah ! Tom, I 've smashed my hat, 
 but I've saved my dhudeen; see, it is still going/ 
 and he mounted again, puffing away as though 
 nothing had happened. On another occasion, whilst 
 hunting in Westmeath, he at almost the very com- 
 mencement of a long run, fractured a shoulder blade, 
 but went throughout the hunt without a murmur, or 
 letting anyone know what had happened. Again in 
 1867, an irate Teuton, who, strange to say, did not 
 know 'The Governor,' even by sight, followed him 
 through his paddock, vowing vengeance, and called 
 out to him, ' 1 '11 have you up before old Fetherston ! ' 
 Imagine the man's surprise when 'The Governor' 
 turned round, snapped his fingers, and exclaimed, 'I 
 don't care that for old Fetherston.' Such a contempt 
 for the majesty of the law as represented by a known 
 terror to evil-doers, quite staggered his accuser, who 
 refrained from further trouble. It is also said (but 
 indignantly denied by the lady) that 'The Governor' 
 having come to grief over a rail fence, one of his 
 daughters being rather close behind him, called out, 
 'Don't move, Governor,' and forthwith cleared the 
 fence, father and horse. 
 
 "We are indebted to one of 'The Governor's' 
 nearest and dearest friends for the following tribute 
 to his character: 'He ever looked upon the best side 
 of human nature, but when a cowardly or dishonest 
 action came under his notice, his denunciation of the 
 offender was scathing and severe. In religion, he 
 kept to the old well-beaten path, that of an English
 
 56 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 churchman of the Evangelical school, but by no means 
 a bigoted one, being liberal and tolerant to others 
 who were striving to reach the same goal by other 
 avenues.' With Tennyson he believed in 'the larger 
 hope' 
 
 "Behold, we know not anything 
 I can but trust that good shall fall 
 At last far off at last, to all, 
 
 And every ivinter change to spring. 
 
 The wish, that of the living whole. 
 No life may fail beyond the grave, 
 Derives it not from what we have 
 
 The likest God ivithin the soulf 
 
 I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, 
 And gather dust and chaff, and call 
 To what I feel is Lord of all, 
 
 And faintly trust the larger hope! 
 
 "During his last illness, which, extended over five 
 or six weeks, his kindly consideration for others con- 
 tinued to be as conspicuous as it had ever been. 
 Though, at times, suffering intense pain, his thoughts 
 were for* those around him. Patient and resigned, 
 he would sometimes exclaim, ' The Lord has been very 
 good to me. I wish He would take me now and give 
 me rest,' and his supplication was mercifully granted. 
 A more peaceful death -bed was never witnessed. 
 Cheerful to the end, confident that he was amongst 
 those whom Christ died to save, 'The Governor' 
 sighed his last and glided away into 
 
 " ' The quiet haven of us all.' "
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 57 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Now we must hark back to Melbourne. 
 
 When the horses and drays were sold my father 
 was away on the Buckland and I had no one to 
 advise me. Of course I could have got on a good big 
 sheep station and started in to get a knowledge of 
 sheep. There were several good openings for me. 
 But I shied off sheep, and just then I went up to 
 Dandenong with two friends who were going there 
 for the quail shooting. They went there as guests of 
 one "Billy" Welsh, who kept the Dandenong Pound. 
 Billy was a gentleman, but unfortunately a very lazy, 
 shiftless man, with not the faintest idea of business. 
 Thoughtlessly, I engaged with Welsh to help him in 
 keeping the Pound. As there were no fences at that 
 time there was any amount of stray stock. Natur- 
 ally occupiers of land objected to other people's stock 
 eating their grass, and there was a great deal of im- 
 pounding. Stock used to stray from considerable 
 distances, and after being impounded they were 
 advertised for a month, and, if not claimed and 
 released, were sold by auction to the highest bidder. 
 As may be easily imagined, there was a good deal of 
 "cronk work at some of these pounds, and I know 
 as much as 1500 was netted by one poundkeeper in 
 a year. One mode of action which naturally led to 
 much abuse rose from landowners allowing pound- 
 keepers to muster up all stock straying on their land 
 and impounding them. Nothing was easier than for 
 a poundkeeper 's man to impound stock that was not 
 trespassing at all, and in this way much dishonest 
 work was effected. I must do Billy Welsh the justice 
 to say he ran his pound on the square. I very soon 
 got permission from most of the landowners to im- 
 pound stock trespassing on their land, and in conse- 
 quence Billy began to do much better. But he did 
 not offer me any of the profits, and as he supplied 
 me with wretched horses and was so useless and
 
 58 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 unbusinesslike, I gave Billy notice. Billy a bit later 
 on offered me half the profits to stay with him, and 
 T would have agreed to this, but found he had com- 
 mitted himself elsewhere, and I foresaw a lawsuit, 
 and wisely kept out of it. If Billy had made his offer 
 in time I would have accepted it, and I probably 
 would have made 1000 in a couple of years. 
 
 After a number of falls at Dandenong I learned 
 to ride well and got a little knowledge of cattle and 
 horses, and thought myself quite the thing when I 
 rode into Melbourne in breeches and boots and a 
 cabbage-tree hat. In those days cattle drafting was 
 done standing in the gateway, or rather where the 
 slip-rails were, with a ' ' waddy. ' ' The beasts you did 
 not want to come through you stopped with a tap on 
 the nose from the waddy. It was exciting at any 
 rate. One day an old bull charged me, and I ran for 
 it. To this day I can feel the bull's breath blowing 
 cold on my back wet with ''honest sweat," as I ran 
 for a fence, through which I tumbled before Master 
 Bull reached me it was quite a close call. 
 
 Our neighbours at Dandenong were the Wedges, 
 Dr. R. B. Bathe and some others. "While there I 
 first met my life-long friend, R. B. Wilkinson, now 
 of Sydney, one-time M.P. for the Murrumbidgee. 
 He and I are the same age, and we both seem to 
 have battled through life ''none too badly." He 
 called at the Pound late one wet evening with some 
 cattle, and asked to be put up for the night, and 
 always "casts it in my teeth" that I sent him to the 
 kitchen, and I tell him he was lucky to get there on 
 a wet night, with a safe yard for his cattle. A very 
 curious incident happened one day close to Dande- 
 nong township. A drover had left a sick knocked-up 
 beast on the side of the road. This beast rushed a 
 swagman, and even as its horn touched him the beast 
 dropped dead, and the man was not even knocked 
 down. 
 
 Before leaving Dandenong I had arranged with
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 59 
 
 my good friend, J. B. Henderson, to accompany him 
 on a surveying trip. He was a qualified and expert 
 surveyor. I had studied surveying before I left 
 Ireland, and to this day a map I made of my uncle's 
 place, "Grouse Lodge," is, I believe, hung up there. 
 Jack Henderson undertook to complete my training 
 as a surveyor, and going up into the bush with a good 
 friend attracted me. However, as Jack was not ready 
 to start, I took a run up to the Grange to see my 
 father. I went to Hamilton, via Portland, took my 
 passage on the Henty's steamer, the Champion 
 (Captain Helpman). It came on to blow great guns 
 about Cape Otway late at night. There was a big 
 sea on, and the wind was dead on shore. Suddenly 
 the boat bumped and the bump shook the foremast 
 out of her. I asked a sailor what was up. "Oh," he 
 said, ' ' we '11 all be in hell in five minutes. ' ' However, 
 the bump saved her, for we found we were going 
 straight in on a rock-bound coast, the compasses hav- 
 ing gone wrong. We reversed our course, and by 
 morning made inside the Heads, and as the boat was 
 not making water we went on to Portland all right. 
 The Champion and Lady Bird, two steamers 
 belonging to the same firm, traded between Portland 
 and Melbourne for many years. On each trip they 
 used to pass each other out at sea. On 29th August, 
 1857, in open day and fine weather, these two 
 steamers ran into each other, and the Champion went 
 down in a short time. These steamers had made 
 thirty-two trips each when the collision occurred; 
 there was no loss of life, and a chestnut horse belong- 
 ing to a Mr. Mackenzie, who had just left "Mun- 
 tham," Edward Henty's station, swam ashore thirteen 
 miles. At the wreck of the Admella on the Carpenter 
 Rocks in 1859, on the South Australian Coast, not 
 far from Mount Gambier, the well-known racehorse, 
 The Barber, swam ashore nine miles in a heavy sea, 
 and afterwards won many races. His owner, Hurtle
 
 60 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Fisher, was on board, and was saved by his manager, 
 Mr. Rochfort. 
 
 I had a "bonza" drive from Portland to Hamilton 
 in one of Cobb & Co.'s coaches behind six ripping 
 horses. I never sat beside a better whip than the 
 driver a Yankee. He handled those six hordes in 
 fine style, and we travelled at a great pace. The 
 company ran the coaches from Portland to Ballarat 
 ten miles an hour all the way past Dunkeld, the Fiery 
 ( 'reck and the Hopkins. There was a good story of 
 a governess lately out from England seated between 
 (\vo well-known squatters, Moffat and Wyeslaski, on 
 one of these coaches. Said one to the other, "Are 
 you still scabby, Moffat?" "Yes," was the reply, 
 "still scabby." "By the way, Wyeslaski, do you 
 wash now?" "No," said the other, "I've not washed 
 for two years." The poor girl tried to shrink away 
 from those two awful men, but they were only speak- 
 ing of their sheep. 
 
 Out from Portland for about twenty-two miles the 
 road runs through what was all looked upon as 
 barren heath country, though some of it was heavily 
 timbered. Lately it has been found that when drained 
 this heath land will just about grow anything. 
 
 There were lots of wild cattle on that heath country 
 in 1854. I knew a man who got together quite a good 
 sized herd there. He had good horses, and \vas a 
 fine horseman. He used to ride up to a "clear skin," 
 catch it by the tail, throw it, tie it up, make a fire, 
 brand it, and ear-mark it, (He carried a brand on 
 his saddle.) I have never thrown a beast in that way 
 myself, but I have seen it done. The beast goes over 
 quite easily, but you must be going a fair pace. 
 
 I saw the largest kangaroos on that trip on the 
 Portland heath, that I have ever seen anywhere. 
 Some of them stood all out seven feet high. 
 
 At one part of the 'road when we were bowling 
 along with our six horses, a bullocky refused to "give 
 us the road." Our driver said nothing, but drove
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 61 
 
 along to one side, and when his leader got a little 
 past the leading bullocks he whipped -them round 
 quickly and ran the bullocks right off the road, and 
 with a "so long, old man," he left the bullocky using 
 very lurid language indeed. 
 
 What grand drivers those "Yanks" were, and 
 what good company ! Some years later I was taking 
 the coach for Portland at the little township of 
 Merino. Alas! the team by this was reduced to four. 
 As I rode up I killed a big snake, and I carried him 
 on with me. The coach was at the door of the pub, 
 the horses standing ready to be hitched, the driver 
 inside. I carefully coiled the snake up just where 
 the driver's feet would come when seated and pulled 
 the apron up. The groom did not see me. I got up, 
 and awaited developments. Out came ' ' Ned, ' ' and 
 jumped up on the box. In a moment he shouted, 
 "Lord's sake, look out!" and jumped up on the seat, 
 but stuck to the reins, and I heard just a little lan- 
 guage, which did not improve any when he found he 
 had been sold. I struck one of the old Victorian 
 drivers of the "sixties" when over in New Zealand 
 in 1894. We were running down a steep hill with 
 a turn at the bottom at so acute an angle that we 
 would have been almost on our tracks but for the 
 intervening spur. As the leaders ran out to make 
 the turn their feet seemed to be on the very brink 
 of a precipice, going down sheer for hundreds of 
 feet. We had no breeching, and I asked the driver. 
 "If the brake went what would happen?" "Wai," 
 he said, "I guess we'd all be in Hades in five 
 minutes." A bad accident happened not long after- 
 wards on the same road, when my good friend, Mr. 
 H. G. Turner, of Melbourne, was badly hurt, and 
 again another when two ladies were killed. I do not 
 get the credit of being over-cautious as regards driv- 
 ing, but I must say if I had to take the responsibility 
 of passengers on those roads, I would ask to be pro- 
 vided with breeching.
 
 62 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 At Hamilton I made the acquaintance of Acheson 
 Ffrench, of Monivae, and his large family, and spent 
 a few days with them. Ffrench was the type of the 
 well-bred Irish gentleman a most delightful man. 
 and clever, and none more hospitable. At Monivae 
 you got a real Irish welcome; if you were not at 
 home and happy there it was your own fault. Monivae 
 was run on the old generous Irish lines; there were 
 plenty of horses, children galore, girls and boys all 
 fearless and good riders, of whom more hereafter. 
 
 Ffrench had a good big herd of cattle, terribly 
 badly broken in, and hard to yard, though the country 
 was level and none of it very thickly timbered. They 
 had a cattle muster one day while I was with them, 
 and for me it was a gala day. A new chum nephew 
 of Ffrench 's, from Gal way, was out with us. An 
 old cow charged him, got one horn under his leg and 
 lifted him right out of the saddle, and, to the great 
 amusement of us young fellows, chased him for his 
 life round and round a tree. The cattle went pretty 
 right till we reached the yard, when they began 
 breaking in all directions. There were unbranded 
 "mickeys" among them eighteen months old. One 
 of these gored the mare I was riding, and another 
 horse, pretty badly, and I got a gun and jumped 
 up behind one Tom Medly, and we ran "Mr. Mickey" 
 down and shot him. Mrs. Ffrench sewed up the 
 wound in my mare's side. We didn't get much over 
 half the cattle into the yard. 
 
 Just about this time Darwin's Descent of Man 
 was published, and caused a tremendous sensation 
 in the religious world. Ffrench took up the Dar- 
 winian view very warmly. So did Sam Winter, of 
 Murndal, near Hamilton. Riding buckjumpers and 
 "lep races" were more in my line in those days, and 
 I little thought how intensely I would be interested 
 later on in the influence of evolution on religious 
 thought. 
 
 Having to return to Melbourne, I bought a colt at
 
 63 
 
 Hamilton, broke him in, and rode him down to the 
 Plenty, where my brother was living. 1 had a 
 pleasant trip, staying at stations all the way among 
 others at the Chirnsides and at the Russells of the 
 Leigh. I stayed a while with my brother at the 
 Plenty, and while riding in from there to Melbourne 
 one day my horse got lame, and I borrowed an out- 
 law at a station I was passing. He gave me a fall 
 before I got the best of him. Next morning I left 
 Melbourne early on _the outlaw, leading a kangaroo 
 dog. The rope got under my horse's tail, and he set 
 to bucking furiously and kicking, and every kick 
 lifted the poor dog off his feet howling, so I had a 
 lively ride up Bourke-street. 
 
 After this I started off with Jack Henderson on 
 the survey trip. The first night out of Melbourne we 
 pitched our tent under a big gum tree, and, new- 
 chum like, we made our fire at the foot of the tree. 
 Just about daylight I was looking out of the tent, and 
 I saw the big gum tree falling on us. I yelled at 
 Jack, but the tree was down before we could get out. 
 Fortunately, a big fork of the tree caught the ground 
 and prevented our being crushed. Jack, who was 
 very clever with his pen, made a graphic sketch of 
 the scene, which I have lost. 
 
 We travelled about twenty-five miles a day. I 
 drove the dray and walked, and Jack rode. Passing 
 Seymour is impressed on ray memory, for I called for 
 a bottle of beer at a pub there and had to pay 7/6 for 
 it. We did some work outside Kilmore and about 
 Broadford, then known as McCullas Creek, and then 
 we started for the Upper Goulburn to measure off 
 pre-emptive rights for the squatters. These latter 
 were very wroth when they found that for a pre- 
 emptive of 320 acres to include the homestead, they 
 had to go back a mile from the frontage into steep 
 mountain ranges. We were bound first for Captain 
 Murchison's Kerrisdale station, on the King Parrot 
 Creek, and had to come down a hill known as Mur-
 
 64 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 chison's Big Hill and a nasty hill it was. The 
 whole side of the hill was strewn with trees used as 
 brakes by teams coming down. I was horse driver, 
 and just after coming down the hill we drove into 
 a riding party which turned out to be Mr. and Mrs. 
 Pfrench, of Monivae, and Miss Murchison. They 
 were much amused at meeting me in my shirt sleeves 
 driving a dray. We went on and camped on the 
 banks of the King Parrot Creek not far from the 
 homestead. Captain Murchison was well known at 
 that time on the Goulburn as "Happy Jack and his 
 two pretty daughters." The third, who many years 
 later became my wife, was only a little kiddie then, 
 and she and I used to have great rows. 
 
 Captain John Murchisou, my wife's father, was 
 one of our very earliest pioneers, having landed in 
 December, 1834, at Campbell's "Wharf, Sydney, witli 
 his wife and two little daughters. He was a High- 
 lander, born in 1798, at the family estate, Taradale, 
 Shire of Ross. He has left a very interesting and 
 rather quaint story of his life, from which I propose 
 to give extracts. In this he says, "At the time of 
 the rising of troops to strengthen the Nation against 
 the incursion of the French in 1793, and subsequent 
 years, the Highlanders were thought to be anything 
 but loyal to the reigning family, but the aristocracy 
 of the Highlands and the landed gentry, anxious to 
 wipe out this blot on their clans and country, raised 
 several Highland regiments, and, contrary to the 
 spirit of the age, they were allowed to wear their 
 ancient garb, the Highland dress, which they are 
 allowed to wear to this day." 
 
 Captain Murchison came of a family of soldiers. 
 His father held a commission in the ' ' 78th " or " Mac- 
 kenzie Highlanders," and he married into a fighting 
 family, the Urquharts. Four of his brothers-in-law 
 held commissions in the army, and one, a captain 
 only twenty-two years old, was killed at the battle 
 of Busaco. No less than eight officers fell with him,
 
 MRS. STEPHEX G. HEXTY 
 
 DEAX MACARTNEY 
 
 BAYLEY'S REWARD CLAIM, 1893 
 (SYLVESTER BROWXE IN MIDDLE)
 
 1 .IAMI.S WILSON, si:\i; 
 :; MKS. RonEBT POWER 
 (HARBIE FFBENCH) 
 5 GEORGE WATSON 
 
 2 THE OLD ( JOVKKNOK 
 
 (('. FETIIKRSTOMIAUGH) 
 4 JOHN MURCHISOX
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 65 
 
 and they all lay in one grave or hole made in the 
 hour of victory. Captain Murchison had six 
 brothers, five of these held commissions in the army. 
 One of them, a Captain in the 29th Regiment, was a 
 very handsome man, and stood six feet two inches in 
 height. His wife " gallantly followed him through all 
 his wanderings, and when he was wounded at 
 Sobraon, ministered to him on the battlefield, and 
 was with him when he was carried away." 
 In 1854 Captain Murchison writes: 
 "While I was very young I was sent to my grand- 
 mother in the Isle of Skye. When eight years old I 
 was taken home and sent to school. I had not then a 
 word of English, my first language being Gaelic. I 
 soon, however, lost it, and became familiar with Eng- 
 lish, not, however, till I had thrashed a few boys and 
 got thrashed by the master for it. When I was 
 thirteen the war with France was at its height, and 
 even boys younger than I were so fired with rage, 
 they had to be watched lest they should be off with 
 some flaunting recruiting party. Not being over 
 happy in my home, being jealous of my brothers, I 
 made up my mind to be off, and one Sunday morning 
 I did start, and I never saw my home again. Soon 
 I became a soldier of fortune. At that tender age, 
 when I should have been under my mother's care, 
 I enlisted and launched myself into the busy world, 
 got cuffed and buffeted by my inferiors, but such is 
 the discipline of the army that all must obey. I did 
 obey, but very reluctantly. My first few years were 
 spent in the First Foot or Royal Scots Regiment. 
 But for my extreme youth I believe I would have 
 been promoted to an ensigncy immediately after the 
 Battle of Waterloo. But for the Duke of Kent insist- 
 ing that no boys should be sent to fight at Waterloo, 
 I would have had the honour of sharing in that 
 memorable battle, for I was close by, and it is the 
 grief of my life that I missed it. I was then only 
 fifteen years old. However, I continued to advance 
 
 C
 
 66 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 gradually through the lower grades till 1824, when 
 I \vas selected for commission in one of the new 
 levies. When quartered in Halifax, Nova Scotia, 
 with the 96th Regiment, I was married to Mary Ann 
 Roberts, daughter of Captain John Roberts, of the 
 81st Regiment, in January, 1826. We soon after 
 went to Bermuda, and during the four years we 
 remained there my health became much impaired, 
 and in 1832, with the advice of my relative, Sir 
 Roderick Murchison, I emigrated to Australia, accom- 
 panied by my wife and two little daughters, landing 
 at Campbell's Wharf, Sydney, in December, 1832. 
 In 1834, as a retired officer, I received a grant of 640 
 acres from the Government, and I went up and 
 selected my land in the company of two old friends, 
 Captains Gore and Baker, the former afterwards 
 Admiral. I returned to Parramatta, and on 16th 
 August, 1834, we all started off for the "grant." 
 Our party consisted of my wife, three children, some 
 servants, and some assigned servants (convicts). We 
 had cold, bleak, rainy weather for the whole trip, 
 which took sixteen days. The first day \ve made the 
 Cow Pastures, where Messrs. Ryder and Dillon paid 
 us a visit. We had a sort of omnibus, a most com- 
 fortable conveyance, and a pair of horses, also two 
 bullock drays, on which we had piled an assortment 
 of farming implements, rations and clothing for our- 
 selves and party, and our assigned convict servants. 
 The latter all behaved well, and seldom gave any 
 trouble. The second day brought us to the Stone 
 Quarry, the third to Lupton's Inn, the fourth three 
 miles north of Cutter's Inn, the fifth close to Mitta- 
 gong, the sixth to a place called the Murdering Hut, 
 a nest of liberated convicts. Here my bullocks were 
 planted for a reward. The seventh to Bong Bong, 
 and the eighth and ninth we stayed at Bong Bong. 
 On 27th August we came to old Mr. Williams' hut, 
 an old servant of Captain King's, who hospitably 
 received us. Here we met Dr. Cullen, who was prac-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 67 
 
 tising in the vicinity. On 28th August passed the 
 Black Bull, and took the new line next day to Tom 
 the Settler's at the Ploughed Ground, so called 
 because it looked just as if it had at some time been 
 ploughed, but it was natural. Tom made money by 
 showing this land to new-comers. On the 29th we 
 made Paddy's River, near Pelin's house. Here we 
 had a mighty thunderstorm, the lightning swept our 
 fire away, the children's tent was turned inside out. 
 Mrs. Murchison and I were safe on the 'omnibus,' 
 the woman servant under it, and the men under the 
 drays. 
 
 "On 2nd September we got to our good friend, 
 Major Lockyer's, where we had a whole week's com- 
 fortable rest. We were drawing near Goulburn 
 plains ; there we met Captain Allman and his family. 
 He was formerly of the 3rd Buffs with my wife's 
 father, and was now Police Magistrate in Goulburn 
 District. Dr. Hamlyn was the only other resident 
 there, and he was living in a bark hut, the only house 
 then in the township (1834). My wife went to 
 Francis Macarthur's, out on Zulu Creek, and 
 remained there till our house was built at Taradale, 
 eighteen miles from Goulburn. I took out splitters 
 and got a temporary house up, and then commenced 
 my settling on the land. Stocking, building, fenc- 
 ing, hurdle-making, ploughing, sowing, shearing in 
 fact all that constitutes the life and adventures of an 
 immigrant. All the work was done by assigned ser- 
 vants, that is prisoners. These always behaved well, 
 and gave no trouble, and as in my own case when 
 treated kindly (yet firmly) they often became greatly 
 attached to their employers. There have been 
 instances where assigned servants have been known 
 not only to risk, but to lay down their lives for their 
 masters. Many of them, when they became free on 
 ticket of leave, nobly redeemed their past, became 
 well-to-do, good, useful, and prosperous citizens. 
 These prisoners worked hard and faithfully for small
 
 68 AFTER MANY DATS 
 
 wages 12 a year was about the usual pay, and for 
 this they at times risked their lives where the blacks 
 were bad when out sheep herding. 
 
 Rolf Boldrewood, in an interesting article on 
 Sydney, written in 1889, writes: 'As for the poor 
 prisoners, they were really much about the same as 
 other people. Some were good and some were bad. 
 The master, though strict, was seldom severe. When 
 we remember that men were transported for poach- 
 ing a rabbit, and women for "borrowing" a pocket 
 handkerchief, is it any wonder that many prisoners 
 lived to attain good positions in after life? When 
 they "got into trouble," as they expressed it, it was 
 through their own irregularities. A man would apply 
 for a "pass," that is leave to go to town and return, 
 say, by eight o'clock p.m., instead of which he would 
 get drunk and locked up by the police. The police 
 magistrate next day would order him twenty-five 
 or fifty lashes and send him home. The first intima- 
 tion we would receive was Bill or Jack, as the case 
 might be, coming up the carriage drive in charge 
 of a constable, with a blood-stained shirt tied over 
 his shoulders by the sleeves. It wasn't child's play, 
 you may be sure, for I have seen weals and torn 
 flesh, but the men did not seem to care much, nor did 
 it seem to harden or brutalise them as so often 
 asserted. They admitted it was their own fault for 
 running against a stone wall the law. We had 
 nothing to do with it. We suffered loss of work 
 thereby. In a day or two they were quite right and 
 cheerful again, and well behaved till that fatal next 
 time. These men must have been of tough fibre. 
 They sometimes took their fifty or one hundred lashes 
 without wincing poor fellows. To-day if a ruffian 
 for some atrocious act got fifty lashes, there would 
 be memorials and petitions a mile long sent to the 
 "authorities." 
 
 "Rolf goes on to say: 'Our coachman was a 
 prisoner, so were the gardener and the butler, also
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 69 
 
 the housemaid, the laundress and the cook. The 
 women were more difficult to manage than the men, 
 hardworking and well-behaved generally, but none of 
 them seemed able to withstand the temptations of 
 drink.' ' 
 
 Captain Murchison continues: "Previously to 
 this I had acquired some country on Monaro, but I 
 lived on the grant which I called Taradale. 
 
 ' ' In the few years that I lived there I went through 
 some stirring scenes. The bushrangers were then 
 very bad their gangs were composed of the greatest 
 desperadoes, being all escaped convicts, who if cap- 
 tured had nothing to expect but the lash and the 
 gallow T s. Consequently they were careless as to what 
 length they went in crime; murder and rapine were 
 of every-day occurrence. 
 
 "I well remember Redhall's station, only a few 
 miles from me, being stuck up on several occasions, 
 and his life being put in imminent peril. Terence 
 Aubrey Murray's station, about a mile from Tara- 
 dale, was stuck up by a noted desperado, one John 
 Curran, when a young man named John King barely 
 escaped with his life. Another ruffian, Jacky Jacky, 
 kept that part of the country in terror for a long 
 time. Mr. Hume was shot by the bushrangers about 
 that time at Grosvenor's Hotel, Gunning. I was 
 never molested, which I attribute to my having had a 
 very good lot of assigned convict servants, and being 
 always well armed, while it was well known that I 
 would not have hesitated to use the said arms." (Cap- 
 tain Murchison was a very determined man and fierce 
 looking into the bargain.) 
 
 "The first thing that checked these ruffians was the 
 mounted police force raised by volunteers from the 
 forces then quartered in Sydney. Those in the Goul- 
 burn district were commanded by Lieutenant Waddy, 
 who, as Colonel Waddy, afterwards distinguished 
 himself in one of the New Zealand wars. 
 
 Some time before 1838 Farquhar Mackenzie, after-
 
 70 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 wards my son-in-law, had started off for the new 
 country, now Victoria, in charge of sheep of mine, 
 together with some of his own. At Gunning he was 
 joined by others bound for the same country. They 
 were Peter Snodgrass, son of Colonel Snodgrass, Dr. 
 Dickson, a Mr. Murdoch, also Kent Hughes and his 
 brother Charles and others. Farquhar Mackenzie 
 had in his party six assigned servants, and I can 
 safely say that better men could not be found. They 
 all joined their sheep together as well for convenience 
 and economy as for protection from the blacks. On 
 their arrival at the Ovens River, across the Murray 
 they found the blacks very savage. They had a few 
 days previously attacked Mr. Faithfull's camp, on 
 which occasion they not only pillaged the drays, but 
 speared and killed several of the men. Some of those 
 who escaped joined Mackenzie's party. On reaching 
 the Ovens River the party came on the blacks regal- 
 ing themselves with Mr. Faithfull's stores. A battle 
 royal took place, the blacks jumping into the river on 
 this occasion. The gins and piccaninnies were spared 
 through Mackenzie's intervention, who ever after 
 became a great favourite with the blacks. 
 
 "I followed Mackenzie a little later on with my 
 friend Captain Donald McLachlan, late of the Rifle 
 Brigade. I was driving tandem in a Stanhope (a 
 sort of dog cart) with a pair of beautiful horses, 
 and I certainly can lay claim to having driven the 
 first tandem from Sydney to Melbourne. Captain 
 McLachlan was riding and leading a horse. His ser- 
 vant, whom we had christened Don Pedro, and who 
 was a great coward, was also riding. 
 
 ' ' Suddenly we were pounced upon by a gang of bush- 
 rangers just after dusk one evening when about three 
 miles from Grosvenor's Hotel on the Yass-road. They 
 fired several shots at us without effect. I was power- 
 less to defend myself, for as soon as the firing com- 
 menced it took all my exertions to keep command of 
 my tandem. McLachlan had a five-barrelled revolver,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 71 
 
 one of the first brought to the Colony an old- 
 fashioned thing of the sort known as a pepper box. 
 He made a dart at them, and, it being nearly dark, 
 the scoundrels hearing so many shots, must have 
 fancied they had encountered a body of police, so gal- 
 loped off into the bush. A few days previously these 
 ruffians had burned down Grosvenor's Hotel, and 
 were, no doubt, the same party which murdered John 
 Hume about this time. 
 
 "I found Farquhar Mackenzie camped with his 
 sheep and mine on the King Parrot Creek, a tributary 
 of the Goulburn. There were a great many blacks 
 on the ground, in fact camped all round him; cer- 
 tainly there were over a hundred, some of them 
 very war-like looking fellows. Mackenzie seemed to 
 have great command over them, and they did not 
 attempt to molest any of his party. Indeed they took 
 a great fancy to Mackenzie and insisted that he was a 
 'black fellow jump up white fellow,' and although 
 many depredations, and even murders, were com- 
 mitted on the Goulburn, our party was never inter- 
 fered with. The other members of Mackenzie's party 
 all diverged from this point. Peter Snodgrass settled 
 on the Muddy Creek a little above where the town- 
 ship of Yea now stands. Dixon took up country on 
 the Acheson higher up the Goulburn. Murdoch 
 settled on the Goulburn on what was afterwards 
 Doogalook. Others followed, among them Perrott, 
 Gerard, and Messrs. Cunninghams, and Fletcher, 
 until all the available country on the Goulburn and 
 its tributaries was occupied. 
 
 "I returned to Taradale, and having sold it, and 
 my Monaro Station to the Campbells, of Sydney, I 
 started off in 1841 with my family for Kerrisdale, as 
 we called our station on the King Parrot Creek. I 
 drove my wife and some of the younger children in a 
 carriage I had. We had a very pleasant journey 
 over ; it was like a picnic party the whole way. I had 
 an excellent lot of assigned servants with me, all good
 
 72 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 men and well up to their work ; also two immigrants, 
 a brother and sister.- Our party consisted of Mrs. 
 Murchison, my son, four daughters, and Farquhar 
 Mackenzie. I had two loaded bullock drays, a mob 
 of one hundred and seventy-six fine Durham cattle, 
 also ten or twelve well-bred horses. We had no loss 
 of stock, no difficulty of any kind to contend with, 
 and scarcely a wet day during the whole journey. 
 
 "I had much difficulty in securing my land at 
 Kerrisdale, and considered I was most unfairly 
 treated by those administering the land inasmuch 
 as half my country was taken from me and handed 
 over to a man who, no doubt, was a friend of those 1 
 in pow r er. 
 
 "I remained on the King Parrot Creek for twenty- 
 six years. The country, though not well adapted for 
 sheep, is a lovely and picturesque spot. I got very 
 fond of it, and though my friends tried to persuade 
 me to hit out for fresh fields and pastures new, I 
 could not be induced to leave it. I sold it in 1864." 
 
 After the sale of Kerrisdale, Captain Murchison 
 went to England in 1865, and on returning the fol- 
 lowing year he purchased a property at Kew, near 
 Melbourne, where he lived until the time of his death 
 in his eighty-fifth year, in 1885. 
 
 Mrs. Murchison was a famous raconteur, and it is 
 to be much regretted that she and Captain Murchison 
 did not commit their experiences and adventures to 
 paper. 
 
 The usual road to Melbourne from Murchison 's was 
 via McCulla's Creek (Broadford) and Kilmore, sixty- 
 five miles, and I remember an unfortunate servant 
 girl, a new arrival from Ireland, riding up the whole 
 distance in one day. One of the Wattons brought, 
 her up. We told him he ought to be prosecuted. 
 There was a short cut to Melbourne over a gap in the 
 Plenty Ranges, called the "Insolvent Gap," because 
 the squatters in the bad time before the diggings 
 broke out had to go by the gap to avoid their creditors
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 73 
 
 on the main road. "Black Thursday" left its mark 
 on the Plenty Ranges. I was riding to Melbourne 
 once by way of the Insolvent Gap and met a cyclone. 
 I was knocked off my horse by a falling branch, and 
 a little later on I spied a well-known hollow tree into 
 which I rode my horse, and stayed there till the 
 storm was over, when I rode out and went on my 
 way. 
 
 MeCulla's Creek, by the way, took its name from a 
 man named McCulla, who was originally responsible 
 for what is now an old chestnut. He was ' ' standing ' ' 
 for the district, and when addressing the electors he 
 said, "Now, is there any gintleman would like to ax 
 any questions ? ' ' An elector at once put a very nasty 
 question to Mr. McCulla, whereupon an Irishman in 
 the throng promptly knocked him down, and Mr. 
 McCulla proceeded, "Is there any other gintleman 
 wanting to ax any questions?" 
 
 Jack Henderson and I had a good time at Kerris- 
 dale. Mrs. Murchison was a charming hostess, and 
 we used to go up to the homestead nearly every 
 evening. Jack was very musical, and used to vamp 
 on the piano and sing amusing little songs, such as 
 
 But when they get the rout, 
 
 How they tear and how they shout, 
 
 But to the right about 
 
 Goes the "bould soger boy." 
 
 'Tis then the ladies fair, 
 
 In despair tear their hair, 
 
 But the divil a pin I care, 
 
 Says the "bould soger boy." 
 
 AVe camped on the bank of the King Parrot Creek, 
 and, though it was winter, I used to walk through the 
 frost on the grass and jump into the creek every 
 morning. I am sure I didn't like it, but no doubt 
 thought it was a fine thing to talk about. 
 
 We had to fix "trig" stations on top of the highest
 
 74 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 hills, aiid part of my work was clearing the timber 
 out of the way; also I had charge of the horses, and 
 that was right into my hands. 
 
 None of the runs in Victoria were at this timo 
 fenced, but Kerrisdale and the adjoining runs ran 
 their sheep loose and employed men to ride the 
 boundaries. Each man used just to turn his employ- 
 er's sheep over to his own side of the range, and 
 the neighbour's sheep to the other side. This an- 
 swered fairly well when the boundary consisted of a 
 high range. 
 
 Within a year of this time, however, the Wattons, 
 of Balham Hill, higher up the Goulburn, fenced their 
 run in with stringy bark saplings laid end on end 
 what was called a "snake fence." This was in 1854. 
 I have never been able to hear of anyone else having 
 fenced as early as this. There were many brush 
 fences in the "far west" of Victoria in 1858, but only 
 on boundaries so far as I can recollect. 
 
 The first wire fences I remember in the west were 
 erected about 1863, and most of them had a top rail. 
 What a lot of money has been wasted in Australia 
 in putting top rails on wire fences, involving having 
 to make short panels and giving a fence with a much 
 shorter life. 
 
 To return to the upper Goulburn country. I con- 
 tinued with Jack Henderson till he had completed his 
 surveys of all the squatter's pre-emptive rights on 
 the Goulburn. Our last job on the Goulburn was 
 to measure a pre-emptive for Mr. Tom high up on 
 the river, an early settler in Victoria, a splendid old 
 man with such a fine happy family and very hospit- 
 able. While there Jack Henderson, a Mr. Collins 
 and I made an interesting trip to the top of Mt. 
 Torbreck. It was a warm morning in October when 
 we forded the Goulburn, and we started just in our 
 shirt sleeves and took only food enough to last til! 
 next day. On the way we passed a beautiful water- 
 fall on the Bunyaranbite Creek a most lovely spot.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 75 
 
 The creek emerges from among fern trees and luxuri- 
 ant growth, falling about one hundred feet. We 
 pushed on through a forest of immense trees so close 
 it was almost dark, and finally on reaching the top 
 of Mt. Torbreck we found ourselves in the snow. 
 There was any amount of timber a little lower down 
 where we camped for the night. From the top of 
 Mt. Torbreck we could see Hobson's Bay. Next day 
 Collins and I made straight back for the Tom's home 
 station. Jack Henderson wisely returned by the 
 route we had come. Collins and I got into a very 
 thick scrub and had difficulty in getting through. 
 We reached the river close to some rapids. Collins, 
 who was taller and older than I, cut a stout pole, 
 and managed to ford the river, and called to me not 
 to try it. So I went much further up, tied my clothes 
 on my head, and started to swim over, but was carried 
 right down to where Collins had forded the river. 
 I touched bottom, and stood for a second, but the 
 moment I started again I was carried away, and 
 would have been swept into the rapids but that 
 Collins waded in, and as I was passing him, caught 
 me by the hair and dragged me out. I had a narrow 
 escape, and had to walk six miles barefooted to the 
 station where I crept in unnoticed. Jack arrived all 
 right later on. One of Mr. Tom's daughters, a fine, 
 handsome girl, could break in horses, and even drive 
 the bullocks if needed, yet was as nice and womanly 
 a girl as could be. 
 
 Fifty years after, when at Berrigan, in the River- 
 ma, I met an old gentleman, Mr. Budd, who was 
 a slim lad when I met him last at Mr. Tom's station. 
 He later on married a daughter of Mr. Tom. 
 
 Curiously enough, a few days later on, a groom 
 who helped me out with my horses at one of the 
 Brown's stations, said to me, "I suppose you don't 
 remember me?" I said, "Well, no, I don't." He 
 said, "We met last on the Goulburn over fifty years 
 ago."
 
 76 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Iii 1855, after finishing surveying with Jack Hen- 
 derson, I undertook a "job" after my own heart. 
 Peter Snodgrass and Alec Hunter, of whom we have 
 already read in these pages the former at this time 
 owner of Doogalook on the Goulburn River and ad- 
 joining Kerrisdale had decided to take in hand the 
 capturing of a very fine mob of horses that had gone 
 wild, numbering about one hundred and fifty. These 
 horses ran chiefly on Doogalook, but had gradually 
 extended their beat to neighbouring runs. Some ran 
 on Kerrisdale, some on a station called Flowerdale. 
 and a good many had made their way up into the 
 rough mountain country at the head of the Muddy 
 Creek and on towards the Plenty Ranges. 
 
 Peter Snodgrass came up from Melbourne, and we 
 discussed the best means to be adopted to capture 
 these brumbies. We decided to erect a large stock- 
 yard with long wings to it on the most suitable site 
 on Doogalook, also that for some eight or nine months 
 I should make it my business to make myself thor- 
 oughly acquainted with the beats, and the ways, and 
 the habitat of the horses. I was to endeavour to get 
 them used to seeing me, and to try to quieten them, 
 so that they would allow horsemen to approach them, 
 also, while treating them with the greatest deference 
 on their own run, I was to hunt the outlying horses 
 back to their proper home on Doogalook. 
 
 I have had a good deal to do with wild horses in 
 Queensland, in the thick country of the Glenelg, in 
 Victoria, on Brookong and Goorianawa, in New South 
 Wales, but I have never seen a mob of brumbies to 
 be compared to that on Doogalook. They were 
 originally a really good lot of well-bred young station 
 horses that had been neglected. They had been 
 allowed to get so out of hand that they could not be 
 yarded, and a well-bred stallion had later on got
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 77 
 
 away with them. Among them was one very fine old 
 brown mare. She appeared to be thoroughbred, and 
 at this time had some seven or eight of her own 
 progeny running with her, daughters and grand- 
 daughters. She had no colts with her; her male 
 descendants had left the mob, and here I may say 
 that the female element predominated largely in the 
 whole mob. This old mare and her family almost 
 always ran together. 
 
 Besides the well-bred sire already mentioned, a 
 good Timor pony stallion had also got among these 
 horses, and left his mark there. The leader of the 
 mob, christened by us Abdelkader, was a big piebald 
 stallion, who looked splendid when, with head erect 
 and tail out, he trotted round his harem. Poor 
 fellow, he did not look half as big or cut half as fine 
 a figure later on when, having been captured, he ran 
 off-side leader in one of Cobb's coaches running 
 between Melbourne and Kilmore. 
 
 My work was, as I have explained, to get the horses 
 quieter if possible by going among, and in fact mak- 
 ing friends with, them, and making myself acquainted 
 with them and their ways, their beats, and their 
 habits. I was never to frighten them, or to attempt 
 to yard any of them, but I had a free hand to harass 
 and run those back to their own run that had got 
 away to other runs. I made free use of this liberty. 
 
 I was at this time eighteen years old, light, spare 
 and wiry, and fast becoming a very good horseman. 
 I was well mounted, too one of my best horses, 
 "Tommy," was a bay four-year-old, by a Cleveland 
 horse out of a blood mare, and for a " cocktail" he 
 did some good gallops with me. You must not hustle 
 Tommy too much at first, but after he got his second 
 wind he could stay well. I also used to ride a little 
 queen of a mare. She was by the Timor pony that 
 got away with the wild mob, out of an Arab mare, 
 and she could gallop all day. Then Alec Hunter 
 sent me up a clean bred little horse from his place
 
 78 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 not far from Williamstown, where he was breeding 
 blood horses. This horse was fast, and a stayer as 
 well. 
 
 Johnny Cotton, a son of the former owner of 
 Doogalook, and a brother-in-law of Peter Snodgrass, 
 was a good deal at Doogalook then. He was a good 
 horseman, had a good seat, and capital hands, also 
 a good head. He and I became great chums. There 
 was a little lot of station horses, not warrigals, all 
 branded, not running with the mild mob, but they 
 had got so that they could not be yarded. There 
 was one broken-in horse among them. They were 
 running at the head of a stream called the Triangle 
 Creek, about five or six miles from Doogalook head 
 station. Cotton asked me to give him a hand to try 
 to yard these horses. I selected Tommy, and Johnny 
 Cotton selected a well-bred horse called Hollowback, 
 for the event, and we gave these horses about three 
 weeks' training before making an attempt to capture 
 the escapees. Meantime I made myself thoroughly 
 acquainted with the beat of the mob, and the line of 
 country they would be likely to try to take when we 
 started them. One lovely fresh autumn morning 
 Cotton and I started out after them. In a couple of 
 hours we came upon our quarry at the head of the 
 creek, and between us and the yard, which was situa- 
 ted about six miles down the creek. Our object was 
 to get the horses in to the Triangle Creek valley, and 
 to keep them there. Cotton took one side, and I took 
 the other. The country was not heavily timbered, but 
 fairly rough, and intersected with gullies and little 
 creeks. We kept the horses pretty well in the valley, 
 and we never drew rein. I never had such a ride 
 before or since. We were at almost top speed for 
 the whole way, and we held our quarry quite safely 
 from start to finish. They tried all they knew to get 
 out of the gully, but it was in vain. Cotton, on old 
 Hollowback, as they tried to get away on his side, 
 swept them back with a crack of his whip, and when
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 79 
 
 they tried my side I did the same. Tommy was quite 
 equal to the occasion, and back they had to go into 
 the gully, and before they knew where they were 
 they were in the yard, and the rails up. It was the 
 finest ride I ever had in my life. I am certain we 
 did the six miles over rough country in fifteen or six- 
 teen minutes. When we dismounted our horses 
 .staggered and fell back on their haunches, but were 
 quite right in a few seconds, and none the worse for 
 their spin, but it was "bellows to mend" with the 
 horses in the yard. 
 
 There was an old pensioner servant living on 
 Doogalook, known as "Old John," who possessed a 
 very good old horse, also a pensioner. The old horse 
 was fresh and sound, and he was well bred and fast. 
 Old John rode the old horse once in a way, but no one 
 else was allowed on him. I tried to get him to take 
 a turn out of that mob of horses yarded by Cotton 
 and me, but the old man was obstinate. One day 
 when hard up for a horse I got Old John's horse. 
 I painted out the blaze on his face, and gave him a 
 white hind leg, and rode him right past his owner. 
 
 There was another old pensioner running on Dooga- 
 look a mare over twenty-six years old, a New South 
 Wales mare. This old mare carried me splendidly 
 one day. We ran a mob of wild horses to a stand- 
 still, but unfortunately Old Jessie by that time had 
 also come to a standstill, and I had to let the horses 
 go. The old mare was none the worse for her gallop. 
 She belonged to Dr. Cheyne, who had married a Miss 
 Cotton, and who often put up at Doogalook. He was 
 a grand old fellow, and owned two remarkably fine 
 horses a grey and a dun horses well up to sixteen 
 stone and showing much quality. Either would have 
 carried fourteen stone eighty miles in a day comfort- 
 ably. They were both grand swimmers, and the 
 Doctor used to lend me one of them whenever I had 
 to cross the Goulburn where it was swimable. On 
 neither of them would the saddle get wet when swim-
 
 80 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 miug the river. I was always fond of swimming 
 horses, and used often to give my horses a swim 
 sometimes remaining on them, but often swimming 
 alongside holding to the mane. 
 
 I was one day, with Johnny Cotton, taking sonic 
 pretty flash horses to Webster's Avhen my horse fell, 
 and I got concussion of the brain. 1 do not remember 
 anything immediately after the fall, but Cotton told 
 me that I remounted and kept on. Soon after the 
 horses passed a big deep waterhole, and I galloped 
 right into it, disappeared out of sight, and came up 
 again with a lot of weeds round my neck, and my hat 
 gone, but never pulled up. When we got to Webster's 
 Cotton took off my clothes and put me to bed, and I 
 did not become conscious till next morning, and could 
 remember nothing about the waterhole. I have been 
 unconscious from concussion of the brain six or seven 
 times, and never felt any the worse for it afterwards. 
 
 When I first took those wild horses in hand I could 
 do little more than ' ' hear the thunder of their hoofs, ' ' 
 for like "warrigal black fellas," they were off before 
 I could see them ; the crackle of a branch was enough 
 for them. I therefore had to ride along very cau- 
 tiously, and, if I could see them before they saw me, 
 I slipped off my horse quietly, tied him up to a tree 
 and sat down away from him. Then gradually I 
 would walk a little nearer to the horses, and as soon 
 as they saw me I would stay quite still. Then I would 
 go a little nearer, and sit down on a log, and keep this 
 up till I got fairly near them. So long as they could 
 not see my horse, and so long as I kept quiet, the 
 brumbies did not clear out, but if they caught sight 
 of me on my horse they were off at once. I'd spend 
 often an hour or more at this game, but gradually 
 the horses got used to me, and after a while they 
 would inquisitively come towards me, very coyly at 
 first. By degrees they got used to me; and as they 
 got to know me they began not to mind me. After 
 a bit I am sure they liked to see me. This went on
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 81 
 
 for mouths. One day as I stood very quietly near a 
 tree a big chestnut warrigal stallion came right up 
 to me, and almost touched my outstretched hand with 
 his nose. I didn't quite like it as, if anything had 
 startled him, he might have turned and let me have 
 his heels. 
 
 After some months Snodgrass wrote and told me he 
 had offered the horses to the Government, and asked 
 me if I thought I could show the horses to Mr. Leitch, 
 Superintendent of Police in Victoria. In the inno- 
 cence of my heart I said I could. Leitch came up, 
 and we went out, and though we dismounted well 
 before the horses saw us they would not stand two 
 men inspecting them, and were off like wildfire at the 
 sight of us. So the deal did not come off. 
 
 One day I came on a handsome bay filly with a 
 youngish foal. I ran the foal along, the mother fol- 
 lowed, and following her was a handsome little half- 
 bred Timor stallion. I drove the foal right along, and 
 into the big yard we had erected, the mare still fol- 
 lowing, and the pony following her. I went round 
 through another yard, put up the rails, and captured 
 the lot. 
 
 The pony was not only a jealous little rascal, but 
 a fierce one too, for when driving the foal to the yard 
 he ran at me with his ears back and mouth open, and 
 I had to hit him over the head with the doubled stock- 
 whip before he retired. 
 
 One day I was driving five head of the horses off 
 the back country, and found I had them beaten, so 
 yarded them. As I wanted a horse to break in, I got 
 Johnny Cotton to go out with me next morning to 
 help me take them down to Webster's pound yard, 
 about seven miles away. We took up a mob of 
 coachers and started the five warrigals down with 
 them. They ran right through the coachers, travelling 
 like wild fire, and when we got to the yard they broke 
 through the wing. I never saw Cotton again that day. 
 I stuck to the horses, and just about sundown I
 
 82 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 yarded them again in the same yard they started 
 from in the morning. I was riding a little half Arab 
 and half Timor mare. Sometimes the wild horses 
 were reduced to a walk, and unfortunately by that 
 time my little mare was also in a walk. This would 
 be going up hill. Down hill I could run away from 
 them. The mare was none the worse for her long day. 
 
 Almost a similar experience occurred to me later 
 on. I left Doogalook one morning very early riding 
 the little horse sent to me by Alec Hunter, and about 
 eight miles away over the range on part of Flower- 
 dale I started a mob of wild horses intending to 
 hunt them over to their own run. As on the former 
 occasion I found I had them beaten, so stuck to them 
 all day, and just before night I yarded them into the 
 Doogalook cattle yard. As on the other occasion, 
 at times the horses were reduced to a walk going up 
 the ranges, and even once stood still, and I, too, was 
 glad to take a rest. 
 
 The horse I rode was not the least bit the worse 
 for his long day from morning to sunset. 
 
 At Doogalook on the hill beside the house was an 
 old windmill. Up to within eight years of my time 
 this mill was used for turning a steel mill by means 
 of which wheat was ground for the use of the station. 
 
 Not far from the house there was a big log which 
 was quite a feature in the history of Doogalook. On 
 the occasion of Miss Cotton's wedding to Peter Snod- 
 grass it was proposed to signalize the event by jump- 
 ing this log on horseback. John Leitch, who many, 
 years later inspected the wild horses, or rather who 
 tried to inspect them with me, was the only man who 
 got his horse over the log, and it was considered 
 quite a feat. The log was about four feet six high 
 and about five feet wide, being somewhat embedded 
 in the ground. The width made it a pretty big 
 obstacle to tackle, and it was always known as the 
 ' ' big log. ' ' I had heard a great deal about this ' ' big 
 log," so one day when by myself I sent at it a chest-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 83 
 
 nut pony I had. The pouy had a low wither, and the 
 saddle slipped forward, and we both came down. 
 Next day I put a crupper on the saddle, and the pony 
 got over all right. There was no more blowing about 
 the big log. 
 
 I was riding the same pony when Jack Henderson 
 and I were surveying John Bon's pre-emptive near 
 the Devil's River. I was giving him a swim in a big 
 water hole when I remembered that the day before 
 I had left my pocket-knife at a post on the surveyed 
 line. I started off as I was, quite unclothed, on the 
 barebacked pony. Both pony and I jumped a post 
 and rail fence. I picked up my knife, and jumped 
 the fence back again, and only then I^discovered three 
 or four men close by grinning at me, and greatly 
 amused. 
 
 While at Doogalook I undertook to collect the 
 census for the Upper Goulburn. While at this work 
 I called at Maxwell's Station and borrowed a colt 
 from them, a pretty flash customer, too. I started off 
 for Barjarg, on the Broken River, and, to my sur- 
 prise, in the afternoon, found myself back at the 
 Maxwell's, feeling very small, and with the colt done 
 up. I had gone astray at what was known as the 
 "Puzzle Range." It seemed that most people going 
 that road for the first time got astray. I was pushed 
 for time, and the Maxwells said they could not give 
 me another horse, but one of them said, "There is a 
 grey mare which has been running here for four 
 years, no owner. If you like to chance it, you can 
 take her." I said, "Let me have her." She was very 
 hard to mount, and threw me three times while I 
 was trying to get on her. None of them would hold 
 her, as she was handy with both fore and hind feet. 
 I did not know as much then as I learnt afterwards, 
 or I would have blindfolded her, or tied her fore leg 
 up. So I got on her in the stable and she bucked 
 out through the door, and we got away. It was 
 nearly dark by this time, and she fell three times
 
 84 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 with ine before I made Barjarg towards morning. T 
 never saw or heard of the grey mare again. A pony 
 of mine had been left at Barjarg twelve months pre- 
 vious to this, and I got him next day. He had shoes 
 on when left, and two of them were still on twelve 
 months afterwards. 
 
 Just about this time, 1856, my mother and five 
 sisters came out to join my father, and on their 
 arrival in Melbourne I rode down by the "Insolvent 
 Gap" to see them. Returning, I got a severe fall. 
 I took a short cut over the range to Doogalook 
 through the bush, and it got dark. My horse slipped 
 and fell, and I hurt my spine and injured one kid- 
 ney. It was as much as I could do to ride home, and 
 I was a week in bed in much pain. An old man who 
 was the cook there took me in hand. I do not know 
 what he used, but he used to paint my back and he 
 got me right enough to go out in a week or ten days. 
 The first day out of bed I went out with Johnny 
 Cotton, and, getting in some horses, I got another 
 fall. The river was up, and I fell in water and did 
 not hurt myself, but the old cook would have "no 
 more truck with me." Some time afterwards I was 
 chasing some of the outlying horses back to their 
 own run, off the head of the Muddy Creek, and my 
 horse missed his feet and came on his head, but 
 recovered himself. The jerk ricked my back again, 
 and I dropped off my horse with the pain, but stuck 
 to the reins, and had to lie down for some hours 
 before I could crawl into the saddle and make my 
 way home, about eight miles. My usual course of 
 action while at Doogalook was to start off down the 
 paddock to catch my horse at early dawn, then break- 
 fast and off for the day. I never took any lunch with 
 me or a quart-pot. It never entered my head. 1 
 seldom got home before six o'clock. We lived 
 roughly, mutton or beef and damper and tea; no 
 vegetables except a potato at times. Tin plates and 
 pannikins, etc. This day I had gone off without
 
 85 
 
 any breakfast, and though quite done up and in much 
 pain when I got home, I sat down to dinner. The 
 manager who was in charge of the place used to 
 get on the bust, and when he did he seemed to go 
 off his head. This time he had had a good deal, 
 though I did not notice it. Suddenly, without a 
 word, he shied a heavy pannikin at me, and caught 
 me on the temple, cutting my head open, and knock- 
 ing me over unconscious. I believe he followed up 
 with a leg of mutton, but by this time Nugent, a 
 young Irishman, up on a visit, who was sitting beside 
 him, had muzzled him and thrown him through the 
 door. I was carried to bed, but couldn't remain there 
 for the pain, and had to get them to lay the mattress 
 (straw) on the floor. My back was very painful. 
 They got me into the bed next morning, and one of 
 the Wattons who was passing came in to see me. 
 My head had been bleeding in the night, and the 
 feathers had come out of my pillow and had stuck 
 into the blood. Watton said I looked like a red 
 Indian. I told him I had run into a tree and would 
 be all right soon, but I was laid up a couple of weeks, 
 and very kind my good Kerrisdale friends were to 
 me while laid up, sending me up nice things. 
 
 "Will you ride my big brown colt for the steeple- 
 chase here next month?" asked my friend, good, jolly, 
 burly "Webster, of the Muddy Creek (now Yea), one 
 day. I said, ' ' I have never ridden a race in my life, 
 let alone a steeplechase." "Oh, it's all right," said 
 Webster. "The colt has pace, and the black boy 
 had him over some fences the other day, and he 
 shaped well. But good horseman as Jacky is, he 
 would probably lose his head, so if you will ride him 
 111 enter him." 
 
 I was delighted at the chance, and on schooling 
 the colt a bit I found he jumped well. By this time 
 I had become a good horseman, but had had little 
 practice over the sticks, the only fences being the 
 horse paddocks,
 
 86 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 The Muddy Creek races duly came off, but I did 
 not win my maiden steeplechase. A pretty good 
 chestnut horse came up from Kilmore in charge of 
 a professional. We were together at the last fence, 
 but my mount had had enough of it and fell, leaving 
 the chestnut to win easily. I got a slight concussion, 
 and on reaching Webster's I put my horse at the 
 horsey ard not a big fence. He stopped short, and I 
 found myself standing on the opposite side of the 
 fence, the reins in my hand, and looking the horse 
 straight in the face. I had turned a complete somer- 
 sault and landed on my feet. A similar thing hap- 
 pened to me in the main street at Hamilton. I was 
 cantering a very nice mare down the street in the 
 dark one night when suddenly some one opened a 
 door and shot a stream of light across the road in 
 front of us. In a moment I was standing in front 
 of the mare looking into her face, and the reins in 
 my hands. Like the German out hunting, ' ' my horse 
 did stop, but I did go on." 
 
 Sometimes while at Doogalook I used to ride a big 
 black, short-tailed horse called "The Native," after 
 the man who had broken him in whose soubriquet was 
 "Bill the Native," but whose real name was Daniel 
 Morgan, who became infamous some ten years later 
 as Morgan the Bushranger. 
 
 I had some fine times helping Webster to muster 
 up his cattle out of the scrubby river lands, and out 
 of the rough ranges at the head of the Muddy Creek. 
 Webster always mounted me well. His best horse 
 was a clean bred chestnut pony, about 14.3 high, 
 called Linkboy. He was perfect on the ranges, and 
 just as good in scrub. 
 
 I was trying to head some wild cattle one day on 
 the mountains when riding Linkboy. We were peg- 
 ging along a steep siding on a narrow cattle track, 
 going our best, when we came on a big log. I thought 
 we were in for it, but the little horse gathered himself 
 together and cleared the log like a cat. He had
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 87 
 
 scarcely standing room when he landed. We turned 
 the cattle all right. Another day Webster's black boy 
 on Linkboy, did a very smart thing. He also was 
 heading some cattle on the side of a steep range, and 
 he had either to jump through the fork of a tree about 
 three feet off the ground, or pull back and let the 
 cattle go. He never faltered, and the little horse 
 jumped through the fork without grazing the darkie's 
 legs, and the cattle were duly headed. 
 
 I do not think I ever felt more uncomfortable than 
 one day in the same mountain country on the same 
 little horse. We had finished mustering a lot of 
 cattle, most of them pretty flash and some clear skins ; 
 among them a big lump of a three-year brindle stag, 
 a nasty customer. We were taking the cattle along 
 a narrow ridge, on one side steep and precipitous, at 
 the bottom a creek. Fearing the cattle might break 
 a little further on, where the range was not so pre- 
 cipitous, I had crept on Linkboy below the narrow 
 ridge when looking up I saw the brindled stag just 
 having broken out of the mob and shaking his head 
 at me. I dug my heels into Linkboy, and as he 
 responded the stag's mouth grazed his rump, leav- 
 ing some foam on it. My heart was truly in my 
 mouth when I saw the brute coming. As he missed 
 me he rolled over, and never stopped till he rolled 
 into the creek, where he remained crumpled up and 
 done for. I can see the brute to this day with the 
 red, angry eyes and mouth dripping foam. 
 
 One of Webster's men was riding a fine big brown 
 colt that day which bucked him off twice. I noticed 
 that whenever the man leant forward in his saddle 
 the colt very cutely "went to market," so I told the 
 man that it was his own fault. I said, "I'll ride the 
 colt to-morrow, arid you will see he will not buck 
 with me." Next day we went after cattle in the scrub 
 on the river, and we got all we wanted out by early 
 in the afternoon. I rode the colt, and he carried me 
 well, and never offered to buck, and I said to the
 
 88 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 man, ' ' You see I was right ; it was your own fault. ' ' 
 Going back with the cattle I forgot my advice to the 
 man, and going up a hill, I stood up in my stirrups 
 and leant forward to ease the horse as any considerate 
 horseman would have done. There was no reciprocity 
 about Mr. Brown Colt, for in a second I was on the; 
 ground with the reins in my hand. I was just wild 
 and jumping on, rammed in the spurs, and in a few 
 seconds again measured my length on the ground. 
 The second fall, although it made me wilder, also 
 made me more careful, and the next time he could 
 not dislodge me by bucking, so he threw himself 
 backwards, and he did this four times before he 
 gave in. I arrived at Webster's rather the worse for 
 my tussle, and for several days I could see several 
 suns and felt somewhat dazed, but the man had a 
 good laugh at me and rejoiced exceedingly. 
 
 The only horsey mate I had in those days was 
 Johnny Cotton, who,, although a beautiful horseman 
 in the bush, would not tackle fences, nor yet get on 
 a buckjumper, so I had no one to "egg me on." 
 
 However, I broke in some youngsters, and when- 
 ever I heard of a "rough mount" I made for it. 
 There were no wire fences in those days, but I had 
 plenty of nice three-rail fences to "school" over, and 
 most of my horses became fencers. 
 
 I got plenty of falls no one can learn to ride 
 rough horses without getting falls. I was very lucky, 
 for, with the exception of that fall coming over the 
 range with Nugent, I never was seriously hurt in 
 those days, and never had a fracture till I got to 
 Muntham a year after this. 
 
 It was very interesting for me returning to Kerris- 
 dale and the Muddy Creek (then the flourishing 
 township of Yea) some twenty years later on. I had 
 become a "parson," and rode up from Melbourne 
 over the Plenty Ranges. I got benighted, and camped 
 near Kerrisdale, on a cold, frosty night, and went on 
 next day to Yea.
 
 89 
 
 At the time I was at Doogalook, Yea was simply 
 "bush," now I found a flourishing township with 
 good buildings, banks, and so on, and over the ground 
 where the church stood in which I conducted service 
 next day, I had run wild horses a good many times. 
 I spent Sunday evening at the Ker's Station, 
 ' ' Cheviot Hills. ' ' Afterwards the name was changed 
 to Killingworth, over the unimproved value of which 
 a memorable Land Tax appeal case was tried in Mel- 
 bourne, and decided in favour of the appellants. Kei 
 had a very large family. He was a staunch church 
 man and church-goer, and it was a sight to see his 
 family riding to church. 
 
 The wild horses were all eventually run in and 
 sold, but it was fated that I was not to be at the 
 capture. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I found it very hard to give up my brumbies, also 
 I felt sorely tempted to stand by my good friends, 
 Peter Snodgrass and Alec Hunter, and to be in at 
 the capture of the noted wild mob. But my mother's 
 wise influence prevailed, and with much regret I tore 
 myself away. 
 
 My mother and sisters had been living at Portland 
 since their arrival in Australia, and there they met 
 Edward Henty and his nephew Tom, who was then 
 manager of Muntham, and a slim, good-looking young 
 man. Tom offered to take me at Muntham to get a 
 knowledge of cattle and cattle work while helping 
 him in a general way in other words to take me on 
 as "colonial experiencer, " nowadays called Jack- 
 eroo. It was too good an offer to be refused, as I 
 was to live with Tom Henty and would be within 
 thirty miles of Hamilton, where the "Old Governor"
 
 90 
 
 was police magistrate, and where my mother and 
 sisters and eldest brother were soon to join him. I 
 parted with regret from my brumbies at Doogalook, 
 and was very sorry indeed to say good-bye to my 
 kind friends at Kerrisdale. It was ten years before 
 I again met the latter. 
 
 While camped at Kerrisdale, I was one night at 
 Broadford, and I foregathered there with a man to 
 whom my heart went out at once. He was a fine big 
 fellow, a doctor, and wore glasses, and his name was 
 Wyman. We became friends there and then, and sat 
 up till almost grey dawn talking, and no doubt we 
 had a few tumblers of ''toddy," called, in my coun- 
 try, punch. Imagine how pleased I was on arriving 
 at Muutham to find Dr. Wyman installed at Caster- 
 ton as "medico" for the district. 
 
 On my way to Muntham I spent a week at Portland 
 with my dear ones. I found one sister engaged to a 
 fellow passenger, Mons. Ponsard, already mentioned, 
 and another sister, then only sixteen, engaged to a 
 great friend of my boyhood in Kingstown, Albert 
 Sitwell. When over in New Zealand in 1894 I was 
 introduced to a very nice young fellow a Mr. Sit- 
 well. I said to him, "My favourite sister Fanny is 
 married to a Sitwell. Can she by chance be related 
 to you?" "Why," he said, "she is my favourite 
 aunt." 
 
 Some months later on one sister was married in 
 Portland, and she and her husband and my sister 
 Fanny sailed for England. I rode down from Mun- 
 tham to see the last of them, and I am not ashamed 
 to say that I blubbered like a child when it came to 
 good-bye. 
 
 Portland was then a very jolly little town, lots of 
 nice people and pretty girls, and Tom Henty and I 
 thought nothing of riding down the seventy miles to 
 a dance. We had scores of good horses. 
 
 I was greatly delighted with my new home and 
 new life at Muntham. We had a big house to live
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 91 
 
 in, very comfortable. As Edward Henty and Mrs. 
 Henty came up now and then, the house had to be 
 kept up, and we two young fellows had a couple in 
 the kitchen, and a housemaid to look after us. Then 
 there was a five-acre garden full of beautiful fruit 
 trees of every kind, with two gardeners in charge. 
 The garden was watered by never-failing springs. 
 Of two of these springs right beside each other one 
 was quite salt, the other fresh. We had several stud 
 horses, in fact four or five, and several grooms, so 
 we felt ourselves to be quite important. 
 
 The Muntham house must have been built in the 
 early forties, and was very oddly placed on the side 
 of a hill. To get to it from any direction but one, 
 you had to climb a big, steep hill, and then descend 
 to the house, and from the other direction you had 
 to come down a long hill, so steep that most people 
 when being driven preferred to get out and walk. 
 
 I have been overland from Melbourne to the Gulf 
 of Carpentaria, and over most of Victoria, New 
 South Wales, and Queensland during a term of 
 over half a century, and in all my travels I have not 
 come across a property of similar area to compare 
 with the rolling downs of the Old Muntham Estate. 
 
 This magnificent property, with Casterton on the 
 west, Sandford on the south, and Coleraine on the 
 east, is situated at the junction of the Glenelg and 
 Wannon Rivers, in the Far West of Victoria, some 
 fifty miles from the border of South Australia. 
 
 I write, of course, of the original run which, when 
 I went there in 1856 to gain Colonial experience, 
 comprised an area of 77,000 acres, and while still 
 practically unimproved, depastured no less than 
 55,000 sheep, 8,000 head of cattle, and 500 horses. 
 That is to say, this piece of country in its natural 
 unimproved state, carried equal to over a sheep and a 
 half to the acre! The cattle and horses ran loose, 
 but the sheep were shepherded. 
 
 The country is of volcanic formation, rich black
 
 92 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 and chocolate soil going down to fabulous depths 
 as disclosed by the "cutaways" which gradually 
 formed after the country was stocked. The climate 
 is almost perfect, and droughts are practically un- 
 known. Ideal country! Well may Rolf Boldrewood 
 write: "And is not the Wannon the pick of creation 
 Colac, perhaps, excepted?" 
 
 .Muntham was taken up in the latter part of 1837 
 by Edward Henty, who, with his brother Frank, of 
 Merino Downs (a beautiful property on the opposite 
 side of the Wannon to Muntham) were the pioneers 
 of the Far West of Victoria. The Henty brothers 
 brought sheep out to Tasmania from England in 1830, 
 having first tried West Australia, and they were 
 followed shortly afterwards by their father, Thomas 
 Henty (a noted breeder of sheep, cattle, and horses 
 in Sussex). In 1834 two of the brothers, Edward 
 and Frank, came over to Portland Bay in connection 
 with a whaling venture. They settled there, and got 
 over some horses, cattle and sheep. Two years after- 
 wards they were followed by another brother, Stephen 
 George Henty, who also settled in Portland Bay, and 
 who, for many years, was the leading merchant of 
 Portland a man whose word was his bond, and 
 whose beautiful home was always open to a host of 
 friends. He afterwards went to Melbourne, and 
 resided there for many years. His widow, beloved 
 and respected by all who had the privilege of know- 
 ing her, lived at Hamilton with her daughter, Mrs. 
 Stapylton Bree, up to the time of her death. Their 
 son, Richmond, was born the year Muntham and 
 Merino Downs were taken up. One daughter, Emily, 
 married my great friend Dr. T. M. Wyley, a fine 
 handsome fellow. He succeeded Dr. Wyman at 
 Casterton. He went through the Crimean War, an 
 army surgeon in the same regiment with Major 
 Pennycuick, who married a daughter of William Rut- 
 ledge, of Port Fairy. Mrs. Wyley died at Hamilton
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 93 
 
 within a year of her marriage, and poor Wyley only 
 survived her a year or two. 
 
 James Henty, another brother, came to Port Phillip 
 later on, and was successful in Melbourne in business 
 in a large way. There was another brother, John, and 
 still another brother, William, who went into politics, 
 and was for some years Chief Secretary of Tasmania. 
 I knew only the three pioneers, Edward, Frank and 
 Stephen. Rolf Boldrewood writes of the Hentys as 
 "those representative Englishmen and distinguished 
 colonists who commenced the Anglo-Saxon conquest 
 of Australia Felix. Stalwart and steadfast were 
 they, well fitted to contend with the rude forces of 
 nature and still ruder individuals, among which their 
 lot was chiefly cast in those days. But withal genial, 
 hilarious, and in their moments of relaxation prone 
 to indulge in the full swing of those animal spirits 
 which for the most part accompany a robust, bodily 
 and mental organisation." 
 
 In 1836, while still at Portland Bay, the Hentys 
 were greatly surprised by Major Mitchell, the brave 
 and capable explorer, tumbling right in on them 
 quite unexpectedly from the north. The Major was 
 equally surprised to find Portland Bay in the occu- 
 pation of whites, and at first thought they must be 
 escaped bushrangers. Even in my time in more than 
 one place I have seen the Major's track, being the 
 indent made in the soft virgin soil by the wheels 
 of his bullock dray. The Major reported that he 
 had passed through magnificent pastoral country, 
 well watered, about fifty miles to the north, and as 
 the country about Portland was not good sheep coun- 
 try, a good deal of it being sand covered with heath, 
 while the forest land was so thickly timbered as to 
 preclude the growth of grass, the brothers deter- 
 mined, like the patriarchs of old, to trek for the pro- 
 mised land, with their sheep, cattle and horses. 
 
 Having satisfied themselves of the magnificent char- 
 acter of the country described by Major Mitchell,
 
 94 
 
 Edward and Frank Henty, whose sheep, brought 
 over from Tasmania to Portland Bay, had by this 
 time considerably increased, decided to make for 
 these pastures new, and in the latter part of 1837 
 Merino Downs and Muntham wgre taken up. 
 
 In the following year Samuel Pratt Winter and 
 his brothers, Trevor and George, came over from 
 Tasmania, and took up Tahara and Murndal, all rich 
 volcanic land that cannot well be surpassed. Murn- 
 dal, as Sam Winter called his homestead, is one of 
 the most beautiful places in the ''Far West." It 
 was a most delightful house to visit when the two 
 bachelor brothers lived there, and no less delightful 
 of late years, .when Samuel Winter Cooke and Mrs. 
 Cooke so hospitably and kindly entertained their 
 many friends. 
 
 Winter told me that when the diggings broke out 
 in 1851, and labour was not to be had, he put all his 
 sheep into two flocks, and two magnificent Pyrenean 
 wolfhounds used to take the sheep out all day and 
 look after them and keep them apart, and then at 
 night these grand dogs used to sleep between the two 
 flocks and, guard them. Winter was a most delight- 
 ful man to meet, intellectual, kind, and generous. 
 He, like Acheson Ffrench, very early adopted the 
 Darwinian teaching, and consequently both were 
 looked upon with great suspicion by the orthodox ; 
 indeed, as already stated, Ffrench was designated an 
 atheist, because he professed belief in what the majo- 
 rity of educated clergymen now teach from their 
 pulpits. Good Parson Russell, whose parsonage was 
 not far from Murndal, and built on land presented 
 by Sam Winter, must have had many a discussion 
 with the latter on this and other interesting subjects. 
 They were fast friends. Dr. Russell was not only 
 clever and intellectual, but one of the best men I ever 
 knew. 
 
 Frank Henty lived at Merino Downs for many 
 years, and brought up a family of three girls, and
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 95 
 
 one boy ; the latter died young, but two of the " girls" 
 still survive. Kinder or more considerate host and 
 hostess than Mr. and Mrs. Frank were not to be met 
 with in those dear old days, when there was no cere- 
 mony, and but little conventionality, and when a 
 visitor could always be sure of a hearty welcome, and 
 the only difficulty was to get away again. 
 
 At the time the Hentys put stock on the rich 
 Wannon country (1837), there was but little settle- 
 ment elsewhere in Port Phillip, as Victoria was then 
 called. 
 
 In the December of the previous year (1836) Hep- 
 burn and party had arrived at Hobson's Bay over- 
 land from Sydney, and they found, as Hepburn says 
 in a letter to Governor Latrobe, "only a few huts in 
 the settlement; one that was occupied by Batman, 
 one by Dr. Thomson, one little wooden box was occu- 
 pied by Strachan, and stood where the Western 
 Market now stands. The Old Lamb Inn was being 
 built, but no accommodation of any sort was to be 
 had for love or money. Buckley was the first man 
 I saw." 
 
 Yet four years before this Frank Jenkins (who 
 died in 1903) was actually settled at Buekingbong, 
 on the Murrumbidgee River, near the present town 
 of Narandera, but on the opposite side of the river. 
 Frank was only twelve years old then, and a hot time 
 lie and his mates must have had with the blacks in 
 the thick country among the anabranches of the Mur- 
 rumbidgee. Frank Jenkins used to take cheeses and 
 hams and bacon from Buckingbong to Sydney in the 
 old days in a bullock dray. Just imagine starting 
 off in these early days over what was scarcely a bush 
 track some 400 miles with a load of farm produce 
 for Sydney. Plenty of grit that. 
 
 By 1838 a good many Sydney men had pushed 
 through to Port Phillip, among them as already men- 
 tioned my father-in-law, Captain Murchison, who 
 was preceded by his son-in-law, Farquhar Mackenzie.
 
 96 
 
 The history of the Muntham flock is a sad one. 
 The Hentys were most successful breeders of Merino 
 sheep in England. In fact, like Sir Samuel McCaug- 
 hey, at one time in New South Wales, they "swept 
 the hoard" at the sheep shows in England, so much 
 so, that after a while no one would show against 
 them, and their sheep had to he sent in as non- 
 competitive, and merely for exhibition. In 1830 
 the Henty brothers took a number of these sheep to 
 Tasmania, and their father, Thomas Henty, followed 
 with another importation. The flock was kept intact 
 without any mixture of other blood, and to the day 
 of his death Mr. Henty never sold a ewe. At his 
 death the whole flock was taken over to Port Phillip 
 by his sons Frank and Edward. The latter, follow- 
 ing his father's lead, never sold a ewe (at any rate 
 up to the time I left Muntham in 1862). 
 
 Muntham is too rich country for the successful 
 production of Merino sheep. The Muntham flock was 
 never classed or culled; it was full of scab, and foot- 
 rot was very prevalent. There could only be one 
 result. Moreover, the sheep had been inbred for 
 years and years, and breeders knew well how pre- 
 potent are inbred stock. An inbred flock, herd, or 
 stud requires more than careful management on 
 account of this "prepotency," for necessarily not 
 only will the good qualities be reproduced, but it 
 would also appear as if defects were even still more 
 pronounced in the progeny. 
 
 The cost of running Muntham must have been very 
 great. I'll just count it up. A sheep manager, cattle 
 manager, two sheep overseers and their families, head 
 stockman, two stockmen, twenty shepherds, twelve 
 hutkeepers, two grooms, two gardeners, a married 
 couple, housemaid, four labourers. Then the cost 
 of shearing, sheep-mustering, dipping for scab, foot- 
 rotting. I am sure that the sheep were carried on 
 at a loss. 
 
 When I was at Muntham the sheep were small and
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 97 
 
 the fleece extremely light, the wool of beautiful 
 quality, but like the wool on Mary's little lambs 
 
 It may have fetched two bob a pound, 
 But then there ivas not any. 
 
 Tt will hardly be credited when I state that during 
 the six years I was at Muntham, while not over 6000 
 sheep were sold, yet the flock did not increase in 
 numbers. There were 55,000 sheep in 1856, and there 
 were no more in 1862, and yet I am positive there 
 were not 6000 wethers sold during the six years, and 
 no ewes were ever sold. The decrease from disease 
 and old age practically balanced the increase ! 
 
 I should have mentioned that it was only in the 
 spring and early summer that there were any fat 
 sheep, and as everyone had fat sheep at that time of 
 year, fats were at their lowest, and Mr. Henty would 
 not accept the prices going. By the time prices 
 recovered his wethers had fallen off, and were not 
 marketable, and this went on year after year. 
 
 The flock deteriorated so terribly that when Joe 
 Pearson (another old mate of mine "over the sticks" 
 as true as steel and as plucky as you made them) 
 bought the sheep in 1879, he could not find one ewe 
 or one ram fit to breed from. 
 
 The results attained in Tasmania by the good 
 breeders there from similar sheep to those brought 
 over by Mr. Henty in 1830 show what might have 
 been done with this one-time high-class and valuable 
 flock. 
 
 Edward Henty imported some Cotswold ewes and 
 rams from England while I was at Muntham. They 
 did well, and were very prolific. I have often seen 
 ewes with three lambs following them. In 1856 a 
 Mr. McKenzie managed the sheep at Muntham; he 
 came from Wyuna, on the Goulburn. Tom Henty, 
 son of James Henty, of Melbourne, and nephew of 
 Edward, had charge of the cattle and horses. 
 McKenzie did not care about the dual management,
 
 98 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 and left, and was succeeded by a young Scotchman, 
 Robert George Macpherson, who had had some ex- 
 perience with Mr. Rutherford on the Murray. Mac- 
 pherson was a fine fellow, and very good-looking. 
 Tom was a bit too independent for Uncle Edward, 
 and elected to leave and go on his own, and then T 
 to my delight, in 1859, got charge of the cattle and 
 horses, and "Old Mac" and I worked together with- 
 out the semblance of a hitch till he, too, left to go 
 on his own at Fernihurst with Allfrey. He was 
 succeeded by Charles Macarthur King, son of Ad- 
 miral King. Shortly after King's advent I, too, went 
 on my own, and ' ' trekked ' ' to the far north of Queens- 
 land in 1862. Charles Macarthur King was for many 
 years in charge of Muntham, and afterwards was 
 police magistrate at Bourke. He was always a 
 favourite, and died about 1903 from blood poisoning. 
 
 Tom Henty went either to Walla Walla or Round 
 Hill, in New South Wales, and from there moved to 
 Pakenham Park, Westernport (formerly the property 
 of that find old colonist and breeder. Dr. Bathe), and 
 became a member of the Upper House in Victoria. 
 
 Fortunately for Mr. Edward Henty 's pocket and 
 the pockets of his heirs, he did not pursue with his 
 cattle the suicidal course followed with the sheep. 
 
 The cattle on Muntham in 1856 consisted of a 
 beautiful herd of well-bred Shorthorns, or Durhams, 
 as we used to term them soft, well-grown, and easily 
 fattened, and for the most part roans. The bullocks 
 were allowed to get age on them before being mar- 
 keted ; the speying knife kept the herd well up to the 
 mark, and up to the time I left there were few herds 
 in Victoria to compare with that of Muntham. But 
 even in my time deterioration must have commenced, 
 as "ballys" (Herefords) were introduced, and 
 although the first cross left little to be desired, yet 
 cattle form no exception to the rule in crossing, viz., 
 the first cross may be excellent, but to continue ends 
 for the most part in disaster, I shall never forget
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 99 
 
 the magnificent drafts of fat bullocks sent off "old 
 Muntham," generally two hundred head at a time 
 of even bullocks, the fat packed on them, beautiful 
 colours, and such well-bred 'uns. I remember one 
 mob in particular, sold to an Adelaide buyer at 10 
 a head on the yard post, as the phrase was and 
 guaranteed to average a thousand weight a nice 
 little lot to have at Homebush or Flemington in 
 1915, when prime bullocks were making 40 and over. 
 
 We sent one bullock to Melbourne ; he walked down, 
 and he went 1560 Ibs., without his inside fat, and 
 that went 130 Ibs. He fetched 40, and was, I heard, 
 as tough as old boots, and no wonder, for he was ten 
 years old. We tried many a time to get him away, 
 without success; he always charged shortly after we 
 left the yards, and would not be stopped. The fact 
 was he was too fat, and if he had not fallen off a good 
 deal we would never have got him away. He was a 
 perfect animal, and ought to have been kept for a 
 sire. I took a fine mob of Muntham bullocks to 
 Ararat when the diggings first broke out there, but 
 only got 8 per head for them. 
 
 At Muntham the cattle were always yarded for 
 branding calves and for fats, and so forth ; it would 
 have been much easier on the cattle to have cut them 
 out on camp, as was, and is, the practice in the pre- 
 sent colony, but "Teddy" was very conservative, and 
 the old groove had to be run in. At odd times, and 
 when only a few cattle were required, we used to 
 "cut them out" on the quiet, and, like Brer Fox, 
 "lie low." Jackson, the head stockman, had gradu- 
 ated in New South Wales, and he and I would have 
 loved to have broken the cattle in properly to camp, 
 and have had some good camp work for ourselves 
 and our horses. We used to bring the cattle in five 
 or six miles from the Den Hills and other parts, then 
 take them into a paddock below the homestead and 
 right past the stockyards, about a quarter of a mile 
 up a steep hill, then through another paddock, and
 
 100 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 then back again for the yards; by this time, as they 
 were headed for where they had come from, they 
 used to yard all right. But what a knocking about 
 the cattle got, which might all have been saved ! 
 Later on we erected yards on top of the hill, back of 
 the homestead, and this saved a great deal of knock- 
 ing about. 
 
 I had some close shaves myself at Muntham. A 
 bullock pinned me against the yard fence one day 
 with a horn on each side of me, and no damage done, 
 and one day an old "skiverer" of a cow charged too 
 quickly for my horse out of a mob and sent a horn 
 each side of my leg and into my horse ; one horn 
 pierced his heart, and he fell dead in a few yards. 
 Another day my stock pony Pannikin stopped an 
 old cow beautifully; she had broken, and I was try- 
 ing to get her back to the mob when she charged 
 us so sharply that I thought Pannikin must be gored. 
 But in a second he landed home on the cow with 
 both hind feet, and she was so astonished she turned 
 and joined her mob. 
 
 Through not camping the cattle and "culling out" 
 those we wanted, I did not have such good cattle 
 experience there as I ought to have had. It is lovely 
 to work a well-broken-in herd of cattle with good 
 men and good horses, and splendid to watch the work. 
 You walk your horse into the mob quietly and pick 
 your beast, and work him quietly to the edge of the 
 mob; most times, if a fat beast, he will go out quite 
 quietly if not hustled and join those already 
 "drafted," but with other classes you have often to 
 go for all you are worth, and it is beautiful to see 
 an old stock-horse at the game. George Green 
 (landra), when on the Upper Murray, had an old 
 horse, such an adept at "drafting" that he often 
 (to show what the old horse could do) would take 
 the bridle off, and the old fellow would cut out all 
 an afternoon "on his own." I have still happy 
 reminiscences of the old days when the number of
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 101 
 
 cracks of a stockwhip was the signal for a hut-keeper 
 as we were approaching to know not only that we 
 were ''handy," but the number of mouths to expect. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 I must say, to the credit of our district, that as 
 far back even as my time there was no "duffing" of 
 other people's calves, and no killing of other people's 
 cattle, as was the ordinary practice over on the 
 ' ' Sydney side, ' ' as over the border was called. There 
 the cleverest cattle manager was the man who could 
 muster without any of his neighbours knowing. It is 
 said that "Old Tyson" got to a Lower Murray station 
 one morning and found all the men away. There 
 was a new housemaid, who had no idea in which 
 direction they had gone. On being pressed as to 
 whether they had said nothing as to where they were 
 going, she said, "All I heard them say was that they 
 were going to duff Tyson's calves." Tyson was off 
 post haste. 
 
 It was said of a far-back owner of a run not one 
 hundred miles from the Colombo in New South 
 Wales that having put on a new stock-rider, he took 
 him round and showed him the cattle, drawing his 
 attention to the brands of all the station cattle. A 
 few days afterwards he told the new man to kill a 
 beast, and very improperly went down to the yard 
 after the beast was skinned. He looked at the brand, 
 and at once "opened out" on the new stockman in 
 no measured terms. When he got a chance to speak, 
 the man pointed to the brand and said, "That is one 
 of the brands you pointed out to me, sir." At this 
 the owner rode away speechless with indignation. He 
 had pointed out the brands so that the new stockman 
 might know what not to kill. With what utter con-
 
 102 AFTER MANY DATS 
 
 tempt this good man would have regarded us at 
 Muntham! Why, I actually (with Edward Henty's 
 approval) had brands made with our neighbours' 
 letters on with which to brand any old calves that 
 came in with ours at branding time ! I can hear some 
 old "Sydneysider" saying, "Oh, this is too thin!" 
 The only excuse I can give is that I was really quite 
 a youth at the time. 
 
 A good stoiy is told of two cattlemen on the Upper 
 Darling. One met the other and said, "Did you see 
 anything of a roan heifer of mine over your way?" 
 Number two looked down his nose the heifer was 
 actually in his beef cask and said slowly, "Well, I 
 did hear of a roan heifer having been seen going 
 along the Cobar-road." Number one dropped at 
 once, and felt sure he knew where his roan heifer 
 had gone. Not long afterwards he dropped on a 
 working bullock of number two, about half fat, and 
 the bullock was soon converted into beef. He again 
 met number two, who asked him if he had seen a 
 red working bullock of his. With a quizzical look, 
 number one replied, "Oh, yes, I believe he was seen 
 going along the Cobar-road with my roan heifer." 
 It was only a case of getting even, and that was 
 really what it all amounted to; it was the "way of 
 the country" in the old times, and a -tad way, and 
 one that must have exercised a sinister influence on 
 many a young "cornstalk." 
 
 At this time the Muntham stud of horses was, 
 without any doubt, one of the best in Australia, and, 
 considering its size, over 500 head, probably the pre- 
 mier stud. The blood sire in use at the time was 
 Robin Hood, by Little John (imp.), a low-sized, wiry, 
 muscular, game-looking, dark bay horse of high 
 quality, bred by Thomas Henty in Van Dieman's 
 Land, and brought over by Edward Henty. 
 "Teddy's" exaggerated idea of Robin Hood and 
 everything got by him naturally led to a good deal 
 of unkindly criticism of the Muntham stock even in
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 103 
 
 1856, but at that time I am quite sure that thirty or 
 forty mares could have been picked at Muntham 
 very hard to beat in the Southern Hemisphere. 
 
 These were mares brought over from Tasmania, 
 and sired by Peter Fin, Wanderer, Egremont, and 
 Little John. Fine, big, roomy, and clean-bred were 
 these old dames, and their fillies by Robin Hood, with 
 wisely-judged mating and under skilful management, 
 were good enough to have formed the nucleus of a 
 stud that would have been hard to beat, but, alas, 
 no culling was done. I fear many fillies returned to 
 their own sire, and the knell of the Muntham stud 
 was sounded when Edward Henty decided to use a 
 fine-looking big brown horse by Robin Hood as the 
 old horse's successor. "Inbreeding" under very 
 careful direction, and with "spotless" animals to 
 start with may succeed, but Robin Hood's successor, 
 Muntham, though big and fine-looking, lacked quality, 
 and must have had a dirty drop or two in his 
 veins. There could be only one result this beauti- 
 ful and promising stud soon went down and vanished 
 like Hans Breitman's party "into the ewigkeit." 
 
 Yet how my heart bounded when I first saw a 
 mob of the Muntham horses yarded; and what stock 
 horses we had ! More than one of our stock horses 
 went down to Melbourne, and won three-mile races 
 in good time for that era. One was Smuggler, by 
 Robin Hood a beautiful big upstanding grey, clean- 
 bred, and showing it all over, and a perfect temper; 
 another Active was a picture, a golden bay. The 
 two "Woodbines, full brothers, out of a Wanderer 
 mare, by old Robin Hood, stood 16-hands high, and 
 turned out wonderfully good performers over the 
 sticks. A sister of the Woodbines cut out seventy 
 cows the first time she was ridden; she, too, turned 
 out a good performer. 
 
 Our head stockman's (Jackson) best horse, Wild 
 Harry, would have delighted a painter. I don't
 
 104 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 think I ever know a horse with so much eharacter 
 dark brown, low set, with the head, neck, and mane 
 of a stallion, and up to 14 stone. It was grand to 
 see the old fellow steadying a mob of fresh cattle 
 coming down one of the Den Hills, and Jackson, a 
 typical stockman of the old times, grim, saturnine, 
 and silent. On such occasions his few ejaculations 
 were, to say the least of them, ''very expressive and 
 pronounced." Another fine stock-horse of Jackson's 
 was a strong bay, Jack the Fizzer; he was very 
 handy with his feet, both fore and aft. I one morn- 
 ing saw him pick off a hen very neatly. 
 
 I have never anywhere seen so many "handsome 
 well-bred horses together as we had at Muntham in 
 1856, but the stud was terribly neglected. When I 
 went there, there were dozens of so-called outlaws 
 out on the run. These were horses that had been 
 broken in, and turned out after being ridden a few 
 times by Jackson, and then not touched for years. 
 Some had not been caught for four or five years. 
 One colt, with sore eyes, was nine years old; he had 
 never been caught. We got him in for a pupil of 
 the famous Rarey to practise on, and Jackson and I 
 ran this "sore-eyed colt" and another horse, a bit of 
 an outlaw, to Casterton. The Rarey pupil tackled 
 them, and we rode the two back perfectly quiet. 
 Under the Rarey system a man who understands the 
 method, and who understands horses, can quieten and 
 tame any horse, however wild or vicious, just as 
 Rarey himself tamed the " man-eater" Cruiser, and 
 took him through London behind a dogcart. Jackson 
 and I paid 5 each to learn the method, and at first 
 when we saw how very simple it was we felt chag- 
 rined at having parted with our money so easily, but 
 I soon got my 5 back, and four times over. We had 
 a beautiful bay mare at Muntham, an inveterate 
 buckjumper. Like "Snake" in Dick Stewart's
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 105 
 
 exceptionally good verses, entitled "Buck jump ing," 
 she had 
 
 Dark lustrous eyes, with a menacing frown, 
 No woman's were ever more splendid, 
 
 More bright, or more beautiful liquid brown, 
 Or more with wickedness blended. 
 
 I christened her Lola Montez, though indeed it was 
 not fair, as poor Lola was far more frail than wicked. 
 I remember Lola acting in Melbourne in the fifties. 
 The mare was too treacherous to take out after stock, 
 for it was an absolute certainty that she would "go 
 to market" every time she was mounted. I never 
 remember her failing to "show off." She generally 
 bucked till she fell. As she bucked along you could 
 often hear her hind hoofs scraping the ground. One 
 day we had a number of friends at Muntham, on their 
 way to a dance at Eoseneath, on the Glenelg, where 
 the belle of the Glenelg lived; she later on married 
 Hastings Elms, also of the Glenelg, a gentleman in 
 every sense of the word. I could not join the gay 
 throng, as Dr. and Mrs. Perry, the first Bishop of 
 Melbourne, and his wife, were due that evening at 
 Muntham. Tom Henty would not stay to entertain 
 them, and I had no choice but to take his place. I 
 suppose to make up for my disappointment I saddled 
 up Lola, and a very creditable exhibition she gave, 
 but a mile from Muntham she bucked over ;(ae 
 usual) on the gravelly ridge, and she gave me a good 
 shaking. The "D" of the saddle on one side was 
 ground right down against the gravel, and my face 
 was well ground, too, and one eye blackened. It may 
 be realised what a nice object I was to sit at the head 
 of the table and entertain the Bishop. I remember, 
 too, that for the rest of the day after the roll over I 
 saw five suns instead of one. Another day I had 
 ridden Lola over to Hamilton, and next day started 
 out with a riding party of ladies, two of my sisters 
 being with us. Lola put her ears back, and showed
 
 106 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 little of her eyes but the white, and as I prepared 
 to mount she gradually extended her fore and hind 
 legs, and crouched till her girths were close to the 
 ground. She never moved while I threw my leg over. 
 As in "Snake's" case, "I knew very well 'twas an 
 ominous sign," and so it was; she had a good go in, 
 but kept her legs, and started off after the party. 
 About three or four miles further on nothing would 
 do me but to send Lola over a log, and on landing, 
 naturally enough she again "wired in," and this 
 time came over. We got up together, ami she made 
 at me with her forelegs, and pretty well dilapidated 
 my pants in the part on which one usually sits down, 
 and knocked me down at the same time. I held the 
 mare, who seemed quite satisfied at having knocked 
 me out, but the ladies naturally called out to know if 
 I was hurt. I shouted, "No, but I can't get up," 
 and, considering the state of my garments, how could 
 I get up? Naturally enough, they thought I was 
 seriously injured. However, I explained that I was 
 in somewhat the position of the angels in the 
 Ingoldsby Legends, who could not sit down because 
 they had not "de quoi." Eventually the ladies beat 
 a retreat, and 1 got on Lola, had another set to, and 
 returned home for repairs. 
 
 The day after Jackson and I had been taught how 
 to "Rarey," I told Tom Henty I would break in five 
 youngsters for Lola Montez; that was equal to 5, 
 and Lola became mine. I started "Rareying" her 
 next day, and in less than three hours I could leave 
 her standing in the yard without saddle or bridle, 
 and jump on her from behind, and ride her about 
 with only a halter. In less than a week she was as 
 gentle as a lamb, and turned out a splendid hack. 
 I sold her to Suetonius Officer for 20 a few months 
 after, and she turned out well. Officer told me he 
 was very nearly not buying her because I only asked 
 20 for her, as he thought her worth 30. Of course, 
 I told him her history.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 107 
 
 There was a relation of Sam Winter's at that time 
 staying at Murndal, a Mr. Bumford, a hunting man 
 from the old country, and a pupil of Rarey's. He 
 told me they had a filly at Murndal he could do 
 nothing with; she even got rid of the breaking 
 tackling, and he said he had tried to quieten her 
 three times and failed. 1 was very strong on the 
 Rarey system at that time as a means of quietening 
 any horse, and I told Bumford I was sure he had 
 not gone rightly to work. He invited me over, but 
 I could not spare time. However, one day I had been 
 to Hamilton, and I returned by Murndal. As it hap- 
 pened the mare was in the yard, and I was fairly 
 cornered. I said that, though it was not a fair trial, 
 the mare having been put through the Rarey mill 
 several times, and had come off best, still I believed 
 I could quieten her. Within two hours I put the 
 Murndal black boy on the mare, and he rode her 
 home to Muntham with me quite quiet, and back next 
 day. Bumford watched me "quietening" her, and 
 said he had done exactly the same as I had done, 
 but, of course, he had not; he must have spoken 
 angrily, or hit her, or done something he should not 
 have done. 
 
 I am certain that the Rarey method will quieten 
 any horse, no matter how vicious he may be, but at 
 the same time I would only use it for a very bad 
 horse. I do not like it; it is apt to "cow" a spirited 
 horse, and very soft ground and very soft tackling 
 are required. I like a method I have been shown of 
 late years much better, in the use of which you can- 
 not hurt a horse, and you have not to throw him. 
 
 I remember once at Brookong running in two 
 brumbies (we called them "warrigals") from about 
 the Gum Holes. Next day, just to show what could 
 be done, I caught them by myself and " Rarey ed" 
 them, and within two hours I rode one and led the 
 other round the little horse paddock. One was four 
 and the other five years old. Again, I took a mob
 
 108 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 of horses to Ballarat from Muntham once, and just 
 for amusement I bought a very pretty brown four- 
 year-old filly for 12. I "Rareyed" her, arid within an 
 hour I had her shod all round, and I rode her down 
 the street and sold her to William Leonard at a 
 small advance. He told me that she bucked after- 
 wards, but she would have been quite quiet if they 
 had merely tied up her leg and gentled her a bit. 
 
 For a young man who was instinctively fond of 
 horses and of riding colts, of schooling them over 
 fences and so on, Muntham at that time was an ideal 
 home. With a stud of 500 horses, there were two 
 youngsters in "tackling" all the year round, and 
 Jackson, the breaker, was generally good enough to 
 let me back the rowdier of the two. This was not out 
 of good nature, nor yet because he wanted to shirk it 
 himself, for it was no trouble to Jackson to back a 
 rowdy colt, but I rode then (as always) in a small 
 saddle "made in Australia," on the pattern of an 
 English hunting saddle, with a better seat, and small 
 knee-pads. This saddle fitted a horse's back, sat close 
 to it, and being narrow in the gullet, caught hold of 
 a horse's withers, and stuck like wax, did not roll, 
 and I could ride most well-bred youngsters in it with- 
 out a crupper. This obviously gave me a great ad- 
 vantage, for Jackson's breaking saddle was a real 
 brute an enormous thing weighing two stone, wide 
 gullet, and it rolled about on a colt, and would not 
 stay on an ordinary youngster without a crupper. 
 
 There is no doubt that in nine cases out of ten 
 when a colt plays up, the cause is the crupper. I had 
 one colt at Muntham Grey Momus that used 
 regularly to slip his tail out of the crupper when play- 
 ing up. 
 
 I have ridden in my time some half-dozen horses 
 that were called "outlaws" that did not buck when 
 I mounted them, simply because I did not put a 
 crupper on. In one instance at Burton Downs, in 
 North Queensland, I had been away four months, and
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 109 
 
 the day after I returned my brother said, "You may 
 as well ride Scamp to-day; he is pretty fresh." 
 Scamp was a fine big chestnut cob, and he had thrown 
 everyone who had tried him during my absence, but 
 this they did not tell me, as my brother had bet 5 
 that he would not buck with me, and he won his bet. 
 Next day when cantering along, I was surprised at 
 Scamp suddenly going to market, and very deter- 
 minedly, too, but on getting him pulled up, I found 
 the surcingle had slipped back over his loins. I was 
 troubled at the time with "Barcoo rot," and when I 
 pulled up my white moleskins were spotted with 
 blood everywhere where my legs had gripped the 
 saddle. "Barcoo rot" is, I take it, simply skin 
 scurvy. 
 
 I certainly had a great "innings" at "old Mun- 
 tham," for not only was there all this rough-riding 
 among the many outlaws and youngsters, but I 
 managed at the outset to win one or two local races 
 for Muntham horses over the sticks. After that 
 Tom Henty induced "Uncle Edward" to send up a 
 trainer to prepare some of the young Robin Hoods 
 for local racing events, and it fell to my lot to school 
 the youngsters over the sticks, and afterwards ride 
 some of them in the "lep races" in the district. 
 
 I know no easier way of getting falls than to 
 school raw young horses over stiff fences, and I have 
 had as many as seven falls in one afternoon riding 
 colts over the Muntham paddocks. 
 
 Another very simple way to pile up falls is to ride 
 youngsters soon after being backed, after horses or 
 cattle, especially over such country as the slippery, 
 steep, grassy Muntham hills. Jackson's colts were 
 kept, generally, three weeks on hand and then turned 
 out. 
 
 One of the worst outlaws on Muntham was a low- 
 set bay horse called Harkaway. He was a rough 
 customer when broken in, and when I came to Mun- 
 tham he was nine years old, and had not had a man
 
 110 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 on him for four years. He was nearly clean bred, 
 stood about 15.1, a dark bay. with a lean game head 
 and a little pig eye. He was a real Tartar; and I 
 had my eye on him for a good Avhile; finally, when 
 going to Portland one time, I caught Mr. Harkaway 
 and put him in the yard the night before. Next 
 morning I led him forty miles before breakfast, 
 saddled him up, and left him in the hotel stable while 
 I had breakfast. While replenishing, I heard a row. 
 and on going out found a man who had tried to go 
 up to Harkaway, had been lifted right out of the 
 stall by a vigorous kick, and the row was Harkaway 
 making matchwood of the stall. T mounted him in 
 the yard after breakfast, and he "went to market" 
 in proper style. I do not think he shifted 10 ft. out 
 of one spot, and he grunted and squealed like a pig. 
 After a bit the crupper staple pulled out, and in a 
 few seconds I was on the ground with the saddle, the 
 girths, and surcingle being intact. Harkaway had 
 bucked through them without bursting them. This 
 has happened to me six times in my rough-riding 
 experiences. I led Harkaway on to Portland, got a 
 strong staple put to my saddle, and took him down 
 to the beach, where we had a good set-to on the sand. 
 The staple stood all right, and "my gentleman" soon 
 had enough of it, and in a few days he was sick of 
 bucking, but he never got quiet. 
 
 With regard to horses bucking through the girths 
 without breaking them, I had been told by one rough 
 rider that on one occasion when this occurred to him 
 he had landed on the ground with the saddle between 
 his knees in fact, more than one had told me the 
 same thing. I must confess I was incredulous, until 
 it happened to myself in the Muntham horse-yard. 
 I had bought a little bay mare bred by Busby out of a 
 travelling mob from New South Wales, and though 
 I had to rope her I thought she had been ridden. I 
 blindfolded her and put my saddle and bridle on and 
 got on her, and pulled off the blindfold (my father
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 111 
 
 was looking on). In about a minute, or less, I was 
 on the ground sitting on the saddle, both feet in the 
 stirrups, and, moreover, the bridle in my hand, for 
 the saddle had pulled it off as it went over the mare 's 
 head. 
 
 To hark back to Harkaway. The fastest ride I ever 
 did was on him returning from Portland; he took 
 me the first twenty-two miles in an hour and seven- 
 teen minutes. I had tea, and rode him home in all 
 66 miles by one o'clock, and we branded seventy- 
 six calves before breakfast next morning. 
 
 The worst buckjurnper I ever tackled was a com- 
 nionbred four-year-old Muntham colt called The 
 General. Jackson broke him in, and he threw him, 
 the saddle having turned. He had a very round back 
 and low wither, and when I tackled him I had to put 
 a crupper on him; when possible I dispensed with a 
 crupper, and I hated a martingale, and never used 
 a "kid." I never but once afterwards wished so 
 much to be off a horse as when I was on The General. 
 I never was on a horse that bucked so hard. It was 
 like what I can fancy the rack would be. He was 
 as strong as a steam engine; if a motor car could 
 buck, that's about what it was like. If I had winked 
 or looked crooked I would have come off. I managed 
 to stick to the beggar till he had his buck out, but 
 neither Jackson nor I ever hankered after a ride on 
 The General. Nicholls, the storekeeper, gave him a 
 run in the "outrigger," and he went to Portland to 
 be worked there. 
 
 I renewed my acquaintance with The General some 
 time afterwards in Portland. I went down to bring 
 back a light American express waggon that Mr. 
 Henty had purchased one of the first imported. I 
 found that the only horses available were The General 
 and a beautiful bay Robin Hood colt, just broken in. 
 Mr. Henty had a good plan for breaking horses to 
 harness; he used to put them in the outrigger of a 
 strong spring cart, and he had a pole hooked on to
 
 112 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 an eye on the cross-piece to which the outrigger bar 
 was attached. The pole was strapped to the shaft, 
 and extended about a foot beyond, and there were 
 pole straps to each horse ; this kept the outrigger 
 horse from coming back on the bar. I know of no 
 better place to put a young horse, unless it is the 
 off-side in the lead in a four-in-hand. He can do no 
 damage. The General had not been worked since the 
 turn or two he had had in the outrigger at Muntham. 
 I had never driven a waggonette or buggy at that 
 time, and the trap had no brake. The harness was 
 brand new, and had no breeching. The day before I 
 was starting home, Mr. Henty's butler, who also acted 
 as coachman, helping me, I got the colts hitched to 
 the waggonette. The butler was a very fine gentle- 
 man, indeed, with curly hair, and to my proposal to 
 come for a rehearsal drive he responded gaily ; he 
 little knew what was before him ! 
 
 The moment we started (everything brand new 
 and slick, butler included) the colts cleared for their 
 lives. We got once round the paddock, and then shot 
 out of the gate. I turned them away from the town, 
 and got them steadied in some sandy country, but 
 when I got back 011 the metal, having no brake, they 
 cleared again, and we passed Mr. Henty's gate like a 
 flash, and off straight for Portland town down a hill. 
 At the foot of the hill was a bridge over a creek, 
 with steep banks, and as we neared the bridge a cart 
 with women and children in it was just coming on. 
 I yelled all I knew, and they just managed to pull to 
 one side; had they not there was nothing for it but 
 to have run the horses into the creek, which would 
 have probably killed the horses and myself and the 
 butler. To smash into the cartload of women and 
 children was out of the question. Going over the 
 bridge the trap swayed so that the curly-headed 
 butler went out, but was not much hurt. My feelings 
 going into the town with a pair of mad runaway 
 colts were not enviable, but, fortunately, a little
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 113 
 
 further on there was a lagoon from which the water 
 for the town was drawn. I ran the horses into it, 
 and soon they were swimming, while the trap was 
 on the bottom. I kept them there till all the flashiness 
 was out of them, and then took them home. Next 
 day, having put a curb bit on The General, I started 
 by myself with the colts for Muntham, and got along 
 all right for about three miles, when The General 
 (dirty-tempered brute that he was) kicked over the 
 pole and then sat down on it. I managed to get to 
 his head, and as he got up I got hold of his ear in my 
 teeth and held on till a passer-by turned up, and we 
 got him out. Fortunately, I had a set of leading 
 harness with me, and I put him in the lead, and 
 drove on about thirty miles with one colt in the pole 
 and one in the lead. Then a boy from Muntham hap- 
 pened to come along riding a young mare, and we put 
 her in the pole (she had never had a collar on), and 
 we drove the three youngsters on to Tahara (then 
 Learmonth's). A big brown Muntham colt, the 
 Baron, happened to be in the yard there a rowdy 
 beggar, but a splendid horse. I had to throw him to 
 get the winkers on, and when we put the harness on 
 he smashed through the yard. But we recovered him, 
 and having let The General go (he was about done), 
 we put the new colt in the lead and "let him went." 
 We had a grand drive home, especially down the hill 
 into Coleraine ; in fact, it was pretty well a runaway 
 all the time from Tahara to Muntham. There were 
 no gates in those days. That was my first drive in an 
 American express waggon; three colts and no brake 
 or breeching, and steep hills at the finish, and we 
 broke nothing, and knocked off over seventy miles in 
 that day. This puts me in mind of my first four-in- 
 hand drive at Muntham. I had to go to Digby for 
 something, and good old Ludlow Watton was staying 
 with me. We got a spring cart and rigged up a 
 double outrigger, and put one horse in the lead. Our 
 horses were youngsters, and none of them liked the
 
 114 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 shafts, uor did any of the four lead well either. We 
 tried them all, one after the other, both in the shafts 
 and in the lead, and a great time we had of it. Going: 
 down one hill three out of the four were down at 
 once, and finally the shaft horse kicked till he got his 
 hind legs and hindquarters into the cart, when, of 
 course, we had to get out. However, we got back to 
 Muntham all right by dark, with the package we went 
 for, and not much damage done. Ludlow and I 
 quite agreed 
 
 That we had powdered up and down a bit, 
 And had a rattling day. 
 
 About two years later I drove a lot of the "Mun- 
 tham Tigers" down to the same place on polling-day 
 behind four good horses in the fire waggon, when Mr. 
 Henty was standing for Parliament, and I was 
 greatly disgusted to find out afterwards that not one 
 "man Jack" of them had voted "true blue." 
 
 Having so many horses to break into harness, Mr. 
 Henty sent us up a regular ' ' brake, ' ' and I had great 
 times with it. I had a splendid brake horse, and 
 many a time have had three colts in with him, and 
 all by myself, up and down the steepest of the Mun- 
 tham hills, and never turned it over. It's wonderful 
 how well really savage colts will go in harness when 
 they get winkers on. Occasionally I had a team of six 
 in the big fire waggon, but, of course, only for 
 "sport," and now and then I would give a friend 
 a run in the express waggon with six horses. 
 
 During my stay at Muntham I became fast friends 
 with the Ffrench's of Monavae. Although Mr. 
 Ffrench was a much older man, we became greatly 
 attached. He was splendid company and full of Irish 
 humour. 
 
 I drove over to Monavae one day from Muntham 
 in a gig with three horses, one in front of the other. 
 I believe the team is called Random. Old Ffrench
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 115 
 
 was delighted, but with a merry twinkle in his eye, 
 lie said, "Very good, very good, my boy, but we'll 
 see wliat the old man can do." Two days afterwards 
 I was sitting in a room at my father's place, Cor- 
 reagh, when I saw come past two horses in harness, 
 evidently leaders. Then another pair, but still no 
 trap, then another pair, and behind them Ffrench in 
 his big carriage full of girls, all of them beaming with 
 delight. "That wipes your eye, Cuthbert," cried 
 out Ffrench. "Come on and have a drive with the 
 six horses." 
 
 All the young Ffrenches, boys and girls, could ride 
 almost as soon as they were born, and nearly all were 
 very good over the sticks, more particularly Molly, 
 afterwards Mrs. Connolly, and Harrie, afterwards 
 Mrs. Robt. Power. On my return from Queensland 
 in 1866 I found these two girls accomplished horse- 
 women, no fence would stop them. 
 
 One day Harrie and I were out doing a little 
 lepping. She was riding a fine fencer, but he was 
 excitable, and a hard puller. I was riding a colt, and 
 this was his first essay over fences; he shaped well. 
 I suggested to Harrie that we should change horses 
 as her horse was pulling her arms off. ' ' But, ' ' I said, 
 "mind the colt is raw, don't send him at anything 
 very big." No sooner was she in the saddle than she 
 turned the colt sharp round and sent him at a rasper. 
 He caught one hind leg in the fence. She just looked 
 back, gave him a cut of the whip, and sent him at 
 another rasper. It took me all my time on a well- 
 trained fencer to keep up to her as we rode back 
 straight to Monavae. 
 
 A good many years after this Ffrench sold the old 
 station and took his large family to live near Mel- 
 bourne. One (Jay when bathing at the St. Kilda baths 
 he unfortunately dived into shallow water and was 
 killed instantly.
 
 116 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 One of the best days I remember having was with 
 my great friend De Laney Forth. Forth was a 
 remarkable man. 1 really think he was devoid of 
 reasoning power, and acted almost entirely on im- 
 pulse. Fortunately his impulses were good. He was 
 the most chivalrous of men and generous to a degree, 
 and he had not the faintest idea of the value of money. 
 He was very good looking, and an absolutely fearless 
 rider. He did not ride in many steeplechases, and I 
 do not remember his ever winning. Forth had been a 
 trip to Melbourne and on to India with horses. His 
 father was a Colonel Forth, and had done service in 
 India. Forth had had some hunting when in Mel- 
 bourne, and when returned up country was staying 
 with Bob Learmonth at Tahara. I considered it was 
 my duty to go over, and treat him to some fun over 
 the sticks after his Melbourne experience. I rode 
 over on a very ordinary mare, but she could jump a 
 little. Forth started back with me to Muntham to 
 lunch, and when we got to the big horse paddock I 
 sent my mare at the fence, and Forth of course came 
 too, and we got over somehow. Then we had about 
 six nice little fences to get to the stable. At the 
 second one Forth cannoned me and I came down, 
 but remounted, and got to the stable first. Forth was 
 wretchedly mounted on a low withered grey pony 
 mare. 
 
 Bob Learmonth and John and two girl friends 
 called in to lunch on their way back from a visit to 
 Kadnook (Smalpage's). They were driving. After 
 lunch Forth said to me, "Unless you get as bad a 
 mount as mine I won't go jumping any more." So 
 I took him to the yard, and we picked a three-year- 
 old colt that had only just been backed (ridden 
 twice), and Forth agreed that it would be a fair
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 117 
 
 go if I rode the colt. We sailed back over the same 
 fences, and I managed to cannon Forth at one of 
 them and put him down, much to my satisfaction. 
 It was tit for tat. Then it struck me that I'd like to 
 drive to Tahara with one of the girls, so I sent the 
 colt as fast as he could go at a big two-railed fence. As 
 I expected the colt fell, and I was picked up, put in 
 the buggy with one of the girls and made much of, 
 which was just what I had aimed at. 
 
 The Pearsons John and Joe of Glenorchy, were 
 great horsemen, splendid rough riders and hard to 
 beat across country quite fearless, and up to all 
 sorts of dare devil games with horses. I have known 
 Joe Pearson, with a horse lying on him, quietly sing- 
 ing out directions to a friend riding in the same 
 race. 
 
 The Pearsons, Bob Learmonth, and I had for a 
 long time arranged to meet at Glenorchy and have a 
 really good "shivo." We were all very busy, but 
 finally we foregathered one Saturday evening at 
 Glenorchy. There was a noted outlaw running in the 
 paddock, and some unbroken colts. The Pearsons 
 had a really good "stick" horse, called Topthorne, 
 in the stable, and a maiden thoroughbred, called 
 Falcon, by King Alfred. Next morning early we 
 got in the outlaw and the colts. We tossed odd man 
 as to who should have the mount on the outlaw, and 
 John Pearson won. We each offered him a pound for 
 the mount, but he refused, and after all the outlaw 
 wouldn't buck. We then roped two of the colts, and 
 they would not "perform," so we had to fall back 
 on "lepping." The four of us had some good goes 
 with our ordinary horses. One jump was over a 
 sheep dip a sort of a double with water in between. 
 Finally Bob got on Topthorne, and I on Falcon 
 the latter had never been over a fence in his life. 
 One "lep" was a stiff gate nearly five feet high. 
 When John Pearson saw us going at this he told me 
 he lay down to have, as he put it, a comfortable view
 
 118 AFTER MANY DAY 
 
 of the fall he was sure I would get. He knew Top- 
 thorne could do it, but Falcon was quite raw. We 
 both got over without hitting the gate, and Falcon 
 was at once installed as a steeplechase horse. I put 
 him over thirty-six post and rail fences and the five- 
 foot gate before we had breakfast that morning not 
 bad for a maiden horse, and quite enough to have 
 spoilt him, so any good horseman will say. Falcon 
 went to Melbourne and turned out a good horse over 
 the sticks, and won some races. Topthorne was sold 
 to William Leonard, and in due course was entered 
 for a steeplechase at Portland, and I went down to 
 ride him. Three days before the race I went out to 
 the course to give Topthorne a gallop. After the 
 gallop the trainer, an awfully decent Irishman, 
 named Morris, said to me, ''Won't you give him a 
 lep, sir?" I said, "No, he might hurt himself, and 
 what's the good?" He said, ''You have never lepped 
 him; just give him one." So sending the horse over 
 the racecourse fence, I turned him round to come in 
 again. He went at it very fast, put both forefeet in 
 a drain on the taking-off side, and Morris said after- 
 wards that we rolled over together three times. I 
 lay on my face flattened out, Morris galloped away, 
 but returned immediately and exclaimed, "Begorra, 
 they are both kilt." I said, "I'm not kilt, Morris." 
 "The horse is," he replied. I pulled myself along 
 by the grass to where the animal lay, and put my 
 hand on him. He was already cold. Morris placed 
 me sitting up against poor Topthorne, and went off 
 for help. Bob Learmonth came out with a buggy, 
 and took me in to old Paunchy Bowden's Hotel. A 
 doctor came to see me, but though in great pain, I 
 would not see him. I applied bags of hot salt across 
 the back and "tummy," and was better next day. 
 No one seemed to think anything of my being hurt. 
 During the night the pain was severe. I got the 
 sheet in my mouth, and bit it, and kept shifting 
 about the bed. Next morning someone came to me 
 and helped me to a chair. I felt better sitting up.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 119 
 
 Two days after Bob Learmonth drove me out to 
 the races, and I was carried up into the stand, and 
 saw the steeplechase run that Topthorne must have 
 won in a canter. Eight years afterwards Sir Thomas 
 Fitzgerald examined me, and found that in that fall 
 I had split a large piece of hone off the pelvis forma- 
 tion. If it had gone up instead of down, he said, I 
 would have been dead iii five minutes (my readers 
 would then have been spared these yarns!), and had 
 I been his patient he would have kept me on my 
 back for two months. 
 
 About a week after this Bob Learmonth drove me 
 to Tahara, 60 miles, in great heat. Next morning all 
 hands went out to a big bush fire on the boundary. 
 In the afternoon the smoke got thick at the home- 
 stead, and I felt very uneasy. Every man was away, 
 and only three ladies and two girls available to fight 
 the fire if it reached us. I was of no use. Just then 
 a surveyor, who was at work some miles away, gal- 
 loped up, his horse blowing, and reeking with sweat. 
 He threw himself off and said he had ridden through 
 a heavy fire. He had a drink, and I asked him if the 
 fire had crossed a certain road, for if not I thought 
 the homestead might be saved. He was too dazed 
 and frightened to be able to tell me. I asked him to 
 go back and see. He said, "I wouldn't go back for a 
 hundred pounds." I said, "You cowardly brute, you 
 deserve to be burnt," but he wouldn't move. I got 
 him to lift me on his horse, and it was simply agony. 
 I rode off, and found that the fire had not crossed the 
 road. By this time the women folk had discarded 
 all superfluous clothing, and were ready with bags 
 and boughs. I set a fire going along the road to meet 
 the oncoming flames. The girls all worked like Tro- 
 jans, and we saved the homestead. I couldn't find 
 names opprobrious enough with which to upbraid the 
 big cowardy surveyor. 
 
 That fire crossed the Waunoii, swept over" Mun- 
 tham, and extended over an area of a hundred miles
 
 120 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 in length by about twenty in width, before it was 
 put out at the Black Swamp. Thousands of sheep 
 were burnt on Owen O'Reilly's station adjoining 
 Muntham, and a shepherd, who foolishly climbed up 
 a tree, was burnt to a cinder. 
 
 Parson Russell called at the same station one day 
 for lunch. As he entered the house he heard the 
 owner call out to one of the men, ' ' Here 's the parson. 
 Mike, go and kill a sheep." This was what I heard 
 a bush lady friend call "baa-ing mutton" it left 
 off baa-ing only as it entered the frying pan. 
 
 I fear some of my readers will think I am ' ' romanc- 
 ing ' ' when I state that I have had over seven hundred 
 falls with horses. I kept tally of five hundred in 
 five years, and out of the five hundred I was only 
 thrown six times without the saddle going too, and in 
 most cases I had a horse on top of me, for I never 
 could learn the knack of getting clear of a falling 
 horse. When putting a raw colt at a fence I have 
 even taken my feet out of the stirrups, and tried to 
 sit loose; but it was no use. I had to grip the saddle, 
 and even then nearly always I got under my mount 
 when it fell. One afternoon I was schooling a chest- 
 nut colt called Red Rover over the fences round the 
 hay yard and stables at Muiitham, and he gave me 
 six. At last Tom Henty got in front of me with a 
 pole and declared that if I didn't desist he would 
 knock the horse down. 
 
 After a while I really came quite to enjoy "a good 
 slogging fall over timber." I liked the crash, and 
 the roll over, and the excitement. Gordon has it to a 
 nicety (he had "been there" many a time) when he 
 wrote 
 
 In the jar of the panel rebounding, 
 In the crash of the splintering u'ood, 
 
 In the cars to tlic earth shock resounding, 
 Jn the eyes flashing fire and blood, 
 
 In the quarters above you revolving, 
 In the sods underneath heaving high.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 121 
 
 I am sure Gordon and I had this " 'twixt the cup 
 and the lip" experience in common. I always found, 
 if much annoyed or put out, that the very best "cor- 
 rective," was to take a lively youngster, and rattle 
 him over some stiff fences. After a fall or two I used 
 to return with all the "soreness of mind gone," and 
 probably removed or replaced by a little "soreness 
 of body. ' ' At that time every promising youngster 
 that I backed had to go over "post and rails." If 
 he "lepped" them, well and good; if not, he had to 
 fall over them, but he had to get over somehow. I 
 think I must have been a little reckless in those days 
 for I offered to bet 10 I would jump a horse over 
 the rail of the bridge at Casterton. There was a fall 
 of quite 20 ft. into the river, and there was a good 
 deal of dead timber in the river. This was a standing 
 bet no one took me up. On four occasions when 
 horses baulked determinedly I have taken off my coat 
 and tied it by the sleeves over the animal's head, and 
 on each occasion I got over, once without a fall, and 
 without breaking the fence. I do not know how it 
 was done, but it occurred sure enough. I was riding 
 at the time a three-year-old bay Muntham colt by 
 Woodranger, and I can see the fence this minute, and 
 remember how surprised I was to find myself over 
 without a fall. The last time I tried the experiment 
 was down at Botany, near Sydney. I sent a fine old 
 horse that we were taking up to North Queensland 
 in 1862 at a little fence close to the hotel, and he 
 baulked repeatedly. But with my coat over his head 
 we got over, being down hill, we rolled over together 
 a few times, and a cab had to be got to take me back 
 to the Royal, in Sydney. Two Englishmen who were 
 at the Botany Hotel chartered another cab, and fol- 
 lowed us to the Royal to find out who I was. I think 
 they expected my cab to go on to Gladesville lunatic 
 asylum. 
 
 The idea of putting a horse at a fence blindfolded 
 is not original; Jack Hunter negotiated a jump on
 
 122 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 the old Flemington course in that fashion in the early 
 days of Port Phillip, and so did Mullally later on, 
 but both were water jumps. 
 
 Considering the number of falls I have had, and 
 that, as mentioned, in most eases I had a horse on 
 top of me, I have come off wonderfully well, as I have 
 only sustained some eighteen fractures and four or 
 five dislocations all told. 
 
 In 1858 I took four horses from Muntham to the 
 Hamilton show. The then showground is now all 
 built over. The only conveyance I could muster was 
 a gig borrowed for the occasion from our popular 
 sporting local doctor, my friend, "Wyman, generally 
 known as "Gig-lamps," who went home to London 
 about I860 and worked up a good practice there. 
 He died lately at a good old age, beloved and 
 respected. We put an outrigger to the gig and im- 
 provised a pole, and put two big bay thoroughbreds 
 on the wheel, and two lighter black colts in the lead, 
 with long traces. In the morning I started my team 
 up for the showyard, but the off-wheeler went dead 
 lame. One of the stockmen had ridden in a fine bay 
 colt; he had never been in harness, but there was 
 no time to lose. We discarded the lame horse and 
 put the colt in. He went along as if he had been in 
 for months, and I got first prize for best pair of car- 
 riage horses with him and his mate, and second prize 
 with the black leaders. For these two colts Mr. 
 Henty refused 100 shortly after. We started for 
 home just about sundown (thirty miles to go), and 
 I well remember "Old Wyman" hailing me when it 
 got dark and quietly handing over his own trap to 
 a friend, preferring to risk the drive with me to 
 driving himself in the dark; he was short-sighted. 
 We did the thirty miles in three hours, and no bones 
 broken. At that time buggies were an unknown 
 quantity with us, but the folloAving year Billy Willis, 
 of Swanston and Willis, on the Glenelg (a white 
 if ever one lived), asked me to drive him up to
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 123 
 
 the showground in a brand new buggy, the first I 
 had ever seen. Some of my friends had been telling 
 me wonderful stories of what could be done with 
 these new American traps. "You can drive over a 
 two foot log or a brush fence," so they said, "quite 
 comfortably." As Willis and I got near the show- 
 ground I noticed that the two bottom rails of the 
 sliprail (things were rough and ready in those days) 
 were up, and I said to Willis, quite innocently, "I 
 suppose a buggy could go over those rails?" Un- 
 suspectingly he replied, "Oh, yes," and before he 
 could think much about it we were over, much to 
 Willis' indignation. No harm was done beyond an 
 explosion of wrath from "Billy." No doubt with 
 good horses and care a very formidable obstacle can 
 be quite safely negotiated in an "Abbott" buggy 
 for years everyone who owned a buggy said it was an 
 Abbott. 
 
 I have gone over many good big brush fences in a 
 buggy. Godfrey Mackinnon, of North Goonambil, 
 was over to see me one time at Brookong, and I got 
 him out with me to pass a brush fence for a con- 
 tractor. As soon as I saw the fence I saw it was not 
 up to contract. So I just ran the buggy over 
 it and back, and then told the contractor I would 
 not pass the fence, and that I was sure no jury in 
 Australia would give the contractor a verdict after 
 I proved to them that I had driven my buggy over 
 it. Godfrey said if he were on the jury he'd give 
 it against me. 
 
 I have got the credit of driving over wire fences, 
 but I never, with a very few exceptions, drove over 
 any without tying the wires down as far as they 
 would go. One exception was on Yanko Station. I 
 was driving four young horses in a little tray buggy 
 and was by myself. Just after going through the 
 boundary between Yanko and Bundure I changed the 
 horses. I put the leaders in the wheel and vice versa. 
 In hitching up I inadvertently put one of the leader's
 
 124 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 reins under a trace, and when I started off the leaders 
 made off, and I couldn't get a pull at them. Just 
 where I was the timber had been cut down and the 
 place was all stumps. I ran the horses round and 
 round among the stumps until my wrists gave in, so 
 then I headed them back for a sandhill on the boun- 
 dary. By this time the horses were running away 
 for all they were worth. The sandhill slacked them 
 a little, but only a little. A six-wire boundary fence 
 ran over the top of the hill. The horses charged it, 
 and on going over we pulled out two posts and 
 flattened two panels of the fence. This stopped the 
 colts, and I turned round and drove them 'back 
 through the broken panels quite right, and never 
 broke a strap and had only t stop and get the rein 
 right. I wrote to Weir, manager of the Yanco. and 
 also to Sutherland, manager of Buudure, apologising 
 for what I had done, and explaining. But Suther- 
 land was very wroth and would have it I did it on 
 purpose. Give a dog a bad name ! Sutherland 
 reminds me of a good story, and I can vouch for its 
 being quite true. An old neighbour of his had an 
 arbitration case on, and he wrote to Sutherland and 
 asked him to act as "vampire" for him. The same 
 old squatter (a right good old sort he was) was sitting 
 over the fire one Sunday morning at Widgiewa, talk- 
 ing to Joe Weir and myself, and he said, "Last Sun- 
 day my boy was taken real bad. You see," he said, 
 "he had eaten a lot of grapes and these grapes, you 
 see, they fomented, and I thought he'd die." But 
 the best story of all happened at another station 
 where a very swell young English girl was on a visit. 
 This old neighbour came to stay the night, and the 
 lady of the house said to her, "You must not mind 
 if this old gentleman says some rather funny things." 
 "Oh, of course not," said the visitor. Dinner went, 
 off all right beyond the old neighbour saying that tur- 
 cumtile (turpentine), was a grand thing for sprains. 
 After dinner they were all seated around the fire.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 125 
 
 The young lady had a nasty cough in fact she died 
 of consumption a little later on. She disliked very 
 much any remarks being made about her cough. The 
 old neighbour said, ' ' You have a nasty cough, Mem. ' ' 
 "Yes," she said, "I have." Sitting back in his chair 
 and tapping himself on his very pronounced and 
 rotund "corporation," he said, "Did you ever try 
 a porous plaster on your stummick, Mem?" "Well, 
 no," she said, without turning a hair. "I never 
 did." "They are first rate," he said, still tapping 
 his corporation. "I have one on now." They all 
 kept their faces. 
 
 The best bit of work I remember doing "over the 
 sticks" in a trap was one morning returning from 
 my father's place, Correagh, near Hamilton, and 
 driving Old Mac, sheep manager at Muntham, in a 
 borrowed gig and a tandem. We came to a four-rail 
 slip-rails across the road, and I sent them at it fast, 
 The leader jumped and broke the top rail, and 
 the shafter broke the second rail, and the gig 
 bumped over the others all right. As we approached 
 the big hill going down into Coleraine I pulled the 
 horses up into a walk. "What devil's game are you 
 up to now?" said Old Mac. "Oh," I said, "I am 
 only giving them a blow to go down the hill." And 
 down the hill we went at a swinging gallop Old Mac 
 very wroth. A little whiskey and new milk at 
 Charley Payne's served to mollify him. 
 
 I had a nasty fall one morning before breakfast 
 in one of the wheat paddocks of a man named Waines. 
 I was riding a big grey horse that I had got from 
 Mackersly on the Wannon, intending to run him for 
 the Maiden Steeplechase at Coleraine later on. He 
 had been jumping fairly well with me at home, and 
 I had had him over several fences that morning, 
 but in putting him over one of Waines' fences lie 
 turned a complete somersault. I can see him now in 
 the air over me on his back. Then for a little I felt 
 obliterated as he crashed down. But he rolled off
 
 126 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 me, and got up, and I found I had only broken one 
 collar-bone and injured a knee. The worst of it was 
 that I did not know where there was a sliprail. I 
 particularly did not want it known how 1 had got 
 the fall, so I just had to send him over another fence 
 to get out. We got over all right, and I cantered 
 home the eight miles to Muntham ; no one was about, 
 as all were at breakfast. I put up the grey and 
 caught a mare that stumbled a bit, rode her some 
 distance back along the road, rubbed some dirt on 
 her knees, and returned without anyone having 
 noticed me. No one except Dr. Wyman (who hap- 
 pened to be at Muntham, knew how I got my fall. 
 I found Wyraan still in bed (he was hard to wake in 
 the morning), and as we were halves iii the running 
 of the' grey horse, I told him what had happened, 
 binding him over to secrecy. 
 
 The fact was I had had so many smashes ' ' lepping ' ' 
 and in connection with schooling horses and steeple- 
 chasers that I did not want it known how 1 had got 
 hurt. 
 
 This all by the way. Waines reminded me of it, 
 as he does also of another little incident. 
 
 A traveller from Tasmania was staying with us, 
 and "old Mac" had business in Casterton, so I drove 
 Mac and our Tasmaniau visitor over to Casterton 
 in the express waggon, with a pair of lately-broken-in 
 bay ponies one by a B Y (Busby) mare a well- 
 bred one, too, of whom more hereafter. There was 
 and probably is, a very steep hill going to Casterton, 
 down which ran a short cut for horsemen. No one 
 had ever tried to drive up or down it. I winked at 
 Mac as we got to the top of the hill, and said to our 
 friend, "This is rather a steep hill, but 1 do not sup- 
 pose you mind?" Mac thought I intended just to 
 drive to the top and give our friend a scare, but 
 he ought to have known better, for before Mac could 
 say anything I drew the whip across the ponies, and 
 away they went down the hill. Mac looked at me as
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 127 
 
 if he could eat me, and held on for his life as down 
 we went. At one stage of the descent we could see 
 nothing in front of us but the splashboard the 
 ponies were out of sight under the trap just as when 
 a horse is bucking you often see nothing in front 
 of you but the pommell of the saddle. 
 
 We got down quite safely, and the best of it all 
 was that our Tasmanian visitor never even remarked 
 that it was a precipitous place, and evidently did 
 not realise that he had performed quite a feat. In 
 the same express waggon, with a four-in-hand, we 
 got racing another trap, and when half way down 
 the hill (this time, however, the ordinary road), I 
 said to my passengers, "Look out, you fellows, our 
 pole is broken and not much holding it together, but 
 the faster we go down the hill the better for us." 
 And so it proved. Dear old Tom Clibborn was one 
 of the party and De Lancy Forth another. 
 
 I mentioned that one of the ponies I drove down 
 the precipitous hill at Casterton was a B Y (Busby) 
 mare. I gave 6 for her out of a mob of horses from 
 New South Wales. She showed lots of breeding, and 
 quite likely had some of the old Gratis blood in her. 
 I wonder has Mr. Alex. Busby's "Alured" any 
 Gratis blood in him ? 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The grandest time I ever remember having in all 
 my life was a trip from Muntham with Old Wyman 
 to Penola Picnic Races. This was an annual affair. 
 All the country round for a hundred miles and more 
 used to come into Penola (pronounced Panoola) for 
 this meeting. The townspeople would give up their 
 cottages for the nonce where they went to I don't 
 know. Old Paunchy Bowden, that best of hosts, used 
 to open wide his hostelry and make up shake-downs
 
 12S AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 by the score. There were always two days regular 
 racing and an off-day, making three of it. Also two 
 race balls, and on the third night a "tradesman's 
 ball." The squatter folk in the district were a splen- 
 did lot among them Seymour, of Killanoola, an old 
 Irish gentleman of the best type, with a very pretty 
 daughter, and several sons who raced a bit. Pop 
 Seymour, of Pop-goes-the-weasel fame, was a relation 
 of his. Then there were the Whittakers, from Har- 
 row old Mr. Whittaker another fine old gentleman. 
 It was his daughter " Pinkie," afterwards Mrs. John 
 Smith, who behaved so pluckily when a bushranger 
 had her father and brother stuck up, and covered with 
 his revolver. "Pinkie" saw what was up. and getting 
 a loaded gun, she walked into the room with the gun 
 up and at full cock, and told the bushranger to put 
 up his hands. This order he promptly obeyed, where- 
 upon the son tied him up and sent for the police. 
 
 The John Smiths were among the visitors on this 
 occasion, and so was dear old Dugald, John Smith's 
 brother. Then there was old Watson, of Kilbride 
 one of the most absent-minded of men. He had 
 always been accustomed to take his bridle in his hand 
 and go down the paddock to catch his horse after 
 breakfast. One morning they ran out of sugar, and 
 Watson started with the sugar basin in his hand to 
 get more sugar. Soon after he was seen after his 
 horse with the sugar basin in his hand thinking it 
 was a bridle. 
 
 There was also Harry 'Jones, of Binnum, and his 
 family. Harry Jones was the swell squatter of the 
 district. You must not go to Binnum without your 
 dress clothes. One of his daughters married Ted 
 Brewer, and three of his grandsons are at the front 
 to-day. Jack Brewer, too, was there with his grand 
 lepper Bonda, for the steeplechase. Also the Hynes, 
 afterwards of Merrigal, in New South Wales. Good 
 old Bill Wells was to the fore, and my great friend 
 De Lancy Forth, also Lindsay Gordon and Sandy
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 129 
 
 Cameron over six feet high with a falsetto voice and 
 Highland expressions. Sandy was coming along on 
 the coach between the Wannon and Coleraine in very 
 wet weather, and the horses knocked up. Just then a 
 chap in an express waggon and a good pair of horses 
 approached. Sandy was equal to the occasion and 
 hailed the man: "Look here, my man," said Sandy, 
 "do you know that a Jy. P. can claim horses from 
 anyone for her Majesty's mail, when stuck? I'll 
 trouble you for your horses to take us into Coleraine. 
 You can have them back then." The man at once 
 consented, and said Sandy, "I wasn't a Jy. P. at all 
 at all." There were lots of Highlanders about 
 Penola district, and they were thick at this meeting. 
 One of them, a very powerful man, got very full, and 
 it took about eight policemen to take him ; indeed but 
 for Sandy Cameron the eight could not have done it. 
 
 I had taken old Woodbine up for the steeplechase, 
 but he went lame, and had to be withdrawn, and Jack 
 Brewer had a walk over with Bonda. 
 
 The second day there was a maiden steeplechase 
 one-mile heats. The fences were the highest I have 
 ever ridden over. They were composed of about 
 three feet of logs and then brushed up to about six 
 feet high. They looked very formidable, but were 
 not stiff. Forth had two horses and put me on one. 
 Jemmy Harcoan had a horse, and there were some 
 five others. I had a bet that I'd be first over the 
 first fence on Forth 's horse, and so I was. At the 
 second fence my horse crouched as if to jump and 
 turned sharp round. I swung out of the saddle, one 
 foot touched the ground, and I swung into the saddle 
 again. At the last fence Forth was on my left, and 
 Harcoan on the right, and my horse swerved again 
 and ran Harcoan off (quite unintentionally), and 
 Forth won. Harcoan thought I had run him off 
 intentionally to let Forth win. As it was just what 
 he would have done himself, he rather applauded me 
 for it, and wouldn't believe I had not done it pur-
 
 130 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 posely. Next heat Forth got me to ride the horse 
 he had won the first heat with, and T won it all 
 right. 
 
 In spite of the great heat (115 in the shade), we 
 all went to the ball both nights and danced till day- 
 light. I was very epris with the belle of the meeting, 
 and of course had a great time. We had scratch 
 races on the third day still hot. That evening 
 Forth and I decided not to go, and about nine o'clock 
 I went to bed. An hour afterwards Forth roused 
 me up. "Get up and get dressed; this is the best 
 dance of the lot." So up I got and danced most 
 of the night with the cook from Bowden's a very 
 pretty girl and good dancer. It was the most decor- 
 ous dance I ever attended none of your kitchen 
 lancers there, nothing of that sort would have been 
 tolerated. There was an M.C., and he told us when 
 to swing partners, and so on. There were no inter- 
 vals between dances. As soon as one dance was over 
 the next commenced, so it was pretty strenuous 
 going. We had a great time. 
 
 Lots of nice people, not at all conventional, no 
 cliques or sets, all pulling together, and all bent on 
 being happy and making others happy. It was a 
 time to remember all one's life. After the races, 
 by invitation, a number of us, including Wyman and 
 myself, went to Killanoola, where we spent three days 
 picnicking and dancing. We took the band with us. 
 More hospitable people than Mr. and Mrs. Seymour 
 could not be found out of Ireland, or in Australia, 
 and as I have said, Miss Seymour was the belle of the 
 district. Wyman and I made several starts to get 
 away. At last we determined we'd leave in the early 
 morning before anyone was up. Thus we managed 
 to get away. I rode home to Muntham, eighty miles, 
 in the day, the doctor to Casterton, not so far. I 
 shall never forget that good time, and all the sweet, 
 kind, cordial, good friends we made at Penola. I 
 don't know if any single one of those dear people is
 
 AFTEfe MANY DAYS l3l 
 
 now alive, unless it be one of the younger Seymours, 
 but I do love to look back on that happy week at 
 Penola. 
 
 I started away from Muntham one winter's morn- 
 ing early on young "Woodbine. The crabholes had 
 ice on them. When I got to the Coleraine Creek it 
 was a banker, and I had to swim it and got wet up 
 to my armpits. The Wannon was crossable at 
 Arden's, at Hilgay. I was after some of our young 
 horses that had strayed away, and found them in 
 the afternoon. They were very flash, and I had a 
 good thirty miles ' gallop before I got them home, hav- 
 ing to swim the creek again. It was nearly dark when 
 I got home. I had not had a bite all day, and was 
 sopping wet all the time, but I do not remember being 
 any the worse for it, especially after a hot bath and 
 a stiff tumbler of hot rum punch probably two. 
 
 I once rode that horse, Young Woodbine, after- 
 wards Robinson Crusoe, for three whole months after 
 cattle. He had an odd day off now and then, but I 
 used him as my stock horse for three months, and 
 he was not tired. 
 
 We had a bullock driver on Muntham called "Jack 
 the Pointer," an old hand who came over from Van 
 Dieman's Land with Mr. Henty. He had a stiff 
 finger, hence his soubriquet. I have seen Jack take 
 his team and a load of posts over the Wannon in 
 flood, the bullocks all swimming and the waggon on 
 the bottom of the river, while Jack stood up to his 
 middle in water on top of the load, "swearing at 
 large." This was just in the day's work for Jack. 
 One day in Portland, starting off for Muntham with 
 a heavy load, Jack being very full, he stumbled and 
 fell, the loaded waggon passed right over his chest. 
 He got up, shook himself, and went right on. This 
 is a fact, tall yarn as it may appear to be. 
 
 T put in about the hardest bit of work of my life 
 in two days while at Muntham. Tom Henty and 
 I had an invitation to a dance at Dr. Stevenson's at
 
 132 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Hamilton, and our best girls were to be there. We 
 had a lot of milking heifers to start for Portland 
 a full day's work and next day had to start speying 
 600 cows, so Tom said we could not go. I lay low 
 and said nothing, but I made up my mind to be at 
 the dance. I cut out cows all the one day on old 
 Pannikin, and got back to the home station in time 
 to run up a fresh horse and have dinner. After dark 
 I started off for Hamilton, swam the creek at Cole- 
 raine, got over the Wannon all right very high, but 
 not a swim danced till past three o'clock, and 
 started home, swimming the creek again, and getting 
 back in time to go up to the stockyard, roped cows 
 in the muddy yards (speying in bails had not been 
 thought of in those days) till dark that day, and you 
 may be sure I slept the sleep of the righteous that 
 night. I was just twenty-one. It was two days and 
 a night's heavy work. Tom Henty was annoyed at 
 my going, as he never dreamt I would be back in 
 time, and he was depending on me to rope the cows. 
 
 He and I did a sharp ride from Muntham to Port- 
 land one forenoon. He was riding a very fine Robin 
 Hood horse called "Crow," and I a carriage horse 
 of Stephen Henty 's that had been spelling at Mun- 
 tham for twelve months. We made the Smoky 
 River, forty miles, for breakfast, and Portland, an- 
 other twenty-six miles, before twelve o'clock. My 
 carriage horse was shying across the street when we 
 got into Portland. 
 
 I was only 9 st. 8 Ib. in those days. 
 
 We all had a great time at "Kadnook," the home 
 of the Smalpages, up Harrow way, on the occasion 
 of their son's first birthday. A large party was there, 
 and we stayed five days, and an "illigant" time it 
 was. Our host and hostess the latter a daughter of 
 Stephen Henty were all that could be desired, and 
 we, the guests, were all fast friends. 
 
 I drove my sister up in the Muntham brake with 
 four young horses. There were any number of brush
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 133 
 
 fences and we never opened a gate. My sister, who 
 had ridden many a buckjumper, afterwards said that 
 she would have preferred a mount on the worst of 
 them to that drive. 
 
 Tom Clibborn was one of the party at Kadnook. 
 One of my parts of the performance was riding an 
 unbroken colt. We roped, blindfolded, and saddled 
 him, and I got on. He gave a very good exhibition, 
 for he bucked and played up properly. One evening 
 we nearly had trouble. Smalpage and I pretended 
 we were fighting a duel, and we were put up at twelve 
 paces, pistols in hand. Mrs. Smalpage stopped us, 
 and Smalpage discharged his pistol at a flower pot 
 and smashed it in two. By some misadventure, it 
 had been loaded and capped, and but for Mrs. Smal- 
 page 's intervention I'd have been shot. Smalpage 
 had been in the navy and was a most versatile and 
 fascinating man, had a lovely soft fetching voice 
 in conversation, sang beautifully, was a good boxer 
 and fencer, and smart at single sticks, and very fond 
 of a game of loo more particularly if the stakes were 
 high. His son, whose birthday we had been cele- 
 brating, a fine young fellow, was drowned in the surf 
 at Manly trying to save a woman. 
 
 On the way to Kadnook we had to pass Campbell 
 and Elms' place on the Glenelg. Elms afterwards 
 married Jessie Beveridge, the belle of the Glenelg. 
 One time they experienced a terrific tornado or 
 cyclone at their station, and two men were carried 
 up in the air, one coming down dead. There was an 
 inquest. The survivor swore that he was carried up 
 over the tops of the trees. Of a hut and its contents 
 nothing was left but the iron handle of a big chest, 
 and I saw things out of the hut, in trees, over a mile 
 from the place. Melbourne Punch made fun of the 
 occurrence, and said that the man who was carried 
 up at Campbell's station had come down at Ballarat. 
 They had a big stockman at Campbell's station. He 
 could knock a horse down with his fist, and was a
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 wonder in a cattle yard at the old style of drafting 
 with a stick. The wonder was he was never killed. 
 
 Fencing had begun in those days, but no wire. Most 
 of the fences were brush, a few chock and log. The 
 brush fences were very dangerous helps to the spread 
 of bush fires, but they made pretty schooling for 
 colts. 
 
 There was a little well-bred mare running for 
 several years, sometimes on Muntham, sometimes on 
 George Carmichael's and other neighbouring runs, 
 and no one could run her in. Over and over again 
 well-known horsemen mounted on their best horses 
 had tackled the wild mare. She generally ran with 
 some young horses, but after going a mile or two she 
 would single out. She was very fast, and could stay 
 all day, and no one had ever been able to, as the 
 old phrase goes, "blow wind in her tail." I had had 
 only one "go" after her, and I may say "after" her 
 for that is exactly what it was. At last it was deter- 
 mined that the "Wild Mare" must be yarded. 
 Almost all the best horsemen in the district, several of 
 them mounted on race horses among them such a 
 good stayer as "Bonnie Dundee" turned out to cir- 
 cumvent the little mare. T was unfortunately away 
 with cattle, but I do not think I would have been any 
 nearer at the finish than the others, unless indeed I 
 had been on Young Woodbine (later Robinson 
 Crusoe), and at that date we had not discovered 
 what a wonderful stayer he was. It was intended 
 that the Wild Mare should be yarded in the Casterton 
 pound, but some ten minutes before any of the horse- 
 men after their long gallop appeared at the yard the 
 little mare came to the Glenelg, swam it and trotted 
 into the yard of her own free will, as much as to 
 say, "I suppose you beasts mean to run me down 
 some day, you may even take the rifle to me, so here 
 1 am, and no thanks to all you fellows." She was 
 duly advertised, and her owner, Billy Bell, of the 
 Portland Heath, came up for her. She had been
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 135 
 
 broken in, and Billy, a splendid horseman, saddled 
 and mounted her, and she gave a fine exhibition of 
 buckjumping. Billy rode her away and home. Some 
 six months after she got away from him and came 
 straight back no fences then. Billy came after her, 
 and he and I ran her in without any trouble. I bought 
 her from him for 30, and christened her "Shirley." 
 She was a beautiful mare, standing about 14.2, a 
 golden bay, and clean bred, as gentle as a lamb and 
 beautifully quiet to ride, except that all of a sudden 
 without any warning she seemed to go mad, would 
 bolt, then suddenly pull up and buck most furiously. 
 You could see nothing in front of you but the pom- 
 mel of the saddle. She had a good mouth usually, 
 but when she "went mad" her mouth was like iron. 
 She bucked through the girths with me one day just 
 outside the stable at Muntham, and once right up 
 to a brick wall, so that the pommel of the saddle 
 almost touched the wall. I put her in a gig, and 
 she started off beautifully. I had, however, taken 
 the precaution of putting a kicking strap on. She 
 went for almost a mile like a lamb, and I had just 
 remarked to Old Mae, who was riding alongside, 
 "Doesn't the Wild Mare go beautifully?" when she 
 devil entered into her, and off she went bolting and 
 bucking. I feared it was all up with old Wyman's 
 gig, but as we neared a big gum tree I caught one 
 rein in both hands and pulled her right on to the 
 tree. She struck it with her head and went down. 
 I went out on my head, but was up as soon as the 
 mare, and got her ear in my teeth and held her till 
 Mac came up. He undid every buckle he could see, 
 and she jumped out free of the gig, and I took her 
 home. She had a foal after this, with a good deal 
 of the carthorse in him. All the same he turned out 
 a grand hack and a good fencer. I called him "The 
 Professor," and my father rode him for years, and 
 my sister hunted him at times, I sold Shirley to a
 
 136 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Ballarat man, and the last T heard of her was that 
 she was going well in a buggy. 
 
 While I was at Muntham the sale of land by the 
 Government was initiated. This caused great con- 
 sternation among the squatters. They had no wish 
 to buy, and they had no wish to lose their land, nor 
 did they in the least want to see what had to come, 
 namely, small settlers. Had they had the very least 
 foresight or public spirit they should have si>>n that 
 settlement had to come, and that the occupation of 
 even half the land would not only be a public benefit, 
 but that the other half of it could be secured by them- 
 selves, and would in a short time more than double 
 in value. At that time no small man could take up 
 or acquire land, and it was all in the squatter's pos- 
 session. The only way to get small men on it was to 
 sell by auction. The land was put up at twenty 
 shillings an acre, and the squatters were not debarred 
 from buying as much as they could pay for. 
 
 When the first land was put up at Muntham several 
 "land sharks" appeared on the scene. They simply 
 wanted to be paid not to bid. I interviewed one of 
 these sharks, who called himself a land agent. I 
 ascertained later on that he had 8000 cash banked 
 at Hamilton. He said if Mr. Henty would pay him 
 1/3 an acre he would try and get him the land at 
 upset price. It actually meant that he wanted to 
 be paid 1/3 an acre not to bid. Others said they 
 were acting for men who wanted land, but I could 
 see they were prepared to throw over their clients if 
 we made if worth their while. 
 
 There were some (at that time not many) bona- 
 fidc buyers. They wanted the land possibly in some 
 instances to re-sell to the squatters. Any way they 
 wanted it. I got behind the scenes a good deal, and 
 T saw that there were scarcely any bona-fide buyers, 
 that is, men who wanted the land in order to work it. 
 
 I strongly advised Mr. Henty to "square" the 
 sharks, and all of the others except perhaps one or
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 137 
 
 two who wanted small lots for their own use. He 
 asked me to fix up the whole thing for him, and gave 
 me carte blanche. I was only about twenty-two, and 
 felt much complimented at Mr. Henty's confidence 
 in me. I set to work so conclusively that 011 the day 
 of the sale Edward Heuty bought the whole of the 
 land at twenty shillings an acre, and the amount I 
 had expended came to under five shillings an acre. 
 I had scored a great success. 
 
 Some six months afterwards another 5000 acres of 
 the best of Muntham lying near the townships of 
 Casterton and Sandford was advertised for sale. At 
 this time some of Edward Henty's friends strongly 
 advised him not to buy off the sharks, or any of the 
 intending purchasers. I pointed out to Mr. Henty 
 that these friends no doubt would be glad if he put 
 his hand in his pocket, and ran these men into buy- 
 ing a lot of the land at good prices. They then would 
 not be in a position to oppose the friends when the 
 laud which the latter wanted was put on the market. 
 Mr. Henty was greatly exercised, and up to half an 
 hour before the sale had made up his mind not to do 
 anything except simply bid against all comers. Then 
 he came to me and said, "I'd like you to fix things 
 up." But I said, "There is no time now." "Oh," 
 he said, "try if you can arrange with these chaps 
 and let me know." Before the sale started I had it 
 all fixed up, and he secured the land at the upset price, 
 with 5/- added for "sharks" and others. Ed. Henty 
 drove home that night with Major Learmonth, who 
 next day told me that Mr. Henty was greatly pleased 
 with what I had done. "So much so," said the 
 Major, with an odd twinkle in his eye, "that he told 
 me to tell you that he had intended to reduce your 
 salary, but now he would not do so. " I said I appre- 
 ciated this so much that I would send in my resigna- 
 tion, which forthwith I did. 
 
 I must not forget while on land matters to record 
 an interesting experience I had. Shortly after this
 
 138 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 second laud sale (indeed I think it was at the same 
 time) very rich agricultural land was put up for sale 
 on the eastern edge of the run, not far from Cole- 
 raine. There was no possibility of the station secur- 
 ing this land, and Mr. Henty wisely determined not 
 to compete for it. I asked him if he had any objec- 
 tion to my going for some of this land for myself. 
 He said, ''Certainly not, so long as you let it be 
 known that you are buying for yourself." The sale 
 was to be at Coleraine, and on the morning of the 
 sale I rode over. I had a good talk to all my 
 "sharks." and other land buyers, and told them 1 
 wanted one lot for myself, and said I, "The boot 
 is on the other leg to-day, not that 1 want to be 
 bought off, but I want a certain lot, and I will run 
 up any that oppose me, for any land they go for. 
 They all laughed, and all agreed not to oppose me 
 for my lot. I saw one new face, and I had a talk 
 to him, and he told me the lot he was after, and it 
 was the lot I wanted. I offered him 20/- an acre 
 145 not to oppose me, as I said, "You are the only 
 man who will bid against me." But he would not 
 take it. However, he said, "I'd like to meet you in 
 this matter, and as you say but for me you' could 
 get the laud for 20 /- an acre, I'll do this. I'll not 
 oppose you if you agree now to sell the land to me 
 for 2 an acre. You will make 145, and I shall 
 be glad to get the land at that price. You say you 
 can get it for 1 an acre but for me. Whatever price 
 you have to pay for it you must let me have it at 
 2 an acre." I jumped as his proposal, though there 
 was no doubt some risk. No one opposed me, and I 
 got the land at 1, and got 2 straight away. 
 
 In all this matter I acted quite innocently. It 
 never struck me that I was actually robbing the coun- 
 try, and that I could have been prosecuted for con- 
 spiracy. I found this out later on. 
 
 When Mr. Henty sold Muntham many years after 
 this he got on an average 11 per acre for it, but at
 
 AFTER MANY DATS 139 
 
 the time he purchased I suppose about 2 would have 
 been considered a good value if the sale had been a 
 private one and properly managed. Later on, Duffy's 
 Act came in, and land was made available for small 
 men, but even then there was a lot of dummying and 
 underhand work. 
 
 Later on in New South Wales when some large 
 areas of pastoral lands were put up for sale by 
 auction, the squatters for a time were heavily black- 
 mailed by land sharks, but a combination was made, 
 and Richard Blackwood, of Hartwood. broke up the 
 blackmailers. He simply dropped a considerable 
 number of isolated lots into one of the sharks who 
 happened to be one of the old Muntham crowd, and 
 let him serenely alone. He would not buy the man 
 out, and no one else would, so the blackmailer was 
 hoisted with his own petard, and had- Jo sell eventu- 
 ally at a loss. This broke up the blackmailing entirely. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 On the fields of Coleraine there'll be labour in vain 
 Before the Great Western is ended. 
 
 A. L, GORDON. 
 
 Coleraine is a pretty little village situated in a 
 valley surrounded by low hills. It lies about twenty 
 miles west of Hamilton and on the eastern boundary 
 of Muntham. I had long cast a longing eye over the 
 fields of Coleraine, consisting of small grass paddocks, 
 here and there a ploughed field and a lane or two, 
 not to mention about a dozen nice little garden and 
 back yard fences. It made my heart burn when I 
 thought why surely here we have the making of an 
 ideal steeplechase course! Every time I passed 
 through Coleraine on my way to see my people at 
 Hamilton the idea grew stronger. One morning very
 
 140 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 early I rode Old Woodbine over to the township and 
 had a turn over the paddocks, omitting some of the 
 biggest fences. I found the proposed course more 
 than up to my expectations, and that in a distance 
 of some four miles I could easily have over forty 
 beautiful natural jumps. I got Tom Clibborn, after- 
 wards the popular and efficient Secretary of the 
 A.J.C. of Sydney, and to whom much of the suc- 
 cess of that fine club is due, to look over the country 
 with me. Then we ran in all the good sports in the 
 district, and their name was legion, and very soon 
 Tom and I commenced to lay out what has been often 
 described as the prettiest and fairest steeplechase 
 course in Australia. As originally laid out the course 
 lay over a distance of four miles, and there were 
 forty-two post and rail fences. These natural fences 
 formed what might be called fair hunting country. 
 There Avas one big fence out of a chain wide road ; 
 it was five feet high, and there were two pretty stiff 
 high fences at the very start in and out of a paling 
 allotment, but the bulk of the fences ranged from 4ft. 
 to 4ft. 6in., not to mention some ten small fences 
 over gardens and back yards at the backs of the 
 houses in the main street. The first two fences in 
 and out of the paling allotment were omitted after 
 the first year. That year I rode Old Woodbine for 
 the Great Western, and he landed on his head, going 
 in to the paling allotment, and on his shoulder, get- 
 ting out of it the first and second fences but he 
 did not fall, nor did he ever fall with me. In getting 
 over, or rather through, the small township fences he 
 hit so hard that an onlooker said there was always 
 one rail in the air. The old horse hit another rail up 
 before the preceding one had reached the ground. 
 There was not one made fence in this great Western 
 Steeplechase Course, and, as has been well said of it, 
 "Over such a country the pace could never be very 
 fast, while a horse's power of endurance and leaping 
 qualities, and also the skill and judgment of the rider,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 were all put to the test. ' ' In my time, extending over 
 three years, there were absolutely no accidents over 
 this course, with the exception of one I had myself 
 when riding a horse that should not have been started 
 for a steeplechase. The reason of this was obvious. 
 Over a distance of four miles with so many fences 
 and over several ploughed fields it was not possible 
 to make the pace "hot." Still we got over the dis- 
 tance in very fair time. For instance, Jemmy Wil- 
 son, on his grey horse Dayspring, did it in 11 min. 
 30 sec. It was a real treat to see that pair go round 
 that course. The racing over the old course at the 
 fields of Coleraine was good sport, and if we could 
 eliminate short steeplechases over made courses and 
 over made fences and confine our steeplechasing to 
 special meetings (as at Warrnambool) over three to 
 four miles of fair hunting country such as that at 
 Coleraine we would not have such "diatribes" as 
 emanated from those true sportsmen, Fife and Drum, 
 and Augustus Hooke, hurled at the grand sport of 
 steeplechasing. To-day, like "monkeys on a stick," 
 to quote Frank Madden, in Tod Sloan fashion, our 
 steeplechase jockeys ride, as if the fences did not 
 exist, and at a pace faster than our best three mile 
 nags could do on the flat in my time. The result 
 often is that when a horse clouts a fence hard the 
 rider is unseated. 
 
 I am quite aware that it relieves the horse if the 
 rider rises in his stirrups as the horse rises at his 
 fence, also that better time can be made, to some 
 extent, by following the Tod Sloan style, but I hate 
 to look at it whether in a steeplechase or hurdle race, 
 whether in a high jump or in a hunting contest. I 
 suppose I am old-fashioned, but I loathe Tod Sloan- 
 ing over fences, and, in the words of the prophet, "I 
 cannot away with it." In fact even in flat racing I 
 am sure this "monkey on a stick" business is carried 
 to an excess, and that in nine cases out of ten it 
 would be much better for all concerned if jockeys
 
 142 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 were made to lengthen their stirrups very consider- 
 ably. No jockey, whether on the flat or across coun- 
 try, can properly control his mount when riding very 
 short, and I have no doubt that many accidents are 
 due to this exaggerated style of riding. Lots of the 
 difficulties at the post, and many instances of inter- 
 ference, are, I am confident, due to these short- 
 stirruped jockeys not being able to control their 
 mounts. 
 
 The smaller the fences, and the shorter the course, 
 and the lighter the weights, the more accidents there 
 will be. The most dangerous fences are the small 
 stiff ones. To ensure good sport over fences you must 
 manage to reduce the pace. Big fences alone have 
 no effect, as witness how they race over the Melbourne 
 and Bendigo courses with the fences at their biggest. 
 No fence would stop the pace for men who race over 
 the Cathedral at Flemington. Together with good 
 big fences you must have distance, heavy going 
 lanes and plenty of fences. 
 
 I have done my bit at the game and I love it. I 
 look upon steeplechasing as the grandest sport in the 
 world, not excepting polo. There is no excitement 
 like it (barring a cavalry charge, and a charge up 
 Gabe Tepe, or into Beersheeba). Nowadays no man 
 rides if he can do his work in a sulky. No trying 
 work nowadays after wild cattle or brumby horses. 
 I shall not be at all surprised to hear soon that 
 Queensland cattle men have taken to cutting out 
 cattle in a sulky. Not long ago a drover in a sulky 
 brought me out over 60 head of cattle all by himself. 
 I am beginning to think that it is well I am in my 
 eighty-first year lest I should live to see horse racing 
 giving place to racing in "automobiles." The atten- 
 dance at a Point to Point Steeplechase which came 
 off at Woodlands, near Melbourne, some years ago 
 would go to show that after all the public will turn 
 out to see the real thing in steeplechasing. Although 
 there was no betting (to speak of) on this race, yet
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 143 
 
 betting men were there in evidence, and the atten- 
 dance was said to have been "amazing." The dis- 
 tance was five miles. There were, however, only 
 eighteen fences. The course was over much of the 
 country traversed by Rolf Boldrewood and his friends 
 in the "Woodlands Steeplechase" of over fifty years 
 ago, chronicled in Old Melbourne Memories. There 
 were twenty-one entries and thirteen starters, and 
 the race was won by Godfry Watson on Muntham, 
 a little black horse of Mr. T. B. Gibb's, Mr. Prell's 
 Sissy second, ridden by her owner. If we had more 
 of the old time real sports among us, we would have 
 more of such races, and more legitimate steeplechas- 
 iiig, and it would be an incentive to breeders to pro- 
 duce horses like the grand old "lepper" of the olden 
 days, horses that would carry twelve stone and even 
 up to thirteen stone over stiff fences three or four 
 miles without flinching or falling, and at a decent 
 pace, too. 
 
 Steeplechasing in the old country seems to be on 
 a par with steeplechasing in Australia, for in the 
 Liverpool Grand National in 1908 twenty-four horses 
 started and only seven came in. From 150,000 to 
 200,000 people witnessed the race. 
 
 However, my business at present is to recount my 
 experiences and reminiscences of steeplechasing in 
 the Western district of Victoria, and my heart warms 
 as I hark back to the time when that district pretty 
 well supplied Victoria with not only lepp races and 
 hunters, but with the "boys" to ride them. When 
 I say this let it not be thought for a moment that I 
 forget those grand horsemen hailing from the Mel- 
 bourne side, the three Powers Bob on the Wander- 
 ing Jew, Herbert on Freetrader, and Willie on 
 O'Connor; the Watsons, father and sons, J. 0. Inglis 
 (a prince among horsemen), and Mick Fender. I 
 think the West can claim Hector and Norman Wilson 
 and T. B. Gibb, the Glasscocks and Coxs and others, 
 but at the time I now am chronicling most of the
 
 144 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 young fellows 011 the Far West had taken to going 
 over the sticks, though we had no hounds at that time 
 to incite us, and the Far West at that time also pro- 
 duced a large number of good stick horses. 
 
 The King Alfreds were notably to the fore in those 
 days. King Alfred was by Pyrrhus, the First, as 
 also was Morris Dancer. Every King Alfred was 
 inferentially deemed to be a natural jumper, so every- 
 one possessing a youngster sired by King Alfred sent 
 him over fences. With such grand amateur horse- 
 men knocking about as Lindsay Gordon, Jemmy 
 Wilson, Bob Learmonth, John and Joe Pearson, 
 Johnny Brewer, Pop Seymour, De Lancy Forth, Billy 
 Bell, and Bailey of Port Fairy, and I think 1 may 
 include myself, and with such crack professionals 
 over the sticks as Jemmy Harcoan, Charley Mullally, 
 Billy Trainor and others; most youngsters were tried 
 over fences, and there was no .difficulty in getting 
 up a "lepp" race at Casterton or Coleraine at very 
 short notice. The more easily with such sportsmen 
 m the district as good old George Carmichael, of 
 ' ' Eetreat, ' ' owner and breeder of Soutar Johnny, and 
 other good King Alfreds; Frank Henty, of Merino 
 Downs, and his nephew, Tom Henty, at Muntham, 
 and John Coldham, of Grassdale, one of the first 
 Victorian pioneers. 
 
 Also William Leonard, so well known in racing 
 circles in Victoria, and for many years on the com- 
 mittee of the V.R.C. He was the owner of Topthorne 
 when that fine horse broke his neck under me at Port- 
 land. He also owned Soutar Johnny, a good per- 
 former "over the sticks." He won the Ballarat Hunt 
 Cup in 1861 four miles over a stiff country. "Bal- 
 larat in those days," said Mr. Leonard in an inter- 
 view, ' ' was noted for its many first flight men, among 
 whom were those fine bold riders, Robert Orr and 
 Harry Mount, who were equally happy on a raw half 
 broken colt or when steering to the front a perfectly 
 trained hunter."
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 145 
 
 Alas, poor Harry Mount allowed himself to get 
 mixed up in a calamitous black birding expedition 
 in the islands, which nearly cost him his life and 
 resulted in his leaving Australia. 
 
 William Leonard owned that wonderful hunter, 
 Nonsense. 1 remember him as a colt at Mr. Car- 
 michael's, near Casterton. Nonsense was by King 
 Alfred, out of a mare with a good deal of the Clydes- 
 dale in her, but he was the safest hunter that ever 
 carried a man to hounds, and he was up to 14 stone. 
 Nonsense carried his owner for two years after the 
 Melbourne hounds, often over difficult country, and 
 he never either fell or baulked. 
 
 Tom Clibborn, though not owning any race horses, 
 was ever a good sportsman, and great help in racing 
 matters. Tom, too, did a bit of cross country in the 
 hunting field on old Multum, and Mrs. Clibborn was 
 a straight goer to hounds, as was my own sister. 
 
 We may thank Tom Clibborn for Banker's Dream, 
 for did he not produce some more than passable dog- 
 gerel verses of his own for Gordon's delectation the 
 night before one of the Great Western meetings? 
 Whereupon Gordon said, "Tear it up, old man, and 
 I'll scribble you a lay myself." and thereupon on a 
 few old envelopes he put together Banker's Dream, 
 which duly appeared in the Hamilton Spectator and 
 proved to be a very good forecast of the race. 
 
 Neck and neck, head and head! staring eye! nostril 
 
 spread! 
 
 Girth and stifle laid close to the ground; 
 Stride for stride! stroke for stroke! through one 
 
 hurdle we've broke! 
 
 On the splinters ive have lit with one bound. 
 And Banker for choice is the cry; and one voice 
 
 Screams "six to four upon Banker." 
 Banker wins! Banker's beat! Cadger ivins! a dead 
 
 heat! 
 Ha! there goes Fred's Whalebone a flanker.
 
 146 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 John Coldham, of Grassdalc. a real old English 
 squire, bred a number of good race horses, and one 
 year he carried off the Great Western with a horse 
 called Cyclone, a big, fine looking brown horse with a 
 temper. He got the name of the Man-killer on 
 account of the number of accidents traceable to that 
 same temper of his. Charley Mullally rode him in 
 this Great Western race. He was the only man who 
 could handle the Man-killer, and this was probably 
 because he just let him have his own way and stopped 
 on his back. Mullally, like Gordon, fancied riding 
 "tough" horses in a steeplechase. In a steeplechase 
 at Casterton which Harcoan won on Happy Jack (I 
 was on Woodbine), Mullally was riding a mare hap- 
 pily called Mantrap. She came down in front of me. 
 Old Woodbine and I cleared Mullally and Mantrap as 
 they lay on the ground, Mullally with a ' ' brave, brave 
 grin" on his face, just as he would have had if he 
 had got in among those demons of boys of ours in 
 Gallipoli or somewhere in France. 
 
 John Coldham had another good horse, Horizon, 
 by the Hermit. Horizon made his debut in the Great 
 Western, ridden by J. Hood. 
 
 Little Druid carried off the Great Western twice 
 to the honor of King Alfred, but by this time the 
 distance had been considerably shortened, and later 
 on the race was held up on the flat forest land above 
 the township, close to the Hamilton Road, a sad come- 
 down from the beautiful old course. 
 
 In a letter written to me in 1904, Mr. Alexander 
 tells a good story illustrative of the Australians' love 
 of racing and sport. He had bought some cattle, and 
 was on the look-out for drovers. He wrote: "I ac 
 costed a young fellow who rode up alongside me, and 
 placed the situation before him. 'Well,' he said, 'I 
 would like to take the job, but the races are coming 
 off at Dunkeld, and I am just on my way into town 
 to get some oats for this horse I am riding. I am 
 going to run him for the hurdle race. It comes off
 
 JAMES TYSON 
 
 WILLIAM LEONABD 
 
 SALLY AND DICKIE 
 
 LEAKMONTH ON "INGLESIDE" CLEARING 
 GORDON AND "VIKING" AT BALLABAT
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 147 
 
 in a fortnight.' He said he had given 20 for the 
 horse; he could jump and had some pace, but the 
 stake was only 5. 'Well/ I said, 'two or three 
 weeks hence will do me,' so we fixed it up at that. 
 He said, 'Ask for me at the Royal,' giving me his 
 name. In due course I enquired for my sporting 
 friend at the Royal, and learned that he was in hos- 
 pital with a broken leg, his horse having fallen in 
 the hurdle race and broken its neck and all this 
 for the chance of winning 5. It was not," wrote 
 Alexander, ' ' the money that did the mischief. It was 
 the inherent love of sport and of cross-country riding 
 bred in the man, and nurtured on tales of horses and 
 of riders in the merry days of the past. I have known 
 two boys down Warrnambool way, after a heated 
 discussion, as to the relative merits of their fathers' 
 nags (and one of them a parson's son, too), to go out 
 with their bridles to the paddock, catch the nags, and 
 have a rattling set to, barebacked over stone walls 
 and post and rails, to settle the question." 
 
 John Coldham came over to the Wannon soon after 
 the Hentys, and he and Edward Henty were great 
 friends. 
 
 I scored off John Coldham once at a show at Cas- 
 terton. He^was judge of the horses. We had at 
 Muntham an old grey hack of Edward Henty 's, named 
 Grimaldi, that had been pensioned off some years 
 before I went to Muntham, being over twenty years 
 old. He was a half-bred Arab and a beautiful horse 
 a perfect hack in his day. I got Grimaldi in, 
 pulled his tail, had him well groomed and entered 
 for "best gentleman's hackney." I put a bit and a 
 bridoon on him, tickled him a bit with the spur and 
 the old fellow showed himself off beautifully, and 
 moreover flew a flight of hurdles like a three-year-old. 
 Coldham duly awarded him first prize, and he was 
 wondering where I had picked up such a perfect 
 hack. He was not a little chagrined when he found
 
 148 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 out that he had had his leg pulled by the youngster. 
 He must have known Grimaldi for over fifteen years. 
 
 I left Victoria for Queensland in 1862, and up to 
 that time the racing for the Great Western was con- 
 fined to local horses and local horsemen. Gordon had 
 not then ridden at Coleraine. Jemmy Wilson, Har- 
 coan, Johnny Brewer and the Pearsons, Bob Lear- 
 month, Charley Mullally, and myself supplied most 
 of the competing horses and riders, and very good 
 sport we had. Jemmy Wilson won two years on his 
 great horse Dayspring. 
 
 On one occasion some of the townspeople, headed 
 by Charley Payne, the local publican, told us fellows 
 who had horses that if we would stay another day 
 they would put up the money for an extra steeple- 
 chase, and the competitors could make up a sweep- 
 stake as well. We agreed, but next morning we found 
 that Payne had found that a fast flatracer called 
 Bonnie Dundee, could fence very well, and that there 
 was no doubt that the race had been got up for Bonnie 
 Dundee to win. The distance was two miles over 
 about eight fences. John Pearson and I had entered 
 our horses, and feeling we had been "got at" we 
 were very wild, so we made up our minds that Bonnie 
 Dundee must not win. We determined to get Bon- 
 nie Dundee between us and jam him on the fences. 
 This, I am ashamed to say, we carried out. Charley 
 Mullally was on Bonnie Dundee, and with all his 
 pluck he couldn't stand being jammed on the fences 
 in that way, and he had to pull back, with the result 
 that John Pearson won. The only wonder was that 
 our performance did not result in the three of us 
 coming down. 
 
 I had a bad fall at one Coleraine meeting. I had 
 promised not to ride at the meeting, but nothing 
 would do me but to send a pretty chestnut horse of 
 Tom Henty's called Merry Monarch over some of the 
 fences after the Great Western was run. He came 
 down at one fence, and I sustained a fracture of the
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 149 
 
 head of the thigh bone, or "femur." Old Wyman 
 and Dr. Molloy fixed me up. I had a pretty bad night 
 at Coleraine, and a worse time being driven home 
 next day (nine miles). The dear old doctor drove 
 me himself, and chaffed me all the time to keep his 
 spirits and mine up, for he thought then that I was 
 lamed for life. Eight weeks, however, saw me off my 
 back, and I had rather a good time of it on the whole. 
 
 Harcoan came from the seaside not far from Ettrick 
 (W. Learmonth's). I saw two very good paintings 
 at his mother's place, of his two good horses, Happy 
 Jack and Tramp. I once saw Harcoan 's saddle break 
 right in two in a race, and he won the race with the 
 two broken pieces of the saddle hanging down on the 
 horse's sides. 
 
 Happy Jack was a pretty grey horse not over 15 
 hands high, with a perfect temper, and as handy as 
 a pony. Harcoan could turn him round at a fence 
 to baulk another horse, and then whip him over the 
 fence without losing much ground. One day in Port- 
 land, for a bet, I jumped Happy Jack over a light 
 pole resting on the shoulders of two policemen, one 
 of whom was called the "Infant" because he was 
 about 6ft. 4in. high. Happy Jack popped over like 
 a bird. That same day I was riding a mare of John 
 Learmonth's in the steeplechase, and a horse in front 
 of me broke through one panel. I put the mare 
 over the next panel instead of going through the gap. 
 John Learmonth was greatly pleased, and the crowd 
 thought it was good sport, and gave me a cheer. I 
 won the race. 
 
 An amusing episode occurred one day on the Cas- 
 terton racecourse. Two or three of us had got up a 
 scratch hurdle race in heats the day after the annual 
 races. Harcoan entered a mare, very fast, but uncer- 
 tain at fences. There were two other entries, and I 
 borrowed Pearson's Tommy Racquet. At the first 
 hurdle, just in front of the stand, Harcoan 's niare 
 swerved and ran the other two right off the course,
 
 150 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 and I won the first heat easily. The Pearsons and I 
 (Cudgelled our brains as to how to win another heat. 
 Harcoan's mare could run over my horse for pace, 
 and cogitate as we would we could come to no con- 
 clusion. When we started off for the second heat I 
 got off in the lead and Harcoan carefully followed 
 old Tommy Racquet, who was perfect over hurdles. 
 Harcoan kept quietly behind me, his mare fencing 
 beautifully with my lead, and execrations and abuse 
 of me came freely from my friends, who were watch- 
 ing. "The d d fool!" was the mildest expletive 
 hurled at me. But "hoolie hoolie, nae sae fast." As 
 we got to the last hurdle I pulled Tommy Racquet 
 right up sharp, and Harcoan's mare threw her head 
 up in the air and bolted off the course. I cantered 
 in an easy winner amid plaudits instead of maledic- 
 tions. I simply pulled my horse up dead. I didn't 
 cross the mare, but if I had Harcoan would have said 
 nothing, as that is what he would have done, and what 
 he did to me at Coleraine when riding Kinchin. 
 
 Another afternoon at Casterton Johnny Brewer 
 beat me in a hurdle race by a good length. I waited 
 on him too long. The judge had taken a good deal 
 of whisky, which should not have hurt him, seeing 
 he was a Scotchman. The fellows standing near him 
 shouted, "A dead heat!" and the judge, to Brewer's 
 great disgust, gave it so. We ran the race off almost 
 in the dark, and I made the running and won. It was 
 only a scratch race. 
 
 My last day at Coleraine was a memorable enough 
 one for me. I was in the saddle in all three races. I 
 rode Kinchin, a little brown horse from Ballarat, in 
 the "big" race, Old Woodbine for the Hack Steeple- 
 chase, and a brute called Lancaster for the Maiden 
 Steeplechase. That day I covered about eight miles 
 of country, and some seventy post and rail fences. 
 
 It was a perfect day, and I feel young again when 
 I look back at it. In Kinchin. I had a good mount,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 151 
 
 well trained by "Old Quin," who had asked me to 
 ride the horse, but Kinchin had never raced over a 
 greater distance than three miles, and the Great 
 Western, four miles, found out a weak spot in him. 
 I can't now remember the names of any of the other 
 horses that ran against Kinchin that day except old 
 Happy Jack, ridden by his owner Harcoan. We were 
 all together to the top of the hill, then Harcoan and 
 I landed together in the lane, and out of it over five 
 feet of post and rail. We kept neck and neck to the 
 last fence but two, and then Harcoan, thinking he 
 was beaten, pulled old Happy Jack across me, trying 
 to baulk me, but I hit Kinchin a skelp of the whip 
 on the jaw, and he cannoned Happy Jack hard, but 
 got over all right, and Harcoan had to turn his horse 
 round to get over. I got over the last fence with a 
 good lead, and thought I had the race, but in the long 
 run home on the flat Kinchin tired, and old Happy 
 Jack won easily. I'd have given a good deal to have 
 won. 
 
 The next race was a hack steeplechase, and I got 
 into great disgrace, for when leading on Woodbine I 
 heard Bob Learmonth call out to me, "I'm stuck up, 
 old chap; come back and give me a lead." I never 
 thought of my backers, and w r ent back and gave Bob a 
 lead, and the ungrateful beggar beat me, and won 
 the race. 
 
 For the last race, the Maiden Steeplechase of about 
 three miles, Harcoan started, a raw-boned, one-eyed 
 King Alfred, called Young Camel, and Bob was up 
 on Dominie. I forget the others, but I was on a 
 horse called Lancaster, belonging to Mordaunt Smal- 
 page. My old friend, De Lancy Forth, had trained 
 the horse, which had given him a heavy fall, and 
 broken a rib. A few days before the race at Mun- 
 tham, I got on Lancaster, and, with Ford flogging 
 him with a stock-whip, I found it hard to get him 
 over the second rail of a slip-rail. But I told his
 
 152 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 owner that as he was entered he might as well start. 
 He was fast on the flat, and it might take weight off 
 him. I said I'd pull up at the first fence, which 1 
 was sure Lancaster would not get over. I must here 
 mention that about four days before the race I was 
 driving my father with a tandem home from 
 Casterton, and, the shaft horse going badly, I lost my 
 temper, and when we got to the top of the hill going 
 down to Muntham House, I asked my father to get 
 out, which he wisely did. The hill was a very steep 
 one, and I flogged the horses down it. We upset at 
 the bottom, and I sprained both wrists so badly that 
 I feared I could never ride Kinchin for the big 
 steeplechase. My arms turned black half way up 
 from the wrists. However, we kept cold water ban- 
 dages on them, and Dr. Wyley bandaged both arms 
 beautifully from writs to elbow, and I was able to 
 ride, though Kinchin was a hard puller. 
 
 To return to Lancaster and the Maiden Steeple- 
 chase. Instead of pulling up, I let him go, and he 
 smashed through the first fences, which were through 
 the gardens and back yards, and not stiff. He broke 
 the top rail of the first big fence, and got through, 
 and he never turned his head, but followed Young 
 Camel and Dominie, breaking through most of the 
 fences, and jumping some till we reached the last 
 fence but one a nasty one in a lane. Here the 
 crowd pressed in on us, and though Harcoan got over, 
 Bob's mount and mine refused. I called to Bob, 
 "Let us go at it together," hoping we would break 
 through if not over. Dominie got over, but the sub- 
 sequent proceedings interested me no more, as Lan- 
 caster fell and lay on me, and I got concussion of 
 the brain and a broken collarbone. A local medico 
 was just about bleeding me when my great friend, 
 Dr. Wyley, came up with a wet sail and waved him 
 off. No other lancet but his would he allow into my 
 arm. I came to about two o'clock next morning, and 
 \\ as none the worse of it.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 153 
 
 We took accidents very coolly in those days, for 
 when I came to next morning I found myself with 
 eight others in a big room which I had occupied the 
 previous night; 110 one had sat up with me. Nowa- 
 days I'd have a trained nurse and goodness knows 
 what else. In all the accidents I have had I never 
 have had a nurse in fact I only lay up twice, once 
 when I hurt my hack and again when I broke my 
 thigh. 
 
 Jack Brewer, on Bonda, is credited with having 
 cleared a great distance crossing the lane in one of 
 the Great Western steeplechases. The lane was just 
 twenty-two yards wide. Bonda landed in the lane, 
 took one stride, and then landed clear in the next 
 paddock over the biggest fence on the course. He 
 was a wonderful fencer. Brewer could "thread" a 
 fence with him; that is, he could jump alternate 
 panels, over and back for more than a dozen panels. 
 My first meeting with Brewer was at Apsley, in South 
 Australia. I went on there with Old Woodbine, and 
 I fully expected to win the steeplechase with him. 
 I rode over from Kadnook with Mordaunt Smalpage, 
 whom I have mentioned in a former chapter. Smal- 
 page said to me, "This will be a 'wet' meeting. 
 There are a number of hard-drinking men in the 
 district, mostly Highlanders, and they will be drink- 
 ing champagne, not whisky, and just remember what 
 I tell you. Every glass of champagne you drink, top 
 it with soda water, and it will not affect you." I 
 replied: "I can't afford to drink much of anything, 
 as I am going to ride." However, I followed his 
 advice and found it quite correct. It was a wet 
 meeting and no mistake! The ordinary shout was 
 half a dozen bottles of champagne. I saw bottles 
 go away full with the corks drawn no doubt to 
 re-appear for the next shout. One old Highlander's 
 bill came to 300. This same old gentleman danced 
 the sword dance on the dinner table with the dessert, 
 and all the bottles of champagne on it, Two sons
 
 154 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 of a squatter from Harrow had a tent which they 
 never left, and just cut a hole in the tent so that they 
 conld see what horse had won. There were two days 
 of really good racing and two dances, too. 
 
 I made pretty sure of the steeplechase with Old 
 Woodbine, but the local people were very sweet on 
 Bunda, and with good reason. We had to go twice 
 round, and I told my friends that if I held up my 
 whip the first time past the stand they could put 
 their money on. First time round I felt confident, 
 and held up my hand, and the money was planked 
 on, but Brewer beat me after a hard tussle. It was 
 his first race, and he got off after he passed the 
 winning post, and of course should have been dis- 
 qualified. I would not enter a protest, but my 
 backers insisted on the stewards looking into the 
 matter. Brewer said he had hurt himself, and the 
 stewards gave him the race, and I was very glad they 
 did, as he had won it fairly after a good race. 
 
 Lindsay Gordon rode a horse called Clansman in 
 this race a nasty tear-away brute just to Gordon's 
 taste. 
 
 The last time I met Lindsay Gordon was in a steeple- 
 chase at Branxholme. There were only five of us in 
 the race, which was run in one and a half mile heats. 
 Bob Learmonth was riding Soutar Johnny, a King 
 Alfred and a perfect fencer. Billy Bailey was on a 
 grey Port Fairy mare, Gordon was on a nasty tem- 
 pered brown, and I was on old Robinson Crusoe. I 
 can't remember the fifth. At the third fence in the 
 first heat, Gordon's horse came down, and Gordon 
 nearly baulked the rest of us as he stood right in the 
 gap, looking dazed. As we raced at the last fence a 
 two-railer Bob called to me to steady a bit or we'd 
 both go down. I said, "That's what I am after; it's 
 my only chance to beat you;" and I turned the whip 
 on Crusoe. He took off too far away, and jumped 
 with his two forelegs between the rails. The course 
 was sandy, and two panels came up out of the ground.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 155 
 
 Crusoe and I rolled over and up again without my 
 coming off, but I cut my leg in the fence and the old 
 horse hurt himself, too. Of course Bob won that 
 heat and the next, too. 
 
 That day as I weighed out I was far too light, and 
 there was no time to lose, so I took the weights off 
 the weighbridge and rolled them up in a saddle cloth 
 and strapped them on in front of me, and it was these 
 that cut my leg. 
 
 I met Bailey some years afterwards at a memorable 
 race meeting at Rockhampton, particulars of which 
 will be duly recorded when I come to my Queens- 
 land reminiscences. 
 
 Shortly after I went to Muntham I stayed a day 
 at Chirnside's Mount William Station, and I heard 
 a good deal of talk about ' 'the Delapre mare, ' ' known 
 afterwards as "Alice Hawthorne." She became 
 pretty well the champion of Victoria, though an aged 
 mare before it was- found out that she could race. 
 She was a grey mare, 15.1 hands high, and it was 
 Robert Christison (afterwards so well known in 
 Queensland when owner of Lammermuir), who "dis- 
 covered" Alice Hawthorne. She had been used by 
 a Chinaman to carry rations, and had contracted a 
 fistula. When she got well, being very handy, she 
 was given to Robert Christison to use as a "school 
 mistress" in breaking in the young horses. 
 
 There was a little mob of very flash blood young- 
 sters running on the outskirts of the Mt. William 
 run; they had been missed at the last muster. Bob 
 Christison started out for ,them one day on the 
 Delapre mare. As soon as he sighted them they 
 cleared off as hard as they could in the opposite direc- 
 tion to the yards. Among the colts were three 
 Sultan, The General, and Gilbert that afterwards 
 won some good races for Mr. Chirnside. (I had the 
 honour of beating The General some years later on 
 in a hurdle race at Fiery Creek, now Streatham.) 
 Do all they knew, the colts could not get away from
 
 156 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 the Delapre mare, and, after a long and fast run, 
 Bob Christison yarded them at the home station. 
 The mare had acquitted herself so well in this run 
 after the flash youngsters that Christison begged Mr. 
 Chirnside to put her in training, and, on his refus- 
 ing, tried to buy her, but Mr. Chirnside would not sell 
 any of his "doorkey" brand. 
 
 The end of it was that at Christison 's instance the 
 Delapre mare was given a trial against Miss Camp- 
 bell, a mare that had won races at Ballarat for Mr. 
 Chirnside. With everything against her, the Delapre 
 mare simply ran away from Miss Campbell, and that 
 night there was a change. Miss Campbell was 
 deposed, and the Delapre mare, with the best cloth- 
 ing in the stable, was installed in her place. 
 
 Hogg, Mr. Chirnside 's trainer and jockey, picked 
 on the name of "Alice Hawthorne" for the mare, 
 and soon after she won the four principal races at 
 the Grange (now Hamilton). My father, then Police 
 Magistrate at the Grange, presided at a champagne 
 supper given in her honour. Next she raced at Caster- 
 ton, and easily won the first race of one and a quarter 
 miles ten stone the minimum weight. "Then after 
 lunch," Christison says, "under a bough shed a large 
 bullock bell rang the competitors up for the next 
 race of two miles. This race Hogg won on the mare 
 'hands down.' ' Next day she won two more races 
 in one of which she carried seven pounds over the 
 top weight, and in the second, a Ladies' Bag 
 amateur riders, three miles, with Christison up, carry- 
 ing eleven stone seven pounds she won easily. After 
 this the mare won many races at Geelong and Mel- 
 bourne; nothing in Victoria could beat her. She 
 was a great mare to stay a distance, and despised 
 weight. She won a Ladies' Purse in Melbourne, 
 carrying thirteen stone seven pounds, beating good 
 performers. Almost her -last race was a match for 
 1000 a side against the New South Wales gelding, 
 Veno, by Waverly, bred by Mr. Clarke, of Coolah,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 157 
 
 in 1849. This match was run over Plemington 
 course, a distance of three miles. Johnny Higgin- 
 son rode Veno, then eight years old, and Steve Mahon 
 rode the mare, then twelve years old. She had done 
 years of hard station work, and had also reared a 
 foal, and the match should never have been made. 
 The mare lost, but for all that a few days afterwards 
 with Johnny Higginson "up," and carrying twelve 
 stone four pounds, she beat Cardinal Wiseman in a 
 two and a half mile match 1000 to 5000. 
 
 The time in the great match, viz., six minutes ten 
 seconds, appears nowadays to have been ridiculously 
 slow, but it must be remembered that the courses 
 were much slower then, and the weights carried, 
 especially for three miles, were mostly welter weights. 
 However, in my time in the far Western district six 
 minutes for three miles was considered a good per- 
 formance on the flat. At date a horse that could 
 not get his three miles over hurdles in less than six 
 minutes had better be kept at home. Jemmy Har- 
 t-can's constant and well-known three mile horse, 
 Tramp, seldom got the distance under six minutes. 
 
 Rataplan's time in England in 1857, for three 
 miles, was given at 5.24, but most people were incre- 
 dulous. However, three miles has been since covered 
 in Victoria a shade under Rataplan's reputed time. 
 
 Another fine grey mare that used to race over 
 hurdles in those days was Modesty, bred out Dande- 
 nong way by the Wedges. It was lovely to see 
 Modesty flying the hurdles. 
 
 I have mentioned Christison running in some flash 
 colts with the Delapre mare, amongst them one after- 
 wards called The General. On one occasion when 
 taking a mob of Muntham horses to Ballarat for sale, 
 I arranged the trip so as to hit off a race meeting at 
 the Fiery Creek. I took Robinson Crusoe with me 
 for the hurdle race, and spelled for three days before 
 the races at Willie Macpherson's Nerrin Nerrin 
 Station. Two days before the races in schooling my
 
 158 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 old horse he hit a post very hardly. One knee swelled 
 tremendously, and Tom Clibborn, who was with me, 
 and I were up for the best part of two nights foment- 
 ing the swollen knee. In spite of all we could do, 
 Crusoe's knee was as big as a man's head on the 
 morning of the race, and the horse was lame. Know- 
 ing how game he was, I started on him for the hurdle 
 race amid derisive laughter from the crowd. Chirn- 
 side horse, The General, well trained and in first- 
 class condition, was favourite at evens. The bookies 
 would only give 8 to 1 against Crusoe, in spite of his 
 big knee, and we were not game to back him. Poor 
 Old Crusoe could, with difficulty, bend the knee to get 
 over the hurdles, but, to everyone's surprise, he won 
 after a hard and close tussle up the straight with 
 The General. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 My favourite horse at Muntham was Pannikin, a 
 little black, clean-bred Robin Hood horse, not over 
 14.3. I never remember his being tired, and I have 
 ridden him eighty miles in eleven or twelve hours. 
 He had beautiful paces, always free and willing, and 
 an angelic temper; was a first-class stock horse, and 
 fast, and for a horse very intelligent. He was a 
 great fencer, and, though only a pony, carried me 
 more than once over fences five feet high. Pannikin 
 thoroughly enjoyed a bit of fun, and many a bit of 
 fun he and I had together. I never loved a 
 horse in my life as I did Pannikin. He was just a 
 dear old friend, and I know I shed tears when I 
 said good-bye to him. He was kindly, true and cheer- 
 ful, and willing and able, too, and what can be said 
 more for man or horse ? As Gordon puts it : 
 
 No slave, but a comrade "true is this" 
 Is the horse, for he takes his share, 
 
 Xot in peril alone, but in fervent bliss 
 In the longing to do and dare.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 159 
 
 I sent Pannikin at a fence one wet day ; he slipped, 
 and seemed to me almost to hit the fence before he 
 rose at it and cleared it too in a buck. I went back, 
 and I found the track of his two front feet right 
 under the bottom rail of the fence, yet he had 
 cleared it. 
 
 Many a good time dear old Bob Learmonth, on 
 Tommy Racquet, and 1, on Pannikin, had together, 
 and no harm in them, though there may have been a 
 little risk. His groom used to dread the sight of me 
 at Tahara; he said there was sure to be some "divil's 
 game" on. One dark night I had to return to Mun- 
 tham, and the Wannon was in flood, and had to be 
 crossed at Hilgay, some five miles away. Bob came 
 with me to see that I got safely across. When we got 
 to the river I said, "Look here, Bob, you are never 
 going to let me go across by myself." I made him 
 come over, but when we got to the other side he 
 remembered he had some work to do in the morning, 
 and insisted on my seeing him back safe over the 
 river, and finally I had to re-cross alone. 
 
 When I had settled to go to Queensland I went to 
 Tahara to say good-bye to Bob, and at night, when 
 I started for home (it was moonlight), we decided 
 we would have a lep or two by way of farewell. I 
 was on Pannikin, and Bob was on old Tommy Rac- 
 quet, both good fencers. We got over the horse pad- 
 dock all right, and then into Dr. Russell's cultivation 
 paddock, when down came Tommy Racquet over a 
 heap of stones, and Bob lay on the ground stunned, 
 with his face cut and all over blood. It would not 
 do to let Parson Russell know about our pranks, so 
 I jumped Pannikin back out of the paddock and 
 hung him up a bit away, and went back to Bob, who 
 by this time had come to, but was quite dazed. To 
 mend matters, I saw a man coining towards us from 
 the house. I bundled Bob on his horse, and gave the 
 animal a cut of my whip, sent him over the fence, 
 and Bob disappeared, When I went for my horse
 
 160 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 he was gone, and I had to walk back to Tahara. 
 There I found Bob in bed with his face badly cut, 
 but the groom had washed and dressed it. I had to 
 get back to Muntham that night to get some fat cattle 
 for a Portland butcher, so took the stable horse. 
 When I got near the Parsonage I made up my mind 
 to call in and make a clean breast of it to the parson, 
 as he was such a really fine fellow, but before reaching 
 the house I met a man on Pannikin. I said, ' ' Where 
 are you going?" He replied, "For the police. This 
 is Mr. Fetherston's horse, and we think he has been 
 stuck up." I said, "How do you know it's Mr. 
 Fetherston's horse?" "Oh," he replied, "we opened 
 the valise and found his name on a collar." (Moral: 
 Never have your linen marked if you are up to larks.) 
 I said, "I am Mr. F. ; is Dr. Russell at home?" He 
 said, "Just come home, and he is in a great way; 
 Mrs. Russell and her sister thought the place was 
 going to be stuck up, and they got a terrible fright, 
 and Mrs. Russell is quite ill." This was very pleasant 
 for me. However, I rode on and met Dr. Russell and 
 tried to explain matters to him; he was, however, 
 very angry, and after making all the apologies I 
 could I rode off. I returned next day, and made my 
 peace with the ladies over a cup of tea and was for- 
 given, but poor Bob's face was so bad for some time 
 that he could not call, and it was a long time before 
 he squared up matters at the Parsonage. 
 
 Dr. Russell was a splendid man, and beloved by all 
 who knew him. He was a model "bush parson," and 
 welcomed by high and low. I never remember any 
 bush clergyman who was more universally beloved 
 and respected. He was highly educated and clever, 
 never pulled a long face, or depicted religion as some- 
 thing sombre and lugubrious, but lie was a deeply 
 religious man, and one in whom there was no guile. 
 
 My last go over fences with Bob and Ingleside was 
 when leaving for Queensland, and on my way to Port- 
 land from Hamilton, I was riding Pannikin, and ray
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 161 
 
 father came to see the last of me. I had just said 
 good-bye to my heloved mother, and I shall never 
 forget how brave she was actually smiling as 1 
 looked back at her, though I am sure her hear.t was 
 breaking, as she never expected to see me again. At 
 Branxholme Bob, on Ingleside, turned up, of course 
 by arrangement, as we had determined to have a fare- 
 well "shivoo" over fences. As soon as we started 
 again after lunch for Ettrick W. Learmonth's 
 station Bob sent Ingleside over the yard at the pub., 
 and I followed suit on Pannikin. We opened no 
 gates, and every fence we sighted we sailed over in 
 good style. The dear Old Governor went through 
 the gates, but though he was then just about sixty 
 years old, if he had been on a jumping horse I am 
 sure he would have joined in. About three miles 
 before reaching the Ettrick boundary I spied a small 
 paled-in place, and at once sent old Pannikin at it. It 
 was all out five feet high, yet the little fellow cleared 
 it, and on landing I found myself in among a pack of 
 yelling kangaroo dogs. I had jumped into a dog 
 kennel. There was no room for Bob till I got out 
 again, and no distance for me to get up a run. Pan- 
 nikin had to tackle the fence almost at a stand, but 
 although he made a gallant effort, he fell over it, but 
 got out. As soon as I was out Bob, on Ingleside, 
 sailed in and straight out, and never touched the 
 fences. When we reached Ettrick boundary fence a 
 stiff two-railer Ingleside cleared it with a bound, 
 but Pannikin's fall had shaken him, and for the first 
 time he turned his head and I gave it best. I handed 
 him over to his owner in Portland and never saw him 
 again. Charley King, my successor at Muntham, 
 rode him for years and treated him well, but I am 
 quite sure that the dear little horse must have missed 
 "the fun over the fences." 
 
 Pannikin puts me in mind of an amusing and in- 
 teresting episode in my life. I had been very epris 
 of a particularly pretty and charming girl who lived 
 P
 
 162 AFTER MANY DAYS' 
 
 about eighty miles from Muntham. We had danced 
 a good deal together, and I was very much attracted, 
 but I had no idea of becoming a suitor. Indeed 1 
 was in no position to ask any girl to throw in her lot 
 with me, nor did I think myself good enough in any 
 way for any nice girl to choose for a mate. 
 
 However, a very great friend of mine asked me 
 why I did not, follow up my "attentions," as he said 
 he felt sure they would be acceptable. I got quite 
 angry, and told him I was quite sure the girl would 
 not look at me, and told him to drop the subject. 
 However, he told me that he was inspired by his sister 
 in what he had said, his sister being the young lady's 
 greatest friend. I began then to think it over, and 
 I decided I would ride up and see for myself. Ac- 
 cordingly I started off on old Pannikin, riding the 
 eighty miles in the day. I was most hospitably and 
 kindly received, but alas when we went into dinner 
 I was told that the young lady was away in Adelaide 
 on a visit. I accepted the situation, sent her my 
 kind remembrances, stayed one day, and rode back 
 to Muntham on old Pannikin, and came to the philo- 
 sophical conclusion that it was not meant to be. 
 
 Guess my surprise about two years afterwards 
 when in Queensland, getting a letter from my old 
 friend telling me he was engaged to the young lady 
 himself. After I returned from the North. I found 
 they were married, and dined with them one evening 
 in Melbourne. 
 
 As I went down badly in my Queensland venture, 
 it was well that things had shaped as they did. 
 
 Who dearly loves the days of oldt They're not so 
 
 good as we've been told, 
 Their loss is scarce worth beirailing. 
 We've seen Archer's work, Mormon's stride, and the 
 deerlike bound of Inglesidc. 
 
 I never saw my old mate, Bob Learmonth, ride that 
 best of leppers, Tngleside, over a steeplechase course,
 
 AFTER .MANY DAYS 163 
 
 but I had a few good shivoos with him and his 
 favourite. Bob was a beautiful horseman and looked 
 it, and his hands were perfect, but as old Quin, the 
 sporting C.P.S., said of him, he just wanted a bit 
 more "devil" in him. Ingleside was a handsome 
 breedy-looking horse by King Alfred, and was a 
 natural jumper. The first time Bob ever fenced him 
 was one day when he and I rode over together to look 
 at Frank Henty's horses then being trained by Quin 
 at Digby. Bob rode Ingleside, three years old. I 
 was riding a good-looking Muntham filly by Wood- 
 ranger. When we started back from Digby to Tahara 
 (then owned by William Learmonth) we agreed not 
 to open a gate, although neither of our horses had 
 ever been over a fence. We negotiated no less than 
 twenty-six post and rail fences, and one water jump 
 by the time we reached Merino township, and, with 
 the exception of Ingleside landing on top of one fence, 
 not a mistake was made. After leaving Merino my 
 mare refused the first fence, and I had a job to force 
 her through it. A little further on she stopped 
 again, and Ingleside got hung up on top of a strong 
 three-rail fence, unseating Bob, and landing with one 
 forefoot on the lapel of his coat. A German, the 
 owner of the land, appeared at the far end of the 
 paddock flourishing a pitchfork, and Bob yelled at 
 me to set him free. I forced my mare through the 
 fence, breaking the top rail. I got Bob free before 
 the German reached him, and we sailed off to get 
 out of the paddock over the Tahara boundary fence 
 a high two-railer. Ingleside cleared it like a bird, 
 (out of a ploughed field, too), but my mare had had 
 enough, and at last I dislodged the bottom rail, and 
 led her under the top rail, which shows what a height 
 the fence must have been. The Wannon was then in 
 flood, and as my mare had had more than enough of 
 jumping we finished the day's "entertainment" by 
 trying the swimming powers of our horses, and I 
 found I could "knock spots" off Ingleside in the
 
 164 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 water. We found old Major Learmontk at Tahara 
 when we got there, and though he shook his head over 
 our day's outing, he fully enjoyed it all. Next day 
 we all three went to Grassdale to see John Coldham, 
 and found the creek a swimmer, and the little bridge 
 out of sight. We got the Major and our clothes and 
 saddles over on a log, and I peeled off and swam the 
 horses over; they cleared out on the other side, and 
 I gave chase in the "altogether," and before I could 
 pull up I found myself almost right up to Grassdale 
 House. Fortunately no one was about, and I caught 
 the horses and beat a hasty retreat back to my clothes. 
 
 After I left Victoria, Learmonth ran Ingleside at 
 Coleraine, Ballarat, and other places, and at Mel- 
 bourne, and won a good many races. At Ballarat 
 Ingleside came down, but Bob called out," Come up, 
 old boy!" and with a haul and a shake Bob still in 
 the saddle, the pair got up, went in and won the race. 
 It was here that Bob and Ingleside cleared Gordon 
 and Viking on the ground. 
 
 On the 5th November Guy Fawkes' Day Ingle- 
 side ran a great race over Flemington Steeplechase 
 course. There was at that time a hurdle in the run 
 home, and Ingleside and Guy Fawkes fell over this 
 hurdle, Guy Fawkes breaking his neck, while Billy 
 Bell, a long way behind, came up on an old horse 
 called Vandyke and won. Bob Learmouth, who, of 
 course, was on Ingleside, got a heavy fall, and was 
 not able to mount again, but if any one who had been 
 the right weight had jumped on Ingleside. he could 
 easily have won. 
 
 Not so long afterwards, and while I was in Queens- 
 land, Bob Learmonth, died, quite young.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 165 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Although I have ridden more than a few steeple- 
 chases with ''Lindsay Gordon," I was never intimate 
 with him, chiefly because I had gone to try my for- 
 tune in North Queensland (1862) before Gordon had 
 become famous either as a poet or as a horseman. 
 When I first knew Gordon he was a horse-breaker. 
 After he inherited some money he became a member 
 of Parliament, published his poems, and became well- 
 known as one of the foremost and most daring horse- 
 men of his day. 
 
 I first met Gordon, as already mentioned in these 
 pages, at a meeting at Apsley in South Australia. 
 He was riding a hard-pulling, hard-hitting "Kila- 
 noola" horse called Clansman. He managed to get 
 him round the course, but not without a fall. Gordon 
 at that time rather preferred a difficult mount one 
 that no one else would care to send over the sticks. I 
 was very much of the same mind myself, for I used 
 to say, "If you won on a favourite no one thought 
 anything of it, but to win on a brute was a feather 
 in the rider's cap." 
 
 Gordon was a remarkable looking man over six 
 feet high, with a head of thick curly hair, and a 
 strong resolute chin. He was painfully short sighted, 
 and it's a wonder how he managed to ride at racing 
 pace after wild horses and cattle through thick timber 
 and over rough country. On one occasion he did 
 get knocked off, and was badly hurt. While in the 
 mounted police, crossing a neck of the Ninety Mile 
 Creek, Gordon got a bad turn of sunstroke, and but 
 for the great care of Mr. Young, Governor of the 
 Mt. Gambier Gaol, he would have lost his life. He 
 was a moody, silent, reserved man, often as he him- 
 self has it, "some reverie locked in." He was an 
 ugly rider, and appeared to sit loosely on his horse,
 
 166 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 but no buckjuinper could throw him, and no horse 
 could clout a fence so hard as to shift Lindsay Gor- 
 don. He was the very extreme reverse of the "Tod 
 Sloan" style, for he leaned so far back going over a 
 fence, that I have seen his head touch his horse's 
 rump. I think he got into this habit through riding 
 rough untried horses that used to hit their fences 
 hard. Like myself, Gordon considered it was his 
 business to stick to the saddle whatever happened. 
 My code when riding was to stick to the saddle, and 
 if the horse fell to stick to the reins. When driving 
 stick to the trap as long as you can, and when upset 
 or thrown out stick to the reins. Gordon was abso- 
 lutely fearless. Possibly he was reckless ; but to over- 
 come obstacles, to ride a bad horse to victory over 
 the sticks, to 'subjugate an outlaw, to force a young- 
 ster over fences, or to win three steeplechases (as he 
 did) in one day, was "life" to Gordon. The three 
 horses he won on in one day over Flemingtou steeple- 
 chase course were Babbler, Viking and Cadger. 
 
 Lindsay Gordon's many cross country victories are 
 now matters of racing history. He won steeplechases 
 all over Victoria on all sorts of horses, many very 
 good, some the reverse. His mounts were always 
 backed by the public, and many would go to the races 
 just to see him ride. In one of his letters he wrote: 
 "It shows what fools the sporting public are; no- 
 thing will go down with them now unless I ride, and 
 my mount is always backed." If a man had a horse 
 that no one else cared to risk his life on, that was 
 the mount for Gordon. He always threw his heart 
 over the fence first ; his mount was bound to feel and 
 know this, and to follow suit. 
 
 I think that Gordon's great success with horses lay 
 in the fact that there was a subtle feeling of sympathy 
 between horse and rider. They understood each 
 other, and for that reason a horse would do more for 
 Gordon than probably he would do for a much more 
 artistic and finished horseman. For one thing he
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 167 
 
 would without doubt impart determination and 
 "divilrnent" to his mount. It is a well-known fact 
 that many racehorses will compete better, will try 
 . better, with certain jockeys up. I have known horses 
 that would always buck when mounted by a man, but 
 never with a woman on their backs. Then look at 
 buggy horses. I have seen a pair of horses going 
 along anyhow, no life or go in them, a stranger hav- 
 ing the reins. In jumps the owner, and no sooner 
 does he take the reins, and though no whip is used, 
 off go the horses champing their bits and "blowing 
 their noses" happily and good humouredly. So with 
 Gordon in his sympathy with, and knowledge of, his 
 horses, and in their sympathy with, and knowledge 
 of, him lay his success. As Jack London has it 
 (Valley of the Moon), "his horses had the feel of 
 him." 
 
 I remember Tom Lloyd, brother of the well-known 
 "Squire of Yamma," telling me that, driving in to 
 Ballarat one day, he met Gordon on a promising 
 youngster, and hailed him, "Where are you off to?" 
 "Oh, just going to give the youngster a fall or two," 
 replied Gordon. As Lloyd was returning, he met 
 Gordon again, but this time in a spring cart with his 
 head bandaged. He had given the youngster a "fall 
 or two." 
 
 When Gordon performed his famous leap at Mt. 
 Gambier, Blue Lake, on Ked Lancer, he was asked 
 "Whatever made you do a wild thing like that?" 
 They had all been hunting, and Gordon had a green 
 coat on. "Oh," said Gordon, "you see I had a green 
 coat on, and a man with a green coat must do some- 
 thing to bear it out." Mr. Trainor was with Gordon 
 on that occasion. It was after a steeplechase meet- 
 ing at Mt. Gambier that Gordon, Trainor and some 
 others were riding along the Blue Lake, when sud- 
 denly, without any warning, Gordon turned his horse 
 round and sent him over the fence, a big one, too, 
 protecting the road from the steep drop into the lake.
 
 168 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 There was just space for the horse to land and no 
 more. Had Red Lancer not landed on that narrow 
 bit of ground, and pulled up short on it, he and his 
 rider would have gone down to certain destruction 
 sheer into the lake, a big drop of some 100 feet. 
 Gordon rode his horse along the ledge till he found 
 a place with a little more room, and then jumped back 
 to the road almost in a stand. It looked like a pretty 
 close call, and was done in cold blood on the spur 
 of the moment. 
 
 Harry Stockdale writes: "At this time 'Tom 
 Hales,' afterwards Australia's champion jockey, was 
 one of the stockmen on my uncle's run, and his 
 brother, Billy, a fine rough rider, was also often 
 there, especially at mustering time. What a gather- 
 ing of first-class horsemen then went forth at dawn 
 of day Gordon, the two Hales, Rowdy Pollock 
 (stockman), Gifford (the aboriginal, actually the 
 finest scrub and timber rider I have ever seen), my 
 brother Robert, and a few of the cracks from the 
 neighbouring runs, I think the ' south east' of S.A. 
 and the adjoining Western district of Victoria was 
 at that time far richer in great horsemen than any 
 other part of Australia ever has been. Besides those 
 already mentioned, there was 'Johnny Brewer,' 
 father of the two celebrated hurdle riders of the 
 present day; Billy Simson, nicknamed 'Boy Blazes,' 
 the finest horseman I ever met; James Wilson, the 
 original owner of St. Albans, breeder of First King; 
 Mullally and Ned Gorry, father of the lightweight 
 jockey of a few years back; Joe Pearson, Ferguson, 
 Bob Seymour, Learmonth, and several others, whose 
 names I cannot for the moment recall, but all straight 
 going, fearless horsemen." 
 
 The accompanying picture of Gordon on Cadger is 
 published by permission of Mr. Riddoch. The other 
 picture is an incident in a race at Ballarat and 
 depicts Bob Learmonth on Ingleside jumping over 
 Gordon and Viking on the ground.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 169 
 
 A characteristic story is told of Gordon when he 
 was a trooper in the Mounted Police. He was acting 
 as orderly to the Chief Inspector, and it was his duty 
 to take the Chief's horse every morning from the 
 stable to the office. The Chief noticed his horse was 
 rather heated, but Gordon said, "He's a bit excit- 
 able, sir." It transpired that Gordon couldn't resist 
 several tempting fences, over which he could take a 
 short cut to the office, and he had quite a little crowd 
 of admirers every morning to witness the jumping. 
 
 Gordon was one day taking a noted bad character 
 from Penola to Adelaide. Both Gordon and his 
 prisoner were mounted, and the latter was hand- 
 cuffed. The man became very vituperative as they 
 rode along, and calling Gordon all the foul names he 
 
 could think of, he wound up by saying, "You b ; 
 
 if I were free I'd knock hell out of your stinking 
 carcass." Gordon pulled up, said nothing, but made 
 his prisoner dismount. He then took the handcuffs 
 off, and told the rascal to put up his hands. The man 
 was pretty good with his fists, but Gordon was 
 better, and after a hard set-to, the prisoner said he 
 had had enough. On went the handcuffs, and they 
 started along again, and there were no more inter- 
 jections. 
 
 The last time I saw Gordon was in 1861 at a race 
 meeting at Branxholme, when his horse fell at the 
 third fence, and Gordon stood dazed in the gap. Of 
 course while in Queensland I read his poems with 
 great delight, and also followed his steeplechasing 
 career with equal delight. 
 
 To a bushman and I am nothing if not a bushman 
 The Sick Stockrider and From the Wreck appeal 
 most of all of Gordon's poems, and I cannot refrain 
 from quoting some verses from both. I am sure that 
 many a wounded and sick Anzac has loved to recall 
 to his memory this sad beautiful poem of a brother 
 bushman.
 
 170 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Hold hard, Ned! Lift me down once more, and lay 
 
 me in the shade 
 
 Old man, you've had your ivork cut out to guide 
 Both horses, and to hold me in the saddle when I 
 
 sway'd, 
 All through the hot, sloiv, sleepy, silent ride. 
 
 'Twas merry in the glowing morn, among the <j]c<i Hi- 
 ing grass, 
 
 To wander as we've wandered many a mile, 
 And bloiv the cool tobacco cloud, and watch the irhitc 
 
 wreaths pass, 
 
 Sitting loosely in the saddle all the while. 
 'Twas merry 'mid the blackivoods, when ive spied the 
 
 station roofs, 
 
 To wheel the wild scrub cattle at the yard, 
 With a running fire of stockwhips and a fiery run 
 
 of hoofs, 
 
 Oh! the hardest day was never then too hard. 
 Aye, we had a glorious gallop after "Starlight" and 
 
 his gang, 
 
 When they bolted from Sylvester's on the flat, 
 Hoiv the sun-dried reed-beds crackled, how the flint- 
 strewn ranges rang 
 
 To the strokes of "Mountaineer" and "Acrobat"; 
 Hard behind them in the timber, harder still across 
 
 the heath, 
 Close beside them through the tea-tree scrub ivc 
 
 dashed, 
 And the golden tinted fern leaves, hoiv they rustled 
 
 underneath, 
 And the honeysuckle osiers how they crashed. 
 
 We led the hunt throughout, Ned, on the chestnut 
 
 and the grey, 
 
 And the troopers were three hundred yards behind, 
 While we emptied our six-shooters on the bushrangers 
 
 at bay } 
 In the creek with stunted box-tree for a blind.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 171 
 
 There you grappled ivith the leader, man to man and 
 
 horse to horse, 
 
 And you roll'd together when the chestnut rear'd, 
 He blazed away and missed you in that shallow water' 
 
 course, 
 A narrow shave his powder singed your beard. 
 
 There was Hughes, who got in trouble through that 
 
 business with the cards, 
 It matters little what became of him; 
 But a steer ripp'd up Macpherson in the Cooraminta 
 
 yards, 
 And Sullivan was drowned at Sink-or-sivim. 
 
 The deep blue skies wax dusky, and the tall green 
 
 trees grow dim, 
 
 The sward beneath me seems to heave and fall, 
 And sickly, smoky shadows through the sleepy sun- 
 light swim, 
 
 And on the very sun's face weave their pall. 
 Let me slumber in the hollow where the wattle blos- 
 soms wave. 
 
 With never stone or rail to fence my bed, 
 Should the sturdy station children pull the bush 
 
 flowers on my grave, 
 7 may chance to hear them romping overhead. 
 
 The following lines formed part of the original 
 poem, and it is hard to see why they were struck out : 
 
 7 do not think I shall, though, for I feel like sleeping 
 
 sound, 
 
 That sleep they say is doubtful true, but yet 
 At least, it matters little to the dead man underground 
 
 What the living may remember or forget. 
 Enigmas that perplex us in this world's unequal 
 
 strife, 
 The future may ignore or may reveal,
 
 172 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 But some as weak as water, Ned, to make the best of 
 
 life 
 Have been to face the worst as true as steel. 
 
 I have mentioned the wreck of the Adtnclla else- 
 where. It was four days after the Admella struck 
 before the news reached the land, and meanwhile one 
 by one the poor shipwrecked ones were being washed 
 off the wreck into the raging sea. Finally two sailors 
 in a boat managed to make the lighthouse. Word 
 was at once sent to the nearest station, Livingston's, 
 where Gordon happened to be breaking in horses. He 
 turned out in the middle of the night and rode hard 
 to Mt. Gambier with the news. Hence the poem 
 From the Wreck. 
 
 And over the wasteland and under the wood, 
 By down and by dale, and by fell and by flat, 
 MIC galloped, and here in the stirrups I stood 
 
 To ease her, and there in the saddle I sat 
 To steer her. We suddenly struck the red loam 
 
 Of the track near the troughs then she reeled on 
 
 the rise, 
 From her crest to her croup covered over with foam 
 
 And blood-red her nostrils and bloodshot her eyes. 
 7 pulled her together, I pressed her, and she 
 
 Shot down the decline to the company's yard, 
 And on by the paddocks, yet under my knee 
 
 T could feel her heart thumping the saddle-flaps 
 hard. 
 
 But of all Gordon's poems I put The Rhyme of 
 Joyous Guard first. Of this fine poem Frances 
 Adams writes: "I must confess that I really think 
 that The Rhyme of Joyous Guard is worth all the 
 Idylls of the King, save Lancelot and Elaine and The 
 Passing of Arthur put together. I mean that I think 
 it has more real deep true significance," and lie 
 quotes :
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 173 
 
 // ever I smote as a man should smite, 
 
 If I struck one stroke that seemed good in Thy sight, 
 
 By Thy loving mercy prevailing, 
 Lord! let her stand in the light of Thy face, 
 Cloth'd ivith Thy love and crowned with Thy grace, 
 When I gnash my teeth in the terrible place 
 That is filled with weeping and wailing. 
 
 Gordon made some good staunch friends, but among 
 them none better than John Biddoch, of Yallum Sta- 
 tion, S.A. Robert Power was another staunch friend, 
 but his most intimate friend was William Trainor, 
 trainer and jockey a friend as true as steel. 
 
 Once when staying with Bob Power, Gordon told 
 his host that he had started off swimming from near 
 Brighton into the bay fully determined not to return. 
 He swam and swam till probably the exercise and 
 the bracing salt water divested him of his morbid 
 wish to die, and when almost tired out, and a long 
 way from shore, he turned and exerted every nerve 
 to preserve the life he had a few minutes before 
 decided to throw away. He said he just managed 
 to reach the beach, quite spent and exhausted, but 
 himself again. 
 
 Later on Gordon had some heavy falls, notably one 
 with Prince Rupert, when he sustained severe in- 
 ternal injuries and a bad wound on the head. It is 
 also quite probable that he never quite got over the 
 severe sunstroke attack when a mounted trooper. 
 Very little stimulant affected him. 
 
 The state of mind he got into at this time can be 
 gathered from a letter of his: 
 
 "You have no idea," he wrote, "how sick I am of 
 steeplechasing and horse riding, but when a man gets 
 so deep into the mire it is hard to draw back. I have 
 to ride three races in Melbourne next week. . . I 
 never got over that fall, and since then I have taken 
 to drink at least, though I never get drunk, I drink 
 a great deal more than I ought to do; for I have
 
 174 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 a good deal of pain in my bead and neck, and I am 
 sometimes so low spirited and miserable that if I had 
 a strong sleeping draught near me I might take it. 
 I have carried one that I should never wake from, 
 and if I could only persuade myself that I am a little 
 mad I might do something of that sort. I really do 
 feel a little mad sometimes, and I begin to think I 
 have more trouble than I can endure ; I would almost 
 say more than I deserve, but this would probably 
 be untrue." 
 
 Soon all his money affairs went wrong, and he 
 found himself (for him) very much in debt. He felt 
 himself "shattered in mind, and in body." He 
 became utterly despondent, and just about this time 
 he wrote those beautiful lines: 
 
 Child, can I tell where the garlands go. 
 
 Can I tell where the last leaves veer, 
 On the brown-burnt banks where the wild wind* 
 blow 
 
 When they drift through the dead wood drear. 
 Girl! ivhen the garlands of next year glow 
 
 You may gather again, my dear, 
 But I go where the last year's lost leaves go 
 
 At the falling of the year. 
 
 Gordon had written to two good friends for 
 pecuniary help it was not much he needed and the 
 favourable replies from both friends were somehow 
 delayed, though actually in the post, when one morn- 
 ing early, physically weak and mentally off his bal- 
 ance, the poor fellow kissed his sleeping wife good- 
 bye, and he was never again seen alive. 
 
 Gordon was buried in the "wooded and wild" 
 Brighton cemetery where the vegetation is "strag- 
 glingly luxuriant." A fitting resting-place. 
 
 After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. 
 Wild, fearless horseman! With a reckless rein 
 
 Riding at Fate's big fences unafraid, 
 Holding the Phantom Rider in disdain,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 175 
 
 And fretting only for his call delayed! 
 We read the stirring verses and between 
 
 Hear the quick hoof -beat twined ivith cunning art, 
 See the gold sunlight on the silken sheen 
 
 Bring a moment's respite to his horseman heart. 
 Ah! sad, proud Gordon! Crossing swords with 
 Care, 
 
 And touching hands so many times with Death, 
 That Death at last came, caught him scarce aware, 
 
 And laid him sleeping with one quick-drawn breath 
 In that green grave, upon the sunny slope. 
 
 Facing the seas he loved, whose simple stone 
 Looks out upon the world that held his hope 
 
 And back upon The Bush he made his own. 
 
 W. OGILVIE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "Look here, young man, are you going to drive us 
 to the ball at Sandford to-morrow night?" said "Old 
 Mac" to me one evening at Muntham. "Well," I 
 replied, "seeing that I shall be up at 4 o'clock to- 
 morrow morning, and that I have a hard day before 
 me mustering cattle and branding calves, and that it 
 will be sundown before I get home, I'll see you all 
 further before I start off then to drive eight miles, 
 to dance all night, and then get back by daylight to 
 start work. I'm not on." "But see," chimed in an- 
 other friend, dear old Dr. Wyman, the sporting doctor, 
 commonly known as "Giglamps," in allusion to the 
 glasses he wore, ' ' if you won 't drive us over we can 't 
 go at all, for it will be as dark as pitch. As you know, 
 I can't see much at any time, and not at all in the 
 dark. Mac, as he knows, can't drive for sour apples, 
 and our friend from the Wannon (who arrives to- 
 morrow) is, I know, a very poor whip, so you just
 
 176 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 jolly well will have to drive us over, and there's an 
 end of it." I said, "I'm hanged if I do, and there 
 is another end to it." "Now, stop a minute, my boy," 
 said the doctor, playing his biggest trump, "what 
 about the girls ? You know they fully expect a fairish 
 party of men from here, and if they find out that 
 you are responsible for the defection of so many, 
 where will you be, my young friend?" Well, this 
 was a poser, I had to admit. For the last thing in my 
 mind was to get into the black books of the "girls," 
 never mind who they were. I can say they were 
 not only very pretty and charming girls, but really 
 good sorts. "All right, old Giglamps," 1 said, "I'm 
 with you." 
 
 I had not much more time the following evening 
 than just to get a good shower bath, a good dinner, 
 and I am afraid a good big nip of whiskey, when we 
 started off for Saiidford in our express waggon, with 
 two big upstanding brown Muntham-bred colts that 1 
 had myself broken to harness. Needless to say, we 
 "travelled," despite the remonstrances of more than 
 one passenger. I only said, "You made me come, 
 and by Jove, you'll remember your drive." How- 
 ever, all went well, for as "Wyman used to say, I 
 seemed to drive by instinct in the dark, and even 
 where stumps were thick, I never remember having 
 had a smash at night. At one part of the road we 
 had to drive along a narrow neck called "The 
 Saddle," with very precipitous sides; as we spun 
 across it, the waggon swaying not a little, our Wan- 
 non passenger got so scared as to become quite sick. 
 I am afraid he received but little sympathy. 
 
 The ball went off well, and we got back a little 
 after daylight, in good time for me to start brand- 
 ing. Now, how I came to drag the Sandford ball 
 into this was that in thinking over the very remark- 
 able murder case I am about to relate, in fact one 
 of the criminal Causes Celebre of Australia, I remem- 
 bered that at this ball one of the waitresses at the
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 177 
 
 supper was a Mrs. Waines, whose husband farmed a 
 piece of land on the edge of the Muntham estate, 
 almost overlooking the little township of Casterton, 
 on the Glenelg. 
 
 Casterton was then just a small bush township on 
 the main road to South Australia, about fifty miles 
 from the border. It consisted of one public house, a 
 store, a blacksmith's shop, a pound, a doctor's resi- 
 dence, and half a dozen small cottages; for all that 
 at times Casterton was quite a lively little place. 
 
 Waines was just an ordinary small farmer, and I 
 had never heard anything .against him, but he cer- 
 tainly was not a prepossessing looking man. He had 
 sold a piece of his land to a man named Clintock. 
 The latter and his wife being feckless bodies, had 
 done no good with it, so they decided to re-sell and 
 leave the district. Eventually they did sell the land 
 back to Waines for 100, and presumably they left 
 the district, as they were not seen again at Casterton. 
 After a bit, however, people began to ask questions, 
 and it turned out that no one had ever seen the 
 Clintocks leaving their home, nor had anything been 
 heard of them since. Soon reports began to be heard 
 implicating the Waines, and some unkind and sus- 
 picious people went so far as to hint that Waines 
 could throw light on their disappearance. In fact it 
 was plainly said by more than one that Waines had 
 made away with them. Most people scouted the idea, 
 and the police did not seem to take any action in the 
 matter. Now, I used every year to lend Waines young 
 Suffolk Punch draught fillies to do his ploughing, 
 for he handled the youngsters with care, fed them 
 well, and returned them unblemished, and in good 
 condition. I met him some time after the disappear- 
 ance of the couple, and said to him, "I have had 
 those two fillies I promised you ready for some time ; 
 why have you not been over for them?" Looking 
 rather sheepish, he said, "Well, I thought you might 
 have heard those reports about me, and that you
 
 178 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 would nut care to let me have them." I really had 
 not paid any attention to the reports, and I told him 
 so, and said, "Oh, come over for the fillies, it's all 
 right." 
 
 One day, some months after the reports had got 
 about, a very tired and sorefooted man pulled up al 
 Chaffey's Hotel at Casterton and asked to be allowed 
 to stay and rest a day. He had no money and not 
 much of a swag. It so happened that the groom was 
 "on the booze," so Chaffey told him if he was any 
 good with horses he had better, after a day's rest, 
 take the groom's place for a day or two. The man, 
 who gave his name as Charley Brown, said he was 
 used to horses, and the end of it was he was installed 
 as groom. Charley was the best groom Chaffey ever 
 had in his stables, and he became a prime favourite. 
 It was Charley here and Charley there, and he must 
 have put by quite a little sum in tips. 
 
 About a month after he came to Castertou, Charley 
 was arrested by the police, and put in the lock-up as 
 being a ticket-of -leave man out of his district. Every- 
 one \vas up in arms, and we were all ready to bail 
 him out, but this could not be done, pending the 
 arrival of the Police Magistrate, who was no other 
 than my father always known as the "Old 
 Governor." He always stayed at Munthain the night 
 before he visited Casterton, and we always made up 
 a rubber of whist for him. 
 
 When he arrived at Muntham I at once indignantly 
 tackled him about Charley Brown. He replied that 
 he knew all about the man, and that no bail would 
 be accepted, and that I would soon change my opinion 
 of him ; with the exception of that he told me nothing. 
 Charley was brought up before the bench next day 
 and remanded, and soon after the township was much 
 disturbed by the arrest of Waiues on suspicion of 
 having murdered the missing couple. Every day 
 for a week Charley was taken out by the police to 
 assist in a search for the remains, and every day
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 179 
 
 "VVaines would question him as to where they were 
 searching, and what the police were doing. Mean- 
 time Charley had been ingratiating himself with 
 Waiues, and after a bit he told Waines that he had 
 been concerned in some very crooked work in New 
 Zealand, and that he had been an accessory in a 
 burglary which ended in a murder, and that he just 
 escaped conviction by the skin of his teeth. Charley 
 in fact wormed himself completely into Waines' con- 
 fidence. Every evening Waines made Charley tell 
 him what the police had done. "We dug up the floor 
 of the house to-day," said Charley, "and went all 
 over the outhouses." Waines never flinched. Next 
 evening he said, "We had a great search in the 
 garden and wheat paddocks to-day." Waines looked 
 quite unconcerned. 
 
 But one evening when Waines, as usual, questioned 
 Charley as to what they had been doing, the latter 
 said, "To-morrow we are going to search in the river, 
 and we commence at the bridge in the morning." At 
 once he noticed that Waines' face fell, and after 
 Charley had worked on his . feelings a bit more, 
 Waines broke down and confessed to Brown that he 
 had murdered the missing couple, and that the 
 remains of the man were planted under the bridge 
 in two bags with stones in them. He then offered 
 Charley Brown half of all the money he had, a good 
 round sum, if he could prevent the police from find- 
 ing the remains. However, the next day the remains 
 were discovered. Waines broke down so completely 
 that the same evening on seeing Mrs. Chaffey, wife 
 of the publican, pass the lock-up, he called out to her 
 through the bars to come over and speak to him, and 
 he then confessed the whole thing to her. 
 
 He told her that he had bought back the land from 
 the couple for 100, and paid them the money and 
 got a receipt; he then determined to murder them 
 for the 100. He took the opportunity of his wife's 
 being away, as we have seen, acting as waitress at
 
 180 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 the ball at Sandford. He watched his opportunity 
 and killed the man from behind with one blow of an 
 axe on the head. The woman, hearing the thud, ran 
 out, and seeing her husband struck down, ran for 
 her life, but Waines followed her and cut her down, 
 too. He said he then made sure of both by repeated 
 blows. He cut the woman up and burnt her, but he 
 chopped the man into pieces and planted his remains 
 under the Casterton bridge, in two trips. Why he 
 chose that place to hide the remains I never heard, 
 but he said he had not had time to burn the second 
 body, and he chose under the bridge without think- 
 ing the matter over. It seems to be characteristic 
 of murderers to commit some serious oversight which 
 so often leads to detection. Waines never showed 
 any signs of remorse, nor did he express any regret 
 for what he had done beyond the one breakdown 
 when he gave himself away by confessing to Mrs. 
 Chaffey. 
 
 He was brought up at a special sitting of the Court 
 at Casterton, and of course there was a big crowd 
 in attendance. 
 
 The first witness called was "Charley." "Your 
 name?" "Charles Brown." "Your occupation?" 
 To everyone's surprise the reply was "That of a 
 detective police officer." The cat was out of the 
 bag, and we all felt very small. To think that all the 
 time in this quiet going and most excellent groom we 
 had with us one of the cleverest and most capable 
 detectives in Australia, for what Charley Brown did 
 not know in connection with unravelling crime was 
 not worth knowing. Yet for a whole month he had 
 groomed our horses, and taken our tips without any- 
 one suspecting who he was. Waines was committed 
 to Portland to stand his trial, and was in due course 
 convicted and hanged. 
 
 But for his voluntary confession to Mrs. Chaffey 
 I doubt whether he would have been convicted, as the 
 Judge spoke in very scathing terms of Mr, Charley
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 181 
 
 Brown's methods of extracting a confession, why, I 
 never could quite understand. 
 
 Ireland, the well-known criminal barrister of Mel- 
 bourne, defended Waines, and he very ingenuously 
 petitioned for a commutation of the sentence, for he 
 argued, "The man has been found guilty of the mur- 
 der of a woman. The surgeons called in the case have 
 sworn to the remains being those of a woman, but," 
 argued Ireland, "the prisoner declares absolutely 
 that the doctors were mistaken, for," said he, "I 
 burnt the woman, and the remains in the river were 
 those of the man." 
 
 This remarkable defence, needless to say, did not 
 save Mr. Waines. 
 
 Curiously enough I have had the honour (?) of the 
 acquaintance of no less than four murderers. If I 
 include Frank Gardner, he would make five ; he never 
 actually committed a murder, but most certainly he 
 did his best, for in the great Eugowra gold escort 
 robbery, Frank Gardner was the chief actor. On that 
 occasion the sergeant of police and a trooper were 
 shot down, and badly wounded. 
 
 Some time after the Waines episode I had a man 
 named Martin Rice working as assistant groom at 
 Muntham. He was a surly chap. One morning he 
 was missing, and one of the stockmen told me that one 
 of the horses was also missing. There were no tele- 
 graph wires in those days, so I started after him on 
 a good horse. At the end of forty miles at Smoky 
 River I rode up to the stables of the inn, and, looking 
 in, I spied the missing horse, and inside the pub I 
 found the missing man. He looked rather foolish, 
 but said he had only used the horse to take him to 
 Portland, where Mr. Henty lived, and that he in- 
 tended to have handed over the horse to its owner 
 all right. I could see that I would have but little 
 chance of convicting the man, and quite possibly he 
 was telling the truth. He was a big lump of a fel- 
 low, too big for me to tackle, so I let him go with a
 
 182 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 warning, and I wrote to Mr. Henty. Rice went on 
 to Melbourne and got a job at Kirk's (then, I think, 
 Watson's Bazaar), in Bourke-street, and a few 
 months after he brutally murdered a well-known vet- 
 erinary surgeon, named Anthony Green, and in due 
 course paid the penalty on the scaffold. 
 
 The next of "my murderers" was a horse dealer 
 in Rockhampton, with whom I had more than one 
 deal. This man waylaid an old man in the dark, who, 
 as he knew, had a considerable sum of money on him. 
 He shot him dead, and robbed him, and it was a good 
 while before he was found out, arrested, tried, con- 
 demned and hanged. 
 
 The last was another cause celebre, and is chron- 
 icled in Rolf Boldrewood's very interesting Austra- 
 lian novel, The Miner's Right. Mr. Griffin, who was 
 the fourth murderer of my acquaintance, filled the 
 position of Commissioner of Goldfields at Clermont 
 in 1865. We had a station not very far out, and I 
 was often in Clermont, or, as we called it then, the 
 Peak Downs. Griffin and Tom Hall, then manager 
 of the Joint Stock Bank in Clermont, kept house 
 together, and I used always to lunch with them when 
 in the town. Tom Hall was a brother to the late 
 Walter Hall. He little knew at that time the big 
 fortune that was to come to him and his brother 
 through the great Mount Morgan mine (the best 
 managed mine I have ever seen, almost all the work 
 being done by gravitation). The last day I visited 
 the bank, as we were going out of the room after 
 lunch off went a pistol shot, and it took us some time 
 to realise that the tail of Tom Hall's coat had struck 
 the door and discharged his revolver. It would have 
 been well for Griffin and his two victims if the bullet 
 had put an end to him. It would have saved him 
 from the scaffold, and the murdered men might still 
 be alive. 
 
 Griffin was a very fine looking man, with very good 
 manners, but there was something about him that
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 183 
 
 conveyed the idea that he was not a gentleman. . He 
 had been removed to Rockhampton from Clermont, 
 and had just been appointed Commissioner of Gold 
 Fields at Crocodile Creek. He had to send a large 
 quantity of notes to Clermont, and he handed a packet 
 supposed to contain the notes to one of two troopers, 
 to deliver at Clermont. One of these men was a young 
 Englishman, and very well connected. This young 
 Englishman must have had some suspicions, for he 
 insisted on Griffin himself re-sealing the package with 
 his own seal before he would take charge of it. This 
 put Griffin in an ugly corner, for as it afterwards 
 transpired, he had appropriated the notes, and there 
 was nothing but waste paper in the package. The 
 idea must then have entered into Griffin's head to 
 murder the two troopers, for he made some excuse 
 to accompany them. He tried to poison them, after 
 they had reached the Mackenzie River, by putting 
 arsenic in the flour. This, however, only made them 
 sick. Then he shot one of the troopers when he was 
 asleep. The other poor fellow had staggered away, 
 half poisoned, and the tracks showed where he had 
 rested on a stump and been violently sick. Griffin 
 must have followed him up and shot him then and 
 there. 
 
 By this time Police Inspector Murray had got on 
 the track of the affair, and had arrived on tlie scene 
 of the murder with his blacktrackers. The track led 
 from where the second trooper had been shot to a 
 public house not far from where the tragedy had 
 taken place. Griffin, who in the meantime had got 
 away, was followed by Murray and taken prisoner. 
 He was tried at Rockhampton, a number of the miss- 
 ing notes were found on him, others that he had used 
 were traced to him, and the packet he had given 
 to the young Englishman was found intact. When 
 the seals were broken it was found to contain nothing 
 but waste paper. 
 
 Griffin was convicted he remained quite cool and
 
 184 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 apparently unconcerned, smoked as usual (being con- 
 demned this was allowed), and he quietly read a novel 
 up to a short time before he was hanged. He went 
 to his execution quite unperturbed he was evidently 
 a man devoid of all moral sense. 
 
 After his death it was reported to the police that 
 ( * tiffin's head had been removed. The body was ex- 
 humed, and sure enough the head was gone. The 
 fact was that a well-known doctor in Rockhamptou 
 when in Rockhampton in 1898 I renewed my 
 acquaintance with him and a well-known banker 
 wished to have the head to have a cast taken of it, and 
 they had managed to get it. The police suspected 
 the doctor, and searched his premises unsuccessfully 
 had they only known it, the head was in a large 
 pot containing a shrub. The head was shipped to a 
 scientific authority in England, but the vessel was 
 lost, and with it went the ghastly relic of the one- 
 time gay and imperturbable Mr. Griffin. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 I had not been in Melbourne for six years, so on 
 my way to Queensland I could not do less than take 
 a fortnight there. During my visit I had the pleasure 
 of seeing Archer, with Cutts again in the saddle, win 
 his second Melbourne Cup for Etty de Mestre. This 
 was my first and last "Melbourne Cup." Archer 
 was a big lumbering goer, and Cutts was not a pretty 
 rider, but two consecutive ' ' Cups ' ' on the same horse 
 is a record. Mormon ran second. Mormon's original 
 name was Praxiteles, and it was said that his owner, 
 Pat Keighran, couldn't get his tongue round this 
 name, so he changed it to Mormon. Mormon was a 
 very handsome horse, and with that artist, Billy 
 Simpson (called Blazes on account of his red head), 
 in the saddle, formed quite a picture. In the first
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 185 
 
 Melbourne Cup two fine mares, Medora and Despatch, 
 came down at the first turn, and had to be killed, 
 
 I put up at Scott's Hotel, in Melbourne, and as my 
 cousin, Charles Kelly, of Kamarooka, and his wife 
 were staying there, I had a good time, for they knew 
 pretty well everyone in Melbourne worth knowing. 
 
 The "Squire, Escott" operatic troop was then at 
 its zenith, and that opera of operas, The Huguenots, 
 was "on." Squires, though a poor actor, had a 
 delightful voice, and Lucy Escott had not only a 
 most beautiful and perfectly-trained voice, but was 
 an exceptionally good actress, and a pretty and 
 charming woman. Farquhason, the bass, was also 
 exceptionally good in fact, the whole cast was more 
 than good, and they played to crowded houses. 7 
 have never enjoyed opera so much in my life, and Les 
 Huguenots has always remained with me a very 
 happy memory. 
 
 Melbourne in 1862 was a very different city from 
 the Melbourne of 1853. I could hardly believe that 
 nine years before I had got bogged close to Scott's 
 Hotel with a load of hay, and had to run from ' ' foot- 
 pads" going past the Government paddock on my 
 way home to Richmond one Saturday afternoon. 
 
 Having greatly enjoyed my renewed acquaintance 
 with Melbourne, I sailed for Sydney en route for 
 North Queensland, full of life and energy and hope, 
 with visions of wide acres of land, flocks of sheep and 
 money galore ! The ' ' world was wide ' ' with me then, 
 and I fully embodied those fine lines of Kingsley's. 
 
 When all the world was young, lad, 
 
 And all the trees were green, 
 And every goose a swan, lad! 
 
 And every lass a queen. 
 Then hey for boot and horse, lad, 
 
 And round the world away, 
 Young blood must have its course, lad, 
 
 And every dog his day.
 
 186 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 And now as I write fifty-four years later, and in my 
 eightieth year, I must quote the second of these beau- 
 tiful verses. 
 
 When all the world is old, lad, 
 
 And all the trees are brown, 
 And all the sport is stale, lad, 
 
 And all the wheels run down. 
 Creep home and take your place there, 
 
 The spent and maimed among, 
 God grant you find one face there 
 
 You loved when all was young, 
 
 I ought to be maimed, it's not my fault that I have 
 escaped being a cripple; yet in spite of my many 
 fractures, dislocations, and crushes, I am by no means 
 maimed. I may be spent physically, but had I the 
 strength, I feel that nothing would give me greater 
 pleasure than to be saddling up "boot and horse, 
 lad," for a four-mile steeplechase over the "Fields of 
 Coleraine," or to be pulling the girths tight with my 
 teeth preparatory to tackling an outlaw, or to be 
 gathering up the reins for a spin in a tiny buggy, with 
 four well-bred youngsters for the first time in har- 
 ness, or best of all, to be starting for "somewhere 
 in France" to do my bit. Merely writing about these 
 things causes my blood to flow faster. I can thank 
 God, too, that not only can I find one face I loved 
 when all was young, but I can find a good round 
 dozen faces whom I loved, aye, and who loved me. 
 too, in the merry days when all was young, in 1862. 
 
 I took my gallant old horse, Robinson Crusoe, for- 
 merly Young Woodbine, with me to Queensland, hav- 
 ing bought him from Mr. Henty for 30. T couldn't 
 bear to leave the old fellow behind, and there was 
 always the chance of winning a hurdle race or two 
 with him up North. 
 
 I was delighted with Sydney. At that time it 
 seemed very old-fashioned and slow after Melbourne,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 187 
 
 but I was enchanted with "our beautiful harbour," 
 and the lovely drives, and the quaint narrow streets, 
 and the old-fashioned ways. I made some good 
 friends, and met with much hospitality and kindness. 
 My brother met me in Sydney, and we put up at 
 the old "Royal" in George-street. 
 
 In my short stay in Sydney I made some new 
 friends Jack Biunie and Jemmy Johnson. These 
 two kept house together in Double Bay, and I often 
 stayed with them. Then there were three of the 
 Wants Ranny, Jack, and Fred with whom I fore- 
 gathered a good deal, sons of Mr. Want, the well- 
 known solicitor and founder of the firm of Want and 
 Johnson. Jack Want, K.C., became a household word 
 in Sydney, and Fred, droll and up to practical jokes, 
 was also well known. I must not forget Charley Lett, 
 considered to be the handsomest man in Sydney. 
 "Handsome Jack Binnie" divided honours with him. 
 
 These were all young men, but Mr. J. B. Watt, 
 head of the firm of Gilchrist, Watt & Co., father of 
 Oswald Watt, who has so notably distinguished him- 
 self as a daring aviator in France, was very good 
 to me, and I generally ate my Sunday dinner at his 
 old Rosebank home. 
 
 An amusing little episode occurred to Charley 
 Lett. He was engaged to be married to Miss Sally 
 Towns, daughter of Captain Towns, after whom 
 Townsville, in North Queensland, was named, but 
 the engagement had not been given out. Even at 
 that early date there was a Sydney Punch in exist- 
 ence, and the editor facetiously put in his paper, 
 "We hear that not only are houses to be let in Syd- 
 ney, but towns are to be let." Miss Sally took 
 offence, and insisted on ' ' Charley ' ' getting an apology 
 from the editor. Accordingly Charley, who was not 
 only, as I have said, considered to be the handsomest 
 man in Sydney, but was endowed withal with a 
 correspondingly stalwart figure, having climbed 
 several flights of stairs, invaded the editor's sanctum,
 
 188 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 cane in hand, ready to take action. He found the 
 editor to be quite a little man perched up on a high 
 stool and looking almost like a boy. Now Lett was 
 possessed of a magnificent pair of Dundreary 
 whiskers, of which he was very proud. As he stood 
 up close to the stool, and told the editor he must 
 either publish an apology or be caned, the little man 
 suddenly grasped Lett by the whiskers, one in each 
 hand, and said with a stammer, "L-l-look here, Mr. 
 L-l-lett, if you don't p-p-promise on your honour to 
 go away and leave me alone now, and in future, I'll 
 pull both your whiskers out by the r-r-roots. ' ' Charley 
 had to capitulate. 
 
 The Australian Club, situated then where Dalgety 's 
 is now, was the club of the day, but was called by 
 many of the younger Sydney men the "Old Fogies' 
 Club," and continued to be so-called till shifted to its 
 present site. My younger friends affected the Union 
 Club, and put me up as an honorary member. It 
 stood on its present splendid site, but was then a most 
 unpretentious little wooden building, with an equally 
 unpretentious little smoking and billiard room. But 
 it was most homelike, and the members all vied in 
 making a guest at home and comfortable, and many 
 happy visits I had to it during my four years' resi- 
 dence in Queensland. And by the same token was 
 not ''Michael" (so well known to all customers of the 
 Bank of New South Wales) gardener to the Club at 
 that time? 
 
 Michael's courtesy and urbanity to strangers visit- 
 ing the bank were proverbial, and is it not on record 
 that on one occasion an old lady who came to get a 
 cheque-book was so impressed by Michael, that on 
 meeting one of the directors at dinner shortly after- 
 wards, she said, "I cannot say too much for your 
 manager. He met me at the door, took me to the 
 right counter, and saw that I got my cheque-book 
 promptly." Michael retired on his well-earned
 
 AFTEE MANY DAYS 
 
 laurels and pension, and with plenty of good wishes, 
 too. 
 
 In 1862 Sydney bankers and merchants were all on 
 the qui vive for Queensland business. Within three 
 or four years they were all eager to get out of it 
 again, but in 1862 they almost rushed advances on 
 promising clients. Their terms were very high, but 
 we all borrowed, confidently looking forward to great 
 results from sheep farming in the "North Countree." 
 The ordinary terms were 10 per cent, per annum to 
 the banks or financial institutions, together with 2 
 per cent, to the merchant or agent affecting the loan, 
 and, mark you, the percentages were made up twice a 
 year, and 2f per cent, commission charged on each 
 half year's renewal. This ran into somewhere like 
 17^ per cent, per annum. Jack Binnie, who repre- 
 sented Donaldson and Co., and who had taken up our 
 account, very kindly agreed to charge us only one 
 2^ per cent, commission on our advance. 
 
 The stiff terms exacted by one large merchant firm 
 in Sydney gave rise to what was called The Queens- 
 land Litany. 
 
 From battle, murder, sudden death, and Messrs. 
 and Company, Good Lord, deliver us. 
 
 This firm was one of the leading firms, and most 
 reputable in Sydney, but cart ropes will not drag 
 the name out of me, and I only know of two of the 
 old Queenslanders of the early sixties left to turn 
 informer. All went to the wall and lost everything, 
 except the late J. R. Black, of Yamala, of the firm 
 of Lamb and Black. He is the only one I can call 
 to mind who saved enough out of the " debacle" in 
 North Queensland to start again down South, and he 
 was not only a remarkably shrewd man, but also a 
 remarkably canny one. 
 
 J. R. Black came to New South Wales and pur- 
 chased Wallangra and Blue Nobby in 1871. I had
 
 190 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 inspected these stations in 1877, with a view to pur- 
 chasing for some friends and myself. While there I 
 saw an old man digging in the garden, and had a 
 chat, and found he was no other than Ward, of the 
 Royal Hotel, Rockhampton. "Old Beggarun" we 
 used to call him from the language he used. He made 
 a lot of money out of the hotel, and then bought a 
 station and lost all, and here was the poor old man 
 digging for a living. 
 
 I did not stay long in Sydney. We bought two 
 or three horses to take North, one a very fine chestnut 
 with the reputation of being a good fencer. 
 
 Having arranged our financial affairs with Binnie, 
 my brother and 1 took passage for Brisbane and took 
 our horses with us. The City of Brisbane was com- 
 manded by Captain Knight, the best of good skippers 
 and noted for his dry humour. 
 
 There were some other Victorians on board, among 
 them "Marmy and Julius Curr," sons of Edward 
 Curr, the well-known Inspector of Stock, of Victoria, 
 and brothers of the late Mrs. Gurner, a splendid 
 horsewoman, so well known in the Melbourne Hunt- 
 ing Field as "the Lady in Grey." We had also on 
 board a Presbyterian parson, a right good fellow, who 
 had travelled a good deal in Africa, and was neither 
 unctuous nor sanctimonious. 
 
 Everyone who had sailed with Captain Knight 
 knows how he could sit at the head of the table, and 
 recount the most wonderful yarns in the dryest 
 possible manner, and without moving a muscle of 
 his face, so that you dare not look incredulous; but, 
 bless my heart, he was a child to Marmy Curr. 
 Though Curr had never been out of Australia he 
 recounted trips up the Zambesi and interviews with 
 Livingstone to the parson, also elephant hunts and 
 slave yarns, that made us shudder. All told so cir- 
 cumstantially, and every little detail so carefully 
 worked out, that no one could doubt but that he had 
 been through it all.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 191 
 
 In the same way he narrated to us particulars of 
 almost every wreck that had occurred on the Aus- 
 tralasian coast during the previous five years, and 
 in which he told us (and, by Jove, we believed him) 
 that he had figured more or less prominently. 
 
 It was simply marvellous how he ran on. He ex- 
 pressed himself so well, and detailed everything so 
 cleverly that I had to ask him afterwards if he had 
 not really been in some of these wrecks, but he said, 
 ' ' Ne 'er a one. ' ' His brother Julius, a very handsome 
 fellow, made fierce love to the stewardess, a pretty, 
 quiet, unassuming, and indeed ladylike young woman. 
 Finally the evening before we reached Brisbane, he 
 proposed to her, and much, to his surprise, the lady 
 absolutely and definitely declined the honour. 
 Whether she knew he was just playing the fool or 
 not, I can't say. 
 
 Some years after this Mrs. Marmy Curr had a ter- 
 rible experience on their station in North Queens- 
 land. Her husband and the men were all out on 
 the run when the wild blacks, who had no doubt 
 watched for the opportunity, attacked the homestead. 
 Trouble with the blacks was unexpected, and no 
 loaded firearms were to hand. Mrs. Curr behaved 
 wit-h great coolness and courage, and it was said that 
 she eventually barred the door with her arm, which 
 was broken. Just at that moment, the station horses, 
 no doubt frightened by the blacks, came galloping up 
 to the homestead, and the blacks, thinking it was the 
 native police, made off. It was a close thing for Mrs. 
 Curr, as the men did not return till night. A son of 
 Marmy Curr is still a station owner in North Queens- 
 land.
 
 192 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 In 1859, "Moreton Bay," as it was then called, 
 became separated from New South Wales, and was 
 formed into a separate colony under the name of 
 Queensland. Sir George Bowen was the first Gover- 
 nor. He was a fine looking man, and very tactful 
 and urbane, and most anxious to inform himself 
 thoroughly on all matters pertaining to the immense 
 territory put into his charge. When holding office 
 in Greece, Sir George had married a beautiful Greek 
 lady named Diamantiua. One of the North Queens- 
 land rivers was named after her. Mrs. Campbell 
 Praed, the well-known Australian authoress, and 
 daughter of Murray Prior, at the time of which I 
 write, describes Lady Bowen in that most interesting 
 book, My Australian Childhood, as "a stately, sweet, 
 and sympathetic figure, with dark Southern eyes and 
 Greek head, her hair growing low down on the brow 
 and gathered in a Clytie knot." 
 
 Anxious to post himself thoroughly in all matters 
 pertaining to the new colony over which he had come 
 to rule, Sir George Bowen never lost an opportunity 
 of interviewing Queensland men, more especially 
 those who were about to take up new country or who 
 had already done so. The pioneers of North Queens- 
 land were ever welcome at Government House in 
 fact it was said that Sir George could from his library 
 see all visitors as they came up to Government House, 
 and likely looking bushmen were waylaid and 
 ushered into the library. 
 
 I had one interview with him myself. In fact I 
 had an introduction to him, and as I had already 
 formed a very high opinion of the future of Queens- 
 land, Sir George was much interested. At that time 
 in a letter to the Yeoman (now the Australasian) I 
 dwelt at length on the wonderful possibilities await-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 193 
 
 ing Queensland, more especially North Queensland, 
 and I predicted at that early date that Queensland 
 would become the greatest of all the Australian Col- 
 onies. This was fifty years ago, and I am of the same 
 opinion still. 
 
 As regards stock, for cattle, none of the States 
 for we are States now can equal Queensland, and 
 the success of sheep farmers in Queensland is almost 
 phenomenal. Were it not for droughts, Queensland 
 would swamp New South Wales with cattle and sheep, 
 and values would be a long way below those that 
 usually prevail in the south. There is scarcely any- 
 thing one can name that cannot be grown in Queens- 
 land, and her mineral wealth is only now beginning 
 to be recognised. 
 
 There is, of course, another side to the question. 
 Victorian money was poured into Queensland like 
 water in the sixties, and was lost as is water in a 
 sandy desert. This was chiefly through want of 
 knowledge, but as I have said elsewhere, the pioneers 
 of a new country for the most part "go down." 
 
 Inferior sheep, low price of wool, hea\y expenses 
 and high interest, are quite enough to account for 
 failure, but if we, to all this ignorance of the coun- 
 try, add want of water conservation, together with 
 droughts lasting sometimes three years, is it any won- 
 der that failure dogged the steps of all those fine 
 brave men who "trekked" off to the North in the 
 early sixties? It lias never been my lot to meet a 
 grander lot of men brave, loyal, unselfish, hardy and 
 uncomplaining. They took the ups and downs in an 
 even spirit cracking jokes when things were at their 
 worst, and never admitting such a thing as "down- 
 heartedness." Typical were they of our brave gallant 
 boys who have poured out their blood like water in 
 Gallipoli, France, and Palestine the men of the Lone 
 Pine, Gabe Tepe, and of Pozieres, Bullecourt, and 
 Messines. My heart goes out to my dear brave, true 
 old friends who battled so gallantly in those early
 
 194 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 days in the North Countree. I only know of four 
 who are still in the flesh, to wit, Jesse Gregson, P. F. 
 McDonald, Ernest Davies and Ernest Henry. 
 
 We unshipped our horses and ourselves at Bris- 
 bane and stayed there some days. 
 
 I am afraid our spirits were rather exuberant, for 
 having chummed in with two or three congenial 
 Queenslanders from the Never Never country we 
 played all sorts of pranks. One of our new acquain- 
 tances was a Mr. Yaldwin. He was what we would 
 now call a "hard case." Going down town that 
 evening, Yaldwin seemed a bit mellow, and after ho 
 had had a nip or two he apparently got so "tight'' 
 that we started back to the hotel with him two of 
 us supporting him, one on either side. Soon a police- 
 man stopped us, Yaldwin having, become very bois- 
 terous. I took the policeman to one side, and slipping 
 half a sovereign into his hand, told him that our 
 friend was from the bush, and had inadvertently 
 taken too much, but we would get him home, and off 
 we went again. A little further on Yaldwin slipped 
 his arms out of ours, and said to me, "Hope, old 
 chap, you didn't tip that bobby." He was as sober 
 as could be. 
 
 A young fellow who was staying at our hotel, and 
 who stuttered terribly, said he wanted to buy some 
 shingle nails, so we told him the best shop at which 
 to get them. Meanwhile one of the "push" slipped 
 down to the shop, and stuttering badly, asked, "Have 
 you g-g-got any sh-sh-shingle nails?" "Oh, yes AVP 
 stock them." "Are they sh-sh-sharp ? " '"Cer- 
 tainly." "W-w-well sc-sc-sc-scratch your n-noso 
 with one. G-g-good day." 
 
 Soon after the other fellow, who really wanted tho 
 nails, came in, and stuttering still worse, began, 
 "Have you g-g-got any sh-sh-shingle nails?" In a 
 jiffy the shopman, who was a burly chap, was over 
 the counter, and the astonished purchaser was run
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 195 
 
 out quickly into the street, quite at a loss as to the 
 reason of the assault. 
 
 There was a large mock boot hanging up outside a 
 shop in the main street, and I had set my heart on 
 having this boot to take up North with us. We sallied 
 out about nine o'clock, and my friends keeping watch 
 for the police, I swarmed up a post and twisted off 
 the wire which held the boot. I thought it was hollow 
 and light, but it was solid, and it came down with a 
 great crash, making no end of a noise. We all 
 cleared, and I went back to the hotel, and changed 
 my coat and hat, and then returned to the boot. 
 There was a crowd round it, including several police- 
 men. I said, "Is someone hurt?" and they laughed. 
 I said, "If the man's drunk there's nothing to laugh 
 at," and I pushed in and then said, "Why, it's a 
 boot," and walked off. 
 
 Later on I annexed a mock clock that was hung 
 up for a sign, and I got it safely to the hotel, and 
 wrapped it up in a rug and strapped it on my 
 portmanteau. The police searched the hotel and 
 other hotels, but missed the clock, and when my 
 brother reached Gayndah it was hung up in triumph 
 outside the leading hotel, where it remained for many 
 a day. 
 
 We finished up that night by serenading old Gore 
 Jones, a well-known barrister, and making him 
 address us from his balcony in his night shirt. 
 
 We had make Gore Jones' acquaintance that day, 
 and we had chummed up and quite made friends with 
 him. He was a great old sport, and quite a public 
 character in Brisbane, likewise a great favourite. He 
 was an Irish gentleman of the good type. A real 
 Irishman, witty, clever, and quick at repartee. He 
 did not exactly shy off at a tumbler of good whisky 
 punch, and he was replete with amusing stories and 
 sayings. Moreover he was a member of Parliament. 
 
 Gore Jones was, I have said, a good sportsman, 
 and he had been telling me about two or three "bits
 
 196 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 of blood" that he had in training for the forthcom- 
 ing Ipswich races, at which I had pricked my ears, 
 thinking that if there was a hurdle race I might have 
 a shy with old Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 A couple of mornings after I went out with Gore 
 Jones to see his horses have a spin, and I rode out 
 on old Crusoe. The old barrister stuck his eye-glass 
 to his eyes and looked askance at my old horse. "Ex- 
 cuse me, my young friend, ' ' said he, ' ' but may I ask 
 whatever induced you to pay freight on that horso 
 from Victoria? He seems to go one pace with his 
 forelegs and another with the hind ones. Is he per- 
 chance a bit of a goer?" "Well," I said, "he can 
 go a bit over hurdles, and he can stay all day. May 
 I give him a gallop with your string? It will 
 take the stiffness out of him. " " Oh, certainly, ' ' said 
 the old man. "Certainly, but your horse seems to 
 limp a little in the off fore leg, and I 'm going to send 
 my horses pretty fast. It's hardly fair to gallop 
 your horse ; just off the boat, too, but just as you 
 like." Now old Crusoe almost always limped a 
 little, so I started just behind "The Old English 
 Gentleman," a good looking, but rather cobby horse. 
 To the old barrister's surprise, his horse did not seem 
 to draw away from old Crusoe, and as they came by 
 the second time round he shouted to the boy on ' ' The 
 Gentleman," "Send him along, my lad, send him 
 along." But he was going his best, and yet could 
 not shake off old Crusoe by much. Gore Jones looked 
 quite put out, and said his horse must be "off colour." 
 "All the same," he said, "I never thought that old 
 'clothes horse' of yours could move as lie does," and 
 he scratched his pate. "We must have another 
 gallop, my friend." The end of it was the old bar- 
 rister easily persuaded me to wait for the Ipswich 
 races, coming off in a fortnight, and he entered my 
 horse for the hurdle race. I went up to Ipswich 
 generally called Limestone then with my old friend, 
 and he put me up at the little club there one of the
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 197 
 
 jolliest little clubs in Australia. The old chap gave 
 me all sorts of instruction as to how to train old 
 Crusoe, on whom it was decided we would lay out 
 any spare cash we could muster. But he was quite 
 taken aback when 1 told him that my horse would 
 not stand training, that he got stale, went off his feed, 
 and indeed might go lame, and that I usually ran 
 him off the grass, and that I could not risk galloping 
 him again, nor on any account give him a "lep." I 
 got a large loose box for him, and' a little enclosure 
 where he could run about, and for exercise I led him 
 out beside another horse. Two days before the race, 
 in deference to Gore Jones, I gave the horse a mild 
 sweat. 
 
 The racecourse was a very pretty one, the weather 
 though hot, was not close or muggy, and there were 
 some good horses running and a good attendance. 
 A beautiful bay filly, called Miss Pitsford, was the 
 heroine of the meeting. She won the Maiden Plate, 
 and soon after the Big Handicap two miles in a 
 canter. Then came the Hurdle Race, for which there 
 were only four starters. Quite a laugh of derision 
 greeted my old horse as he limped past the stand 
 at a trot he always limped when trotting. Just as 
 the starter had us marshalled for a start, I turned 
 back to the stand and said, "I'll take 20 to 10 
 Crusoe wins the race." No layers, and amidst cries 
 of "Hurry up, you'll be left," I got away some 
 lengths behind the other horses. When I drew up I 
 found that the race was a foregone conclusion. Two 
 of my competitors fell back, and were hopelessly out 
 of it. But the third was a good goer and a good 
 jumper, though slow at the jumps. A very pretty 
 race ensued till he jumped short and remained hung 
 in mid air on a hurdle, and by the time he got off 1 
 had a big lead. I let him get up to me, as I knew 
 he would be pumped out catching me, and that I held 
 him safe. I won by very little, and as we passed the 
 post he shot by me as if I were standing still, amid
 
 198 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 great excitement and shouts from the crowd that lie 
 would have won had the course been ten yards longer. 
 His owner wanted to make a match for 100, and I 
 was quite prepared to accommodate, but subsequent 
 events blocked it. I took the saddle and bridle oft' 
 Crusoe, and let him loose for a feed on some nice 
 green grass in the saddling paddock, and our good 
 friend, Gore Jones, who had won a ' ' tenner, ' ' walked 
 round the old fellow with his eye-glass up, and sniffed, 
 and muttered not a little. There was another race, 
 and then came the Forced Handicap one and a half 
 miles on which as a winner Crusoe was apportioned 
 9 stone. I had no idea of starting him, but as it cost 
 me nothing, I thought I'd like to get a measure 
 of his pace in good company, so I saddled up. 1 
 told my friends not to back me at any price, as in 
 all probability I would pull up. I was riding over 
 weight, and had not a ghost of a chance. I said, ' ' On 
 no account put a shilling on us." Well, of course, 
 my readers will conclude that I made an exhibition 
 of myself and came in a bad last. Now, I'll tell you 
 what happened. After going about half the distance 
 I found that I was not only keeping with the others, 
 but that three of the seven runners had come back to 
 me. Instead of pulling up, as I intended, I sent 
 the old horse along for all he was worth, and every 
 time you called on Crusoe he'd try, and he could last 
 all day. The other jockeys had all an edge on Miss 
 Pitsford, and went for her one after the other, and 
 one after another fell back beaten, leaving Miss Pits- 
 ford in the lead, and nothing but the two of us left 
 in the race. I said to myself, I'll have a go at her, 
 too. I sat down on old Crusoe, caught a good hold 
 of him, and set the whip going. He came as I knew 
 he would. The course was a little down hill just 
 then, and the filly had had a great gruelling. Five of 
 them had gone at her, one after the other, and raced 
 her for her life, and this was her third race that day. 
 To my surprise I gained on her, and I got up till
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 199 
 
 my horse's head was level with her girth, my whip 
 still at work. I found I could not gain another inch, 
 so I took a pull at the old fellow as the course became 
 a little uphill, and I fell back slightly. At once the 
 boy on the filly turned round in the saddle, and with 
 a grin, called out, "You beggar (it was not beggar 
 he said either), you're licked, too." 
 
 Now you can't play these tricks and ride. I caught 
 hold of old Crusoe again and yelled at him, got along- 
 side the filly. The boy got flustered, and in his ex- 
 citement let her head go and got his whip to work. 
 The mare got flurried, and changed her leg, and the 
 boy funked, and before he knew where he was I had 
 him beaten on the post by a head, amidst a storm of 
 yells and cheers and groans. 
 
 The bookies threw up their hats there was not a 
 shilling on Crusoe. They had skinned the lamb, and 
 the excitement was intense. 
 
 Though the fellows at the Club had lost a bit, they 
 were good sports, and cheered the old horse till they 
 were black in the face, and we could get nothing out 
 of old Gore Jones, but "How the blazes did the old 
 horse beat the filly?" And indeed these were the last 
 words we heard from him that night as we escorted 
 him to bed and tucked him in. 
 
 After this little bit, of excitement I bought a good 
 looking pony and started oft* north for Gayndah, on 
 the Burnett, about two hundred miles, leading old 
 Crusoe. 
 
 I remember one rather remarkable thing on my 
 road. Up to about ten days before I started the coun- 
 try had been suffering from a severe drought, but 
 a series of fine storms it was now December had 
 made the whole country green as a leek. In summer 
 in Queensland I have seen good cattle feed in a fort- 
 night on country previously as bare as a road. 
 
 Round one homestead that I called .at for about a 
 mile square the ground was still quite bare, and all 
 outside quite green. The storms had missed that
 
 200 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 small area. It was most remarkable. There was a 
 story that the owner had offended the blacks, and 
 their medicine man had laid a curse 011 the home- 
 stead. Mr. Lament, Inspector of Police iu North 
 Queensland, told me that on one occasion when out 
 with his "boys," he had an Englishman, who was 
 much interested in the blacks, with him for a trip. 
 They were in camp one night, and the visitor asked 
 Lamont if he had ever known a black "medicine 
 man" bring on rain. Lamont said he had, and that 
 he had a black in camp who was said to be a great 
 "rain-maker." They interviewed the old man, and 
 Lamont asked him if he would undertake to bring 
 on rain. The sky was quite clear. The old chap 
 said, "Yowi (yes) me make em rain to-night." He 
 went through some sort of incantations, and before 
 long Lamont assured me up came a storm and 
 down came the rain. Once at Goorianawa I had to 
 poison some of the blacks' dogs they had killed 
 some sheep and an old gin, Sally, cursed me by all 
 her gods, and wound up by praying that rain might 
 never fall again on the station. However, I don't 
 suppose the severe droughts we did have at different 
 times afterwards were due to poor Sally's incanta- 
 tions. We became fast friends for many years, and 
 I was able to relieve her last hours by a morphia 
 injection, when the poor old thing was dying in great 
 pain and weariness. Old Dicky, her "man," forth- 
 with took unto himself another wife. 
 
 I arrived at John Edward's Ban Ban Station, near 
 Gayndah, on the Burnett, on the 16th January, 1863. 
 Gayndah was then quite a lively little place, and it 
 was a lively district, too, with a number of fine well- 
 bred men of the old school, hospitable and large- 
 hearted and generous. Most of the younger ones 
 were up to any sort of fun and mischief and larks, 
 but not a bit of harm in them. I don't think there 
 is one of the old "Gayndah Push" left. John Ed- 
 wards, and his wild, reckless brother, "the Barcoo,"
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 201 
 
 passed away many years ago. So has Holt, of Ko- 
 longlo "Gentleman Holt," such a good looking 
 fellow, and a good horseman and horsebreeeder. Bob 
 Smith, of Ideraway, one of the best, the two More- 
 tons, and Rawson, the boy Story, and dear old Phil 
 Elliott and his lame brother "Hoppy." Good fel- 
 lows all. R. W. Stuart tells a good story of Phil. 
 
 "One evening, after an entertainment was con- 
 cluded, we repaired to the waterhole to swim by the 
 light of the moon. My friend W. came down some 
 little time after the rest of us fyad reached the bathing 
 ground, and most of us were already in the water 
 (somehow, he always was a little given to saying a 
 'prolonged good-night' when fair ladies were about), 
 and at length he came sauntering down in his dress 
 clothes, humming a well-known refrain. As he 
 approached the springboard, Phil. Elliott took up the 
 air, and commenced with his near 'fore,' pawing the 
 plank upon which he had knelt down in the 'alto- 
 gether.' Instantly W. bestrode him, and both joined 
 lustily in the song. Well, I suppose the devil of mis- 
 chief entered into Phil.'s heart, and while consider- 
 able merriment took place at the comical sight (Phil, 
 being a tremendous big fat fellow, and in the 'alto- 
 gether,' with a man in evening dress on his back, and 
 a coat tail on each side of his hind-quarters), Phil, 
 made a couple of bounds, reached the end of the 
 plank, and with a mighty effort he rose to the occa- 
 sion, and the two, one in full dress, the other in 
 Nature's garb, plunged like Quintus Curtius into the 
 abyss below, amid roars of laughter." 
 
 Hoppy Elliott amused us all greatly one day. We 
 saw him come through the sliprails and put them up, 
 and then it not being far, he started as usual to lead 
 his horse down to the humpy. The bridle slipped off 
 the horse. Hoppy never noticed it, and sauntered 
 on, and hung the bridle on a post, thinking the horse 's 
 head was still in it. He looked very foolish when our
 
 202 
 
 roars of laughter drew his attention to what had 
 occurred. 
 
 The brothers Lawless (Irishmen) had Boonbyjan 
 Station, not far from Ban Ban. Paul, the elder, was 
 married to a very handsome and stately young wife. 
 She charmed me one evening by singing a number of 
 my favourite songs. I had a turn of homesickness 
 when I got to bed. I heard lately that Mrs. Lawless 
 was still alive, and that she was just as handsome 
 as an old lady as she was as a girl. One time when 
 the blacks had been first "let in" to Boonbyjan, 
 some of the tribe killed some of the cattle, and the 
 Lawless 's turned out to punish them. They got on 
 them, and while chasing them Paul Lawless 's horse 
 fell and got away, and got among the blacks. Lawless 
 spied one black who had been among those "let in," 
 and whom he knew, so he called out, "Billy, you 
 catch em Yarraman (horse) belonging to me baal me 
 coolah belonging to you." (I am not angry with 
 you). The boy caught the horse and brought him 
 back to his owner. Then there was Jones, of Boneira 
 brother of Sir Phillip Sydney Jones. He built a 
 fine house at the station costing 1,600 quite an un- 
 heard of expenditure in those days. 
 
 I was there inspecting sheep in 1864, and a heavy 
 storm fell, and that evening Jones arrived home with 
 his pretty little fair-haired English bride. The rain 
 had delayed them, and they were benighted when 
 they reached the station. The creek was too high to 
 drive across, and we had to get the bride over it in 
 the dark on a log, the water over her feet. She 
 thought it a great joke. Fifty years afterwards I 
 was introduced to Dr. Mander Jones, of Wahroonga, 
 Sydney, and it turned out that he was the son of the 
 pretty bride who had come so gaily over the log in 
 1864. 
 
 The Gayndah fellows had quite a slangy dialect 
 of their own. If a man wanted anything he would 
 say, "Turf me the bread." If he wanted to warn a
 
 203 
 
 pal he would say, "Cheese it." This last piece of 
 slang two of the boys picked up at the Randwick 
 races. They noticed a spieler with his thimble and 
 peas at work. He had a confederate on the look out 
 who called out ''Cheese it" whenever a bobby was 
 coming along. The boys followed up the spieler, and 
 as fast as lie settled down to give the public a turn 
 the boys called out, "Cheese it." Finally the unfor- 
 tunate man had to beat a retreat. Another bit of 
 slang that originated at Gayndah was "the dead 
 finish." Now it is "the limit," or "above the odds." 
 One of the Gayndah boys, a well-educated English- 
 man, who had fallen on bad times, trekked out north, 
 and eventually started a pub, which he very appro- 
 priately called "The Dead Finish," and it finished 
 him. 
 
 When I got to Ban Ban I found my brother and 
 our new partner, Gerald Raymond, were away tak- 
 ing delivery of sheep we had purchased from Jones, 
 of Boneira. On their return with the sheep we were 
 all ready to start off North on our new venture. Our 
 capital was small only 2,800. Raymond, who was 
 an experienced sheep farmer from New South Wales, 
 found half the capital, and my father and I the other 
 half, 700 each. 
 
 We had purchased 4,900 ewes for 3,180, being 14/- 
 for maiden ewes, 10/- for 6-year-old ewes, and 15/- 
 for 3-, 4-, and 5-years-old ewes. 
 
 One lot of these ewes my brother had purchased six 
 months before from John Edwards with the right to 
 run them for that time. These had 800 lambs now fit 
 to travel. We had to buy a bullock dray and six 
 bullocks at a cost of 100, some eight horses, costing 
 another 100, and stores, tools, tents, and tarpaulin, 
 running into another 70. So altogether, with other 
 expenses, our start with 4,900 ewes and 800 lambs 
 cost us some 3,500. The amount of which we were 
 short we" had to arrange for through John Binnie, of 
 Sydney, as well as for current expenses.
 
 204 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 We numbered seven, Gerald Raymond, ' ' the Boss, ' ' 
 and always so designated, my brother assistant and 
 myself. My work was to look after the horses, and 
 to give notice to owners of stations when we travelled 
 past, and I had to pick and form the camp each day. 
 Then we had three shepherds at 30/- a week each, and 
 a bullock driver at 40/-; the latter also cooked. 
 
 We started oft' gay and hopeful and in good heart. 
 Had we only given the matter a little more thought 
 we would never have embarked on the venture. Hav- 
 ing to borrow money at 12 per cent, to help in our 
 start, and to carry us on for at least 12 months before 
 we could get any return, was in itself enough to spell 
 disaster. Then high wages, probable losses and high 
 carriage for wool and stores. Small wool return from 
 sheep cutting at the very most about 4| pounds of 
 greasy wool, quite precluded any hope of a direct 
 profit even if we were successful in taking up good 
 country. But the lure was to take up a big area of 
 country ; then in three years, when our sheep had in- 
 creased, to sell out at a good big price and repeat the 
 performance. Nobody "croaked" and nobody 
 warned us that "pioneers" never make money. 
 Almost always they go down, and it is the men who 
 follow them who make the money. 
 
 I suppose very few had had much experience of the 
 North Queensland climate in 1863. Still one would 
 have thought that the Burnett squatters could have 
 told us that it was most unwise to start sheep on the 
 roads in January, seeing that January, February, and 
 March constitute the wet season in North Queensland. 
 We started in the hottest and wettest months of the 
 year, with heavy travelling for the sheep, and flooded 
 creeks and rivers to bridge or swim, with flies, mos- 
 quitoes and sandflies in myriads, and with, at that
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 205 
 
 time, all the ills that flesh is heir to in a new and 
 tropical country to harass us, such as fever and ague, 
 Moreton Bay rot (skin scurvy), Belyando Spue 
 (pyrosis or water brash), sandy blight, bungy eyes, 
 and dysentery. Within a month of leaving Ban Ban 
 I suffered from all these ailments at the one time, 
 excepting fever and ague, and I had a broken rib into 
 the bargain. I am afraid I often looked back to the 
 "fleshpots of Egypt" in the shape of, by comparison, 
 the luxurious life at Muntham. Moreover, at that 
 time I write of all our sheep were lame with foot rot, 
 and on blacksoil country, our bullocks and all our 
 horses but five were lost, driven mad with sandflies 
 in the Dawson country. And yet for all that I would 
 not have given up even if anyone had handed me 
 back my 700, for I was still hopeful, and still we 
 heard glowing accounts of the prospects of pioneers 
 in North Queensland. Our trip up to the time our 
 sheep all got lame was not very eventful. In January 
 we had ten days and ten nights incessant rain. We 
 were all wet for the whole time, but it was summer. 
 If there was a break in the rain for a bit when I was 
 on watch at night, I used to peel off all my clothes 
 and hang them up to dry while I continued my watch 
 with nothing on but my boots. 
 
 One night I was turned in when a great storm of 
 wind and rain burst on our camp. Tents were all 
 blown down, and the sheep all made off, but fortu- 
 nately got to where the water was shallow. I stayed 
 where I was with the water running over one shoulder 
 quite happy, and did not even turn out when Ray- 
 mond gave me a kick and said, ''Get up, you'll be 
 drowned." I only growled at him and went to sleep 
 again. 
 
 The day we started, our bullocky, who was a Ger- 
 man, but whom we called Mentchikoff, got drunk as 
 we passed through Gayndah, and I had to yoke up 
 the team next morning and drive it for the day. I 
 had never tried my hand at it before, and I don't
 
 206 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 believe I'd ever have got that team into the dray but 
 for the help of a black gin, by name "Maggie." This 
 gin had taken up with Mentchikoff, but had been 
 locked up at Ban Ban to prevent her going with him. 
 She broke out in the night and came with us, and 
 jolly glad we were to have her. She was a right good 
 girl, and no end of a help to us. If a horse was miss- 
 ing, Maggie popped on another horse and ran the 
 tracks, and very soon had him back in camp. The 
 gins are much better trackers than the male blacks. 
 They are also wonderfully clever with their toes, 
 using them as we would our fingers. The men are 
 too lazy and always send the gins "tracking." Con- 
 sequently having more practice they are the better 
 trackers. When we reached the Burnett it was in 
 flood, and we had to camp for a week, and even then 
 had to swim the sheep across and float our dray over 
 on casks. When we first reached the river I had 
 swum across and gone up to the station, and there I 
 renewed my acquaintanceship with some of my old 
 Frankfort schoolmates, the Huxhams. In swimming 
 my horse over the Burnett I tied all my clothes on 
 the saddle, and the horse got rid of me in the cur- 
 rent, and when we landed I couldn't catch him. 
 It was a smoking hot day in February, and I soon 
 got badly sunburnt and had to camp under a tree till 
 evening, when I caught my horse and rode on to the 
 station. Before leaving Dalgangal I made a good 
 deal for a horse. I asked the Huxhams if they had a 
 horse they would exchange for my pony. They said 
 no, and that the only horse they wanted to part with 
 was an outlaw. No one could ride him except the 
 man that broke him in, and he would be no use to 
 me. I said, "Let me see him." A very fine looking 
 well-bred bay horse was run up, and I at once made 
 up my mind to have him. Moreover, I could see he 
 was not vicious. I said I would exchange. They 
 warned me that the horse was an outlaw, and I had 
 better not take him; but I had no doubt about the
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 207 
 
 deal, and closed for the bay. He was branded P P, 
 so I named him Peter Possum. Next morning all 
 hands turned out to see me measure my length on 
 the ground, but Peter Possum only humped his back 
 a bit and then went off quite quietly. The reason 
 was, I am sure, that I did not put- a crupper on. I 
 had long before found out that in most cases it is the 
 crupper that makes a young horse play up, and as I 
 always rode in a saddle made on the English style, 
 that sat nice and close to a horse's back. I never 
 required a crupper on a horse with a good wither. I 
 have ridden a good many so-called "outlaws" without 
 a crupper with similar results as in this instance. Peter 
 Possum never bucked with me, and turned out to 
 have a splendid temper, and to be a good hack. 
 
 One morning after passing Dalgangal, on counting 
 the sheep, we found they were three hundred short. 
 We had crossed a scrubby range the day before. My 
 brother and I started back to look for the lost sheep, 
 but could see no tracks going off on the range. After 
 a bit we reached a nice little bush pub on the edge 
 of the scrub, which we had passed the day before. 
 The day was very hot, and after a good long ' ' shandy ' ' 
 I went on. My brother was rather easy going, and 
 no doubt thought I was sure to find the sheep, for, 
 after a short look round, he returned to the pub and 
 took "his ease at mine inn." About five o'clock in 
 the evening I returned hungry -and thirsty, but no 
 sheep. As I rode up to the pub there were the sheep 
 camped in front of it, and there was my brother 
 leaning back very comfortably in his chair, smoking 
 a pipe, and looking cool and happy. "When and 
 where did you find them?" said I. "Ah," he said, 
 "it takes me to find sheep." Then he added, "If you 
 really want to know, I have been here all day. About 
 two hours after you left the sheep drew out of the 
 scrub, and lay down quietly in front of the pub, 
 where you see them." 
 
 I felt rather small and a bit "riled," but it really
 
 208 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 was a good joke, and a good bit of luck. Next day 
 while going across another scrubby range two din- 
 goes joined the sheep, and trotted along with them 
 for a bit quite unconcernedly, and then trotted off. I 
 do not believe that these dogs had ever seen sheep 
 before. As we passed Rawbelle Station I met a Ger- 
 man overseer. He was counting sheep through a gate 
 a hurdle wide. He stood in front with his back to 
 the sheep, and let the sheep go each side of him, and 
 held his hands outstretched. He seemed to embrace 
 the sheep as he counted them in his great big paws. 
 
 Soon we made on to the Dawsoii country, and 
 passed through a fine station, Walloon. In a yarn 
 I had with Ferguson, the owner, he told me a black- 
 boy he had on one occasion borrowed a gun from him 
 to shoot ducks. It turned out that the bloodthirsty 
 young rascal had crept on some of his own tribe and 
 fired in among them, wounding two badly. 
 
 The rain still kept on, and we had hard work to 
 do even two miles a day over the heavy black soil. 
 Here I had my first experience of sandflies. 1 had 
 taken the spare horses on as usual to form our camp. 
 I started to hobble the horses, and I thought they had 
 gone mad. I even couldn't hobble old Crusoe. I had 
 just to wait till the bullock dray came up ; then the 
 driver told me what was the matter, viz., sandflies. 
 The sandflies stop work at sundown. They camp when 
 it is dark. Next morning while we were counting 
 the sheep, our spare horses and half the bullocks 
 cleared out, driven oft' by the sandflies. We recovered 
 some of the bullocks next day, but some of the horses 
 we never got again, and none of them for several 
 weeks. Two days after nearly all our sheep were bad 
 with footrot, and we were in a bad predicament. For- 
 tunately there was a superabundance of feed. We 
 were now on rich black soil plain country, the pro- 
 perty of a Mr. McNab, a right good fellow. He said 
 we could stop as long as we liked. There was more 
 feed than he could use. We could not find or hear of
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 209 
 
 the lost horses, and we had only a horse a-piece left. 
 One afternoon two fine fat broken-in horses walked 
 up to our camp fire to get into the smoke, and away 
 from the sandflies, and I immediately caught them. 
 It is customary when the sandflies are bad to make 
 fires for the horses to come to, and they come in from 
 miles away even brumbies come ; and if there are no 
 fires, horses will come into the stockyards and paw 
 up the dust in order to baffle the sandflies. I have 
 seen 1000 sheep huddled up so that they looked like 
 200, trying to get away from the sandflies, and the 
 wretched insects killed one of our dogs. 
 
 I saddled up one of the two strange horses and led 
 the other and started off after our lost horses. I 
 camped that night at an outstatioii of Ferguson's, 
 where I heard of three of the horses. These I re- 
 covered next day, and let my two "soldiers" go. It 
 was the first time I had ever "soldiered" a horse. 
 Soldiering means using a horse without the owner's 
 leave or knowledge. Two of our lost horses we never 
 found. Probably some one was soldiering them! 
 
 I had rather an amusing experience just then be- 
 fore we delivered the sheep. I had to go on to a little 
 bush township called Banana for stores, and I had 
 promised myself a night in a good bed, and a good 
 dinner, and bottle of wine. I quite looked forward 
 to my little ' ' outing. ' ' Just before I reached Banana 
 I got soaked through in the usual North Queensland 
 afternoon thunderstorm, and could not get a change 
 at the pub. I borrowed some clothes from a good- 
 natured Irish girl at the pub, and I was all right till 
 I stood up and turned round, and then there was a 
 roar, for, though well clad in front, I had very little 
 covering behind. 
 
 I went to bed early, anticipating a grand time, as 
 I saw there were mosquito nets to the bunks. I blew 
 out the light, but there was no sleep for me. The 
 nets covered the front of the bunk, but the back of 
 the bunk consisted of the slabs of the house, and I
 
 210 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 could put my fingers between the slabs, and the mos- 
 quitoes just poured in and were in fact trapped. 
 After a bit I felt something running into my back, 
 so got up and lit the candle. On cutting open the 
 mattress I found a lot of broken glass bottles. They 
 had just lumped the straw out of a beer case into the 
 sacking to make a mattress. I got my saddle and took 
 a blanket and lay do\vn outside on the road, and had 
 a good sleep after all. I met such a nice fellow at 
 Banana on another occasion. We sat up nearly all 
 night yarning. He was a Mr. Baigrie, brother of a 
 Major Baigrie, a noted tiger slayer in India. Baigrie 
 and I became fast friends, but he went under and 
 I saw his grave in Sydney some years after. Baigrie 
 and I and some others made up what we called ' ' The 
 Tight Brigade" in Rockhampton. We had uniforms 
 of check stuff in fact pyjamas and a white cap. 
 One of our "mess" was a Frenchman named Mache- 
 fer, who lived in Rockhampton. Such a good fellow, 
 and belonged to a good old French family. An old 
 Highlander named McLennan, when "jolly," insulted 
 little Machefer, and said, "You blooming Frenchman, 
 you eat frog." Machefer said he'd have his blood. 
 We told McLennan that he'd have to fight a duel 
 with Machefer, and we got them both out at daylight, 
 and provided them with pistols which we loaded with 
 red currant jelly. Machefer 's charge went wide, but 
 McLennan 's hit Machefer in the chest, and we told 
 McLennan that his opponent was mortally wounded. 
 We hurried him off and made him camp in the scrub, 
 where we kept him provided with food for four or 
 five days, till AVC told him his victim was out of dan- 
 ger. Machefer was drowned later on the s.s. Caivarra 
 in a tremendous gale off the coast. 
 
 There were nine of us in the Tight Brigade. One 
 was J. B. Dulhunty, of Bathurst. I never met his 
 equal to spout poetry. He had a splendid memory. 
 
 Another was a well-known man, Jack Campbell, 
 son of Dalmahoy Campbell, of Melbourne. Dalmahoy
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 211 
 
 was said to be the strongest man in Victoria. Jack 
 himself was a solid block, very strong, and very 
 clever with his fists. It took seven policemen to cap- 
 ture him one night in Sydney. He had been up to 
 some larks, and bolted down a blind alley and got 
 trapped. 
 
 One time in Rockhampton Jack came to me and 
 said, "I have made a bet, and you are in it, and will 
 have to help me win it. I have," he said, "wagered 
 that I'll carry you three hundred yards on the race- 
 course, I riding and you standing on my shoulders, 
 and you have to land on the ground without a fall." 
 "Well," I said, "Jack, if you can do it, old chap, 
 I'll have a try." 
 
 We tried it, but couldn't manage it at all, and I 
 got several nasty falls. Now Burton's circus was in 
 Rockhampton, and I knew Burton pretty well, so we 
 went to him and laid our case before him. "You 
 can't carry a man on your shoulders," he said, "it 
 can 't be done ; but if you plant your feet right in on 
 the muscles of the neck you may manage it. ' ' 
 
 We found this made all the difference, and we 
 reckoned we could win the wager. 
 
 On the appointed day quite a concourse of people 
 went out to the course to see the fun. Among them 
 Burton and Mrs. Burton and some of the troupe, all 
 most anxious that we should pull off our wager, and 
 pull it off we did, and how I did my part is more 
 than I can tell or explain. I only know Jack won 
 his wager. He was trembling like a leaf at the end, 
 and could not have carried me another ten yards. I 
 had nothing to hold on to, and I can't think how I 
 did it, nor yet how I got down without a fall. We 
 were all doing circus going back to Rockhampton, 
 and I remember I had two horses, and I rode them 
 quite a quarter of a mile at a canter with a foot on 
 each. 
 
 Jack Campbell and a mutual friend of ours, a Mr. 
 Finch, had an extraordinary experience at the South
 
 212 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Head one afternoon. They were lying on the cliff 
 quite close to the edge smoking. Finch dropped his 
 pipe over the ledge and went to recover it, and did 
 not return. After waiting a bit, Jack came to the 
 conclusion that Finch had fallen over the cliff, and 
 so he had. Jack, lying flat on the ground, looked 
 over, and at the bottom he saw Finch lying in shallow 
 water. Finch had seen Campbell's head coming over 
 the cliff, and so he lay still, pretending he was dead ! 
 Jack said to himself, "I'll soon see whether you are 
 dead or not," and threw a few little pebbles at Finch. 
 This livened him up promptly. He shouted out that 
 so far he was not hurt, if Jack did not throw any 
 more pebbles at him. 
 
 When rescued it was found that Finch had only 
 broken the small bone of one leg. It was a marvel- 
 lous escape, bu$ imagine a man throwing pebbles on 
 a man under the circumstances from a height of, I 
 suppose, over one hundred feet! 
 
 Another of the Tight Brigade was Dick Spencer. 
 One of the handsomest and finest looking men I have 
 ever seen. He stood over six feet in height. It would 
 have delighted Ouida to have met and described and 
 portrayed Dick. To look at his photograph, and to 
 think of him, and remember what a man he was, 
 makes the blood flow faster in my veins. He was a 
 highly connected man, but there was no side about 
 him. He was a typical dare-devil, a true hearted 
 North Queenslander of the good old sort. 
 
 A true story of Spencer which happened when I 
 knew him, and not far from our Burton Downs 
 Station, is characteristic of the man. He was manag- 
 ing a large cattle station for a Sydney firm. A man, 
 an entire stranger to him, brought a lot of over five 
 hundred cattle and camped on the run, making him- 
 self very much at home. For a time Spencer did 
 not trouble about the trespasser, but after about three 
 months he saw him and told him he must shift his 
 cattle. The man took no notice, so he was told that
 
 THE TII.HT BRK.ADI:. Koc KIIA.MPTOX, 1864 
 
 1 RA'M.SDEX 
 3 J. B. DULHUXTY 
 5 HODGKINSOX 
 7 JACK CAMPBELL 
 9 GBAXT 
 
 2 J. BAIGRIE 
 
 4 C. FETHERSTOXHAUGH 
 
 6 MACHEFEB 
 
 8 R. SPEXCEB
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 213 
 
 if he didn 't shift, his cattle would be shifted for him. 
 Thereupon the intruder told Spencer that if he started 
 to shift the cattle he'd put a bullet into him. About 
 a fortnight afterwards Dick took his men and started 
 to drive the cattle away. The man rode up alongside 
 Spencer and fired at him. Spencer threw himself 
 back and the bullet went through his jumper. 
 Whereupon Spencer just threw himself out of the 
 saddle on top of the man, and both rolled to the 
 ground. As they fell the man fired again, and shot 
 his own mare through the neck. Spencer trussed him 
 up, took him home with him, chained him up and put 
 a padlock on the chain. "Now," he said, "my lad. 
 When you promise to shift those cattle, I'll let you 
 off the chain." The man held out for a day or two, 
 then caved in, and took his cattle away, and that's 
 all the notice Spencer ever took of the occurrence. 
 
 Spencer told me of a terrible experience he had. 
 He owned a fine pack of Kangaroo dogs, and one day 
 passing through some scrub he heard the dogs worry- 
 ing something and went after them, and they had 
 killed and w r ere eating a poor little black piccaninny, 
 of course one belonging to the wild blacks. 
 
 Like so many more old Queenslanders, Dick Spen- 
 cer went right down, and lost his health, too. He 
 went to one of the New South Wales goldfields, and 
 tried his luck digging. While there he got dreadfully 
 ill with malaria, the remains of his Queensland experi- 
 ence. He was lying helpless for weeks in his tent; 
 an old digger did what he could for him. 
 
 On the field there was a notorious ruffian, a man 
 of very bad repute. He had a great "set" on Spen- 
 cer, and was ever trying to annoy him. When 
 Spencer was laid up and helpless, this ruffian used 
 to go to his tent and abuse and insult him. At last 
 Spencer told him if he came again he would shoot 
 him. He came again, and Spencer, beside himself 
 with illness and misery, fired at him, with no intent 
 to kill, but the shot proved fatal, and when Spencer
 
 214 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 recovered he was tried for his life by a jury of 
 diggers, who were by no means well disposed towards 
 him. He would have lost his life, but for a total 
 stranger who appeared at the trial and asked to be 
 allowed to give evidence. This man deposed that 
 some years previously he witnessed this man, who had 
 been shot, beating another man savagely. A by- 
 stander, who was lame, interfered, and he was at 
 once knocked down and brutally kicked. The witness 
 said that he came to the conclusion that this man's 
 ungovernable temper and brutality would sooner or 
 later cause the death of some innocent man, and when 
 he read of this occurrence he determined to come and 
 give his evidence. This saved Spencer's lift. He 
 was, however, found guilty of manslaughter, and 
 served a sentence. 
 
 The Tight Brigade reminds me of an interesting 
 incident. We had decided on a picnic a man's pic- 
 nic and we had chosen a place on the river some 
 eight miles above the town. Among our number was 
 a Mr. Gossett, a civil servant, and also Mr. J. T. 
 Walker, of late years Senator Walker, of the Federal 
 Parliament, but then manager of the Royal Bank, 
 Rockhampton. The Tight Brigade determined to 
 have a four-in-hand, and Baigrie and I were told off 
 to arrange for a team and trap. We got a trap with- 
 out trouble, but a decent team was a difficulty. How- 
 ever, I got together a fair team two had not been in 
 before, but only Baigrie and I knew this. 
 
 We ran out to our rendezvous in good style. We 
 were all lying about comfortably after having had 
 a particularly good lunch, when Gossett suggested a 
 swim over the river. He and one of the Brigade 
 Hodgkinson, later on Minister for Mines started to 
 swim over the river. It was quite a good swim, but 
 nothing to speak of. Gossett, after going about half 
 across, wisely returned, saying that he had turned on 
 his back and had mistaken the sides of the river. 
 After a bit someone said, " Hodgkinson seems to be
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 215 
 
 in trouble. ' ' Sure enough, he was in trouble, and not 
 far from the opposite side. Another fellow and I 
 jumped in and struck out to help Hodgkinson. I 
 got to him first, but before I reached him he went 
 under water three times, but came up again. He was 
 very pale and quite exhausted, and couldn't speak. 
 I told him to get on my back, but he shook his head. 
 He was quite cool and collected. My mate had come 
 up by this time, and we made Hodgkinson put a 
 hand on each of our shoulders, and we started in 
 with him. 
 
 The fellows on shore, thinking we were having a 
 lark, and pretending to save Hodgkinson, though we 
 called to them, did not come to help. By the time 
 we reached the bank of the river Hodgkinson was 
 insensible, and my mate and I were quite exhausted. 
 I started off to get some brandy, and as I went I 
 felt a sharp pain in one foot just as if I had trodden 
 on a sharp stick, but on looking, I could only see a 
 couple of red marks on the toe. The foot was very 
 painful and began to swell, and the leg also. I said, 
 "I think I have been bitten by a snake." Baigrie at 
 once got a bottle of brandy and made me drink half 
 a tumbler full, and then two of them started rubbing 
 brandy into my leg. Suddenly Baigrie said, "Can 
 any of you fellows drive four horses?" Not one. 
 He turned to me and said, "Look here, Fethers, get 
 your clothes on at once; if you are going to die you'll 
 have to drive us back to Rockhampton first." In a 
 very short time I was dressed and the horses in. 
 Hodgkinson, still half unconscious, now lay across 
 the front of the brake, and I was put up and started 
 after another big nip of brandy. I just remember 
 starting away with Hodgkinson at my feet and Baig- 
 rie by my side, and I remember no more. I was full 
 of brandy, and remember nothing after starting. 
 The road was full of stumps. Baigrie told me that 
 no one would have known I was "full," that I drove 
 right up to the hotel yard and went off to bed. Had
 
 216 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 I been bitten by a snake the brandy would probably 
 not have affected me. I suppose I was bitten by a 
 scorpion or centipede. Next day Hodgkinsou said, 
 "I am much obliged to you fellows for coming in 
 after me, but I could have got out." I forgot to say 
 that he had got caught in weeds, and these prevented 
 us from taking him out to the opposite side of the 
 river, to which he was close. 
 
 I left off as we were stuck in the black soil with 
 our sheep all lame. Soon after this my brother, who 
 had gone on to Rockhampton, wrote to us that he 
 could get the offer of a formed sheep station, and that 
 he was strongly advised that we should sell our sheep 
 and buy this station, " Burton Downs." I rode down, 
 and I also came to the conclusion that it would be a 
 good move, so I went straight off to Sydney to see if 
 I could finance the purchase. I was by this time very 
 ill with dysentery, and my eyes bad also. 
 
 Biunie was not at all inclined to finance us, and I 
 had several trips backwards and forwards between 
 Sydney and Rockhampton, ill all the time, and greatly 
 worried over our business, as all the financing fell 
 on me. I was ill with dysentery for three months, 
 and was getting "no better very fast," when I was 
 advised by a bank manager, travelling with me in 
 one of the steamers, to try homeopathy. I said, ''I'll 
 try anything. I am miserable. ' ' On arrival in Syd- 
 ney I went to old Dr. Bellamy, and in nine days I 
 was well. He altered the treatment twice, and I 
 asked what he considered it was had made the 
 cure. He said it was aconite one drop doses of the 
 mother tincture, which did not seem to me to be very 
 infinitesimal. 
 
 I cured dozens of cases in North Queensland with 
 aconite, but the most remarkable occurred when I 
 was at Gooriauana, in New South Wales. A traveller 
 came to me and said he was very ill, and would I 
 give him something. I asked him what was the mat- 
 ter, and he said "dysentery." I said, "I think I
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 217 
 
 can cure you. How long have you been ill?" He 
 said, "Over two years, and I have been in several 
 hospitals, and can get no relief." I said, "I do not 
 think I can help you, ' ' but he looked so disappointed, 
 and so miserable, I said, "I'll mix you a bottle of 
 stuff; it can't hurt you, but you have been so long 
 ill I do not think it can possibly do you any good." 
 
 Three days afterwards I saw the man at Baradine. 
 1 said, "I suppose you are no better?" He replied, 
 "I am quite well!" 
 
 Finally, on 6th June, 1863, I managed to arrange 
 for the purchase of the property, "Burton Downs," 
 on the head of the Isaac, not far short of 300 miles 
 north of Rockhampton, and 150 miles from Port 
 Mackay. I was by this time twenty-six years old. I 
 then had to go back to John Edwards, at Ban Ban, 
 where I arranged for the purchase of 470 head of 
 cattle from Edwards, and then rode on to Rockhamp- 
 ton, picking up my horse Crusoe at Walloon. By 
 this time we had sold all our sheep at fair prices, 
 and our partner Raymond had gone to Sydney for 
 his wife. 
 
 The annual races were just coming on in Rock- 
 hampton, and there was a hurdle race, for which I 
 entered old Crusoe. He had had some months' rest 
 at Walloon, and was in great heart, and after his 
 Ipswich performance I felt he would probably beat 
 anything he would have to meet at Rockhampton. 
 
 There were some good horses up for the race from 
 Brisbane, and two or three from Sydney, among them 
 that excellent and constant chestnut gelding, "Tra- 
 veller," belonging to a well-known old Sydney 
 sportman, Toby Ryan, and author of a book called 
 Reminiscences of Australia, like my own, extending 
 over seventy years. Very interesting and amusing 
 are many of Toby's reminiscences. 
 
 Toby had brought up his well-known jockey, Sam 
 Holmes, with him to ride Traveller. There was a 
 useful contingent of horses from Gayndah way, in-
 
 218 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 eluding a good hurdle horse called Black Eagle. 
 Although the races were run in July, the weather 
 was- very hot. I and old Crusoe were staying at 
 Skarden's Hotel. The Royal was kept by Ward 
 always known as "Old Beggarum." At that time 
 R. D. H. White was manager of the Bank of New 
 South Wales, and he let us know every day that he 
 was alive by firing off a gun (cannon) at 1 o'clock. 
 Larnach ran the A.J.S. Bank, and Tom Hall, later 
 on of Mt. Morgan, was manager of the A.J.S. Bank 
 at Clermont. 
 
 There were three days' racing, and four races each 
 day. On the second day Sam Holmes, then in his 
 fiftieth year, piloted the Sydney crack, Traveller, to 
 victory in the Publican's Purse. The same afternoon 
 I won the Squatter's Purse on Traveller, the riders 
 being amateurs. 
 
 The third day opened with the hurdle race (so 
 called), for which there were four starters. I am 
 sorry to say that there is little doubt this race was 
 a "put up" affair, and "put up" in the interests 
 of a local horse called Daddy a very clever bay, 
 never known to baulk or fall. The fences were quite 
 unique in their way, and formed quite formidable 
 obstacles. These obstacles were built of good stout 
 hurdles, but, about a foot over the hurdles, supported 
 on strong forks over two feet in the ground, were 
 placed stout, heavy green gum spars, leaving an ugly 
 open space between the hurdles and the spars. The 
 jumps were only three hurdles wide, and no wings, 
 and were from 4ft. 6in. to 4ft. 8in. high. The jumps 
 were in course of construction when we got on the 
 course, and we had to wait till they were erected. 
 Much against the grain, I expostulated with the 
 stewards, and warned them that every horse in the 
 race would either fall or baulk, but the stewards only 
 smiled blandly. Daddy was a noted fencer, and 
 Daddy had to win. My friends and I had backed 
 Crusoe to win a good big stake, and we felt ralher
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 219 
 
 ' ' bad, ' ' for Crusoe, though hard to beat over hurdles, 
 had no pretensions over fences in fact he used just 
 to skim his hurdles. 
 
 The four starters were Vengeance, with Lieutenant 
 Morrissett (Dosh) in the saddle; Daddy, ridden by a 
 Mr. Gallagher; Black Eagle, with a Gayndah man 
 up ; and myself on old Crusoe. There was no pluckier 
 man over fences than Dosh Morrissett, and he led at 
 the first obstacle at a merry pace. Vengeance hit it 
 so hard as to dislodge the heavy top log, and rolled 
 over, and Morrissett lay there stunned. The rest of 
 us got through the gap. The three of us smashed 
 into the next jump and dislodged another top log, 
 but Black Eagle fell. At the third fence Daddy fell, 
 taking a log with him, and I got through again, but 
 Daddy went twelve miles before he was caught. Old 
 Crusoe was only good over hurdles, and would not 
 face the next obstruction, and I couldn't force him 
 over it. In the meantime Morrissett had regained 
 consciousness, came on again with Vengeance, and 
 raced at the fence as hard as he could go. I charged 
 it alongside him, and together we burst through, my 
 horse falling heavily, but I got off with a cut on the 
 thigh. At the next fence Vengeance fell again, and 
 broke his rider's arm, and I got through, but came 
 down again at the next fence, where Vengeance 
 caught up. 1 kept on behind him. Morrissett was 
 reeling in the saddle, and riding with one hand, and 
 evidently did not know what he was doing, and 
 would have gone off the course had not a butcher from 
 Gayndah named Watt, who had money on Ven- 
 geance, run him in past the winning post as if the 
 horse had been riderless. Of course Watt was fined, 
 but he won his money, and didn't mind. 
 
 Morrissett 's was a great performance. He fainted 
 on the scales, but appeared at the ball in the evening 
 with his arm in a sling. His arm had been broken in 
 two places, and he received a great ovation from the 
 crowd. I did not grudge him the race. The only
 
 220 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 horse I knew that would have negotiated that course 
 successfully was Harcoan's old Happy Jack. 
 
 The last race was the Forced Handicap, and 
 although Traveller had run twice that day, and was 
 handicapped at no less than 11 stone, old Toby deter- 
 mined to send him for the race. I tried to dissuade 
 him from running so valuable a horse in the heat, 
 with such a weight up, but Toby said he could win, 
 and as Sam Holmes would have had to make three 
 stone in dead weight, Toby asked me to ride his horse. 
 I felt greatly complimented, for I did not fancy my- 
 self much on the flat. All the winners were starters, 
 among them a remarkably fast chestnut mare with a 
 Melbourne jockey, Little Bishop, in the saddle. There 
 was also a good local colt called Quadrant. He had 
 got in very light, so that I did not think much of my 
 chance of winning. The race was one and a half 
 miles, and with such a weight up I could only sit 
 still and wait on the others. I steadied Traveller as 
 long as I dared, keeping him for half the distance. 
 Then 1 saw that Bishop on the fast chestnut was in 
 the lead, and stealing away, so I had to make play. 
 I knew the chestnut could not stay, and that she 
 would "cry a go" if collared, but how to get through 
 the horses was a problem. I dare not pull out and 
 go round on the outside. I'd never have caught the 
 mare. On the spur of the moment I called out, "Let 
 me through, boys!" To my great surprise the boys 
 opened out and let me through. They may have had 
 money on Traveller. I soon got alongside the chest- 
 nut, and a short rally disposed of her, and I thought 
 I had the race safe, though by this time Traveller was 
 fairly rolling under the weight. To my disgust I 
 heard something coming; I dared not look around, and 
 it took me all T knew to keep steady on my horse. 
 Soon T did not need to look round, for Gregory's bay 
 colt, Quadrant, with a boy on him, drew right up to 
 me. Profiting by my experience at Ipswich with Miss 
 Pitsford, I took a pull at Traveller; I felt it was all
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 221 
 
 up with me if I did not steady him. Quadrant drew 
 away a bit, and the boy put the whip into him. We 
 were now on the straight, and close home. After I 
 had steadied Traveller a little, I sat down on him and 
 rode him for all I was worth. Traveller was as game 
 as a pebble, and he just passed Quadrant on the post 
 and no more. I was very proud over winning a good 
 race on the flat, and I got great credit for the way 
 I got through my horses, and I did not tell the fellows 
 how the boys had let me through. Traveller was sold 
 shortly afterwards for 500, to go to China. Old 
 Toby was, of course, greatly pleased, and told me if 
 any time I wanted a good horse for an amateur race 
 at Randwick I could count on him finding me one. 
 Some time afterwards my friends in Sydney asked 
 me to run a horse for a Corinthian Plate, gentleman 
 riders, and I remembered Toby's promise and wrote 
 to him. He said he would have a good horse for me 
 on the course. This was only a few days before the 
 race. When I saw the horse my mind misgave me, 
 but both Toby and Sam Holmes assured me the horse 
 was all there. Sam Holmes lent me his colours, and 
 we started off, about a dozen of us. Before I had 
 gone three hundred yards I knew my horse was no 
 good, and eventually I pulled up. The course even 
 then was fenced, and as I got into the straight at a 
 walk the crowd began to hoot me. It was not at all 
 pleasant to have to "run the gauntlet" all the way 
 up to the saddling paddock. I thought of sending 
 the horse at the rails, but then if he baulked I'd be 
 worse off than ever. A happy thought struck me. 
 I took off my cap and bowed to the crowd each side 
 of me most affably. In a second they were all cheer- 
 ing me, and they cheered me all the way. 
 
 Old Mr. Randolph Want was greatly taken with 
 the incident, and came down off the stand and insisted 
 on shaking my hand. A great friend of mine, Rule 
 of Aramac, was on the stand, and as the crowd was 
 hooting me, a man sitting beside him said, "Quite
 
 222 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 right ; they ought to hoot that fellow off the course. ' ' 
 In a moment Rule had him by the throat, and only 
 that just then the hoots changed to cheers the man 
 would have fared badly. 
 
 A few days after our memorable "obstacle" race 
 at Rockhampton, I was sitting on the verandah at 
 Skardens, when the owner of Vengeance, a Mr. 
 Hardy, came to me and said he wanted to have a talk. 
 "All right," I said, "what's up?" 
 
 "Well," he said, rather hesitatingly, "it's like this. 
 These fellows got gassing about Daddy, and said if 
 he had not fallen he would have won. Now I know 
 Vengeance has got the foot of him, and I said I would 
 run Daddy three miles over fifteen post and rail 
 fences. ' ' 
 
 The end of it was we made a match for 100 
 a-side for four miles, sixteen fences, and Daddy's 
 owner is to put up the fences, none of them to be 
 over 4ft. Sin. 
 
 I said, "You should have kept to the three miles. 
 Four miles is a long way. Daddy can stay all day, 
 and you can't throw him over fair fences. Don't you 
 think you will fall in?" He said, "Vengeance can 
 stand up over stiff fences, too, and he pulls hard, but 
 if he can be steadied he has the foot of Daddy, and 
 the short and long of it is if you will ride him for 
 me I think I can pull it off." 
 
 "But," I said, "I can't ride him. We have just 
 bought a station, and "have to take delivery, and if I 
 get a fall and get hurt where shall I be?" and I 
 added, "Vengeance fell twice yesterday." 
 
 "Oh," said Hardy. "You know those were not 
 fair jumps. Why, the great Daddy fell. If you 
 won't ride for me I'll fall in, for Vengeance is not 
 an easy horse to ride, and Morrissett is laid up, and 
 unless I get a good horseman I'm done, and 100 is 
 ;i big thing for me." 
 
 I may as well say that I was dying to have a shot 
 at Daddy on account of the dirty way his backers had
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 223 
 
 behaved, and it did not take much to persuade me to 
 agree to ride Vengeance. "All right," I said, "I'll 
 ride on one condition. I must do exactly as I like 
 in running the race." Of course Hardy agreed. 
 
 That evening I met a Victorian acquaintance, Willy 
 Bailey, against whom I had ridden in one or two 
 steeplechases. He told me he was going to ride 
 Daddy, and he strongly advised me not to ride Ven- 
 geance, as he was sure to fall, and any way he was 
 sure he could not beat Daddy over a four-mile course. 
 Of course I had no idea of drawing back. 
 
 A big crowd went out to see the match between 
 Daddy and Vengeance, the betting being two to one 
 on Daddy. The jumps, twenty of them, were quite 
 fair fences not over 4ft. Sin. high. Dosh Morrissett 
 was driven out to see the race. 
 
 Daddy, as already mentioned, was an undoubtedly 
 good fencer and a stayer. Vengeance had more pace, 
 but was not a stayer over such a long distance as four 
 miles. Moreover, although his owner swore he could 
 stand up with any horse over fences, the public ex- 
 pected him to come down; and he was said to be a 
 hard puller, and might run round some of his fences. 
 It was a lovely day, and we quietly started ourselves. 
 Bailey naturally went off at a good pace. It was 
 clearly my game to have the pace as slow as possible, 
 so I kept well in the rear. After we had gone a mile 
 some of Daddy's backers shouted to Bailey, "You are 
 playing his game; let him try his hand in the lead." 
 They thought Vengeance might run round his fences 
 if in the lead. Bailey very unwisely slackened his 
 pace, and so did I. He went still slower. I followed 
 suit. He dropped into a canter. I still kept behind. 
 Then he trotted; I let Vengeance trot. He walked; 
 so did I. Finally he pulled right up, and I pulled up 
 too. I was delighted. Bailey, by pulling up, had 
 reduced the distance to a three-mile race, which was 
 a lot better for me. Bailey called out to me, "Look 
 here, old man, I have been doing all the work; it's
 
 224 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 up to you to take a turn." If it had been the present 
 day, I'd have no doubt replied, "I don't think," but 
 I simply said, "No, I won't." He said, "Do you 
 really mean it?" I said, "I'll stay here till dark." 
 Bailey evidently saw what a mistake he had made, 
 for he started off as hard as Daddy could take him. 
 He pulled up again at one of the fences, hoping I 
 would not be able to hold Vengeance, and that he 
 might baulk, but Vengeance behaved like a gentle- 
 man, and then Bailey sat down on his horse and sent 
 him for all he was worth. Over the last fence our 
 stirrup irons clashed. We had a good tussle then up 
 the straight, but Vengeance had a run left in him, 
 and I won by a good half length. Had Bailey not 
 pulled up he must have won. There was a great deal 
 of excitement over the match. Dosh Morrissett was 
 delighted, and Hardy, the owner of Vengeance, was in 
 great form, and I must admit that I was very pleased 
 with myself. 
 
 Dosh Morrissett had a brother, Edric, Superinten- 
 dent of Police in New South Wales. The latter was 
 very quick in repartee; no one could ever "have 
 him." 
 
 Once at the Union Club, Sydney, he mistook a very 
 pompous member of the Club albeit a right good 
 fellow for someone he knew. As Morrissett held out 
 his hand, the other drew back and scathingly said, 
 "Sir, you have made a mistake." Morrissett at once 
 replied, "Ah, I see I have. I'll apologise to my friend 
 when I see him. ' ' 
 
 On one occasion while in Brisbane he went to 
 church. He got in a little late, and the verger, seeing 
 Judge Lutwych's pew empty, shewed Morrissett into 
 it. Morrissett got into a comfortable corner and ap- 
 propriated the prayer-book. Shortly afterwards the 
 Judge appeared. He was a very peppery individual. 
 He sat down looking rather red and irascible. After 
 fussing about for a bit he leaned over to the intruder 
 and said very crossly, "Sir, you have got my prayer-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 225 
 
 book!" Politely handing it to him, Morrissett said 
 in a loud whisper, "Doesn't seem to do you much 
 good." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Raymond having gone to Sydney for Mrs. Ray- 
 mond, my brother and I rode on to Burton Downs, 
 about three hundred miles, and took delivery of it. 
 On our road up we stayed a night at Waverley with 
 Macartney and Mayne. The latter I had known in 
 Melbourne, and I had frequently in Sydney met and 
 become very friendly with several very pretty nieces 
 of his; their brother took up country in the far west 
 of Queensland. Arthur Macartney was a son of the 
 old Dean of Melbourne, whom I had not met, but 
 with whom I became well acquainted a good many 
 years later on. Later on, too, Arthur Macartney 
 became the largest cattle owner in Australia, and was 
 known as the Cattle King. Like many more Queens- 
 landers, he had had his ups and downs, a good many 
 of both, but was well on the up grade, and about the 
 youngest man of his age among my friends, when he 
 died in 1917, in his eighty-fifth year. 
 
 At Waverley we passed 10,000 sheep in one mob, 
 on their way to the Valley of Lagoons. They be- 
 longed to Dairy mple, a well-known Queenslander. 
 
 A Mr. Spiro, of the firm of William Sloane and Co., 
 of Melbourne, accompanied us on this trip, and he 
 did not like it a little bit. He was accustomed to a 
 luxurious life, with plenty of comfort, and camping 
 out did not at all commend itself to him, neither did 
 walking up the steep Connor's range at all agree with 
 Spiro. As he sweated up the range leading his horse 
 he said to me, "Ach mein Gott, this was not in my 
 partnership agreement at all." Spiro was good grit 
 H
 
 226 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 for all that, and it never entered his head to turn 
 back. He wns a wool-buyer, and was going up to see 
 Eaglefield, a big station on the Suitor, and adjoining 
 Burton Downs, the property of William Sloane and 
 Co., of Melbourne. 
 
 I found Burton Downs to be a nice property 
 enough,, but the good downs country was circum- 
 scribed. On the ridges there was a good deal of spear 
 grass, the seed of which is deadly to sheep. 
 
 The photograph of Burton Downs was taken the 
 year after we sold it, and sent to me by Mr. Baily, 
 of Skull Creek. My idea of Burton Downs was that 
 it was a very line homestead, and so it was by com- 
 parison with many other Queensland homesteads of 
 the early sixties. Alas, this photograph conveys the 
 impression of a building that would not pass now-a- 
 days for a shearers' hut. 
 
 Raymond, with his wife, came up soon after this 
 via Port Mackay. Mrs. Raymond was a plucky little 
 woman, and had need to be. I remember showing her 
 how to load a revolver, and how to discharge it, but 
 unfortunately in discharging, it kicked badly and 
 struck her so hard on the temple that she became 
 unconscious. 
 
 Our nearest neighbours at Burton Downs were 
 Baily and Newton, of Lenton Downs, better known as 
 Skull Creek, only ten miles away, and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Black, of Eaglefield, twenty-six miles "West. Better 
 or nicer neighbours we could not have wished for. 
 
 Black was managing Eaglefield. He was a clever, 
 capable man, and became Minister for Lands some 
 years afterwards. 
 
 Baily and Newton's place was situated on the very 
 edge of an immense brigalow scrub, extending away 
 West for some forty miles, with the Isaacs running 
 through it, and full of wild blacks. We all considered 
 the Lenton Downs folks were in great danger, and 
 we would never have been surprised to have heard of 
 a massacre there as there were only four men on the
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 227 
 
 place. Newton, who stuttered badly, and who, need- 
 less to say, was an Irishman, said to me one day, "I 
 expect we'll all w-w-wake up some fine m-m-morning 
 and find ourselves dead corpses," and I quite agreed 
 with him. 
 
 At Burton Downs we were well out of the scrub. 
 
 During our time (up to 1866) the blacks had not 
 been "let in" to any of the stations in our district. 
 They were perfectly wild, as wild as dingoes and 
 harder to see. They never ventured out into the 
 open, except when travelling they might cross a small 
 plain. I was over twelve months at Burton Downs 
 before I saw a wild black, although I was constantly 
 in the scrubs. One day I was out with my black boy 
 "Dick," whom I had picked up in Brisbane, and who 
 was about thirty years old and a fine fellow. We were 
 down the Isaacs looking for some of our cattle it 
 was all scrub and we must have come on some wild 
 blacks, but we did not see any except two gins that 
 must have been a bit away from the others, and had 
 not seen us. The gins threw themselves flat on the 
 ground and were terrified, poor things. The blacks 
 had never done us any harm beyond spearing two 
 steers (they did not kill them), and we had never 
 gone after them, or tried to interfere with them. We 
 had told the native police officer that we strongly 
 objected to the blacks being "hunted up" on Burton 
 Downs, and we had never mentioned about the steers 
 having been speared, as it was probably done by some 
 of the young "bucks" out of flashness. 
 
 I got the two gins to stand up, and I made friends 
 with them. I had a bit of looking glass in my saddle 
 pouch, which, to their great delight, I gave them. 
 Were they not women? I also gave them a sheet of 
 an Argus. Dick tried to teach them to smoke, but 
 they swallowed the smoke, and nearly choked, and 
 
 Dick stigmatized them as "b y fools." He could 
 
 not understand a word they said, nor could they 
 understand him. We parted quite good friends.
 
 228 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 That evening, reluming home, 1 was making for a 
 short cut through a narrow gorge in the range, but 
 Dick would not go with me. He said the wild blacks 
 would waylay us there for a certainty. As I was well 
 armed, I didn't care if they did, but Dick wouldn't 
 come and let me go by myself. When I got into the 
 gorge sure enough there were a lot of wild blacks 
 standing above me on a high rocky cliff with big 
 .stones in their hands and yelling at me^ "Yappartee, 
 Yappartee." I was not near enough for them to 
 reach me with the rocks. I had my rifle with me. 
 They were quite within shot and I could easily have 
 picked off one of them. One, a big red-looking fellow, 
 looked very fine. He stood out on the edge of the 
 cliff, stark naked. Avith his hair Hying out, and a big 
 rock in each hand, while he was yelling, "Yappartee, 
 Yappartee, Gingi Gingi." A couple of years later 1 
 ascertained the meaning of ''Yappartee" from a gin 
 on the Peak Downs. She had been stolen from the 
 Suttor blacks, and she told me it meant "Go away 
 quick." I did clear out, as I did not want to come 
 into collision with them, and perhaps have to shoot 
 one of them. I waved my hand amicably to them, 
 and went on home, unmolested. We never saw any 
 tracks of the blacks right in on Burton Downs, but 
 the Isaacs and Suttor scrubs were full of them. 
 
 My own immediate neighbours never interfered 
 with the blacks, nor did they ever send for the native 
 police. Later on I came into collision with the wild 
 blacks elsewhere, as I shall relate presently. They 
 were just like wild animals, and no wonder, poor 
 things. 
 
 The black native police were first started in Vic- 
 toria in 1842 by the brothers Dana, and I spoke to 
 several Murray black police boys in North Queens- 
 land. The modus operandi of the black native police 
 was to follow the tracks of any wild blacks that they 
 came on, and when they got close to them the police 
 boys would strip naked and leave their horses and
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 229 
 
 close in on the poor creatures, shooting down all the 
 males without mercy just as if they had been savage 
 wild animals. 
 
 The black police were officered by white men, 
 usually men of good position. The boys were by no 
 means cruel evil fellows, but blacks naturally like kill- 
 ing, and these boys enjoyed the hunting and tracking 
 and following up the warrigal blacks in the scrub. 
 It was real sport to them. They all called their offi- 
 cers "Mahemy." I never asked the meaning of the 
 term. 
 
 One of the native police officers whom I knew well, 
 and whom I liked he was the best of those I had met 
 told me that on one occasion when they were "dis- 
 persing" (this is what it was called) some blacks, 
 he saw Jerry, one of his boys, with a piccaninny boy 
 in his hand. He was swinging the little chap round 
 preparatory to knocking out his brains against a tree. 
 My friend, of course, stopped him, whereupon Jerry 
 said, "Best fellow kill him this time, Manny. Bymby, 
 that fellow big fellow you and me shoot him. Best 
 kill him now." 
 
 Another police officer whom I knew, and who was 
 really a nice fellow enough and a gentleman, told 
 me himself that he had come across a big lot of war- 
 rigal blacks fishing in a big lagoon off the Belyando. 
 One of the blacks saw the police, but slipped off into 
 the scrub without giving the alarm, thus saving his 
 own life. My friend told me he waited till the blacks 
 had caught a good big lot of fish before he "dis- 
 persed" them, and collared their fish. I told him 
 what I thought about it. The black police boys were 
 instructed by their officers that before they fired at 
 'any wild blacks they must call upon them three 
 times to stand, in the name of the Queen. On one 
 occasion one of the boys had shot a warrigal black, 
 who was up a tree. As the black was falling, the 
 police boy called out, "Queen's name three times, by 
 cripes, close up mine been forgotten that fellow."
 
 230 AFTER MANY DATS 
 
 Later on, after we had taken up some country on 
 the Belyando, near its junction, with the Suttor, I 
 used to travel up and down the Suttor going to it. 
 The distance was one hundred and twelve miles and 
 eighty miles of it was through scrub, containing 
 plenty of blacks. I often travelled by myself, and 
 had to camp one night en route. I used to have my 
 supper about an hour before dark, and then travel on 
 till after dark and camp. 
 
 The warrigal blacks will hardly ever attack at 
 night. Early in the morning at grey dawn is their 
 usual time, and by grey dawn I was always well on 
 the road. 
 
 One night while I was having my supper I heard 
 the blacks chopping and laughing in the scrub. They 
 had not seen me. I was driving some loose horses, 
 and had come sixty miles. After supper I saddled 
 up, and went another forty before I pulled up to have 
 a sleep. When I awoke the horses were still in sight 
 feeding on the bank of the Suttor. 
 
 Another night I had my black boy with me, and 
 after we had hobbled out the horses, and had our 
 supper, we heard the blacks close to us in the scrub. 
 It was too dark to get the horses, and anyway we 
 reckoned we were safer in camp. If one of us had 
 gone after the horses, the blacks, who no doubt had 
 seen us, would have rushed the other one. Dick sat 
 on watch for half the night, and I watched for the 
 second half, but long before daylight Dick was up 
 with his rifle ready for action. I always carried a 
 tent when I had Dick with me, and we slept in it. 
 We scarcely ever watched between dark till dawn. 
 Dick said the blacks never travelled at night, and 
 would not attack in the dark, and I reckoned that the 
 blacks would not throw spears at us in the tent. They 
 like almost to be able to put their hand on a man's 
 head before they hit him. All the deaths of whites 
 which came under my notice were from blows on the 
 head. There was no danger unless we were caught
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 231 
 
 "napping." I never heard of the blacks attacking 
 armed men but once, and that was on the ridge divid- 
 ing the Barcoo water from the Eastern waters. They 
 put up a really good fight there, and speared two 
 whites before they were "wiped out." 
 
 Only once did I come right on a big mob ef war- 
 rigal blacks. I was going along some distance off 
 the Suttor, through country consisting of little plains 
 and scrub. Just as I was coming through a narrow 
 belt of scrub I heard wild blacks chattering. I was 
 driving two horses ahead of me, so I drove these out 
 on a little plain and then came back to the scrub, 
 and rode down it cautiously looking for the blacks. 
 They must have seen me, for as I drew towards where 
 I had heard them, they all drew out in the plain. 
 There were about seventy of them men, gins and 
 piccaninnies. I tried to show them that I was friendly, 
 but they would not reciprocate. Two big "bucks" 
 came out from the mob towards me with spears in 
 their hands, and called out, "Yappartee, Yappartee, 
 Yappartee." I did not then know what this meant, 
 and I thoughtlessly called out "Yappartee" to them. 
 As I was thus engaged I noticed some of them were 
 cutting off my two horses, one of which had my pack 
 on him. I cantered after my horses and cracked my 
 whip to drive them away from the niggers. In a 
 second, at the crack of the whip, there was not a 
 black to be seen. They had all dropped down, and 
 although the grass was not long, it concealed every 
 one of them. 1 rode back, and the same two bucks 
 got up out of the grass and again waved me off, sing- 
 ing out "Yappartee." I left them, but seeing such 
 a big mob of warrigal blacks impressed me very 
 much, and made me very careful afterwards going up 
 and down through the Suttor scrubs. 
 
 A few months after taking over Burton Downs my 
 brother and I took a turn down the Suttor to see if 
 we could find any country worth taking up, but the 
 few little plains we found were not worth going for,
 
 232 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 On one of our trips we were three days without any- 
 thing to eat. On the third evening my boy, Dick, 
 got me an opposuin, which I shared with him, and it 
 was nasty enough tasted of gum leaves. Next day 
 rations reached us from home, and a Dr. Wilkins 
 called on us. A fine fellow he was, too clever at 
 his profession and a born explorer and pioneer. I 
 think it was he who had taken up Eaglefield. He 
 was a hardy fellow, and thought nothing of going 
 seven days without food, and laughed at us for think- 
 ing three days quite a hardship. 
 
 Next night two friends from the Barcoo, Dalgleish 
 and Ker, camped with us en route for Rockhampton. 
 When they reached Rockhampton they had done 550 
 miles in eleven days, never out of a walk. They had 
 only four horses, and they brought them in quite 
 fresh and sleek. They rode the same two horses all 
 the way. Dalgleish performed quite a feat in Port 
 Mackay for a bet of 10. He jumped his horse over 
 a team of bullocks. I remember a Mr. Du Moulin 
 at Muntham jumping a cow that was charging him. 
 
 Dr. Wilkins brought us letters, and I found I 
 would have to go to Sydney again "financing." Also 
 Edwards proposed a partnership, and I had to see 
 him. So we returned to Burton Downs. I was quite 
 ill at this time. My back was hurting me and my 
 right kidney, hurt at the same time at Doogalook 
 nine years before, was giving me much pain, and 
 I felt pretty bad. I consulted Dr. Wilkins, and after 
 a careful examination he gave me two years to live, 
 and he added, "I'm afraid, old chap, you will have a 
 bad time." I did not myself think I was as bad as 
 all that. 
 
 A few evenings afterwards I started oif for Rock- 
 hampton riding and driving two horses ahead of me 
 old Crusoe and another with a pack. It was just 
 sundown as I looked back at Burton Downs from the 
 Gap, and I wondered if I would ever see it again. 
 
 Poor old Wilkins fell on bad times and died within
 
 233 
 
 seven years, in New Zealand, and here am I fifty-three 
 years atferwards still going pretty strong, and in a 
 long way better health than I was then! 
 
 A little after dark my mare fell with me. I was 
 not too spry, and she got away and joined the other 
 two, and off they went at a trot. One fortunately 
 had a bell on. I ran after them for about six miles 
 before they turned off the road to feed. Then I 
 caught and tied them up, and went to sleep under a 
 tree feeling pretty bad. 
 
 Next morning (Friday), I had breakfast at Fort 
 Cooper, and started away. At dinner time I found I 
 had no matches and no flour only tea and sugar. I 
 could have got matches and rations by going six miles 
 off the road, but I kept expecting I would meet some 
 one. But never a soul did I meet, however, and I 
 kept going on till, on Sunday, the third day, I made 
 Waverley by about 5 o'clock. I had nothing till the 
 Macartney's usual dinner hour, and did not tell them 
 I had been "doing a perish" for three days. I be- 
 lieve it did me good, for by the time I reached Rock- 
 hampton I was ever so much better, and went on to 
 Brisbane and Sydney. 
 
 My business delayed me two weeks in Sydney, 
 which I enjoyed very much. There was a good opera 
 troupe there, and all the old operas were being put 
 on, Traviata, Bohemian Girl, Faust, and Trovatore. 
 I also dropped in for three good dances, where I 
 renewed my acquaintance with my friend Mayne's 
 pretty and charming nieces. 
 
 I stayed part of the time with some relations at 
 Balmain. The only way to get to Balmain or to the 
 North Shore then was by row boat. One night my 
 friends forgot to have the door unlocked for me, and 
 as there was a young baby in the house (the baby at 
 present is Walter Sendall, Irrigation Commissioner 
 at Leeton), I did not want to waken them, so lay down 
 on the verandah in my dress clothes, and slept till 
 daylight. I got no end of abuse for not knocking
 
 234 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 them up, but a hard bed was uothing to ine then. 
 I was well used to it. Out of the four years I spent 
 in Queensland I was not more than six months under 
 a roof. My friends said that when I got to Rock- 
 hampton I used to hang my mosquito net to a lamp- 
 post till the police interfered. This is a libel. 
 
 After getting back to Burton Downs, my brother 
 and I took up some country on the lower Belyando, 
 near its junction with the Suttor. It was small, but 
 with some nice "downs" on it. I stayed there with 
 my black boy, Dick, for some months, and if I had 
 stayed there long with Dick I'd have become like a 
 blackfellow. We never put any clothes on at all till 
 about nine o'clock in the day. We spent our time 
 looking for more country, but had 110 success. To 
 the West we came on a large area of desert before 
 reaching the good Western Downs, Aramac and 
 Barcoo way, and that country was all taken up. To 
 the South and South-East was all scrub, and some 
 desert, too. Dick and I got sick of the scrub. I used 
 to send him up a tree and call out, "Well, Dick, 
 what name look put?" "Grub, altogether crub," 
 was invariably Dick's answer. It's a wonder we 
 didn't lose our horses in the desert, for there was 
 any amount of poison pea (gastrolobium grandiflora), 
 fatal to horses, and I did not know this. This pea 
 is a handsome flower, which made the desert "bloom 
 like a rose." 
 
 After this I returned to Burton Downs and went 
 to Maryborough by steamer, bought some horses there 
 and an outfit, and went on to Ban Ban to lift 500 head 
 of cattle for Burton Downs. Finding we could not 
 raise money to stock Vine Creek now called the 
 Hermitage we arranged a partnership with John 
 Edwards, he to take half share, Raymond and I a 
 quarter each. Edwards was to find cattle and sheep 
 on his part. Raymond and I drew small salaries, 
 and I was about to lift the cattle at Ban Ban, on 
 the Burnett. As Edwards was then supposed to be
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 335 
 
 a comparatively wealthy man, I thought we were 
 making a very judicious deal, and that our financial 
 difficulties were at an end. 
 
 In this I was woefully mistaken. I started from 
 Burton Downs with 470 head of cattle on 10th Novem- 
 ber, 1863. The summer was an inopportune time to 
 start on the road with stock, but for many reasons 
 it was most important for us to get the cattle out to 
 our station. I had a good lot of men, among them 
 a fine young Scotch immigrant lad. I was still suffer- 
 ing greatly from my back, so much so that I could 
 not stand the saddle. I therefore took on the cooking 
 and driving the dray, and found that came easier. 
 I got some yeast and used to make light bread for 
 the camp. 
 
 I remember Christmas Day well. We had brought 
 a very fine black draught colt with us from Ban Ban. 
 He had only just been caught and handled. On 
 Christmas Day I put him in the lead in the dray, 
 and he went so well I called him Christmas. Pre- 
 sently I ran one wheel the wrong side of a sapling, 
 and as it came down it fell on Christmas. He ran 
 away and upset the dray, and me, too, but I got things 
 right again without any damage. That evening I had 
 a grand Christmas dinner spread out for all hands. 
 I had a fine piece of spiced beef, also potatoes and 
 some "fat hen" (wild spinach), a grand plum duff, 
 and, best of all, a bottle of rum. We were just sitting 
 down to my spread when up came a tremendous 
 thunderstorm. In a few moments the cattle had 
 broken camp, and all hands, and this time the cook, 
 too, scuttled after them. We got them all back in 
 about an hour, but alas ! our lovely dinner was washed 
 away like "Hans Breitman's Party" into the "Ewig 
 Keit." But I saved the bottle of rum. 
 
 When we got within about forty miles of Rock- 
 hampton I heard that there was a great deal of 
 "pleuro" ahead of me. Inoculation then was un- 
 known. I determined to make the road from Bock-
 
 236 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 hampton to the Peak Downs by a short cut through 
 the bush, where there was no track. Had I only 
 known it, there was a reward of 200 offered by the 
 Peak Downs people for anyone who would open up 
 this short cut by taking a ton of goods through. I 
 could easily have made up my load to a ton, and as 
 I got through all right I'd have secured the 200. 
 
 I had about forty miles to go without any track, 
 and much of it scrub and little water. The weather 
 was very hot, and we were hard pushed for water 
 while making the short cut. At that time you not 
 only could go almost where you liked with stock, but 
 everyone was glad to see you and to help you on the 
 way. I could not get any information, but I knew 
 if I bore in a certain direction I must hit the Mac- 
 kenzie Eiver and afterwards the Peak Downs road. 
 A sheep station of Cranstown brothers, on the Mac- 
 kenzie, was my objective. The summer rains did 
 not fall that year (1864) till later than usual. The 
 first day of the short cut we did nine miles no 
 water carried enough for our own use and sent the 
 horses back. Next day did another ten miles no 
 water and the horses, except those we were riding, 
 had to be taken back seventeen miles to water. The 
 second night I camped with the cattle. They were 
 bad for water, and so were we, and the cattle were 
 on the move all night. I rode back the ten miles to 
 camp next morning and got a drink, and found all 
 the horses lost, and the chaps after them on foot. I 
 had to go back tp the cattle with a drink for the men 
 who had started on. We made eight miles that day, 
 and the dray caught up that night, bringing no water. 
 All the horses were bad for a drink, and the cattle 
 had done three days without water in great heat. 
 Curious to say, the cattle all lay down after dark, 
 and I told the chaps to get a sleep as I would watch. 
 They had had no sleep for two nights. About ten 
 o'clock I felt a sort of cool breeze blow up, and the 
 cattle all got on their legs and made off. I guessed
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 237 
 
 what was up. They had smelt water on the breeze 
 and were after it. I got ahead of them, and in about 
 half a mile rode into a water hole. I had a good 
 drink before the cattle got into it. I let the cattle go 
 and went back to camp. There was no use in waking 
 up the men, as the cattle had puddled up the water 
 hole and made it into mud. We had not let our horses 
 go, and at daylight we made after the cattle. About a 
 mile and a half away we found them luxuriating in 
 green feed up to their knees" by splendid big deep 
 water holes in a creek. It was just lovely. We also 
 luxuriated there for a couple of days, and rested. 
 Then I started off to reconnoitre. I pushed through 
 a dense brigalow scrub, and in six miles came out on 
 open country and sheep tracks, and I knew I must be 
 on Cranston's run. I rode on till I struck a creek 
 running North (Mackenzie water), and then just as 
 it began to rain steadily, turned back for our camp. 
 I was very tired and cold, in my shirt sleeves, and 
 it got dark by the time I reached the scrub. I made 
 a big hole in the soft humus, tied my horse to my 
 leg, and pulled a lot of humus over me and went to 
 sleep. I woke about 12 o'clock, very coldl, so I 
 1 bought I'd try and make the camp. There was a 
 good wind blowing, so I took the direction by my 
 compass and started for the camp through the dense 
 brigalow scrub, and actually made it (six miles) in 
 about two hours. I was hoping to turn in and get 
 dry and snug, but found the water running through 
 my tent, and all hands up and in the same plight. 
 
 Next day I blazed a line through the scrub, and 
 the men followed with the cattle, and the dray got 
 through all right. We camped on the creek that 
 night, and next day made Cranston's head station, on 
 the Mackenzie. It poured rain all the time, and by 
 this the river was a banker, and no hope of our 
 getting the cattle across. The Cranstons were more 
 than good to us, and said the cattle could stay till
 
 238 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 the river was crossable, and they put me up at the 
 home station. 
 
 As there seem'ed no hope of getting away for some 
 weeks, I determined to take a run up to Burton 
 Downs it was only distant about 130 miles but the 
 country was now a bog, and all the rivers in flood. 
 Such a trip as I had ! I made a bark canoe at Cran- 
 ston 's, and one evening took my saddle and other 
 belongings across in it, and swam my two horses over, 
 ready for a start next morning. However, the mos- 
 quitoes were so bad that I slipped into the river, 
 and, swimming back to the homestead, rather startled 
 the inmates by appearing at the door in the "alto- 
 gether," with water dripping off me. They gave me 
 a blanket, and in the morning, after breakfast, I swam 
 back, caught my horses and made a start. I had two 
 horses, one a lovely "bit of blood," that I had bought 
 from Holt, of Kolonglo. The continued rain had 
 converted the country into a quagmire. There was no 
 track on to the Peak Downs road, and the only way 
 I could get along was to keep on the bank of the 
 creek, and when the bank ran out I had to swim 
 the creek to another bank. This I did six times, 
 carrying my saddle on my head, to keep it dry. Then 
 I reached the road, and made a camp with a Mr. Muir- 
 head, a Victorian. He was making out West with 
 5,000 sheep, and had got stuck up with the wet. His 
 sheep had footrot, and his wife had died of scurvy, 
 and he, poor fellow, followed her not long after. My 
 pack horse had knocked up by this time, having been 
 constantly bogged, so I had to leave him. I'd have 
 done better had I spelled at Muirhead's till next 
 day, but foolishly I pushed on, hoping to make Logan 
 Downs, a station of Sir Samuel Wilson's, afterwards 
 sold to Donald Wallace, of Carbine fame. 
 
 The track after I left the main road had been little 
 used and was awful. Late in the afternoon I struck 
 a wide swamp, knee deep and boggy, and impossible 
 to get round. The reeds were up to my shoulders, the
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 239 
 
 stench from the yellow swamp intolerable, and there 
 were scores of snakes. Once Loadstone my horse 
 got stuck and rolled over, and I got wet up to my 
 neck. When we got through the swamp, Loadstone 
 stood and shook all over, quite done. I just had to 
 camp no tucker, and wet to the neck, and my 
 matches wet, too. Next day I made Logan Downs 
 early, and the manager, Mr. Carroll, a jovial Irish- 
 man, made me welcome. He had 110 flour, but got 
 me an egg and a pot of tea without sugar. They 
 were out of everything except tea and meat, and no 
 hope of getting anything for weeks. I went on and 
 camped with some teams. They were trying to get 
 to Mackay with wool, and were sledging it along one 
 bale at a time across some miles of "spuey" road. 
 They had been stuck there for a month, and had a 
 poor fellow with them dying of scurvy. I stayed with 
 them that night. 
 
 Next day Loadstone caved in, and I had to walk 
 and lead him eight miles to make Frazer's station on 
 the Isaacs, about forty miles below Burton Downs. 
 
 I stayed the night with Frazer, whose brother was 
 the sole survivor of the "Hornet Bank Massacre" 
 by the blacks. The Frazer I stayed with was away 
 from home when the massacre occurred. The brother 
 who escaped got a knock on the head, and the blacks 
 left him for dead he was only about eight years old. 
 It was the old story. The Frazers let the blacks in, 
 and then were too trusting, and made too free with 
 them, and eventually more and more blacks came in 
 warrigal blacks. They didn 't know any better, and 
 they massacred the whole family, father, mother, 
 daughters and sons, and the governess, poor girl. 
 They mutilated the bodies horribly, too. Of course 
 they looted the place, and the native police accom- 
 panied by the eldest son, followed them up, and wiped 
 out most of them without compunction, and who could 
 say them nay ? And who can put much blame on the 
 ignorant Myall blacks?
 
 240 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 The massacre of the Wills family some time after- 
 wards was exactly such another case, only that the 
 Wills had been more than good to the blacks. But 
 they also were all massacred. Just the same story ! 
 It was quite right to let the blacks in so long as they 
 were not made too free with, and not too many let 
 in at once. This was what was done on the Burnett 
 and other districts with success, and gradually the 
 "let in" blacks became quite safe and very useful. 
 I, of course, did not touch on the massacre the evening 
 I spent with Mr. Frazer, but it was currently believed 
 that he never lost an opportunity of shooting a wild 
 blackfellow as long as he lived. 
 
 Mr. Frazer lent me a fine strong white half-bred 
 Arab stallion to go 011 with. I asked him what he 
 valued the horse at, in case anything happened him. 
 He said 40, and on that understanding I started off 
 early next morning. I had a memorable ride. There 
 was no track. In fact, Frazer told me he did not 
 know of anyone ever having followed the Isaacs up 
 to Burton Downs, but he believed it must be all 
 through scrub, and so I found it. As before when 
 I left Cranston's, the bank of the creek was the only 
 place where I could get a footing at all. Times with- 
 out number the white horse got bogged, and went 
 down so often that at last when he felt himself sink- 
 ing he threw himself on his side at once. In one 
 place where I had to cross a little creek he went 
 right down in a quicksand. There was nothing but 
 his head out, yet he struggled out of it. I thought 
 my 40 was gone. 
 
 I had never heard of anyone having been up the 
 Isaacs to Burton Downs from Frazer 's, and I found 
 it scrub all the way. These scrubs were full of wild 
 blacks. 
 
 I got to within seven miles of "home" that night, 
 having taken all day to do thirty-three miles. I 
 camped on a small patch of sound ground. The horse 
 was done, and I let him loose, and he was glad enough
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 241 
 
 to get a bit of sound ground to stand on. It was 
 too boggy all round for him to go off it he stood near 
 me all night. 
 
 I was not game to light a fire or to try to go to 
 sleep, as I had crossed a big ''pad" a few miles before 
 sundown, made by the blacks on the soft ground. I 
 had to swim the Isaacs three times next morning to 
 get to Burton Downs to breakfast, which I did, much 
 to the surprise of my brother and the Raymonds. 
 
 I found that after all my trouble to avoid the 
 pleuro it had attacked our little herd of cattle at 
 Burton Downs, and eventually we lost about a third 
 of the Ban Ban cattle from pleuro. 
 
 A whole family of Germans that we had at Burton 
 Downs, father, mother, son, and daughter, died of 
 fever and ague. One day at Burton Downs a friend 
 who was travelling into Rockhampton was chaffing 
 us about getting fever and ague. He said, "Look at 
 me! I never have it!" and as we looked he turned 
 green and livid, and in a few minutes was shaking 
 with ague. He must have forgotten to touch wood. 
 I am afraid we all rejoiced, as he had been so very 
 "perky." 
 
 I never had ague, but had a good deal of low fever. 
 I always carried quinine loose in a little pouch, and 
 took a pinch pretty often when fever and ague were 
 about, and I also was careful to breathe through my 
 nose. 
 
 One day after crossing a beastly smelling swamp 
 when we reached the camp at Vine Creek, my black- 
 boy, Dick, threw himself off his horse. He was shak- 
 ing all over. ' ' Cobbon, me cold, ' ' said poor Dick, and 
 it was a hot day. In a few minutes he jumped up 
 arid threw off his blanket. "Altogether me burn," 
 cried Dick, and off he bolted for the creek. I tried 
 to console him by telling him he was "close up like 
 it white fellow having fever and ague," but Dick 
 could not see it. 
 
 A little gin I brought up from Gladstone to Burton
 
 242 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Downs got fever aud ague when with us, and she 
 fully believed we had bewitched her, and consequently 
 gave us great abuse. 
 
 I only stayed two days at home, and then started 
 back, but this time I took the road, though it was 
 thirty miles longer: I found Loadstone freshened 
 up, and got back to Cranston's all right, picking up 
 my packhorse at Muirhead's. 
 
 I found my canoe, "turfed" my traps across in it. 
 and swam my horses over. After a couple of days 
 we crossed our cattle safely over the Mackenzie, and 
 I started them for home in charge of a good man. I 
 then started off myself for Ban Ban, via Rockhamp- 
 ton, to lift 10,000 sheep, Edwards was finding us to 
 put on Burton Downs and Vine Creek. I made a 
 place called Apis Creek on the 3rd March (1864). 
 My experiences there are described in the following 
 article, written by me many years ago, but never 
 published. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "Good-day, Mr. Christie," said one of two miners 
 from the Peak Downs (now Clermont), as lie got 
 off his horse at the door of a wayside public house 
 close to Old Roddy MacLennan's Apis Creek Station. 
 "How are you getting on, and how's the missus?" 
 
 "Oh, none too bad, none too bad," replied Frank 
 Christie, the landlord of the hotel, a tall, dark, good 
 looking man who looked as if he had gone through 
 some pretty hard experiences. "We can't complain. 
 Are you bound south?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, we have made a fair pile, and it 's all in them 
 saddle bags 011 the pack horse ; just take them off now, 
 will ye?" 
 
 As Christie lifted the bags he said, "My word, you 
 have made a bit more than a fair pile; it's as much 
 as I can lift off the horse."
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 243 
 
 "Well, just put it by for us for the night where it 
 will be safe, old man." 
 
 Many a lot of gold had Christie had entrusted to 
 him for safe-keeping by diggers returning from the 
 Peak Downs. He was a quiet taciturn man, and the 
 only fault anyone had to find with him was that he 
 drank heavily at times, and when in drink was morose 
 and disagreeable. 
 
 The scene of this little occurrence was a wayside 
 inn in North Queensland, at a place called Apis 
 Creek, on the high road from Rockhampton to the 
 Peak Downs goldfield. Some twelve months previously 
 Frank Christie and Mrs. Christie, together with a 
 Mr. Craig and his wife, had arrived at Apis Creek 
 to start business there, and after erecting some suit- 
 able buildings, had got to work. The Craigs started 
 a public house, and the Christie's put up a store. 
 They both did a good, quiet little business, and were 
 well liked and respected in the district. The Craigs 
 hailed from South Australia, and were well connected 
 there. 
 
 Now I must take my readers back some four years 
 (about 1860) to South Australia. I was then living 
 at Muntham, about fifty miles from the South Aus- 
 tralian border, and I had business at the well-known 
 town of Penola always pronounced Penoola. I was 
 staying at the hotel, kept by that best of hosts, 
 "Paunchy Bowden," so called because of the noble 
 if not aggressive, front which he possessed. 
 
 Going down the street, I rather saw a commotion, 
 and hastening on I saw two young fellows putting 
 side-saddles on two blindfolded colts, while two 
 pretty girls, all ready habited for a ride, stood by. 
 It seemed that a sporting squatter had offered to bet 
 that these two girls would each ride an unbroken colt 
 for ten minutes without a fall, but in a yard. The 
 bet was taken up, and I just arrived in time. The 
 colts had been roped and blindfolded, and were being 
 saddled as I appeared on the scene. In less than no
 
 244 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 time the girls were in their saddles, the blindfolds 
 were taken off, and the colts went to market in very 
 good style. Before the ten minutes had expired the 
 colts had had quite enough of it, and the girls, radiant 
 and delighted, dismounted, the horses having first 
 been blindfolded again. 
 
 Again I must take you back to 1854, in Victoria, 
 when I was acting as assistant to my friend, J. B. 
 Henderson, a licensed surveyor, in measuring off pre- 
 emptive rights on the Goulburn River. It was when 
 we camped at Kerrisdale on the King Parrot Creek. 
 
 We had for a cook a nice old man named Christie, 
 who had certainly seen better days. He. let out to 
 me one day that he had been fairly well off at one time 
 at a place called Bona Creek, near Goulburn, in New 
 South Wales, but his wife, who was much younger 
 than he, and a very handsome woman, had run away 
 with a Victorian squatter from near Portland Bay, 
 and taken their only son with her; he told me that 
 he had then taken to drink and gone right down hill. 
 Old Christie left us soon after this, and I never saw 
 him again. Afterwards, when at Muntham in 1857, 
 I heard who the squatter was who had taken Mrs. 
 Christie from her husband, and I also heard that her 
 son Frank had got into bad company and had taken 
 to "soldiering" or sweating horses, and later on 
 to horse stealing. His first exploit was in company 
 with two others stealing four horses from Mr. Loch- 
 hart Morton, one of the inventors of the drafting 
 gate for sheep. Christie and his mates were fol- 
 lowed, taken, tried and committed, but Frank, after 
 some weeks, attacked his guard, snatched his carbine 
 from him and fired it as he fled, whereupon the whole 
 gang of eleven prisoners got clean away. Later on 
 Frank received a sentence of seven years for horse 
 stealing in New South Wales, he having made back, as 
 is so often the case, to his birthplace, Goulburn. He 
 was released after having done about half his sen- 
 tence. He then started butchering at Lambing Flat,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 245 
 
 now Young. His shop was the resort of all the flash 
 young natives about the Flat, and it was shrewdly 
 suspected that most of the stock they killed was got 
 "on the cross." Very soon Christie, being again 
 "wanted" by the police took to the bush, and before 
 long he found himself at the head of a formidable 
 gang of young desperadoes. The gang regularly took 
 to the road, and Christie soon assumed the position 
 of leader, going by the name, so soon to become notori- 
 ous, of Frank Gardiner and King of the Road. 
 
 In 1861 two active members of the New South 
 Wales police force managed, after a desperate resist- 
 ance (in which all three were badly wounded), to 
 capture and handcuff Gardiner. One of the police, 
 though weak from loss of blood, rode off for assist- 
 ance, and while he was away, Gardiner, though hand- 
 cuffed and badly wounded, made a determined effort 
 to escape, but fainted, having lost much blood. When 
 the wounded trooper returned they started off with 
 Gardiner, and as they were taking him along he was 
 rescued by two armed bushrangers. This well-known 
 incident occurred on the Fish River. 
 
 Gardiner after this, in company with Gilbert, Hall, 
 'Malley, and Piesley, became the leader of about the 
 most formidable gang of bushrangers that ever ter- 
 rorised New South Wales. Peisley did not last long ; 
 he was captured, tried, convicted, and hanged, in 
 1862. On one occasion Hall, Gilbert, and a bush- 
 ranger, known as the Old Man, were riding three 
 well-known stolen racehorses Troubadour, Tedding- 
 tdn and Harkaway. Troubadour became the pro- 
 perty of C. M. Lloyd, of Yamma, and he bore several 
 scars of bullet wounds received while he was being 
 ridden by Ben Hall. 
 
 The doings of this gang is ancient history now, but 
 so far as Frank Gardiner was concerned, they ter- 
 minated in the Great Escort Robbery at the Eugowra 
 rocks in June, 1862. 
 
 These remarkable rocks, situated about thirty-five
 
 246 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 miles on the Orange side of the main road from 
 Forbes, formed a well-known feature to coach travel- 
 lers before the railway times. An escort, consisting 
 of Sergeant Conder and several troopers, had in 
 charge in a four-horse coach no less than 14,000 
 worth of gold and notes. 
 
 Just as they reached the Eugowra rocks, at a turn 
 in the road, they found they were blocked by a bullock 
 team drawn across the road. As they pulled up, quite 
 suddenly a volley was poured on them from behind 
 the rocks, and the sergeant and one trooper were 
 badly wounded. Immediately another volley from a 
 fresh lot of bushrangers was discharged at the escort, 
 whereupon the horses bolted into the bush and upset 
 the coach. The police had to retreat as fast as they 
 could, and in a very short time the gold and notes 
 were secured and carried off by the bushrangers in 
 different directions on pack horses. 
 
 Gardiner got away with one pack horse, but was so 
 closely pushed by the police that, to save himself, 
 he had to let the pack horse go, and the police, secur- 
 ing the animal, recovered some 1,200 ounces of gold, 
 worth about 4,000. Thus Gardiner lost his share of 
 the plunder. What became of the rest of the gold 
 never transpired, but Mr. W. Percy Faithfull has a 
 very interesting tale to tell. It seems that when in 
 Scotland in 1894 a cottage was pointed out to him, 
 and a very remarkable story told in connection 
 with a Scotchman living in the cottage. The story 
 was that the man emigrated to Australia with a friend 
 in the early days. The two, when travelling looking 
 for work, asked for shelter one night at a hut in the 
 bush. There was only a woman in the hut, and she 
 refused to let the men stop, "For," said she, "the 
 bushrangers are expected any minute, and they might 
 suspect the travellers to be police spies and might ill- 
 use them. ' ' While she was speaking, the bushrangers 
 turned up, and the woman hurriedly locked the 
 travellers into a small room. The bushrangers, who
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 247 
 
 were very hurried, as the police were on their tracks, 
 gave the woman a bag of gold, telling her to " plant" 
 it, and cleared out. The two Scotchmen took the gold 
 from the woman, and went off to Scotland with it. It 
 was said to be worth 10,000. Now there was quite 
 8,000 worth of Eugowra robbery gold never 
 accounted for. The police in Australia, when told of 
 the matter, came to the conclusion that the Scotchmen 
 had by some means "sprung" the bushrangers' plant, 
 and got away to Scotland with it. 
 
 Three of the Escort robbers were tried and con- 
 victed, and two of them were hanged. After ter- 
 rorising the country for a while, in company with 
 Gilbert, Ben Hall, Dunn, O'Malley, and others, Gar- 
 diner suddenly vanished, but his mates kept the ball 
 rolling until they were all either shot or hanged. 
 
 At the time of Gardiner's disappearance it was 
 noticed that a Mrs. Brown, who was known to be his 
 paramour, had also disappeared. For two years 
 nothing was heard of either, and it began to be 
 thought that they had both got clear away out of 
 Australia, but not so. 
 
 One evening, on the 3rd March, 1864, as I rode up 
 to the little wayside inn at Apis Creek, already men- 
 tioned, I noticed signs of a commotion. There were 
 several black native police boys and their lieutenant, 
 a Mr. Brown, whom I knew. Close by, sitting down 
 and handcuffed, was Craig, and beside him was his 
 little wife, weeping bitterly. 
 
 The lieutenant came over to me, and I said, ' ' What 's 
 up?" He came close to me and whispered, ''We have 
 got Gardiner, the bushranger." I burst out laughing 
 and said, "You've got your grandmother." "We 
 have made no mistake," said he. "But," I said, 
 pointing to Craig, "that's not Gardiner. I knew 
 that man well, and knew him in South Australia when 
 Gardiner was bushranging. " "Oh," he said, "we 
 know that's not Gardiner we have him up at Apis 
 Creek Station secure with two New South Wales
 
 248 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 policemen looking after him, and also his reputed 
 wife, who is really Mrs. Brown, whom he took from 
 her husband when he cleared out from New South 
 Wales. That is his mate." 
 
 "Well," I said, " Craig is a respectable man, and 
 never was at anything crooked in his life. I know 
 both him and his wife, and can testify that when 
 Gardiner was bushranging, Craig was living in South 
 Australia." I had a talk with Mrs. Craig, and we 
 satisfied Lieutenant Brown that Craig was in no way 
 implicated with bushranging, and he took the hand- 
 cuffs off, but said to me : 
 
 "Craig is still under arrest and must go to Rock- 
 hampton, and you will have to appear 011 his behalf 
 at the Police Court, and no doubt he will be released." 
 
 After I had a chat with the police officer I came to 
 the conclusion that he really had got Gardiner. Two 
 Sydney police, a Sergeant McGlone and a constable 
 named Pye, had the supposed bushranger in safe cus- 
 tody at the Apis Creek homestead, about one and a 
 half miles away. 
 
 As already mentioned, the station was owned by 
 one "Roddy McLennan," from whom about eighteen 
 months previously we had bought our station, Burton 
 Downs. 
 
 It transpired afterwards that Gardiner, or rather 
 Christie, for he had actually gone back to his own 
 name, and Mrs. Brown the latter dressed as a boy 
 had managed to get through into Queensland, where 
 Mrs. Brown again assumed woman's clothes. They 
 had got past Rockhampton, riding, of course, when 
 they happened on the Craigs. They foregathered and 
 made friends, and after some talk, decided that they 
 would start in business together, as we have seen, and 
 they hit on Apis Creek as a good stand, it being on 
 the main road to the Peak Down goldfield. They 
 were liked and were successful, and respected, and I 
 really believe that if he had not been discovered, 
 Christie might easily have attained ere long to the
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 249 
 
 dignity of a Justice of the Peace. It was a man 
 who had been a fellow prisoner of Gardiner's at 
 Cockatoo, but then a butcher at Bockhainptou, who 
 gave Gardiner away. The wonder was that he had 
 not been recognised long before, for there were crowds 
 of diggers passing up and down, to and from the 
 Peak Downs, and Gardiner was well known at Lamb- 
 ing Flat goldfield. One would have thought that it 
 was ten to one that some of these miners would have 
 recognized the "King of the Road." 
 
 The fact that many of the miners returning from 
 the Peak Downs used to deposit their gold for safe- 
 keeping with Frank Gardiner, the notorious bush- 
 ranger and outlaw, is a curious one. 
 
 Gardiner had such a fighting reputation that when 
 the police, Sergeant McGlone and Trooper Pye, got 
 up to Apis Creek, they were not game to tackle him. 
 They camped about a quarter of a mile away, and 
 one pretended to be ill with dysentery, while the 
 other used to go up to the pub for milk for his sick 
 mate, and was thus able to spy out the land, and see 
 what men were about. Although only Christie and 
 his wife, Craig and his wife, and one old man were to 
 be seen, Gardiner had such a desperate record that 
 they still were afraid to tackle him without more help. 
 They waited quietly till one day up rode Lieutenant 
 Brown, of the Native Police, with some half-dozen 
 black boys. They rode on to the station, and McGlone 
 followed them, and presenting his credentials, called 
 upon the lieutenant, in the Queen's name, to assist 
 in the capture of the outlaw. 
 
 The lieutenant, who was a gentleman, and had 
 been an officer in the Queen's service, was quite in- 
 dignant at being turned, as he said, into a "d d 
 
 thief catcher," and did not like the job a little; there 
 was, however, no help for it. 
 
 And here I must state that Mrs. Craig was one of 
 the two pretty girls I had seen accomplish such a 
 wonderful feat of horsemanship at Penola four years
 
 250 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 before, and Gardiner was none other than Frank 
 Christie, the son of the old man we had as cook at 
 Kerrisdale, in Victoria, in 1854. It was rather a 
 remarkable coincidence. 
 
 It was arranged that the black troopers should next 
 day ride past the pub and store singing one of their 
 songs; this would, it was thought, bring all the in- 
 mates of the place outside. McGlone and the trooper 
 and lieutenant were to be in close attendance on the 
 blacks. 
 
 As was expected, all, Christie included, came out 
 to see the "boys" ride past. Something seemed to 
 awaken Christie's suspicions he was standing close 
 to McGlone, and he turned to go back to the store, 
 when McGlone threw his arms round him, and both 
 went to the ground, McGloue shouting to the lieu- 
 tenant, "Mark him, sir, mark him, he's a desperate 
 character," meaning that he was to cover him with 
 his revolver, which he did, and Gardiner was quickly 
 secured and handcuffed. 
 
 Next day, in pouring rain, quite a cavalcade of us 
 left Apis Creek bound for Marlborough, en route for 
 Rockhampton, about 110 miles. It rained in torrents 
 all the way. Gardiner was put on a led horse, hand- 
 cuffed, his ankles tied under the horse. He rode along 
 quite quietly, and as easily as if free. The black 
 boys rode alongside with their carbines ready; the 
 trooper in front, while McGlone, myself, Mrs. Brown, 
 and a young friend of mine, a Mr. Finch, brought 
 up the rear. 
 
 McGlone was mounted on a big powerful black 
 horse, which it turned out Gardiner had stolen from 
 Peter Beveridge, of the Lower Murray, in Victoria, 
 a grand horse up to 16 stone, with Beveridge 's P B 
 brand on the shoulder, and well known by the name 
 of "Darkie." And this reminds me of a very good 
 ban-mot attributed to a Sydney girl who was engaged 
 to the said Peter Beyeridge ; at a picnic she was askecl
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 251 
 
 to take some wine, but declined, saying, "My bever- 
 idge is P B." 
 
 Finch and I took a great dislike to the detective 
 McGlone (probably hereditary in me, being of border 
 blood), and we asked Mrs. Brown if Darkie would 
 resent a stick under his tail. She said he would 
 assuredly go to market, whereupon for a considerable 
 time strenous efforts were made to insert a twig under 
 the tail, the only result achieved being that McGlone 
 dropped a square bottle of gin he was carrying for 
 Gardiner. The latter had had a heavy drinking bout 
 just before his capture, and it was thought advisable 
 to give him some stimulant from time to time. The 
 end of it was that I had to carry the gin. I have no 
 doubt I levied toll on the square bottle. 
 
 On arrival at Marlborough pub, knowing the land- 
 lord, I borrowed some dry clothes for Gardiner, and 
 took them to the police, who stood over him with two 
 revolvers at full cock while he changed. The old 
 spirit had left the bushranger, or no doubt he would 
 have chanced all and made a dash for it. At Marl- 
 borough there were a number of miners bound for 
 the Peak Downs, and one of them asked me who the 
 prisoner was. When I told him he said, "I knew 
 Frank Gardiner well, knew him at Lambing Flat." 
 I told the police, who were greatly pleased when, on 
 being let into Gardiner's room, the miner at once 
 identified him. 
 
 The next day the troop made Yaarnba, it being a 
 sea of mud and water, and still raining. Here Mr. 
 Peak Downs Stewart, a Justice of the Peace, and 
 well-known squatter, who had known ''Christie" well 
 at Apis Creek, got very indignant said he could not 
 be Gardiner, and demanded that, being the nearest 
 magistrate, it was the duty of the police to bring 
 Gardiner up before him. I pointed out to McGlone 
 that as Stewart had already prejudged the case, the 
 police were quite justified in declining to produce
 
 252 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 their prisoner; moreover there was doubt as to his 
 identity. 
 
 The night we were at Yaainba the little town was 
 full of New Zealand miners, and a pretty noisy lot 
 they were. I tried to induce them to be quite and 
 let us go to sleep, but they only became more up- 
 roarious. I lay low until they quietened down, and 
 then I called out, "It's my turn now," and for a solid 
 hour I kept on at the top of my voice : 
 
 At the battle of the Nile, 
 I was there all the ivhile, 
 I ivas there all the ivhile, 
 At the battle of the Nile, 
 
 I thought the diggers would have rushed in on us 
 and silenced me, but they didn't. I used to stop 
 every now and then for about a minute, and then 
 start off as hard as ever. 
 
 I had been ill with dysentery for a good while, and 
 had not touched any liquor. That evening, " I '11 have 
 a brandy hot," said I, "though I fear it is the worst 
 thing I can do." I had no less than three, then 
 Finch and I stript off all our clothes and sallied off 
 up the town with nothing on but our waterproof 
 coats, no boots bent on a lark. We got up to the 
 hotel where Peak Downs Stewart was this was late 
 at night and found there a black boy camped on the 
 verandah. I said to Finch, "Cock your pistol, we'll 
 shoot this chap." Finch clicked with his tongue, just 
 like the click of a pistol being cocked. The black boy, 
 with a yell, dived into Stewart's room. "Mr. Stewart, 
 two fellow shootem me." 
 
 Out came Stewart, and from his reputation we ex- 
 pected a row, but to our surprise he was most civil, 
 so after badgering him a bit we retired much aston- 
 ished, and I never saw him again. 
 
 Next morning I felt a lot better, so had a dark 
 brandy hot for breakfast after a swim in the creek,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 253 
 
 and here I may state for the benefit of any medical 
 readers, that for several days I had a dark brandy 
 strong and hot at every meal, and at the end of a few 
 days I was well. 
 
 Next day the cavalcade proceeded. Finch and I 
 and the native police swam the creek on our horses; 
 the others got over in a boat. At Rockhampton I 
 always put up at the Burnetville Hotel, over the river 
 from the town, but I crossed over with the police and 
 their prisoner in a boat. The horses could not cross, 
 as the river was in flood. 
 
 In Rockhampton no one would believe that we had 
 got Gardiner, and they simply laughed me to scorn. 
 However, next day, when brought before the bench, 
 he was duly committed to stand his trial in Sydney. 
 I, of course, attended court to speak for Craig, who, 
 from my evidence, was at once released. 
 
 As I was walking down the street with Finch, we 
 heard a young fellow behind us say to his mate, "Do 
 you see that there chap in front of us on the right ? ' ' 
 '"Yes, what of him?" "Well, that's one of them 
 blooming detectives as took Gardiner, the bush- 
 ranger." "My blooming oath," said the other chap, 
 "Isn't he the dead spit of one?" My friends rubbed 
 it into me for a while, you may be sure. 
 
 And now I must mention how I managed to get into 
 rather an awkward position in connection With this 
 affair. 
 
 As we were nearing Rockhampton, I was talking 
 to Mrs. Brown, and she said she did not think she 
 would be arrested, and where had she better stay? 
 "Oh," I said, "go to old Mother Ward's hotel; she'll 
 look after you. But," I added, "make no mistake; if 
 McGlone tells you he is not going to arrest you, you 
 may depend that he is only waiting to get his prisoner 
 safely lodged in gaol, and he will put you there, too, 
 so look out." 
 
 Imagine my discomfiture next morning at getting 
 a note from Mrs. Brown and a packet. The packet
 
 254 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 contained 300 in bank notes, and the note asked nie 
 to send the packet to someone in Sydney for her. 
 I was young possibly a bit chivalrous anyway, I 
 didn't feel up to giving the woman away, so I sent 
 the packet to a good friend in Sydney no other than 
 "Billy Clarke," then head clerk to John Biunie and 
 Co., our agents. Afterwards Billy was partner in the 
 well-known firm of Maiden Hill and Clark. 
 
 Billy was one of the best amateurs with his fists 
 that we ever had, and a hard hitter, but could play 
 as light as a feather and always in good humour. 
 Many a bout he used to have with Larry Foley. There 
 never was a more true-hearted man in the world than 
 Billy, and never a straighter. But he was very angry, 
 and when shortly after Mrs. Brown made her appear- 
 ance at the office, and anxiously asked after her parcel, 
 Billy retired to the safe and said, "Here it is, woman, 
 and for God's sake take it away from here." All 
 the time he noticed a detective whom he knew across 
 the street shadowing Mrs. Brown. Much to Billy's 
 disgust, the lady declined to take the notes, and said 
 she only wanted to know that they were safe. How- 
 ever, it was all right, the Court would have given her 
 the money had she kept it on her. This 300 was all 
 that Gardiner had after all his robberies, and no 
 doubt he had made it honestly at Apis Creek. 
 
 Frank Gardiner's arrival in Sydney caused quite 
 a sensation there just fifty years ago. Everyone 
 thought he would be hanged, but he had never 
 deliberately committed murder, though it was just a 
 chance that the police who were shot down at the 
 Eugowra Escort robbery weren't killed, and he some- 
 how got off with thirty-two years. He was concerned 
 in the robbery of no less than 20,000, but over 5,000 
 of the Escort robbery gold was recovered. Gardiner 
 was not charged with any murder, and he was con- 
 victed on three counts for robbery under arms. 
 
 His conduct in gaol was most exemplary, and there 
 is no doubt he had some influential friends. I myself
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 255 
 
 knew relations of his mother's who were In a very 
 good position. After doing eight years, Gardiner was 
 released by Sir Hercules Robinson, at the instance 
 of the Ministry of the day, who nearly lost their 
 position, being saved by one vote. 
 
 Several other bushrangers were released at the 
 same time, and none of them returned to their old 
 bad life among them my friend "Blue Cap," of 
 whom more anon. Gardiner had to leave Australia. 
 He went to San Francisco, and kept a saloon there, 
 took to drink, and died. 
 
 Mrs. Brown committed suicide in New Zealand. 
 Gardiner was a good-looking man; he had an honest 
 face and good expression, and under different circum- 
 stances would more than probably have given a good 
 account of himself. What an account he would have 
 given of himself in this great war had he got among 
 the Anzacs. I am sure he had definitely given up 
 his old dishonest bushranging life when he was 
 arrested ; still it was well he was discovered and pun- 
 ished. He had much to answer for ; he cast a glamour 
 over bushranging, and the ruin and death of more 
 than one fine young fellow lay at his door. 
 
 There is little doubt that Gardiner was given away 
 by the butcher in Rockhampton, who had been in 
 gaol with him. He gave information to Sir C. Cow- 
 per, then Colonial Secretary, and received the 500 
 reward offered for Gardiner's apprehension. 
 
 Those stories in Robbery Under Arms about the 
 bushrangers running horses at local races are quite 
 true. Toby Ryan, in his reminiscences, mentions 
 how when on his way to Forbes races with Traveller 
 and other racehorses, he stopped at a public house 
 eighteen miles from Forbes, and found out afterwards 
 that Gardiner and his mates had at that very time 
 their racehorses, stabled under the house, it being 
 built on the side of a hill. At the races Gardiner's 
 horse, "Don't You Know," carrying only 6st. 81bs., 
 was beaten by Ryan's Traveller carrying 8st, 91bs.,
 
 256 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 much to the disgust of tho bushrangers. Don't You 
 Know was Gardiner's best borsc, and the originnl of 
 "Rainbow" in Robber;/ I'ndcr Arms. He was a 
 beautiful dark bay with a star. It is said that almost 
 all the bushrangers were at these races, disguised, of 
 course, they having three horses running. A man 
 named Higgins trained Gardiner's horses. 
 
 Sir Frederick Pottinger got word that the bush- 
 rangers intended to be at the Forbes meeting, and 
 pushed them so hard after the races that they got 
 broken up into three parties and never got together 
 again. It was after this that Frank Gardiner got 
 away, taking Mrs. Brown with him. 
 
 Gardiner attended the races at Rockhampton when 
 Traveller ran and won, and he spoke to old Toby 
 Ryan on the course, but Ryan did not recognise him. 
 Ryan visited Gardiner when in Darlinghurst Gaol, 
 and Gardiner said to him, "I have met you several 
 times. Once on your way to Forbes with your horses ; 
 again at the Forbes races. We all thought Don't 
 You Know would beat Traveller easily. I spoke to 
 you also on the Rockhampton racecourse." When 
 asked if the gang had proposed taking Traveller, he 
 said "Yes, but I had to dissuade them, and after the 
 races the police pressed us so closely there was no 
 chance of our getting him." 
 
 One of the episodes of the Ben Hall, Gilbert, and 
 Dunn gang resulted very ingloriously for the gang. 
 The bushrangers had stuck up the Braidwood coach 
 and a number of travellers at the back of a hill about 
 a mile from the Faithfuls' homestead. Out of sight 
 of the bailed-up unfortunates, out on the plain, four 
 of the young Faithfuls came driving along in a brake 
 with a four-in-hand. The two elder boys were taking 
 their two younger brothers to Goulburn on their way 
 back to school. The bushrangers got sight of the 
 brake, and Hall galloped up and ordered George 
 Faithful, who was driving, to bail up. The eldest 
 son had a small rifle and a few cartridges, while
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 257 
 
 George had a small revolver. George, instead of 
 bailing up, pluckily made a wipe at Ben Hall with his 
 4-in. hand whip', whereupon Hall snapped his pistol 
 at him, but it missed fire. Then, as William was 
 raising his rifle to shoot, Hall galloped off back to 
 his two mates. The three bushrangers then returned, 
 and opened fire on the boys, who jumped out and 
 took cover behind the brake with no thought of sur- 
 rendering, returning the bushrangers' fire with their 
 rifle and pistol. Presently one of the bushrangers' 
 bullets struck one of the leaders, and the team bolted 
 off on the plain. 
 
 The boys, nothing daunted, endeavoured to get 
 back to the homestead, the bushrangers still firing at 
 them. Gilbert rode up pretty close, but his horse, 
 rearing just as he was firing his revolver, the bullet 
 went through the horse's head. Gilbert bolted behind 
 a post, and he and William Faithful fired at each 
 other simultaneously. Gilbert missed his mark by 
 a few inches, and William Faithful's bullet struck 
 the post oehind which Gilbert was standing. Gilbert 
 then got up behind Dunn, and their ammunition 
 being exhausted, the two went back to where they 
 had bailed up the other fellows. Ben Hall followed 
 the boys at a respectful distance, they on foot and 
 he on horseback, but clearing out whenever he saw 
 the boys aiming at him. The boys did not fire again, 
 as they only had a few cartridges left, and they 
 expected Gilbert and Dunn would return. They, 
 however, made the homestead safely, and very proud, 
 you may be sure, of their performance. The brake 
 was recovered, quite undamaged. Mr. Faithful, who 
 sent me an account of the encounter with the gang, 
 says : 
 
 "I have always held the opinion that the training 
 we had in the Parramatta Volunteers whilst at the 
 King's School, was the reason of our successful resis- 
 tance to the attempted bailing up, and I welcomed 
 the cadet movement as a great factor in the education
 
 258 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 of the Australian youth, as it teaches the lads the use 
 of firearms, and instils discipline into them." 
 
 I believe the boys declared that no credit was due 
 to them for facing the bushrangers, "for," said they, 
 "we had never dared face our mother had we allowed 
 ourselves to be captured by bushrangers." From 
 early youth they were taught to "play the game," 
 and right well they played it, and of such is "The 
 Kingdom of Anzac." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 In spite of the continued rains and flooded state 
 of the country, I determined to go on my way, for 
 I was due at Ban Ban to lift the ten thousand sheep 
 as soon as possible. Truth to say, I had done so 
 much swimming of rivers and creeks that I thought 
 nothing of it; indeed, I rather enjoyed the excite- 
 ment. I had my favourite horse Peter Possum 
 in a paddock on the opposite side of the 
 river to Rockhampton, where I always stayed 
 with a friend who kept the Burnetville Hotel, 
 a robust Scotchman of good family, who had 
 married a very charming and vivacious French 
 woman. I got Peter Possum and made my w r ay 
 to the bank of the Fitzroy. The flood was too 
 great for the punt to be running. As I left the hotel 
 I spied a black belltopper hanging up. On the spur 
 of the moment I put it on. Such a headdress was 
 unknown in Rockhampton or in the North, and 1 
 thought it would be a good lark to sport it in Rock- 
 hampton. I had made up my mind to swim Possum 
 over the river, but said nothing about this, as 1 
 would have been stopped. It was a big swim with 
 a ten-knot current running of not far short of half 
 a mile from where I would have to go in to the only 
 place where a horse could land, unless by going a very 
 long way down the river. I left my boots and saddle
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 259 
 
 with the puntman near the river, and put Possum 
 into the flood, the puntman, who had tried to dis- 
 suade me, looking on rather perturbed. At first 
 Possum would not face across and kept circling round 
 and round, but suddenly I saw his eyes fixed on the 
 opposite shore, and off he started. He was a grand 
 swimmer. 
 
 As soon as he was well under way I slipped back 
 over his tail and caught hold of it, and away we 
 went. "When level with the water it looked a long 
 way to the opposite side. The strong current pre- 
 cluded any danger from alligators or sharks, and 
 anyway they seldom came up so close to the town. 
 
 By the time I got into the middle of the river the 
 banks on the other side were covered with people, as 
 having the black belltopper on, Possum, with this 
 black thing sticking out of the water, and following 
 him, presented rather a remarkable appearance. 
 Moreover, three men had that week been drowned in 
 the river, and it was thought that the undertow had 
 taken them down, and not much would have been 
 given for my chance. Possum swam along like a 
 machine, not a bit distressed, straight for the other 
 shore. 
 
 When I got pretty close in, my trousers slipped 
 down over my feet, and I could not hit out with my 
 legs, and, as I became a drag on the horse, he at once 
 turned his head on to the current and began to drift, 
 and I could see he would miss the one landing place, 
 so I let him go, and he got along all right again. We 
 were by this time nearly in and close to the Balclutha 
 steamer. I called out to the mate, whom I knew, who 
 was in the bow, "Slack your hawser a bit and let 
 the horse in." "Aye, aye, old man," said the mate, 
 and did what I asked him, and Possum got ashore 
 amid cheers from the crowd that lined the banks. 
 
 I was floating down stream just paddling with my 
 hands, and quite safe and right, when I found my- 
 self clutched by the collar of my shirt, and, looking
 
 260 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 up, I saw a stern face. An old man in a boat with 
 four men rowing, had got hold of me, and said, "Get 
 in." I said, "I'm all right, let go." "No fear," 
 he said, ' ' in you get, ' ' and in I had to get. I got him 
 to take me alongside the Balclutha, and the mate 
 threw me a rope and I got aboard. I was not game 
 to face the crowd on the bank. 
 
 I got some dry clothes, and after a bit went ashore. 
 One magistrate, when I got ashore, threatened to have 
 me arrested for attempting my life, and a great fuss 
 was made over the swim, and I had difficulty in keep- 
 ing it out of the papers. I was afraid my mother 
 would hear of it. I really think that all Bockhampton 
 turned out to see me cross, and for years I was known 
 as the man who swam the Fitzroy in the big flood. 
 
 I really thought no more of it than of walking 
 across the street, and the same day I had a much 
 more dangerous swim, and no one with me. I had 
 two horses paddocked near the town, and they were 
 by this time on an island which was getting sub- 
 merged, and besides I wanted them. Alligator Creek 
 had cut them off, and it was a raging torrent and 
 a big swim. I swam Possum over, and got my two 
 horses and haltered them. I went in with the three 
 horses, but as they began to swim the led horses got 
 ahead of me, and we got back to the same side. I 
 then took them to where the bank was steep, and 
 forced them over it into deep water. Possum went 
 right over, and when I came up I was among all 
 three horses, and I got a blow on the leg from one, 
 but a blow in the water has little force, and it did 
 no harm. Again the three horses and myself got back 
 to the same side. I had to let the horses go, and then 
 I got across with Possum all right, but I was for a 
 long time in the water. The next day my staunch 
 ally, the mate of the Balclutha, took me up in a boat 
 to where my horses were, and I caught one of them 
 and took him across behind the boat.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 261 
 
 Some time before this a friend had shown me 
 how to make a boat of a waterproof sheet. Each 
 end of the sheet is rolled up tight and fastened with 
 a saddle strap, then three light saplings used for gun- 
 whales and keel, and there you are. 
 
 I have known a man who couldn 't swim being saved 
 when stuck on a tree, in a boat improvised in this 
 way. I provided myself with a good waterproof 
 sheet and used it successfully at the first river I had 
 to cross. I used to swim my. horses over first, then 
 return and make up my boat, put my saddle and 
 pack-saddle and grub and impedimenta in, and push 
 it over the river. It took a little time, but I kept 
 my saddle and impedimenta dry, which was a great 
 advantage. Wet, heavy saddles knock the life out of 
 horses when travelling, especially over heavy roads. 
 After this I crossed every river or creek in this way. 
 
 I pushed along for Gayndah one evening, after 
 dark, after a very heavy day swimming rivers and 
 plunging through boggy country, and found myself 
 once more close to Dalgangal Station, in fact within 
 six miles of it. I rode into what should have been a 
 creek running into the river from the West, but to 
 my surprise it was running the opposite way. Then 
 I realised that the river (the Burnett) was so high 
 as to have obliterated the creek, which was now part 
 of the river. I had tied my boots and coat on my 
 saddle before going in. Possum began to sound for 
 bottom; he was tired, and it was water as far as I 
 could see. I had to let the other horse go, but I fol- 
 lowed Possum and soon pulled him up. When I got 
 up to him I saw he was done. I tried to hold up the 
 poor fellow's head for a bit, but had to let go, when 
 he went down like a stone, taking my saddle with 
 him. I could have cried with vexation, for, though 
 it does not look like it, I just loved Peter Possum, and 
 he died at his old home, where I had bought him. 
 
 My other horse, Tommy, had vanished, and I 
 thought he, too, was drowned. It was six miles to
 
 262 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Dalgangal. The house was situated on a high bank 
 close to the river, and I made up my mind to make 
 it. I could easily have stayed in a tree till daylight, 
 or I might have swum out again to land, but, being 
 ill with dysentery, I thought if I stayed in a tree, wet 
 and cold all night, it would be about the "dead 
 finish. " Besides, when I start for a place I like to 
 get there, so I just kept on down the river. I had 
 put my watch inside the lining of my hat, and my 
 head never went under water. I let myself float 
 along with the current, paddling with my hands, not 
 swimming, and the current bore me up as "in the 
 brave days of old. ' ' I did not exert myself ; my only 
 trouble was to keep clear of the many logs that were 
 floating down the river. When I felt tired I got to 
 a branch of a tree and rested a bit. 
 
 A big haystack floated past me at one time, but 1 
 just kept paddling with my hands and went along 
 with the current. I knew that if I kept on I must 
 make Dalgangal. The only thing I was afraid of was 
 that I might pass it in the dark. I was a bit afraid, 
 too, that I might catch hold of a snake or scorpion 
 when I was resting in a tree. 
 
 The top of the water was warm, and I was much 
 better in the river getting along than in a tree perish- 
 ing. Just one time when a big floating log struck 
 me I felt uncomfortable, and I said to myself, 
 "Steady, my boy, steady, or you'll go down." 
 
 After a while the sky cleared a bit and I kept a 
 good look out for the Dalgangal house. Sure enough, 
 it loomed up all right, and I got out and made for 
 it very pleased with myself. Some kangaroo dogs 
 rushed out barking but did no harm. When I got 
 to the house a young fellow named Gibson came out 
 and was much astonished when I told him my story. 
 He said, "Peel off, and get into my warm blankets, 
 and .I'll shake down elsewhere." I was soon inside 
 the blankets and asleep. In a couple of days the 
 river had fallen 20 ft., and I recovered my saddle and
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 263 
 
 valise, and also found Tommy. He had got out all 
 right. 
 
 I was none the worse for all my swimming just 
 felt a bit weak in the knees. Thirty-two years after- 
 wards I was breakfasting at the Queensland Club in 
 Brisbane, and after breakfast an elderly man with 
 grey hair came up and spoke to me, and said, "Don't 
 you recognize me?" I said, "No." "Why," he 
 said, "don't you remember the nine mile swim you 
 did on the Burnett? And getting into my blankets 
 at Dalgangal?" "Why," I said, "it's Gibson; but 
 it was six miles, not nine." He said, "It was six 
 miles by the road, and you came round all the bends 
 in the river, a good nine miles." 
 
 The Queensland Club is one of those clubs where a 
 visitor is made welcome no frills or starch about it, 
 not in 1896 at any rate. 
 
 After swimming the Burnett again I rode on to 
 Ban Ban, getting there by 6th August, 1864. I heard 
 there of the sale of a station on the Darling Downs 
 with 90,000 sheep, 10,000 acres Freehold, for 50,000, 
 on long terms. 
 
 On the 20th I started from there for Burton Downs 
 with 10,800 sheep. While at Ban Ban I was glad to 
 hear of Bob Learmonth having won some good steeple- 
 chases with Ingleside. There was nothing very event- 
 ful during this trip with sheep, but I was ill most of 
 the time. I followed the track I had opened up with 
 the cattle the year before. By this time it was a 
 beaten road. In places the spear grass was so high 
 and thick I had to burn tracks to get the sheep 
 through. Crossing the Dawson I was shown a place 
 where 700 head of cattle had been swept away and 
 drowned in 1864, and the drovers were for eight days 
 in trees; their legs swelled greatly. For about three 
 weeks I was so ill I could scarcely sit in the saddle, 
 and indeed had to take to the dray on some days. 
 
 While on this trip three prisoners escaped from 
 Rockhampton gaol. Mr. Jardine, the police magis-
 
 264 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 trate, went after them and fired several shots, but 
 they got away. They made into the bush and stole 
 three horses and saddles and bridles, rode up to a 
 station, stuck it up by holding out their pipe eases, 
 which the frightened people took for pistols. They 
 got firearms and all they wanted there, and then 
 stuck up a lot of places. One day they stuck up a 
 surveyor whose camp we passed. Next day the sur- 
 veyor shifted camp to within four miles of our camp. 
 The following morning one of the bushrangers, not 
 knowing it was another camp of the same man they 
 had stuck up the day before, was walking up to the 
 tent to bail up the occupant. The surveyor saw the 
 fellow approaching, and, recognizing him, covered 
 him with his revolver, and made him hold up his 
 hands. The surveyor was a very nervous man, and 
 as he had the man covered his hands shook so that 
 the revolver went off and shot the marauder through 
 the heart. The surveyor was tried. Of course it was 
 brought in as justifiable homicide. 
 
 John Jardine was the father of these two intrepid 
 boys, one twenty-two, the other twenty, both born in 
 New South Wales, who, starting in October, 1863, 
 from Port Denison (now Bowen) made that memor- 
 able trip up Cape York Peninsula to Somerset, where 
 their father, under orders from the Imperial Govern- 
 ment, had started a Government Settlement. 
 
 The distance to be traversed was from 700 to 800 
 miles, and the journey presented difficulties sufficient 
 to have deterred the bravest explorer. Much of the 
 country consisted of sheep ranges with deep gullies 
 in between, and most of it covered with dense scrub. 
 There were many deep and rapid rivers to cross, and 
 in the wet season, which set in the month after the 
 start of the expedition, the country becomes a quag- 
 mire, and the low-lying ground becomes covered with 
 water for miles. 
 
 The boggy state of the country even 40 years 
 later was used by the wild blacks to trap the settlers'
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 265 
 
 cattle. Rushing on the cattle with horrid yells, the 
 blacks caused them to stampede, with the usual result 
 that scores and scores of the poor beasts got bogged, 
 and then fell easy victims to the astute blacks. The 
 loss to the pioneers of the Peninsula from this cause 
 has been very great. 
 
 The Jardines well knew that the blacks were very 
 numerous on the Peninsula, and that they were the 
 most savage and warlike of all the Australian abo- 
 rigines. They had poor Kennedy's ill-fated expedi- 
 tion and his death by these same blacks staring them 
 in the face. Kennedy started from Roekhampton Bay 
 in the East Coast of the Peninsula in 1848 with a 
 good-sized party of white men and one black boy 
 Jacky Jacky. He hoped to reach Cape York, the 
 extreme end of the Peninsula, by following the East 
 Coast. 
 
 Kennedy's sad end after having pluckily almost 
 reached his objective with only Jacky Jacky left with 
 him, is a well-known bit of Australian history, and I 
 am now chronicling the Jardines' trip. Sufficient to 
 say that Kennedy was remorselessly followed by the 
 blacks, who eventually speared him to death, his 
 faithful Jacky escaping in the most wonderful man- 
 ner to relate the sad tale. 
 
 Undeterred by all the difficulties and dangers that 
 lay before them the Jardines undertook the trip with 
 light hearts, really thinking nothing of it. It turned 
 out a much bigger undertaking than they had antici- 
 pated, and but for the four good men who accom- 
 panied them and their own indomitable courage, un- 
 daunted perseverance, and unsurpassable bushmanship 
 they would never have won through. 
 
 They started early in October, 1863, with some 40 
 horses over 200 head of cattle, and a good supply of 
 rations and ammunition. The party consisted of four 
 whites and some three or four tried black boys and 
 the two leaders. 
 
 By January, 1864, the plucky explorers had lost
 
 266 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 more than half their horses and many of their cattle ; 
 these losses were chiefly from the poison plant. They 
 had lost most of their rations crossing the flooded 
 rivers, and soon their live-stock became still further 
 reduced. Finally they were all without any rations 
 at all, and their cattle all dead. They had to depend 
 on their guns for food, and they had to husband their 
 ammunition all they knew, as the blacks never gave 
 them any rest, but followed them for over 400 miles 
 attacking them at every possible opportunity, and on 
 one occasion killing one of the party, Cowderoy, who, 
 I think, was a Victorian. 
 
 Eventually, in February 1864, they reached 
 Somerset in rags, weather-beaten, thin as crows but 
 undaunted and not thinking they had done anything 
 out of the common. 
 
 One can well imagine the joy of John Jardine when 
 the ragged, bedraggled little party hove in sight, 
 albeit the much-needed little herd of cattle had 
 succumbed on the way. 
 
 It was a wonderful trip, and very few seem ever to 
 have heard of it, though passengers by boats sailing 
 north to Thursday Island always have their attention 
 drawn to Frank Jardine 's residence, on a ridge at 
 Somerset, facing the sea. The two brothers were 
 elected Fellows of the Royal Geographical Society. 
 What grand leaders such boys as they would be, 
 "somewhere in France, with Maude in Mesopotamia, 
 at the Lone Pine, or leading our boys charging the 
 Huns on horseback with fixed bayonets, at Romani 
 or Beersheba." 
 
 May I live to meet the Jardines again after these 
 many years that have elapsed since. 
 
 On 20th July, 1865, I left the sheep and went home 
 to Burton Downs. The sheep arrived soon after. I 
 stayed between Burton Downs and the Hermitage 
 (Vine Creek) till 16th October, when I rode to Rock- 
 hampton and back on business. Then I took 
 5,000 of our sheep to the Hermitage. I had a fine
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 267 
 
 young Scotchman named Reid with me, learning 
 Colonial experience. He was the right sort for a new 
 country. Once when I was away at Burton Downs, 
 in writing to me he said, "Everything is going on 
 well; in fact, we only want a head to the water cask 
 to make this the most complete station in Northern 
 Queensland. ' ' At that time the whole of the improve- 
 ments on the Hermitage consisted of a small slab hut 
 with a bark roof and earthen floor, and two brush 
 yards. 
 
 Also I had an old man named Sadlier and his son 
 shepherding. Sadlier, I ascertained afterwards, was 
 a brother of a former provost of Trinity College. 
 Dublin. He had made an unfortunate marriage, and 
 came down in the world, and his son, though a really 
 nice boy, was just a shepherd. We soon settled down 
 at the Hermitage. We had tents, and made a camp 
 on a nice knoll. It was a pretty little run, but sur- 
 rounded by scrub. To the West was a good high 
 range dividing us from the Cape Waters. We were 
 about one hundred and fifty miles easterly of what 
 is now Hughenden, then known as ''The Flinders," 
 where already pioneers were beginning to take up 
 country, and where we should have taken our sheep, 
 but the end would have been just the same. Success 
 was not possible at that time for pioneers in North 
 Queensland; the conditions were too adverse. 
 
 At this time Nat Buchanan, brother of the well- 
 known W. F. Buchanan, of New South Wales 
 (Bluey), had taken up and was managing Bowen 
 Downs, on the Thomson, from which station was made 
 the big cattle steal recorded pretty circumstantially 
 in Rolf Boldrewood's famous Robbery Under Arms. 
 The "steal" occurred long after Nat's time. John 
 Ranken was manager then. It was a very wet time 
 when the cattle stealers settled down on the back of 
 the run, put up a stockyard, mustered the cattle and 
 took them to Adelaide, and it's quite true that there 
 was a white imported bull among the cattle they stole.
 
 268 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 The man who stole the cattle was tried at Roma, 
 but a Roma jury would not convict him, and, if I do 
 not mistake, he was never convicted. 
 
 Nat Buchanan took his wife out to Boweu Downs 
 in 1863. She was the only white woman out there 
 in my time. I remember Nat taking her across the 
 Belyando in a boat made after my fashion out of a 
 waterproof sheet. She wanted to swim, but he would 
 not let her. She was an Armidale girl, and a thorough 
 bushwoman, and good mate for Nat, who was the 
 best bushman I ever met. Twelve months after pass- 
 ing over a piece of country (no track) he could go 
 back and show you the spot he had camped in. He 
 had all the instincts of a blackfellow and the intelli- 
 gence of a white. From Nat I learned the true pace 
 at which to travel in order to get most out of your 
 horse, and I think least out of yourself, viz., a jog 
 trot of about nearly six miles an hour. You don't 
 rise in the stirrups, you just sit loose in the saddle 
 and sway to the motion of the horse. Nat used to 
 say that any sort of a decent horse will carry you 
 eighty miles at that pace, and I quite bear him out, 
 also it is far easier on a man than to ride at a walk. 
 It is the natural pace of a horse. On my long jour- 
 ney I used to get down now and then during the day 
 and walk or run a mile and lead or drive my horse 
 ahead of me. This relieves both man and horse. It 
 was Nat who took up that magnificent property, 
 "Wave Hill," in the Northern Territory, for his 
 brother, W. F. Buchanan. They used to brand 
 25,000 calves there every year. It was a hard trip 
 bringing in cattle from Wave Hill, in the Territory, 
 to Narrabri, in New South Wales. 
 
 While at the Hermitage, only that I was constantly 
 ill, I would have quite enjoyed the life, as I thought 
 we were doing well. Life there had a certain amount 
 of adventure in it. At the same time there were 
 many drawbacks; the heat was very great, the nights 
 no relief, flies and mosquitoes intolerable, food rough,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 269 
 
 and a good deal of fever. What I called the Bel- 
 yando Spue was a most trying ailment. Suddenly 
 water would run from one's mouth, then retching 
 and sickness came on; the extraordinary part of it 
 was that in twenty minutes or often within five min- 
 utes one could eat a meal again, possibly with the 
 same result. The Western fellows called it "the 
 Barcoo sickness," the Northern men termed it the 
 "Burdekin vomit." We all thought it peculiar to 
 our own district, but it was prevalent all over the 
 North, and I have seen it in New South Wales also. 
 The ordinary name for it is "water brash," and the 
 medical term is ' ' pyrosis. ' ' The only thing we found 
 that helped to prevent it and to relieve it was Wor- 
 cester sauce, and immense quantities of this were con- 
 sumed in the North. Once I experimented with 
 bromide of potash and a little whisky, with good 
 effects. When we first got it we thought we had 
 swallowed flies. It felt exactly as if live flies had 
 got inside of us and were crawling about. Of course 
 we knew that this was impossible. 
 
 We were without rain at The Hermitage from the 
 end of February, 1864, till 23rd December, 1864, ten 
 months, and for the last- few months of the drought 
 we had to shepherd the sheep in the scrubs on the 
 river, and very little they got there. We had the 
 sheep in two flocks. Old Sadlier took one, and Char- 
 ley, his son, the other. Up to this the blacks had 
 never troubled us. In fact we had not seen any 
 tracks, though we knew there were plenty not far 
 off. One evening, it was the 13th December, 1864, 
 we were having our supper at the Knoll when we saw 
 Charley Sadlier 's sheep coming home without him. 
 They came up to camp and lay down. I was very un- 
 easy, but old Sadlier said he thought Charley must 
 have dropped a little mob and gone after them, and 
 would turn up soon, but he never turned up, and I 
 made up my mind that the blacks had killed him. 
 I counted the sheep next morning as soon as I could
 
 270 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 see, and found them 368 short. Dick went for the 
 horses; he had to walk eight miles to get them every 
 morning on account of the drought. I went over to 
 where I had two men putting up a hut for me. I 
 told one of them, a fine fellow named Dan, about 
 Charley, and that I felt sure that the blacks had got 
 him. He said he would take Charley's flock if I gave 
 him a rifle, that he was not afraid of blacks, and after 
 breakfast he took the flock out. When Dick returned 
 with the horses we went to look for Charley. About 
 a mile and a half away in the scrub we found the 
 missing sheep, and one had what looked like a spear 
 wound. I sent Dick on to Dan with the 300 sheep 
 while I took a look round. 
 
 As I rode through the scrub looking for Charley 
 I suddenly came on some wild blacks. They cleared 
 off at once, but I saw that one of them had a white 
 blanket on his shoulder. Had I been more experi- 
 enced, I would at once have known that the posses- 
 sion of the blanket indicated "trouble," and there 
 was no doubt that these were some of the blacks 
 that had killed Charley, for I may as well state here 
 that he had been killed, and three months afterwards 
 I found his skeleton picked clean by the native dogs, 
 and beside it lay a little New Testament that I had 
 given him. It was all torn by the dogs. The blacks 
 had evidently crept on Charley, probably when he 
 was asleep, and killed him with a tomahawk. There 
 were two small holes in his skull, one behind each 
 ear. 
 
 Although I suspected trouble, still I did not fire at 
 these blacks, but galloped off to a big lagoon to which 
 I had told Dan to take the sheep, and where Dick 
 was to take the 300 sheep we had recovered. When 
 I got there I found Dick with a black up a tree, at 
 whom he was snapping his revolver, but it would 
 not go off. Dick, with tears in his eyes, said to me, 
 "Poor fellow, Charley, there alonga fire." I rode 
 over, and there with the legs consumed in a fire, lay
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 271 
 
 X 
 
 the body of poor Dan, from whom I had parted 
 full of life a few hours before. I went back and gave 
 my revolver to Dick, who shot the black, and then I 
 returned to poor Dan, or what was left of him. His 
 legs were quite burnt away. We found his head 
 had been battered in. He had evidently lain down to 
 have a drink out of the lagoon, and had been struck 
 on the back of the head with something heavy. He 
 apparently had jumped up and made a hard fight for 
 it, as the ground was all trampled. His rifle had 
 vanished. I do not think that they were going to eat 
 him, for he had his clothes on. Dan had walked 
 right over the tracks of the blacks as he went to drink 
 at the lagoon. They had made quite a big "pad." 
 Any ordinary bushmari would have seen the pad, 
 but probably Dan thought they were sheep tracks. 
 The flock was gone, only the 360 sheep remained. I 
 left my revolver with Dick, but we first gathered up 
 a big lot of weapons, and the white blanket was there. 
 The whole thing must have been done very quickly. 
 In a gin's dilly-bag I found half of Lever's novel, 
 The Daltons. It turned out that these blacks had 
 robbed a shepherd's hut, and killed two men, which 
 accounted for the white blanket and The Daltons. 
 
 I sent Dick after the missing flock, while I took 
 the 360 sheep back to the Knoll, and told the four 
 men what had happened, and that there was no doubt 
 Charley had been killed. The men were in an awful 
 funk except young Reid. Dick got the flock all right 
 there were none short. I went back with Dick to 
 the Lagoon in the evening, but the dead black and the 
 white blanket had been taken away. I rolled up what 
 was left of Dan in a bag, and buried the remains next 
 day at the Knoll. I got only one foot I couldn't 
 find the other. It had not been burnt, as there was 
 iron on the boot and nothing remained. 
 
 Next day no one would take out any sheep except 
 young Reid. I sent Dick for the horses. Then Reid 
 and old Sadlier took out one flock on the plain where
 
 272 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 there was not a blade of grass, i gave the other two 
 men horses and rifles, and they took out the second 
 flocks into the scrub. Dick and I went after the 
 blacks. We tracked them into the ranges. There 
 they had set fire to the dry grass and leaves, and we 
 lost the tracks, and at any rate there was no water, 
 so we returned home. 
 
 In any case we could not leave the sheep to the 
 tender mercies of the men. Next morning Dick and 
 I took one flock out on foot into the scrub, and the 
 other flock had to go on the plain. I sent one of the 
 men on to Burton Downs for the native police, and 
 for help, and wrote to Port Denison to the Police 
 Magistrate, reporting the murders. I was very 
 "mad," and as the Americans say, felt "real ugly," 
 over Charley's and Dan's deaths. Poor old Sadlier 
 had gone out of his mind. 
 
 About a week after an old fellow called "Paddy 
 the Horse" came along looking for a job. He had 
 twenty brood mares, and a stallion and a rifle and 
 revolver. He was a hard case, and had no fear of 
 blacks, so I put him on to shepherd, but we had to 
 Look after his mares. Old Paddy only changed his 
 clothes once a year, and washed only on that occasion, 
 and always slept in his clothes. He thought I was 
 stark staring mad, having a bath generally twice a 
 day. 
 
 Up to this time none of us had ever fired at a black, 
 nor molested them in any way, and I indeed had 
 had a row with a native police officer because he had 
 "dispersed" blacks below Burton Downs, on the 
 Isaacs. As we were living then a man chums up 
 with his men if they are any good, and I was quite 
 fond of Charley and Dan, and after their deaths I 
 felt quite different about the blacks. I knew, too, 
 that unless the blacks were followed up, none of our 
 lives were safe. I was just breaking my heart to be 
 after them to avenge these murders. About two 
 weeks after they occurred my brother and a fine fel-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 273 
 
 low named Bill Hickson came to The Hermitage. 
 Ilickson was a grand bushman, and had had many 
 turns with the blacks in other parts. Two days later 
 Lieutenant Uhr and his native police boys reached 
 us, and next day we all started off on our punitive 
 expedition. These fellows tracked the blacks with 
 ease. They put the number down at about twenty 
 from the tracks, including gins. "We white men could 
 not see a sign of a track till after we had been a week 
 after them. In one place we were crossing a rocky 
 river, and I asked a Murray black, called Capito, an 
 old fellow, what he was following. He pointed to 
 where a black had spit out something he had been 
 chewing, and sure enough others had also been chew- 
 ing and spitting. 
 
 Our trip was quite a picnic. We did about ten 
 miles a day, tracking all the time. Sometimes, of 
 course, off the scent and delayed. No one watched at 
 night, and if the blacks had been about and been 
 game, they could have easily crept on us in the dark. 
 I asked Uhr if this had ever happened. He said only 
 once, and then the wild blacks were led by two run- 
 away black troopers, and they pretty well wiped out 
 the police camp. The troopers cooked good food for 
 us and most delicious "beggars on the coals/' sort of 
 Johnny cakes. 
 
 After doing about one hundred miles on the tenth 
 day, as Capito and I were riding in the lead in open 
 scrub country, suddenly he leaned down on his horse 
 and went off as hard as he could, I after him. He 
 had sighted the "myalls." We galloped into them. 
 They were running in all directions. The gins lay 
 down, one was shot by mistake. We shot down two 
 blackfellows and got through them and turned back. 
 A shot from one of our fellows hit my horse in the 
 chest no harm done. In a few minutes all the 
 blacks, twelve of them, were shot. If one or two 
 tried to fight they had no chance. I had told the 
 troopers to look out for a big fellow with a white
 
 274 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 blanket, and when it was all over I went round, and 
 there, sure enough, was the white blanket, and I 
 recognised the face I had seen in the scrub, but 
 instead of a big man, as I thought, he was quite a 
 small man. I do not think one blackfellow got away, 
 and there was no doubt we had got on the fellows 
 who had killed Dan and Charley, for besides our 
 having followed the tracks, there was the white 
 blanket, and in addition to that in another gin's 
 dilly-bag I found the other half of the Lever's novel. 
 The Daltons. Good circumstantial evidence. 
 
 We sat down, and it seemed very cold blooded that 
 with some of the dead blacks lying close to us, and 
 the gins scowling at us from a little distance off, we 
 ate and enjoyed our pot of tea and our dinner. We 
 all got back to The Hermitage that night, I am. afraid 
 quite pleased with having revenged the deaths of not 
 only Charley and Dan, but of several others. Just 
 about this time, on Natal Downs, which almost ad- 
 joined us, though fifty miles off, the blacks killed 
 two shepherds, cutting off their faces, and thrusting 
 one foot through the mouths, as mentioned in another 
 instance. I never could find out what was meant by 
 this mutilation. In about six weeks in a radius of 
 about 200 miles round us, twenty-one whites were 
 killed by the blacks. There were never any more 
 murders, I was told, on the Lower Belyando. The 
 blacks never forgot the lesson we taught them. 
 
 About six months after this I was out showing The 
 Hermitage to an intending buyer. We got to the 
 Murdering Lagoon, where Dan was killed, and it was 
 dry. I told my friend about the murders, and showed 
 him where Dan had been killed, and there close by 
 was his rifle and the missing foot ! My friends said 
 that the sight of poor Dan's foot quite upset any id^a 
 my friend might have had of buying. In fact the 
 story got into a Rockhampton paper. I took the rifle 
 home, primed it afresh, put it round a corner of our 
 hut, and having tried a string to the trigger, I pulled
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 275 
 
 it. The rifle went off and did not burst, though it 
 had been at least six months under the water. A bit 
 later on one of our men was handing a rifle to an- 
 other who was on horseback. The rifle went off, and 
 blew the man's head off, and about the same time one 
 of our men died from fever and ague. 1 had to report 
 all these deaths also to Port Denison, and I began to 
 think the police might come round to make enquiries. 
 
 Just before I had started from Burton Downs I 
 had bought a donkey from Hickson. He was a fine 
 Spanish ass, bred in Tasmania by the Van Dieman's 
 Land Company, and a handsome animal as donkeys 
 go. He was twenty-five years old, but quite fresh. 
 He had never been ridden. Hickson gave 5 for him 
 in Rockhampton, thinking he would be splendid to 
 pack. He put his pack on him and started away. 
 That night he could not catch the donkey, and he had 
 to camp without any "nap" (blankets). It was 
 frosty, and Hickson, who was by no means an easy- 
 going fellow, was furious. Next night the donkey 
 was still recalcitrant, whereupon Hickson pulled out 
 his revolver and pasted the poor donkey in the head 
 with bullets till he became dazed enough to be caught. 
 The bullets did not go far in, and Mr. Donkey 
 trotted off next day none the worse for his experience. 
 Hickson did not pack him again and sold him to me 
 for 5. I drove him, and afterwards rode him. He 
 did not buck, but had no mouth, and could go where 
 he liked with me, but he was a splendid pack, especi- 
 ally going through scrub, and I could always catch 
 him easily. I picked five bullets out of his head after 
 he became my property. One day he bolted with me 
 in very thick scrub. I tried to shoot him, but could 
 not manage it, and at last he stuck fast in the scrub. 
 
 One day Dick and I went after a smoke in the 
 ranges, and rode till we got quite stuck up after dark 
 in a dense scrub. We had to stay th*ere and tie up 
 our horses, and the donkey till morning. I never 
 heard such a howling of native dogs as I heard there
 
 276 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 next morning. "We soon got out of the scrub, and 
 found a little hole of water in a rock, where we 
 breakfasted. While having breakfast we heard the 
 wild blacks no doubt those whose smoke we had seen 
 chopping quite close to us. They were no doubt 
 chopping out their breakfast. Wild blacks are most 
 improvident it is just hand-to-mouth with them. We 
 saddled up, and tried to get on the blacks, but they 
 were too quick for us. We only got two gins and a 
 little girl. One of the gins was old, but as straight 
 as a pole. The three of them were up two trees in 
 a second, but Dick soon got them down. As we were 
 so constantly in the scrub I had put our pack on the 
 donkey. Being so small, he got through the scrub 
 much better than a horse, and so our pack escaped 
 being torn. The donkey could, and would, kick the 
 eye out of a mosquito, and nothing would do the gins 
 but get right behind him, yet he never lifted a hoof 
 at them. 
 
 The little girl scratched her leg coming down the 
 tree, and was greatly pleased when I applied some 
 Holloway's ointment to it. Holloway's ointment and 
 pills were the stock patent medicines then, but of 
 course Blue Pills and quinine were in common use. 
 When we saw the gins first one had a big carpet 
 snake round her neck the head and tail nearly 
 reached the ground. 
 
 When travelling up with the first sheep I one day 
 rode right over a carpet snake lying across the road. 
 I did not then know that these snakes were harm- 
 less. I got down, and as the snake was making past 
 a tree, I crept up to the tree with a stick to hit him. 
 The snake, instead of passing the tree, turned sharp 
 round it, and as I was stooping he came round right 
 in front of my face. I think he was as much taken 
 aback as I was. I killed the poor brute, and he 
 measured 11 ft. 6 in. 
 
 Curious to say, about twelve months after, quite 
 near the same place, I came on another big carpet
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 277 
 
 snake. I captured this fellow, and, dragging it into 
 camp, let it go, much to the consternation of the men 
 who did not know it was harmless. 
 
 The old gin ran off and jumped into what I though 
 was a shallow water-hole in a creek near by. I went 
 after her, and she wouldn't come out, so I jumped in 
 and found it was quite deep she was just treading 
 water. "We tried to get these gins to take us on to the 
 others, but after about two hours trotting over 
 ranges we gave it best. A few nights after this, Dick 
 and I were camped in our tent. We always lay with 
 our rifles in our hands. I heard Dick sit up, so I sat 
 up. Then I heard a thud, thud, just like a body of 
 men walking, and Dick and I crawled to the door of 
 the tent all ready for action. Just then we heard 
 the rattle of a hobble chain. It was our horses com- 
 ing from water, and the mud had muffled the hobbles. 
 Next morning Dick and I tried our rifles, and neither 
 would go off. A mile from camp we came on wild 
 blacks, but they were off in a jiffy. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Some months later I started in for a visit to Burton 
 Downs. I had Dick with me, as usual, and we took 
 the dray, but we had not gone twenty miles before 
 we met a man who gave me a two months' mail. A 
 letter informed me that there had been a financial 
 crisis in Sydney, our agents had gone down, and 
 Burton Downs would have to be sold at once. I rode 
 on to Burton Downs, ninety miles, that day, got a 
 fresh horse, and rode to Waverley, about 172 miles, by 
 3 o'clock in the morning of the fourth day. I wakened 
 up the hotelkeeper, and asked him if he could sell 
 me a horse that would take me to Rockhampton that 
 day. He said he could. I asked the price. He said,
 
 278 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 "Eight pounds." "An 8 horse won't carry me 130 
 miles in one day," said I. He replied, "The horse is 
 no hack, but he'll carry you as far as you can ride 
 him." He went down the paddock and ran up the 
 horse, an ugly old roach-backed chestnut. A little 
 brown filly came into the yard with the horse, and 
 the publican said, "You can ride the filly to Marl- 
 borough and lead the chestnut, then you will certainly 
 get through. It took me about nineteen hours to do 
 the 130 miles, including stoppages, and 1 was much 
 more tired than the old horse, having done 372 miles 
 in four days. I found things were not so bad as repre- 
 sented, and after a day's spell I started for home 
 again via the Peak Downs. I rode the chestnut 
 seventy miles after twelve o'clock the first day, and 
 he carried me so well that I christened him "Sun- 
 down." He got quite a name in the North. 
 
 I returned to Burton Downs in very bad heart, as 
 I could see that there was no hope of our pulling 
 through with our Queensland ventures. Our agents 
 were calling on us to reduce our indebtedness to 
 them, so we sold The Hermitage, with five thousand 
 sheep, to a Mr. Peyton for 5,000. He paid only 
 1,500 in cash, and gave us bills for the balance. This 
 tided us over a few months, then our agents declined 
 to carry us on. Burton Downs had to be sold. A 
 New South Wales man bought it, with 10,000 sheep, 
 for 10,000, paying 2,500 cash, and giving bills for 
 the balance. The sales left us 3,200 in debt. Ray- 
 mond's and my liability came to 800 each. Edwards 
 undertook to see to the determination of his partner- 
 ship with us. As he owned other properties, and as 
 his agents were also our agents, he informed us that 
 our liability would be debited to him, being our part- 
 ner. He therefore asked Raymond and me each to 
 give him a bill for the amount of our deficiency, assur- 
 ing us that it was only a matter of form to satisfy 
 his agents. I told Edwards that he could have my
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 279 
 
 horses, worth about 120, but he declined this, and I 
 gave him my promissory note for 800. 
 
 Poor Peyton, who had purchased The Hermitage, 
 could not meet the first bill, and the agents foreclosed, 
 and sold him off with a similar result to the new 
 purchaser. The purchaser of Burton Downs also fell 
 on bad times. The blacks killed a lot of his sheep 
 and a lot more were lost. The spear grass spread 
 from the ridges to the plains. In two years he also 
 came to grief, and the agents foreclosed. Eventually 
 Edwards got into difficulties with his other proper- 
 ties. He levanted to England, in debt over 20,000 
 to his backers. 
 
 And now comes the cruel part of the whole business 
 as regards myself. Some four years after the sale 
 of Burton Downs, while managing Brookong, I re- 
 deemed my indebtedness to Edwards by paying him 
 400, which I had saved out of my salary. My readers 
 can imagine my disgust on finding shortly afterwards 
 that Edwards had entirely misled me; he had not 
 legally dissolved our partnership. He had used my 
 400 to levant to England, where he had friends, and 
 where he soon after died, and, to my consternation, 
 I found that -Raymond and I, being still partners of 
 Edwards, his agents held us severally liable for the 
 whole of Edward's liability of over 20,000. An ex- 
 planation of the circumstances resulted in an amic- 
 able settlement. 
 
 What had happened to us was happening all over 
 North Queensland, and went on till almost every 
 station had become the property of the mortgagees. 
 The latter sold whenever they could get a buyer, 
 even if it were tit a loss, and often the mortgagees 
 had to foreclose a second, and at times, a third time 
 before they got clear of their possessions. 
 
 The amount of Victorian capital that was lost on 
 the Flinders and in North and West Queensland was 
 enormous. Several men whom I knew well lost large 
 sums of money. Even in my time it was the custom
 
 280 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 with financial institutions and merchants (more par- 
 ticularly institutions) to ,sell a man up with little 
 notice, and put a new man (or mug) on with a little 
 capital to have the dose repeated. The whole system 
 was rotten. A great friend of mine, John Rule, of 
 Aramac, North Queensland, told me one day in 
 George-street, Sydney, that his banker (manager of 
 one of the very leading New South Wales banks) 
 had that day told him that if he did not pay off his 
 indebtedness his place would at once be sold ; and 
 yet Rule told me that wool sufficient to liquidate his 
 whole indebtedness was at that very time on its way 
 to London, and the bank held the bills of lading. This 
 now seems almost incredible. Rule got the money 
 from a merchant company in Sydney, but in the end 
 went down. 
 
 Rule's partner, Lacy, was the father of the Miss 
 Lacy who did that wonderful swim of thirty-six hours 
 after the wreck of the Quetta, and was saved. 
 
 B. D. Morehead, so well known in Queensland, told 
 me a good story of Rule. The latter, after he failed 
 on the Aramac, took the management of the place for 
 B. D. Morehead and Co., and on one occasion when 
 B. D. Morehead was up to inspect for the Company, 
 he said to Rule, "By the way, I have a book with me, 
 I think you would like to read. It is called Letters 
 from Hell I" "Oh, thank you," said Rule, "letters 
 from B. D. Morehead and Co. are quite enough for 
 me." 
 
 The savings of nine years hard work in Victoria, 
 and of my three years pioneering in Queensland, had 
 thus resulted in the total loss of my savings and of 
 my labour. Still I had gained valuable experience, 
 and had made some good staunch friends, and though 
 my health was considerably impaired, I was young 
 and still hopeful, and did not consider that I had any 
 reason to complain or to be downhearted. To me the 
 "world was still young," and indeed I had great 
 reason for thankfulness, for though I had lost money,
 
 1 HERBERT POWER 
 3 W. HALLIDAY 
 5 MR. HEBDEN 
 
 2 TOM CROMMELIX 
 4 CHARLES HEBDEX 
 6 C. M. LLOYD
 
 lU'RTO.v DOWNS. Ixiii 
 
 ARTH r R MACART .\ KY 
 
 A MI..U-K LAUV
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 281 
 
 labour, and to some extent, health, I had in a most 
 extraordinary manner in 1865, while at The Hermit- 
 age, found that which is. of a thousaudfold greater 
 value than riches, success and health all put together. 
 I had found myself, I had found my own soul, and I 
 had found God. For truly has it been said, "What 
 shall it profit if a man gain the whole world and 
 loses his own soul?" 
 
 It came upon me like a flash of lightning. I cannot 
 call to mind anything that had occurred to which I 
 can trace it; but one evening in 1865 as I sat down 
 to write to my mother, there without any influencing 
 environment, whether good or bad, almost by myself, 
 in the wilds of North Queensland, my eyes seemed 
 to be suddenly opened. Up to that day I had been 
 living as had the nations of the world when thjs awful 
 war burst on them. I had been living just for the 
 present, living to make money, living to get on in the 
 world. A perfectly right and laudable object pro- 
 vided it is subordinated to the higher life, but as 
 with the nations so with me, for me, as for them, 
 there was no higher life. This awful war has, I hope 
 and believe, revivified virtue in us, it has turned our 
 thoughts to those great eternal principles of life and 
 duty that we had been in danger of forgetting. 
 
 We have become a more serious and more sober 
 people. The war has thrust us in on ourselves and 
 made us think, and out of our thought fulness will 
 come a renewal of life. May there be a great whole- 
 sale conversion of people and of the world. Shall not 
 the war bring about the Healing of the Nations? It 
 will, it must. The world is about to be born anew. 
 Alas! Alas! that human nature is such that it can 
 only be re-born in groans and travail, in agony and 
 bloody sweat. 
 
 To return to myself, in the "twinkling of an eye" 
 I became a new ma"n. It was as if scales had fallen 
 from my eyes. I then and there (it was in 1865) 
 wrote to my mother, "Your prayers have been
 
 282 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 answered. I now see, with your eyes, what you have 
 so often tried to get me to believe. I do believe and 
 know that Christ died for me, and that great sinner 
 as I am, I am saved." 
 
 I do not suppose I had been any worse than most 
 men of my age (28 then) in gratifying my appetites 
 and passions. I had been selfish. I had lived entirely 
 as if there was no God, and no future life. I do not 
 remember giving these matters a thought before this 
 time. I no doubt had some good points. For instance, 
 I was loyal and straight, temperate and truthful, and 
 I think kind, and at any rate I had plenty of friends, 
 but I lived the life of most young men, and I was 
 a horrible swearer. Even in North Queensland where 
 the vernacular among gentlemen savoured very much 
 of the men's hut, I was "beyond the odds." From 
 that day I gave up swearing, from that day I led a 
 pure life. This is the proof of the strength of my con- 
 victions, and of the wonderful change effected in me 
 in one moment of time by what? I believe by my 
 mother's prayers. 
 
 It may have been, and I think it was, that my 
 mother (whom I loved beyond all in the world) was 
 at that' very moment thinking intensely of me, and 
 praying for me, as she would herself have said, "on 
 the knees of her soul," and that "telepathically" 
 her thoughts reached me, and worked that wonderful 
 change in me. I say it may be, but I firmly believe 
 it was thus that I was converted, for converted I 
 was just as surely as Paul was converted. 
 
 That is my explanation. I hope if I live a few 
 years longer to put my religious experiences into the 
 form of a small book, for I can't but think that a 
 record of them would help many struggling and 
 doubting souls, and bring them into that fair haven 
 of rest which God in His great love has enabled me 
 to reach after much battling and striving with ad- 
 verse conditions, after much agony and much travail 
 of soul and mind. Later on when I come to my four
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 283 
 
 years of clerical life I shall have perforce to go to a 
 considerable extent into my religious experiences, but 
 I do not wish to dwell more on them in these remi- 
 niscences than I can't help. 
 
 Suffice it to say that at the present stage God 
 gave me strength to be true to my colours. I freely 
 told my friends of the great change that had been 
 wrought in me, and when opportunity offered I urged 
 them to do likewise. I made no secret of it, and 
 spoke of it openly and without reserve. My friends 
 were one and all more than good to me. I met with 
 
 no chaff, no one told me I was a d d fool. 
 
 I met with nothing but kindness and good cheer, and 
 I think this must have been because I was so thor- 
 oughly in earnest, and so greatly imbued with the 
 value and truth of what I had found, and that my 
 every-day life was consistent with my profession of 
 faith. 
 
 At this time I followed my mother's teaching. She 
 was an Irish Protestant, that is to say an Evangelical 
 of the Evangelicals, and I firmly believed then, and 
 for some eight or nine years afterwards, in the crudest 
 teaching of the Evangelical school "salvation by 
 the blood of Christ" that we were all condemned 
 and lost sinners, but that we all might be saved by 
 believing that Christ had died instead of us on the 
 cross, and by showing in our lives and conversation 
 that we did truly believe. I believed, or thought I 
 believed, in a devil, and in that horrible doctrine of 
 eternal punishment. 
 
 This "faith" I held for many years. It altered my 
 whole life. It upheld me in temptation and trial; it 
 held me up in trouble and sorrow. It brought me to 
 God and Life, and yet I had to part with it. But 
 I am much happier and much more satisfied, and 
 more truly blessed now in my simple faith in God, 
 Christ and Immortality, unincumbered with unrea- 
 sonable and immoral dogmas and doctrines entirely 
 incompatible with faith in an All powerful, ever
 
 284 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 present, all seeing God of Love and Faith and Jus- 
 tice. On this subject my pen is apt to run away 
 with me, for it is Life to me. 
 
 I left off where I had reached another milestone in 
 my life. It was bad enough for my brother and for 
 me, but it was a knock-down blow to poor Raymond, 
 who was not young, and who was married. 
 
 1 got an offer from Black, manager of Eaglefield, 
 to work for William Sloane & Co., of Melbourne. I 
 was to improve and stock a fine piece of dry downs 
 country they owned on the Peak Downs, called ' ' Tin- 
 \vald Downs." This was straight into my hand, and 
 I started work at once. I had to break the bad news 
 of our failure to my dear old father, the "Old 
 Governor," whose 700 had gone along with my 700. 
 
 After leaving Burton Downs I spent a consider- 
 able time on Tinwald Downs. 1 was there by myself. 
 I still had my faithful black boy, Dick, and had some 
 sheep shepherded on the Suttor, and some well-sinkers 
 at work. There was no water at all in the country, 
 so my first job was to get a well sunk. While sinking 
 the well I had to cart water over twenty miles. Even 
 after heavy rain no water was left, the rain all soaked 
 away into the virgin soil. I succeeded in getting 
 water at about 120 feet; most of the sinking was 
 through rock. I sometimes worked down the well 
 myself. 
 
 After I got water in the well I brought the sheep 
 home. On counting them the evening they arrived 
 I found they were three hundred short. The young 
 fellow, Moran, who was in charge of them, said he 
 had counted them all right two camps before delivery. 
 They had come about forty miles. Dick and I rode 
 back next day, one each side, but could find no tracks 
 going off. As the country was all virgin country, 
 and no other sheep on it, it followed that the sheep 
 had been lost before they started over, and that Moran 
 was lying. Dick, a runaway trooper named Yorky, 
 Moran and I started off to where the sheep had been
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 285 
 
 running to look for the missing ones. It was only 
 about thirty miles through the bush, and we made 
 a camp on a creek that night and started out two and 
 two next day. As Dick and I were looking for the 
 sheep we saw the tracks of two men on foot, but we 
 thought they were tracks of our own men. While we 
 were having dinner in camp I decided to go back and 
 look up those tracks. We picked them up and there 
 were no horse tracks. We followed them, and soon it 
 was evident that we were on the tracks of men lost 
 in the bush, and the nearest station was thirty miles. 
 After a bit we found that they had discarded their 
 clothes, shirts, trousers, hats, boots, and finally a little 
 bag of tea and another of sugar. It is well known 
 that when men become famished with thirst they 
 throw away their clothes. We followed on, and not 
 long before sundown, found the men had turned right 
 round and returned not far from their own tracks, 
 so could not be far away. We coo-ee'd and coo-ee'd, 
 but no reply. Our other men had come on our tracks, 
 and pulled us up, so we split up again and kept 
 coo-eeying. When it got dark we made fires, but kept 
 on. Suddenly I thought I heard a cry, and then 
 out of the dark two gaunt naked figures staggered 
 towards us with their hands out, muttering "water, 
 water." They had been lying down, but had heard 
 our voices. We had no water, but fortunately we 
 were only half a mile from our camp on the creek. 
 We put the men on two of our horses, and took them 
 to the camp and watered and fed them. They were 
 too excited to sleep, and most grateful swore they 
 would work for me for nothing. They said they had 
 left a place about sixty miles away, and had been lost 
 ten days, and been a long time without water; that 
 they had seen several lots of wild blacks who had not 
 molested them. They were too ill-looking old chaps, 
 evidently "old hands," i.e., convicts, named Sully 
 and Sullivan. 
 
 Next day we found about thirty of the sheep, and
 
 286 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 our men who brought the sheep to camp asked the old 
 chaps to look after them, but they said, "You can 
 blooming well shepherd them yourselves. We won't" 
 and yet the night before they would work for me 
 all their lives for nothing ! As they would have died 
 had we left them, they had perforce to look after 
 the sheep under pain of being left. Before leaving 
 them we gave them rations, and told them how to 
 strike a track that would take them to Avon Downs. 
 Avon Downs was a big station, sixty miles double 
 frontage to one creek. It belonged to Campbell and 
 Chalmers. 
 
 While at Tinwald Downs I had one of the well- 
 sinkers lost and three days without water. He was 
 nearly dead when we got him. He couldn't speak. 
 I put him in a tub and poured water over him, and 
 just moistened his lips and mouth at first, and gave 
 him a very little weak brandy and water to drink. 
 When he found his voice, his language was abomin- 
 able, a volley of curses. It was through his own crass 
 stupidity that he got lost. I reckon that a man work- 
 ing hard, say with an axe, in great heat, can get 
 very bad for water in four or five hours. I have been 
 unable to speak after working for less than five hours 
 with an axe in great heat without a drink. The black- 
 boy and I had been working together, and we wanted 
 to finish our job (making a brush yard.) The water 
 was half a mile away. When we had finished the 
 yard neither of us could speak. We went straight 
 to a water-hole in the Belyando, and walked in clothes 
 and all. and swam and drank and drank and swam till 
 I thought we would "bust." 
 
 One day at Tinwald Downs I gave an old ewe (she 
 was dying for want of water) a whole big five-gallon 
 bucket of well water, and she drank it all at one 
 drink. Another day our draught horse, Christmas, 
 drank nearly a whole hogshead of water without tak- 
 ing his head from the cask. I measured the water
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 287 
 
 drunk by my riding horse one day while at Tinwald 
 Downs. He drank 25 gallons during the day. 
 
 In Spring all that Peak Downs country is most 
 beautiful. The wild flowers are numerous, and pre- 
 sent a very gay appearance. The formation is all 
 volcanic, and the soil consequently dark and rich. I 
 put it down to carry a sheep to the acre in its natural 
 state. 
 
 Although quite by myself, I was quite happy at 
 Tinwald Downs. It was a beautiful piece of country, 
 and I looked forward with much pleasure to working 
 it up into a good going concern. I put up a little hut 
 for myself of round stuff, stopping the breaks with 
 mud. A few sheets of iron roofed it in, and I used 
 another sheet for a bed while I was there. A sheet of 
 corrugated iron makes a much better bed than anyone 
 who has not tried it would suppose. There is a great 
 deal of "give" in the iron, and one's hip fits nicely 
 into a corrugation. Also I cooked for myself while 
 at Tinwald Downs. One day a hawker came by, and 
 when I got home in the evening I found the men and 
 two black boys all drunk. I sacked Dick next day 
 (not in earnest), and Dick was very hurt. "Me been 
 good boy alonga you," said Dick; "you no good to 
 me," and he brought me some little presents I had 
 given him, and said he would not now keep them. 
 Poor old Dick. I was very attached to him, and it 
 would have taken a good deal to have parted us. I 
 rode into Clermont and got two police troopers and 
 a warrant. We followed the hawker for eighty miles, 
 and got him with a lot of grog in his waggon. He 
 had two fine horses, and I hoped he would lose waggon 
 and horses. He was too smart for me, for on the road 
 to Clermont he managed to get his horses away. His 
 waggon and its contents were, however, confiscated. 
 No doubt he recovered his valuable horses. He was 
 fined, but he took it out in gaol. 
 
 One night when I was at Eaglefield, during the 
 shearing, Black came to me and said, "Get your
 
 288 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 revolver and come with me, and bring a tomahawk." 
 I asked no questions, but came along. Black took me 
 along to the scrub in which was a dray and a big 
 lump of an Irishman camped alongside. Black said, 
 "Pat, we have just come to see what you have got in 
 your dray." "It's none of your business," said Pat, 
 "and I'm not going to let you touch my dray." 
 "We'll soon see about that," said Black, and he got 
 my revolver and then asked me to inspect the con- 
 tents of the dray. The first thing I struck was a 
 small cask of rum, which I rolled out of the dray. 
 "Just knock in the head," said Black. "Right oh," 
 said I, and in went the head and out went the rum, 
 amid groans and execrations from poor Pat. Next I 
 came on two cases of gin. As I smashed each bottle 
 Pat gave a groan. I destroyed all his grog, and 
 Black told him he was lucky we had not sent for the 
 police, as he would have lost his dray and horses, 
 and been fined into the bargain. We had acted 
 illegally in destroying the grog, but what could Pat 
 do? The shearers thought we had behaved shame- 
 fully, and there was nearly a strike over the looting 
 of Pat's grog. However no more grog was brought 
 to Eaglefield or to Tinwald Downs. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 On one occasion while at Burton Downs I went to 
 Maryborough and secured two black boys and two 
 gins, Charley, Maria, Rosy and Grophus. I took 
 them to Rockhampton, rigged them all up in boy's 
 clothes, and put them on horses. We all started off 
 for Burton Downs, the four blacks and myself, and 
 a merry start we made. None of the blacks had ever 
 been on a horse. First one would tumble off, and then 
 another, and then yet another, amid roars of laugh- 
 ter. But they never lost heart, and soon learned to 
 ride.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 289 
 
 After we had gone about twenty miles iny horse 
 fell with me. The blacks were very quiet till I got up 
 all right, then they roared with laughter. 
 
 \V<! used to camp almost always on a good big 
 water hole, and, whether for mid-day camp or at 
 night, in two minutes off went the shirts and trou- 
 sers, and in two seconds the four blacks were diving 
 and swimming in the water-hole. We had a grand 
 trip. I was taking Maria up to go out to Aramac to 
 a blackfellow of Rule's, and she was to be met at 
 Marlborough (the turn off). I anticipated much 
 trouble with Maria, but she went off quite contented, 
 and never even said good-bye. I believe that would 
 not have been proper etiquette. It is very amusing 
 to see two blacks meet after quite a long separation, 
 even brother and sister. They will not go up to each 
 other for some time ; they pretend not to see each 
 other and gradually approach as if they were total 
 strangers. Any immediate recognition or demonstra- 
 tion would be quite out of place, and "bad form." 
 T was taking Rosy to Burton Downs to be a "help 
 mate" for my boy Dick. 
 
 Shortly after arrival Dick came to me and said, 
 "Rosy baal liked me, she spit at me." "Oh," I said, 
 "Dick, that's all right, you get em waddy (stick) 
 and directly she'll like you." Dick returned after a 
 bit very ruefully, "By golly, Mr. Fetherston, that 
 one cobbon sulky, that one no good, she take em 
 waddy to me," and Dick was rubbing his head where 
 she had got him with the waddy. I asked Rosy what 
 was the matter with Dick. She said, "Baal me like 
 Dick, that fellow too much ugly belonging to Mooroo 
 (nose). Me liken Charley best fellow," and so she 
 became Charley's wife. I said to Dick, "Best fellow 
 no wife, Dick, like me, baal me want em wife, me 
 bachelor." "Yooi" (yes), said Dick, rubbing his 
 head again, "best fellow no wife, best fellow like it 
 you, best fellow bachelor." 
 
 The Grophus, as we named the second boy, was a
 
 290 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 lad of about sixteen. After he had been twelve 
 months with us he "waxed lusty," and one day he 
 swaggered up to my brother and said, ' ' Suppose baal 
 you get em gin for me, me bolt." And bolt he did, 
 but he returned with a gin in about a month or so. 
 My bold Grophus had made his way to Port Mackay, 
 had killed a blackfellow and taken his gin, and he 
 was very proud of himself. 
 
 On one of my trips from Ban Ban to Burton Downs 
 I had brought back the old gin, Maggie, who had 
 started with us with the first lot of sheep. Maggie 
 had made her way back to Ban Ban, and I got her 
 to come back with me for Mrs. Raymond. Maggie 
 was a splendid house servant. I dressed her in shirt 
 and trousers, and she rode up with me, and cooked 
 and looked after the horses for the whole trip. 
 
 I said nothing about Maggie on my arrival with 
 apparently a rather small black boy, but ten minutes 
 afterwards, much to everyone's surprise, there ap- 
 peared on the scene a full-blown gin with a blouse 
 and a crinoline, if you please, and looking twice the 
 size of the boy that had accompanied me. Mrs. Ray- 
 mond was delighted, and Maggie remained with her 
 till we left Burton Downs. In spite of the trouble I 
 had with the wild blacks I am very fond of the blacks, 
 and almost all trouble with them could have been 
 avoided in North Queensland. If they had been 
 treated judiciously there would have been very little 
 difficulty in dealing -with them. They are naturally 
 kindly and friendly, and they quite appreciate kind 
 treatment; but they must not be treated too freely; 
 they must for some considerable time be made to keep 
 their distance, must always be treated with firmness 
 and kept in their place. Of my own experience I 
 have never known station owners to ill-treat the 
 blacks. On the contrary, as with ourselves, I have 
 known station owners to receive a good deal of pro- 
 vocation in the way of having cattle and horses 
 speared without retaliating.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 291 
 
 Dr. Wilkins gave me a graphic description of the 
 funeral rites attending the death of an old black ehief 
 at Port Mackay. They had the old fellow 's body well 
 cooked on a hot fire, and his friends and relatives 
 were eating him. This was not done for the sake of 
 the flesh, but as some sort of religious ceremony. The 
 old fellow had been a great warrior, and the others 
 believed that by eating his flesh they would get some 
 of his fighting power. His old woman was in great 
 grief, and was painted with white daubs and gashed 
 as well. Dr. Wilkins said the old woman would howl 
 and cry, and then take a mouthful of the old man, 
 and howl and yell again, and then have another 
 mouthful. 
 
 While I was at Tinwald Downs the blacks killed 
 two shepherds of a neighbour at Avon Downs, and 
 wounded another, so the neighbours were asked to 
 make up a party to follow the blacks. Black, man- 
 ager of Eaglefield, came over, and Campbell, of Avon 
 Downs, came and brought a man, and his black boy, 
 Wellington. My brother also joined us, and my black 
 boy Dick, and another black boy, the runaway trooper 
 named Yorky, who had dropped in on us one evening 
 tired and hungry. 
 
 One day we struck a bit of open country, and 011 
 the edge of it saw the remains of a very large camp of 
 blacks. There were numerous skeletons of snakes in 
 the camp, also an imitation of a small yard. The 
 same day we came across an old nest of the brush 
 turkey, the "Tallagatta, " but the eggs had either 
 been hatched out or had been taken by the blacks. 
 These brush turkeys are much more like the tame 
 turkey than the so-called wild turkey of the plains. 
 The latter in fact is a "bustard." The Tallagatta 
 build immense mounds of twigs and loose earth, 
 humus in fact, and their eggs are covered up in this 
 and left to hatch out by the heat of the sun. 
 
 We soon got on the track of the blacks, a good big 
 mob, too. The first day we did fifteen miles, having
 
 292 
 
 ridden on and tracked up the mob. In their first camp 
 we found where they had been mixing flour, so we 
 reckoned that they had a runaway black trooper with 
 them. We also found a piece of a shirt with blood 
 on it. One day we heard blacks chopping. The black 
 boys and I took off our boots and tried to sneak on 
 them, but could not manage it. Next day we heard 
 a gin cry out, but we could not get on to them. The 
 boys and I rode on five miles and picked up their 
 tracks quite fresh, but it got dark and we had to get 
 back to camp. 
 
 We followed the tracks for six or seven days, and 
 in several camps found pieces of shirt with blood on 
 them and traces of flour. None of our black boys 
 were good trackers, and it was evident that although 
 the blacks did not seem to know that we were after 
 them (or they would have dispersed), yet we were 
 riot getting any nearer to them. They were on the 
 move and moving as fast as we were. 
 
 I proposed that I and the three black boys should 
 ride on ten or twenty miles, without tracking, in the 
 direction in which we had been going. Then we would 
 try to pick up the tracks, and if we got them we would 
 return. This was agreed to. Before we had gone a 
 mile we picked up a single track, and soon after we 
 rode right into the blacks in some open forest coun- 
 try. They were running from all directions for the 
 scrub. Dick shot one fellow, but he got away in the 
 scrub. I managed to cut off one big "buck." I 
 fired all five barrels of my revolver at him, while I 
 was galloping along close to him, and I could have 
 sworn every bullet must have hit him. At last he 
 bailed up like an old man kangaroo. He looked splen- 
 did. Of course he was stark naked, a fine big man, 
 with his hair flying out from his head, and his eyes 
 flashing. He was whirling a paddy melon stick over 
 his head and apparently looking at me. I had one 
 shot left in a single-barrelled pistol, and I took a 
 steady aim at him over my arm, Dick shouting at me,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 293 
 
 "Look out, directly that fellow throw him." As he 
 threw the stick I fired. Instead of throwing the paddy 
 melon stick at me he threw it at Dick and struck him 
 on the arm as he raised it to save his head, and the 
 buck fell down dead, shot through the heart. We 
 followed on after the others, but saw no more of the 
 mob. We gathered up a lot of nullah-nullahs and 
 spears, boomerangs and things. We took some away, 
 and went back to camp and reported ourselves. We 
 all agreed that we did not want to shoot any more of 
 them. We had shown the blacks that they could not 
 kill our men with impunity, and that was enough. 
 
 Black and I went away together and camped just 
 after dark. It got very black, and it looked as if we 
 were abQut to have a heavy storm. I did as I always 
 used to do in Northern Queensland (in the bushV I 
 took off all my clothes, rolled them up tight, put them 
 under my saddle, and waited for the storm. I ad- 
 vised Black, who was a staid married man, to do the 
 same, but for a good while he held out. It got blacker 
 and blacker, and looked like a deluge, and at last 
 he peeled off and followed my lead. We sat there 
 "like dismal dummies" for about an hour, and the 
 storm cleared off without a drop of rain. I chaffed 
 Black, and raised a good laugh against him with Mrs. 
 Black when next I was at Eaglefield. Black en- 
 tered political life later on, and was Minister for 
 Lands. 
 
 The black question has formed matter of debate 
 the world over. I can 't but think that the whites had 
 a perfect right to take possession of this great Con- 
 tinent, sparsely peopled as it was with a decadent 
 race of savages, but little removed now from mere 
 animals. True, the Australian aboriginals are adapt- 
 able; they can learn a great deal. They can learn 
 to read and write; to shear and sew; and no doubt 
 can learn many trades; but they have fallen below 
 any possibility of recovery. I think there is no doubt 
 that had the whites never discovered and taken pos-
 
 294 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 session of Australia the blacks would never have risen 
 any higher, and they would in time most surely have 
 died out. 
 
 The blacks could not be called a nation; they are 
 only a coterie of tribes, so disconnected that a black 
 found out of his own particular district was always 
 killed, and in most cases had his kidney fat taken 
 out. I remember one instance where a blackfellow 
 recovered after his kindey fat had been removed. 
 
 The advent of the white man has greatly hastened 
 the end of the blacks, for they easily succumb to the 
 diseases introduced by the whites. In addition the 
 blacks soon acquired all the vices of the whites, and 
 took to smoking and alcohol, and of late years in 
 North Queensland to opium. All these things have 
 helped to carry them off. 
 
 The number of blacks actually killed by the whites 
 cannot amount to much as compared to the loss from 
 disease. I use the word killed, the blacks themselves 
 would call it murder, and in many cases the "kill- 
 ing" was murder. I do not call the killing of whites 
 by the blacks murder; the blacks did not know any 
 better, poor things, and in many instances they had 
 great provocation. 
 
 It must be remembered that these people are 
 savages, and that much of their life was given to 
 hunting for food. They followed the trail of their 
 prey and sneaked on it, and rejoiced in the blow of 
 the paddy melon stick or that of the spear that secured 
 their prey to them. To a wild black, the sneaking 
 on a shepherd or sleeping white man, and dealing 
 him his death blow, would be on a par with knocking 
 over a kangaroo or a wallaby. The blacks are, more- 
 over, creatures of impulse, and killing comes natural 
 to them. 
 
 There are, as we all know, two sides to every story. 
 My own feelings towards the blacks, as we have seen, 
 underwent a radical change after they killed our two 
 faithful shepherds on the Belyando, and I can quite
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 295 
 
 understand the feelings of cattle men who have suf- 
 fered heavily by the damage done to their cattle by 
 the wild blacks. In the Northern Territory cattle 
 owners have suffered severely from the blacks. It is 
 said the losses of cattle caused by the blacks in the 
 Northern Territory run into over 4000 a year, and 
 that there are always from fifty to one hundred 
 blacks in the gaols of Wyndham and Derby for spear- 
 ing cattle. From what Frank Hann, a pioneer of 
 North Queensland, who hailed from Victoria, has told 
 me, the blacks of the Northern Territory are much 
 more warlike and aggressive than the North Queens- 
 land blacks, except those of Cape York Peninsula. 
 The cattle owners of the Peninsula suffer severe losses 
 from the blacks disturbing their cattle. In the wet 
 season there the country gets fearfully boggy, and 
 the cattle, frightened and driven by the blacks, stam- 
 pede, get down in the quagmires, and hundreds 
 perish. The blacks, of course, in this way come in 
 for cheap beef. There have been fine lives lost in the 
 "Territory" through the blacks. 
 
 On a good many occasions wild blacks who have 
 stolen sheep have been known to break the legs of the 
 sheep so they could keep them and eat them at 
 their leisure. At Mt. Surprise, on the Burdekir., as 
 late as 1868, they killed some shepherds and stole a 
 number of sheep, and broke the forelegs of some 400. 
 They have been known to do the same with horses on 
 the "Peninsula." 
 
 On the other hand it must always be remembered 
 when sitting in judgment on the black question, that 
 there is no getting away from the fact that we were 
 trespassers, and in black jurisprudence, a black tres- 
 passer from another tribe was invariably killed 
 death was the acknowledged penalty. Much more so 
 then from the blacks' point of view must a white 
 trespasser have been considered as having incurred 
 the penalty of death. When some of these whites, 
 in addition to being trespassers, hunted the blacks
 
 296 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 down with members of another black tribe, shooting 
 them without mercy, is it any wonder that they 
 retaliated ? 
 
 The very same blacks who would impulsively suc- 
 cour a white man lost in the bush, would, under other 
 circumstances, sneak on him and kill him. Then the 
 atrocious treatment of the blacks by the native police, 
 and I fear also by some of the pastoralists themselves, 
 must naturally have aroused all their worst passions. 
 An impassioned harangue from some of the malicious 
 old gins, and the young bucks would be aflame and 
 ripe for killing and looting. 
 
 Of my own personal knowledge I do not know of 
 any cases of station owners having shot blacks except 
 under great provocation, and when it came to either 
 shooting some of the blacks or of vacating the country. 
 We ourselves once or twice found spear marks on one 
 or two of our cattle, and once cuts, evidently made 
 by stoke of a boomerang, on two of our horses. None 
 were killed, and these animals had strayed off our 
 run into the scrub, into what might have been called 
 the blacks' country. We took no notice, for we 
 (rightly) put it down to the work of some of the 
 boys or young blacks. We were careful also not to 
 mention the matter to the native police, for we knew 
 that the latter would at once have followed up ths 
 blacks, and shot some of them. 
 
 Some of our neighbours under similar circum- 
 stances acted as we had. I have no doubt that other 
 station owners under similar circumstances would 
 have apprised the native police of what the blacks 
 had done, with the usual result. 
 
 The system pursued by the black police in North 
 Queensland was barbarous, cruel, and iniquitous, and 
 1 think now that all we who objected to the system 
 should at that time have memorialized the Govern- 
 ment and insisted on a better, juster, and more 
 humane method being adopted. (Of late years the
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 297 
 
 Government of Queensland have gone into the oppo- 
 site extreme.) 
 
 The aborigines of Australia are naturally kindly, 
 cheerful, good-hearted and honest, and if they had 
 been humanely and justly dealt with from the start, 
 there need never have been massacres of either whites 
 or blacks. It is a remarkable fact that in cases 
 where whites have been lost in the bush they have 
 seldom been molested by the blacks. Those two old 
 villains whom I found dying of thirst on Avon 
 Downs form an instance. 
 
 The blacks have been useful to the whites; Aus- 
 tralian poineers are much indebted to them. Where 
 would the cattle men of North Queensland and of 
 the Territory be but for the help of the blacks? 
 
 What would their wives and daughters have done 
 without the services of the lubras and the gins, good 
 faithful souls, careful and loving nurses for the white 
 children, good servants, loyal and true, and all the 
 time full of fun and cheer? 
 
 I had a shepherd while in Queensland who told 
 me the story of Morell (or Murrell), who was for 
 some fifteen years with the blacks. He was the only 
 survivor from a wreck; the blacks found him, and 
 were very good to him, but would not let him go 
 from them. Finally, as the country got more settled, 
 he made his escape. My informant and his hut- 
 keeper were with a flock of sheep. One evening, just 
 about dusk, as they were having a pot of tea, they 
 saw a naked blackfellow, as they thought, climbing 
 over the sheepyard fence. They got a gun and 
 levelled it at the man, who threw up his hands and 
 called out, "Don't shoot me, don't shoot me; I'm a 
 true born British object." Object he was, sure 
 enough. The poor fellow had forgotten a lot of his 
 English, but, anticipating escape, he had kept these 
 words in his mind, only he substituted "object" for 
 "subject." Murrell soon recovered his language, and
 
 298 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 he was given a Government billet in Port Denison, 
 which he filled satisfactorily up to his death. 
 
 Who has not heard of Wallace Macdougall? He 
 was well known in Queensland and New South Wales 
 in the early sixties. He was a squatter, a very hand- 
 some, tall, well-made man of good family, and 
 more than a little bit "ratty." 
 
 I heard of him first at the old Eoyal in Sydney 
 when I was going up to Queensland in 1861 ; he had 
 had a bit in, and had taken up the dining-table cloth 
 and pulled the corners together and emptied it into 
 the street. When I made inquiries I was told many 
 amusing yarns about him. He hired a hansom one 
 day, and put a lot of band boxes in it full of paper. 
 After he had gone along a bit he set fire to the boxes 
 and got out. Also for a bet he walked down George- 
 street dressed as a bishop, with two bulldogs. 
 
 He was a marvellous shot with pistol or rifle. He 
 thought nothing of putting a bullet through a man's 
 hat as he entered a room. At Parramatta, in a hotel 
 there, I was shown holes made by bullets from Wal- 
 lace Macdougall 's pistols. A hawker had pulled up 
 at his station I think it was on the Condamine. 
 Wallace was on the go, and insisted on the hawker 
 joining him. The hawker refused, whereupon Mac- 
 dougall backed the man's waggon over a steep bank 
 into the river. 
 
 Once when I was in Port Denison (North Queens- 
 land, now Bowen), at the same hotel with Macdougall, 
 there were no potatoes for dinner. I complained, 
 and Macdougall said, "We'll soon remedy that." 
 He walked off down the street, bareheaded, to an- 
 other hotel, and into the dining-room, where the 
 people were at dinner. Spying a fine dish of pota- 
 toes on the table, he coolly appropriated the dish and 
 walked back to our hotel with them. 
 
 Another time he landed at Port Denison with a 
 horse from Sydney. When he got to the hotel there 
 was no hay. Wallace, nothing daunted, ripped up
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 299 
 
 the mattress of his bed and shook out the straw to 
 his horse. 
 
 But the culminating performance of my extra- 
 ordinary friend occurred on his own station. His 
 cook, a very nice woman, was about to be married 
 to one of his stockmen. The day was fixed, a big 
 spread was all ready, so was the bride, and so was 
 the parson. The bridegroom failed to appear, and 
 never did appear. After waiting for some time, Mac- 
 dougall said to the parson, "I can't see this nice 
 woman disappointed; I'll marry her myself if she 
 will have me." Sure enough they were married, 
 and a good true wife she proved to him. 
 
 After I left Queensland I never heard of him, and 
 as that is fifty years ago, and, as he was an older 
 man then than I, I can only conclude that long since 
 he has been gathered to his fathers. A right good 
 fellow he was for all his pranks. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 In the end of April, 1866, Messrs. William Sloane 
 and Co. asked me to go to Melbourne to discuss 
 various matters with them. I was delighted with the 
 prospect of seeing my own people and many friends 
 again, and I badly wanted a change. I had had a 
 good deal of low fever, and I had never recovered 
 from my long bout of dysentery, so I greatly wel- 
 comed the prospect of a rest in a good climate, and 
 comfort. I had got so used to camping out, and to 
 sleeping in my clothes, that really I think I used 
 to sleep better in my clothes on the ground than in 
 a bed, and as for sheets, I utterly despised such 
 luxuries. I remember one time going to Sydney on 
 the old Eagle steamer (a beastly little craft, overrun 
 with cockroaches and rats, and stinking of bilge-
 
 300 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 water), being much amused at a passenger who com- 
 plained to the steward that he had no sheets. I got 
 up and called up several bushmen whom I knew, 
 and took them round to see the man who could not 
 sleep without sheets! 
 
 On my way to Rockhampton I stayed a night at 
 Gracemere with my good friends the Archers, whose 
 name was a household word in the North for hos- 
 pitality, and for all that is good. 
 
 These seven brothers, Norwegians by birth, had a 
 station on the Burnett called Eidsvold. In 1853 
 (the year I arrived in Victoria) they started off 
 North to take up country. As they were after a 
 cattle run they worked along not a great distance 
 out from the coast, till they struck a fine sheet of 
 water, which they named Gracemere Lake. They 
 also reached a big river, which they named the 
 Fitzroy, after Sir Charles Fitzroy, then Governor of 
 New South Wales. They settled down on Gracemere 
 Lake, and there, after over sixty years, some of 
 them, or some of their sons, still reside. I knew 
 them all, but I knew William, the eldest, and Archie 
 best. The latter became member for the district, and 
 did good work for his adopted country. I stayed a 
 good many times at Gracemere, on my many jour- 
 neys. The Archers kept open house, and as many 
 as forty callers have been put up at Gracemere in 
 one night. Travellers made themselves so much at 
 home there that many used to come and go, having 
 their dinner, bed and breakfast, and turning the 
 horses out into the paddocks, without even inter- 
 viewing the hospitable owners. At last William 
 Archer "enacted" that no traveller was to put up 
 at Gracemere without giving his name to the owner. 
 The night I stayed at Gracemere, in 1866, no less 
 than thirty sat down to dinner. 
 
 I sold my horses in Rockhampton, and said good- 
 bye to my true and good friend, George Ranken, 
 later to become well known in New South Wales as
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 301 
 
 ' ' Capricornus, " an authority on land matters and an 
 ardent reformer, and with whom I later on did a 
 good deal of work in connection with the Pastoral, 
 Commercial and Agricultural Association of New 
 South Wales. 
 
 I got to Sydney by the 9th May, 1866, and put up 
 at the old Royal. I sailed again on the 12th on the 
 s.s. Alexander, getting into Melbourne on the even- 
 ing of the 14th, after a four years' absence. Having 
 failed to make good in Queensland, I did not feel in 
 too good heart, but the great joy of meeting my 
 beloved mother made up for a great deal. Our hap- 
 piness in meeting was greatly enhanced by our being 
 so entirely at one in our religious convictions. Next 
 day I settled up some business with my friends, 
 Sloane and Co., and I found they were prepared to 
 do a great deal for me in the way of managing a 
 large Queensland property for them. My prospects 
 seemed to be looking up, as from Sydney I had 
 received a very good offer to take the management 
 of a large property in "Western Queensland called 
 "Northampton Downs," afterwards the property of 
 Sir Francis Murphy and Sons, with a salary after 
 a while of 500 a year. 
 
 Next day, while still in doubt as to which offer I 
 should accept, I met my old friend Herbert Power, 
 who, linking his arm in mine, asked me all about my 
 prospects (we had corresponded while I was in 
 Queensland). I told him how pleased I was with 
 the offer I had had. He said, "You don't look at all 
 well or strong, why return to Queensland? Why 
 not get a good billet in that grand Riverina country 
 in New South Wales, in which so many Victorians 
 are buying stations?" He went on to say, "I know 
 of the very place for you; a manager is wanted for 
 Brookong, a large unimproved station. The owner 
 is a constituent of Dalgety, Blackwood and Co., and 
 James Blackwood will have a good deal to say in
 
 302 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 the choice of a manager. Make up your mind to go 
 for it, and I'll take you to see Blackwood this after- 
 noon. ' ' 
 
 I was "full up" of North Queensland; iny health 
 had suffered as well as my pocket, so I decided to 
 apply for the Riverina billet. My application was 
 favourably received. The same day I met another 
 old friend who also advised me to go for the manage- 
 ment of a Riverina station, and said he, "I know of 
 the very place for you." I laughed, and said, "I 
 rather think I have already applied for that place." 
 Then I told him about Brookong. "Never mind," he 
 said, "we will doublebank Mr. Blackwood. Come 
 along, I 'm to meet him at a ' glass-blowing ' exhibition 
 in a few minutes. ' ' Accordingly I again interviewed 
 Mr. Blackwood. 
 
 Next day Herbert Power asked me to go to the 
 races with him, and when I told him that I had 
 eschewed races for conscience sake, he said, "Why, 
 man, you must be mad. All the same it comes in 
 rather opportunely, for Mr. Blackwood told me he 
 was afraid you were too fond of racing to suit Mr. 
 Hebden, the managing partner in Brookong." Next 
 I interviewed Mr. Hebden, a very gentlemanly and 
 elderly man, well experienced in station management. 
 Mr. Hebden put me through my facings, and quite 
 rightly seemed to think I had not had enough ex- 
 perience. Among other things he said, "I want 
 some rams for the station ; I suppose you feel capable 
 of selecting them?" I said, "No, I do not; but I'll 
 undertake to get you good rams." Then he said, 
 "Brookong is a large unimproved property; do you 
 feel capable of undertaking so important a posi- 
 tion?" As bold as brass I confidently said, "Yes, 
 I do." Half an hour afterwards I was actually on 
 my way to tell Mr. Blackwood that my experience, 
 or I might have said my inexperience, did not justify 
 me in accepting the position. However, I said to 
 myself, I can but fail, and I'd tackle it. Nothing
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 303 
 
 venture, nothing have. I really think it was my con- 
 fidence in myself that induced Mr. Hebden to give 
 me the management, for I got word a little later on 
 that I had received the appointment, and that I 
 would have to "take the reins" with as little delay 
 as possible. I was naturally greatly elated over my 
 success. Although the salary at Brookong was only 
 300 a year, I thought it much better than 500 a 
 year in North Queensland. 
 
 While waiting for Mr. Hebden 's decision, I was 
 one afternoon walking along Swanston-street from 
 the railway station with a cousin, when she said to 
 me, "Did you notice that girl who just passed us?" 
 I said, "No." She said, "That was the pretty Miss 
 M'urchison." I looked round and the "pretty girl," 
 evidently expecting someone, had stopped and turned 
 round, and I had a good look at her. "Why," I 
 said, "1 am sure I knew that girl when she was a 
 little kiddie. I'll look her up." I soon got the 
 Murchisons' address, and right glad I was to renew 
 my acquaintance with my good and kind friends 
 after a lapse of a good many years. The family by 
 this time was reduced to Captain and Mrs. Murchi- 
 son, and the little girl, with whom I used to have 
 great rows, and who used to brush my hair with the 
 hearth broom in their hospitable old Kerrisdale home 
 on the King Parrot Creek. 
 
 Miss Murchison and I became great friends. From 
 the first it was more than friendship on my part, but 
 not being in a position to even think of marrying, I 
 kept my own counsel for many years; in fact it was 
 not till after seven or eight years that I made bold 
 to declare my love, and it was not till the 16th 
 November, 1876, that Miss Murchison rewarded my 
 constancy and did me the honour to become my wife. 
 
 As soon as it was settled that I was to go to 
 Brookong, I went up to Hamilton to spend a couple 
 of weeks with my own people. June is a lovely time 
 of the year in Western Victoria, cold and crisp, and
 
 304 APTP:K MANY DAYS 
 
 I thoroughly enjoyed my visit after my four years 
 in Queensland. I took a run over to my old Towri 
 Muntham, but could only spend one day there. 
 While I was at Hamilton my great friend, Dr. T. 
 Manly Wyly, was married to Emily, daughter of 
 Stephen Henty. Within twelve months he lost her, 
 and within another twelve months he followed her. 
 
 During my absence in Queensland the young 
 squatters about Hamilton had got a pack of hounds 
 together. They had perforce to run a drag, but for 
 all that these hounds provided some capital sport. A 
 Hamilton resid'ent, a Mr. Maddison, who had married 
 a Miss Medly, a splendid horsewoman, used to run 
 the drag, and a merry dance he used to lead the 
 "gay throng, who a-hunting would go." It takes a 
 plucky man to run a drag over a stiff country, but 
 Maddison 's heart never failed him. 
 
 There was a meet of the hounds a few days after 
 I returned to Hamilton, and my sister and I were 
 most anxious to have a run, but, alas! we had no 
 horses. However, I quietly took out my father's 
 little hack, "Professor," a son of the noted "Wild 
 Mare," and tried him, and he took to jumping fences 
 like a duck to the water. Then I tried a three-year- 
 old filly of my brother's, and she shaped fairly well. 
 Next we had to get the consent of the "Old Gover- 
 nor," and there we were. As Professor had shaped 
 better than the filly, I put my sister on him, and I 
 rode the filly next day to the hounds. We had a 
 very pretty run, finishing close to the town. Profes- 
 sor never made a mistake, and carried my sister gal- 
 lantly, and was right up with the best of them at 
 the finish, and my mare, though she gave me two 
 falls, performed very creditably. 
 
 Bather a curious incident happened over this run. 
 My sister had lost her veil, and I went back over our 
 tracks to look for it, riding, of course, in the oppo- 
 site direction to which we had come. During the 
 run the filly had carried me over a four-railed slip-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 305 
 
 rail, and going back I sent her at the same rails 
 from the opposite side. She slipped on her hind 
 legs as she tried to rise at the jump, and sat down 
 on her tail, and as we were going fast she shot through 
 the rails in that position, dislodging the three lower 
 rails, and going under the top rail. She got up all 
 right after getting through with me on her back. 
 She had taken me over and under the same rail. 
 
 Another curious thing happened to me one day 
 near Casterton. I put a colt I was riding at a big 
 long, and when he rose in the air over the log I 
 found that it was a big fork formed by a limb which 
 I could not see till up in the air. It was not possible 
 for the horse to clear the two. He seemed to give 
 himself a twist, and landed right in the fork, and 
 there he and I were stuck fast about four feet from 
 the ground. We were jammed so tight that neither 
 of us could move. Some of my friends came back, 
 and one on each side of me pulled and pulled till 
 they extricated me, leaving my long boots behind,, 
 while the colt dropped down and was pulled out 
 from below the log. 
 
 My sister and I had several good runs with our 
 improvised hunters, and Professor became a rattling 
 good fencer. His mother one day jumped a fence six 
 feet high in a leading rein. 
 
 My fortnight at home was all too short for me 
 after my four years' pioneering, but I was anxious 
 to enter on my new duties and my time was up. 
 It had been arranged for me to spend two or three 
 days at Mr. Richard Blackwood's fine Hartwood pro- 
 perty, situated between Deniliquin and Jerilderie, so 
 I pulled up there on my way to Brookong. 
 
 I had met Mr. Blackwood at his station, Wood- 
 lands, on the Wimmera, when I was at Muntham. 
 Hartwood was almost the first Riverina station to be 
 fenced in for sheep, and I wanted to get all the infor- 
 mation I could with regard to wire fencing, and as 
 to how sheep got on turned out in paddocks. Broo-
 
 306 
 
 kong was unfenced, and as the owners proposed to 
 fence in portion of it, it was important that I should 
 acquire all possible information on the subject. 
 
 Hartwood was then just recovering from a severe 
 drought, and there was only a little green pick; yet 
 the ewes and lambs were doing well, and I was quite 
 satisfied that paddocking sheep was no longer an ex- 
 periment, but un fait accompli. I was delighted, and 
 of course impatient to get to Brookong to carry on 
 the same good work there of fencing and turning out 
 sheep. Mr. Blackwood was a clever, shrewd man 
 no better station manager in Riverina. He was most 
 kind, and posted me thoroughly in all matters per- 
 taining to wire fencing. We became staunch friends, 
 and remained so during his lifetime. 
 
 Mrs. Blackwood was a daughter of Sir Eobert 
 Officer, of Tasmania, a clever woman and a worthy 
 helpmate of one of the finest and best men it has 
 been my privilege to call friend. 
 
 Mr. Blackwood lent me a good horse, and I started 
 away next morning, the 22nd June, 1866, being my 
 twenty-ninth birthday, to enter on my new duties. 
 I was entering on another stage of the "battle of 
 life," for a battle it is, and a battle I have found it 
 right up to now, as I write, in my eightieth year. 
 Muntham was my first start when only nineteen. I 
 gained a good deal of experience and saved and made 
 700 while I was there, so although I would have 
 done much better for myself had I at that time gone 
 on a large well-managed sheep station, I do not con- 
 sider that my six years there were lost time. Queens- 
 land was my second start, and my four years there, as 
 we have seen, left me with a nasty debt of 800 round 
 my neck. Now I was making my third start, and 
 was hopeful that four or five years' experience in 
 improving and working up a fine big property like 
 Brookong would, if I were successful, put me in a 
 good position for a further start. My friends had 
 all met me in the kindest possible way on my return
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 307 
 
 from Queensland, after having gone down there, as 
 every one who had gone to Queensland when I did 
 had also gone down. I could hardly he blamed for 
 not having succeeded. 
 
 I was full of energy and go, and very pleased in- 
 deed at the possibilities which lay before me. In the 
 improvement and management of such a large and 
 fine property I could see room for me to "win my 
 spurs." It would be entirely my own fault if I did 
 not prove myself to be a good and capable manager. 
 Casting aside all vain regret as to past failure 
 indeed it did not trouble me at all I entered on my 
 new life with zest and enthusiasm, determined to 
 succeed. 
 
 It was, of course, a little galling to think that I 
 still owed Edwards 800, but it was not at all a press- 
 ing debt ; in fact, I did not think Edwards was at all 
 right in maintaining the claim, as he had told me 
 I never would be asked to pay it; but there it was, 
 and I intended to pay it when able. 
 
 I had a seventy-five mile ride before me, so I made 
 an early start. I passed through first-class country 
 all the way, good plains that could carry about two 
 sheep to three acres and fatten them. The little rain 
 that had fallen had made a short pick for the sheep, 
 just enough to keep them going. I called at Cock- 
 etgedong, where an old Victorian friend, a Mr. 
 Hardy, from the Muddy Creek (now Yea), gave me 
 lunch. 
 
 Adjoining Cocketgedong, to the South, lay Now- 
 ranie Station, then owned by the late Hugh Glass, 
 of Victoria, a well-known speculator in stations and 
 stock. He speculated beyond his depth, and failed 
 for a large amount. Nowranie was one of the first 
 cattle stations in Eiverina that was fenced in. 
 
 Another property adjoining Cocketgedong was 
 Coonong, then, and still, the property of Sir Samuel 
 McCaughey. 
 
 It was dark by the time I reached Brookong, and 
 after my 75-mile ride I was glad enough to sit down
 
 308 
 
 to have a pot of tea with the manager, whom I was 
 about to displace. A new house was just being com- 
 pleted, but they were still living in an old slab build- 
 ing with a bark roof, built right on the very edge of 
 the Brookong Creek. 
 
 About twelve o'clock that night rain came down 
 in torrents, and I thought it a good omen, as the 
 country had been suffering from a severe drought, 
 there having been only just enough rain to make 
 a slight shoot in the grass, giving temporary relief. 
 I was patting myself on the back at what was evi- 
 dently a complete break-up, when I heard the mana- 
 ger call out to the overseer, "Mr. Dill, Mr. Dill!" 
 "Yes, what's the matter?" "Do you hear the rain? 
 It will kill all the lambs." "For heaven's sake, 
 man," said Dill, "go to sleep and be thankful the 
 drought is over." 
 
 The manager was an out-and-out pessimist, and I 
 take it that was the chief reason he never "made 
 good." He was always expecting the worst to hap- 
 pen, and what you expect you will generally get. 
 Expect and look for disaster, you are courting and 
 inviting disaster, and it will come; expect and look 
 for success and you will most likely succeed There 
 are other factors, of course, but I am, thank God, 
 an optimist, and quite at one with the fellow 
 
 Who fell ten stories high, 
 
 And as he passed each window bar 
 
 Called out, "All right so far." 
 
 It was quite true that heavy rain would kill a good 
 many lambs under the old shepherding system, but 
 the pessimistic manager overlooked the fact that 
 without rain none of the lambs would survive. Next 
 day it was evident to me that things were all in a 
 muddle. The place seemed to be short-handed; no 
 feed for the horses, consequently they were poor and
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 309 
 
 weak, making it difficult to get rations out to the 
 shepherds. 
 
 Mr. Hebdeii had told me that if I liked I could 
 arrange with the departing manager to remain for a 
 month, but having a first-class assistant in Mr. Dill, 
 a young energtic North of Ireland man, a good bush- 
 man and an indefatigable worker, I felt sure that 
 the sooner I took the reins the sooner we would get 
 out of the state of muddle we were in. There was 
 also on the place another North of Ireland man a 
 very fine fellow one John Hemphill, who then and 
 after was a great help to me. Mr. Henry Osborne, 
 who took up Brookong, hailed from County Tyrone, 
 in the North of Ireland. 
 
 Although the heavy fall of rain we had had was 
 a great thing for me just as I took charge of Broo- 
 kong, yet it made matters very unpleasant and diffi- 
 cult for a few weeks. The area of Brookong was 
 315,000 acres. Twenty-five thousand shepherded 
 ewes, lambing, as we termed it, "by hand," on scanty 
 feed, and with dirty wet yards, meant much anxiety 
 and work. In addition we had 21,000 dry sheep, 
 scattered over the immense area, some of them twenty- 
 five miles away from the head station on scrubby 
 country. The shepherds were constantly losing sheep, 
 and had got so used to it that it was looked on as a 
 matter of course, and they had become very careless. 
 Dingoes were numerous, and made sad havoc 
 among lost sheep. Mr. Dill's and John Hemphill 's 
 whole time was spent in looking for lost sheep, mak- 
 ing it extremely difficult to get other very necessary 
 work done. New sheep yards were greatly required. 
 The dogs were too bad to enable the sheep to be 
 camped. What with the lambing and the dirty yards, 
 and the lost sheep and poor horses, I was sometimes 
 at my wits' end to get along and avoid loss, and loss 
 at the start I felt would be fatal to me. I had to 
 show that in spite of my inexperience I could "take
 
 310 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 hold" of a big proposition like Brookong and make 
 a success of it. 
 
 The second day I was at Brookong I found an old 
 map of the run, and from it I put together a pretty 
 good map for myself. In this I got Mr. Dill to mark 
 down as nearly as he could the position of the sheep 
 stations there wore about twenty-five of them. 
 These represented twenty-five shepherds and some 
 five or six hut-keepers. The 25,000 ewes then lambing 
 represented about forty more men, so that with the 
 overseer, ration carrier, groom and horse-driver, etc., 
 there could not have been much under eighty hands 
 on the place, but in ordinary times about half that 
 number for, say, 50,000 sheep. 
 
 As Mr. Dill and the manager, whom I was about 
 to dispossess, were too busy to show me over the run, 
 I managed, with the aid of my map and a compass, 
 to find my way on my own to all the sheep stations. 
 
 One afternoon I came to an old shepherd another 
 North of Ireland man with his sheep in the yard at 
 four o'clock in the afternoon. He had no idea that 
 I was the new manager, and I did not enlighten him 
 then, though I did later on. 
 
 In Mr. Hebden I had to deal with a man thoroughly 
 experienced in the management of sheep. A most 
 particular man, too, not only as to the general man- 
 agement, but as to the smallest detail. In fact, an 
 exacting man, and one who never hesitated to find 
 fault if he considered fault had been committed, but 
 who always acted as a gentleman and as a man, and 
 who was just, straight and honourable, and withal 
 of a very kindly nature. He was quite shrewd 
 enough, I am sure, to see that I had had very little 
 experience in the management of sheep or in general 
 station management or in the erection of improve- 
 ments. As a matter of fact, my chief experience of 
 sheep consisted of driving stock to new country in 
 Queensland, and I had had no experience at all in 
 effecting improvements. I think Mr. Hebden saw
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 311 
 
 that I had plenty of go in me, and that I was not 
 a fool. He had no doubt liked the little he had seen 
 of ine, and probably thought that I would be glad to 
 learn iny business under his experienced direction, 
 and that being young he would be able to mould me, 
 and in fact break me in to his own ideas and ways 
 of station management. 
 
 I could not have learnt under a better man, though 
 I squirmed a good deal and rebelled not a little when 
 found fault with. The old gentleman did not spare 
 me. More than once I wrote and asked him if it 
 would not be better to let me go, and get another 
 manager; but he always disarmed me by telling me 
 that his criticisms were for my own good quite as 
 much as in his own interest. Although he never 
 gave me a word of praise to my face, he always 
 spoke highly of me to his friends, who fortunately 
 passed it on to me. Mr. Hebden and his family and 
 I became staunch friends, and I know that I am 
 much indebted to him for the training (irksome as it 
 was) that I underwent during the six years I man- 
 aged Brookong. 
 
 A few months after I went to Brookong Mr. Heb- 
 den engaged a professional to class the ewes, and 
 enjoined me to watch the classing carefully, and to 
 learn all I could. Next year he told me to class the 
 ewes myself. I said I scarcely felt up to it. Mr. 
 Hebden said, "That's my look out. You will, I am 
 sure, learn, and you will be learning at my expense. ' ' 
 When he looked over my work he expressed satisfac- 
 tion, and I classed the ewes from that time on. I 
 was intensely interested in sheep and wool, and as I 
 went into my work with my whole heart and mind 
 and energy, I got so well up in sheep that before I 
 had been three years at Brookong I was asked to act 
 as one of the sheep judges at the Wagga and other 
 shows. 
 
 Brookong was taken up by old Henry Osborne in 
 1847. The proper name is Booragong that is what
 
 :J12 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 the blacks called it. The workingmen invariably call 
 it Bluegong. Even in 1847, Sandy Davidson was 
 settled and living at Bullenbong, adjoining Brookong 
 on the east, and Mrs. Davidson told me she well 
 remembered the Osbornes' sheep passing Bullenbong 
 to take up Brookong in 1847. She also told me that 
 when Henry Osborne was about to take up Brookong 
 he ascended the only hill in the district to have a 
 look round. As he looked out over the plains stretch- 
 ing out west some miles below him, he called out, 
 "There's land enough and galore for me." Hence 
 the hill has gone by the name of the Galore ever 
 since. Galore is Irish, and means plenty. 
 
 Henry Osborne was possessed of those money- 
 making proclivities which are characteristic of so 
 many men hailing from the North of Ireland the 
 Black North, as the Southerners call it. There is a 
 strong Scotch element in the North of Ireland folk 
 which accounts for this. The North of Ireland ac- 
 cent is so like the Scotch accent that many Austra- 
 lians confuse the two. Like the Scotch, the North 
 of Irelanders are good business men, shrewd and 
 thrifty. Almost, if not all, the North of Ireland men 
 who have come to Australia have become wealthy 
 and successful, to wit, the Wilsons, the McCaugheys, 
 McGills, McGaws, and others. The North of Ireland 
 men are the very reverse of the typical Irishman 
 from further South, the careless, thriftless Celt, but 
 withal genial and generous, and good-hearted to a 
 degree. With all his faults, the world would lose 
 much without the Celtic element. 
 
 Henry Osborne brought enough capital with him 
 to Australia to constitute him, from the point of 
 view of those early days, quite a man of wealth, and 
 he turned it to such good use that he was said 
 to have died worth half a million. He had eight 
 sons; four of them died in the prime of life, never- 
 theless the number of his grandsons at date is legion. 
 Pat. H. Osborne, of Currandooley, near Lake George.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 313 
 
 now also deceased, was the eldest of the sons, a fine 
 hospitable man. I never met him or any of the Os- 
 bornes till years after I gave up the management of 
 Brookong. He married a daughter of General Atkin- 
 son, and was an active man. He rode from Mel- 
 bourne to Brookong many years ago, a distance of 
 300 miles, in four days. 
 
 Henry Osborne first settled in the Illawarra dis- 
 trict of New South Wales on a free grant of land 
 from the Imperial Government. No doubt he added 
 to this by purchase. By Orders in Council in 1847 
 provision was made for the granting of leases of 
 Crown lands up to fourteen years with the right of 
 pre-emption. This was a tremendous concession and 
 advantage to squatters, who heretofore had been from 
 "hand to mouth" with no security of tenure, and 
 consequently not in a position to improve their hold- 
 ings or put the land to good use. It was the very 
 best thing that could have been enacted for the 
 advance and good of the country, inasmuch that it 
 encouraged settlement. 
 
 Henry Osborne was shrewd enough to grasp the 
 opportunity, and promptly moved westward and se- 
 cured a splendid area of about three-quarters of a 
 million acres, of which about one-third consisted of 
 open plains country, only requiring water to enable 
 sheep to be depastured. These plains were traversed 
 by the Urangeline Creek, a watercourse eminently 
 adapted for the conservation of water, as there was 
 little fall in the country, and it only required a few 
 comparatively inexpensive dams to make the creek 
 a continuous sheet of water from end to end. On 
 the North side of this big run the Brookong Creek 
 afforded good sites for dams, and over the whole area 
 sites could be got for tanks and dams. No under- 
 ground water has up to date been discovered on 
 Brookong. 
 
 This large area of country comprised three runs, 
 afterwards known as Berry Jerry, fronting the Mur-
 
 314 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 rumbidgee, of about 150,000 acres, sold to John Leitch 
 in 1873; Brookong, on the north side of the Urange- 
 line Creek, of 315,000 acres; and Urangeline, of 
 102,000 acres, on the south side of the Creek, and 
 sold to Robert Rand about 1864. 
 
 Henry Osborne bred some splendid horses, fine big 
 upstanding animals, with plenty of substance and 
 breeding, on a station near Gundagai. 
 
 When I took charge of Brookong it contained 
 315,000 acres, of which 70,000 acres were plains, some 
 50,000 acres open forest, and the balance heavily tim- 
 bered box and pine country, and more or less scrubby. 
 The black wattle and pine gradually spread under 
 stocking, and country at one time open forest soon 
 became a scrub. There were a great many wild horses 
 on Brookong when I went there, probably about 1,500 ; 
 also some hundreds of wild cattle. At that time there 
 were only 46,000 sheep on the 315,000 acres, yet these 
 sheep seemed to occupy the whole area, when in hand 
 that is when shepherded. After being fenced, this 
 same area, without any further improvements, carried 
 96,000 sheep, and carried them better than it carried 
 the 46,000 sheep " in hand." Later on, when ring- 
 barked, and subdivided into moderately-sized pad- 
 docks, and a good deal more water provided, Brookong 
 carried for a while 300,000 sheep. This was after 
 William Halliday took it in hand. 
 
 During the 1866 drought 20,000 sheep out of the 
 46,000 had to be sent away on the road, and they had 
 only just returned when I arrived on the scene. 
 Brookong and Urangeline were noted for their fat 
 wethers. These always walked to Melbourne, and 
 nearly always topped the market. 
 
 Within three months of my having taken charge 
 I sent to Melbourne 2,000 fat wethers, estimated to go 
 60 Ibs., and they topped the market at 20/-. Our 
 flocks ran from 3,000 sheep on the plains, to 1,500 in 
 the scrub. The old shepherds used only to water their 
 fat sheep every second day,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 315 
 
 The Brookong flock in 1866 was chiefly Macansh 
 bred (Rambovillet blood), fine large frames, but they 
 cut under 5 Ibs. of wool, yet ours was one of the best 
 flocks in the district! Before I left, in 1871, I had 
 got the weight up to 6 Ibs., and I thought I had done 
 well, but now any flock averaging under 10 Ibs. is 
 little thought of, and some flocks average up to 
 11^ Ibs., and even up to 12 Ibs. of good clean wool. 
 In those days washing the wool on the sheep's back 
 was in vogue, and I had to erect a sheep wash, with 
 hot water soak as quickly as I could. Gradually 
 sheep owners found out what a mistake they had been 
 making, and about 1877-1878 washing the sheep 
 before shearing was quite discarded. 
 
 As we have said, North of Ireland men were much 
 in vogue with Henry Osborne, and for years one 
 "Archie Irvine" was manager of Brookong. After 
 the severe drought of 1869, Archie told Pat Osborne 
 that I had ruined Brookong, and that unless he pro- 
 vided tons and tons of grass seed, and had it sown 
 on Brookong, the place would never recover. For all 
 that I have the greatest respect, and indeed admira- 
 tion, for old Archie Irvine, long since departed this 
 life. As soon as rain came the grass on Brookong was 
 not only as good as ever, but much thicker, and the 
 herbage much more luxuriant. I have had the very 
 same thing said to me in the Castlereagh district, 
 with the same result. 
 
 I am convinced that to make country good, and 
 to get the best result comparatively, small paddocks 
 are required, and paddock by paddock at certain in- 
 tervals should be eaten right out, and then spelled 
 when rain comes. It stands to reason, unless this 
 is done, stock pick out, and eat out all the best grasses, 
 and the worst weeds, roly poly for instance, flourish 
 apace and are never eaten out. Understocking, if not 
 done judiciously, is almost as bad as overstocking.
 
 316 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Soon after taking charge at Brookong, Mr. Hebden 
 sent me up enough wire to enclose a paddock of 5,000 
 acres; this was at that time looked upon as a small 
 paddock. I was not long getting it erected. Economy 
 was the order of the day, and I put up sixteen-foot 
 panels and five wires. The wires were braced with 
 lighter wire, a very bad plan, as we afterwards found 
 out. My ideal fence now is a six-wire fence, posts 
 thirty-three feet apart, and five strong hardwood 
 battens or droppers between. For sheep I put an 
 extra wire, and when there are cattle a barb wire. 
 Another consignment of wire enabled me to enclose 
 about twelve miles of the frontage at little cost; 
 this formed a good big paddock of some 24,000 acres. 
 I urged Mr. Hebden to send me enough wire to en- 
 close the whole area, and subdivide it into large 
 paddocks, but I believe the Osbornes still looked upon 
 fencing as an experiment, and would not hear of 
 turning out sheep in the scrub while the wild dogs 
 were bad. The dogs were our great trouble. We had 
 cattle stations on three sides of us, and cattle men 
 did not poison, or attempt to get rid of the wild dogs. 
 
 I have mentioned that, when I first went to 
 Brookong, lost sheep were a matter of almost daily 
 occurrence, and that the dogs scattered and killed 
 these lost sheep. The shepherds had got careless, and 
 looked upon losing sheep as a thing that had to be. 
 I asked Mr. Dill to send in to me the first man who 
 lost sheep, and to put another man with his flock. 
 The old fellow, upon whom I had my eye, because 
 the first time I went to his hut I had found his sheep 
 in the yard at four o'clock in the afternoon, lost 
 three hundred sheep, and Dill sent him in. He said, 
 "Mr. Dill has sent me to you. I suppose you are 
 going to settle with me." "Oh, yes," I said, "I will
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 317 
 
 settle with you, but you have lost three hundred 
 sheep. When you find the sheep I'll settle with you." 
 "Oh," he said, "so you refuse to settle with me?" 
 'Not at all," I replied, "I am quite prepared to 
 settle with you as soon as you find the sheep." Off 
 he went, and a week afterwards I got a letter 
 from a solicitor in Albury, addressed to Hebden 
 and Osborne, complaining of the shameful treat- 
 ment an old servant had received at the hands 
 of the new manager, and notifying them that unless 
 the wages were paid at once legal proceedings would 
 be taken. I at once wrote to the solicitor thanking 
 him for having told me of the whereabouts of a shep- 
 herd who had absconded from my hired service, and 
 that I Avould get a warrant out for him. I heard 
 nothing further from the solicitor. About a month 
 afterwards I was passing through a neighbour's run, 
 and saw a flock of sheep camped. I rode over, and 
 sure enough saw a good many of our sheep with them. 
 I asked the shepherd how long he had had them, 
 and he said about a month. All but five of the miss- 
 ing sheep were there. The old shepherd heard I had 
 got the sheep, and came to be settled with. I deducted 
 the value of the five sheep and settled. Then there 
 was a great hullabaloo. Several of the old shepherds, 
 good men, came to me and said they would not be 
 responsible, for, if a man did justice to his sheep and 
 gave them a good spread on the scrub, occasional loss 
 was almost certain, and, with the dogs so bad, some 
 of the lost sheep were sure to be killed. I pacified the 
 old chaps, and assured them I knew a good shepherd 
 when I had one, and they need have no fear. There 
 \vere very few lost sheep after this. 
 
 I got very tired of having some of the sheep pad- 
 docked and some shepherded. It really made more 
 work than when all were shepherded, and I urged 
 Mr. Hebden to send me more wire. He sent me 
 enough to enclose several more paddocks, and on mak- 
 ing it up I found that I had sufficient to enclose all
 
 318 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 of the run that was not fenced with a ring fence. A 
 good many miles of boundary were enclosed with a 
 two-rail cattle fence, and this only required three 
 wires to be added to make it sheep-proof. I took 
 the bull by the horns, and without consulting my 
 principals, set to work as expeditiously as I could, 
 and it was not very long before I had the whole place 
 fenced, and all the sheep turned out. One of my 
 paddocks contained 138,000 acres, all scrub, and 
 another 40,000. The remainder was in more mode- 
 rately sized paddocks. A drought had set in (1869), 
 and I turned 25,000 lambing ewes into the 138,000 
 acres scrub paddock, and to my surprise got 70 per 
 cent, of lambs from sheep that had most of them been 
 previously shepherded. This was a great success, so 
 I scored, and no fault was found with my action in 
 fencing the whole area. 
 
 The day I got the ring fence round Brookong, 
 and the 315,000 acres enclosed, and all the sheep 
 turned out was a gala day with me, and it was ac- 
 complished within two years of my having taken 
 charge. My great trouble was the dogs. Just when 
 I had one paddock ready to take sheep five wild dogs 
 were seen on it. I waited for a week, but could not 
 get the dogs, so I turned the sheep into the paddock. 
 A few were killed, but with them I poisoned the dogs. 
 
 We had a splendid chap named Dick Lynch, who 
 used to get the dogs wholesale. We declared that 
 the smell of old Dick going round the boundary kept 
 the dogs away. Dick was a bit like my old "Paddy 
 the Horse," the old shepherd on the Belyando, who 
 only changed his clothes once a year, and that was 
 the only time he ever washed. 
 
 About 1868 Mr. Hebden asked me to take his son 
 Charles on the station to get station experience. I 
 was much opposed to this, for as I pointed out to Mr. 
 Hebden, it might easily lead to a rupture of the good 
 relations that existed between us by this time I 
 was looked on as a successful manager. Mr. Hebden
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 319 
 
 admitted the point I had made, but said it would have 
 to be. 
 
 Charley was seventeen when he came to me. He 
 was a most lovable lad, capable, too, and a worker. 
 He never for one moment presumed on his position 
 as a son of one of the owners of Brookong. We took 
 to each other from the first, and soon became fast 
 friends, and fast friends we remained all through his 
 life, nor do I consider that his death, which occurred 
 in 1915, terminated our friendship. 
 
 On Mr. Dill's leaving me, Charley became over- 
 seer, and when in 1872 I resigned the management of 
 Brookong, to enter the ministry, old Mr. Hebden was 
 greatly pleased when I strongly recommended 
 Charley as my successor. He was duly appointed, 
 and filled the position admirably till the property, 
 with 96,000 sheep, was sold to William Halliday. 
 After a while at Gogeldrie on the Murrumbidgee, 
 Charley trekked right out to the Paroo to Wanaar- 
 ing, and there he put in many years. The "Never 
 Never" (for really the Paroo may be considered to 
 be the Never Never) always had a fascination for 
 Charley, in spits of chronic drought, heat, flies, and 
 mosquitoes. He bred some good horses at Wanaaring, 
 and interested himself greatly in the local races. It 
 was said that at one meeting at Wanaaring pretty 
 well all the horses belonged to Hebden, he having 
 loaned horses all round to anyone wanting to have a 
 go for the prizes. After a while he started quite a 
 string of racehorses at Randwick. and was fairly 
 successful, on one occasion winning no less than 
 three races in one day. He affected cross country 
 horses; could he have imbibed this from me? And 
 he secured some good stakes with these three good 
 leppers Hallmark, Tyrone and Briarberry all bred 
 by himself. He was a true sportsman, and very 
 popular. To know that a horse was Hebden 's was to 
 know he was going out to win. Charley was a typical 
 Riverina backblock squatter tall, lean and sunburnt,
 
 320 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 The cutting up of large estates has not tended to the 
 production of men of the stamp of the old-time 
 squatter, men of th<> stnmp of my best of friends, 
 Charlie Hebden. 
 
 The work I had to do at Brookong, as also that of 
 Mr. Dill, the overseer, was extremely heavy, and we 
 both of us were, I think, foolish in undertaking as 
 much as we did. We both of us rode on an average 
 12,000 miles a year. Take my own work. Here was 
 on area of 315,000 acres, of which two-thirds WHS 
 scrub, and for the first two years I had the shepherds 
 to look after as well as the fencing to erect. To 
 count the shepherds' flocks, either Mr. Dill or I had 
 to ride from ten to twenty-six miles and back in the 
 early morning or late in the evening. We seldom 
 got home till after dark, and breakfast was in the 
 winter at half-past six o'clock, and in summer any 
 time after daylight. We had no back station all 
 the work was done from the head station no tracks. 
 I had no bookkeeper, only a ration carrier one Bob 
 Johnston, whom we called "storekeeper." He just 
 weighed out the store things, and put them down, 
 T had to keep all the books. 
 
 When old Bob had his cart loaded, and all ready 
 for a start, he always lit his pipe before getting under 
 way, and the old horse he drove got so used to this 
 that he would not start until he heard the match 
 struck. 
 
 There were great numbers of wild horses on 
 Brookong. As our subdivision fences were only of 
 five wires, these brumbies used to damage them a 
 great deal. Occasionally some of our young horses 
 got away with the wild ones, and in trying to recover 
 them as likely as not we would cripple a good horse. 
 There must have been quite 1,500 wild horses and 400 
 wild cattle on the place when I took charge. 
 
 We had no fast horses among the station hacks fit 
 to tackle brumbies, and, even if we had had the horses 
 we had no time for that sort of work.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 321 
 
 I shot a great many of them one time and another 
 with a big colt revolver. I could get them easily at a 
 hundred yards. One day I got a brumby mare at 
 200 yards right through the heart, and another day 
 at over a quarter of a mile I fired into a mob of 
 brumbies, and when they started away one was very 
 lame. After a few strides I saw that his leg was 
 broken, and galloped up and put an end to him. My 
 bullet had hit him on the fetlock, and as he galloped 
 away the bone broke. 
 
 A small lot of brumbies had got into a scrubby 
 paddock of about 1,200 acres adjoining the homestead, 
 but on the North side of the creek. One day, after 
 a long gallop, I ran five of these horses over the wire 
 fence into the next paddock. The rest of the horses 
 four broke back into their own paddock. I fol- 
 lowed the five out on the plains, and on trying to head 
 them I forgot all about a five-wire division fence. 
 I was riding a very hard-pulling little black horse 
 called Billy, and when I saw the fence it was too 
 late to even try to pull up. We took it at full gallop. 
 Billy quivered on the top wire, and then slipped 
 along it, balanced till my foot struck a post, an.d we 
 both rolled over unhurt. I put Billy back over the 
 bent wire and ran the horses into a corner, and over 
 the same fence into the next paddock in which there 
 was no water. I left them there for six days, and 
 even then it took me some time to run them down and 
 shoot them, though they had been six days without 
 water after a long gallop. A wild bull went through 
 the whole summer in the same paddock without water, 
 and was quite fresh at the end of it, although he 
 was pretty full of revolver bullets. In the end we 
 shot him with a rifle. 
 
 We shot all the brumbies that were left in the 
 paddock joining the homestead, except one. The pad- 
 dock was nearly all scrub, and we could not manage 
 either to shoot or run in the one horse left, a grey, 
 common-bred colt. This fellow always beat us. At
 
 322 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 last Mr. Dill and I determined we would get him. 
 We had no fast horses, so we had to make up our 
 minds to run him down. Dill and I, and three or 
 four of the men, ran the beggar turn about for a 
 whole day without success. When we mustered up 
 in the evening one of the men was missing, and his 
 horse turned up without his rider. We returned to 
 the scrub and rode about, shouting for several hours, 
 but could not find the missing man. Next day all 
 hands rode over the 1,200-acre paddock till 12 
 o'clock, and could not find our man. I was greatly 
 perturbed about him; he was a nice, quiet, decent 
 chap, and a good boundary rider. The paddock was, 
 as I have said, adjoining the homestead, so we went 
 home for dinner. I am a believer in prayer, and 
 I prayed very fervently that I might find that man. 
 When I started out to look for him again, it just 
 seemed to me as if I was being led along, and sure 
 enough I rode straight to where the poor fellow lay 
 on the ground almost on the edge of the scrub, and it 
 was remarkable how we had missed him. As I ap- 
 proached what I thought was a dead man, I called 
 out, "Poor fellow, I am afraid it's all up with you." 
 At o'nce he raised his head, and when I reached him 
 and examined him, I was found he was quite unin- 
 jured, except that he had received severe concussion 
 of the brain. He had lain there unconscious for about 
 twenty-four hours. In going between the two trees 
 he had struck one with his head. I could see the 
 mark on the bark. I put him on my horse and he 
 rode home. He did not get right for a month, but 
 eventually quite recovered. 
 
 It was this man's 30 cheque that the Blue Cap 
 gang stole afterwards out of my cash-box. With 
 regard to finding him, of course most people will 
 say, "a coincidence," but I am certain I was lead to 
 the man. Where I found him, actually within sight 
 of the homestead, was the last place I would have 
 thought of looking for him.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 323 
 
 The following lines fully express my ideas on 
 prayer : 
 
 It may be true, 
 
 That while we walk the troublous tossing sea, 
 That when we see the o'ertopping waves advance, 
 And when we feel our feet beneath us sink, 
 There are those who walk beside us and the cry 
 That rises so spontaneously to the lips, 
 The "Help us or we perish" is not nought 
 An evanescent spectrum of disease. 
 It may be that in deed and not in fancy 
 A hand that is not ours upstays our steps, 
 A voice that is not ours commands the waves, 
 
 thou of little faith, why didst thou doubt? 
 At any rate 
 
 That there are beings above us I believe, 
 And when we lift up holy hands in prayer 
 
 1 will not say they will not give us aid. 
 
 One day John Leitch, of Berry Jerry, the best 
 serub-rider on the Murrumbidgee, and a fine fellow, 
 was coming through Brookong with a mob of Berry 
 Jerry horses for Melbourne. He had lost two good 
 horses in the Galore scrub on a former occasion, and 
 he and one of his stockmen, being well mounted, went 
 off each with a halter to see if they could get them. 
 They did not get the two that were lost, but they 
 returned within an hour each with a wild horse hal- 
 tered. They turned them into the mob. Whey they 
 got to Brookong, Leitch 's "catch" took a big drink 
 at the creek and lay down and died. The stockman 
 took his, a fine half-bred draught mare, to Melbourne, 
 and sold her for 35. At the time I thought this a 
 good performance, but since then my nephew, Jack 
 MacKenzie, son of the Farquhar MacKenzie men- 
 tioned in Captain Murchison's memoirs, told me that 
 he and his brother Hector ran down and haltered no 
 less than 1,200 wild horses in the Gippsland ranges, 
 steep, heavily-timbered mountain country. They had
 
 324 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 fast well-bred horses, and well fed. If your horse is 
 fast enough to run right up to a wild horse in almost 
 a quarter or half a mile, the feat of running it down 
 is not a very difficult one for an expert horseman. 
 A wild horse is very easily cowed ; these two brothers 
 used to lassoo their horses and tie them to a tree, and 
 go on and get some more. 
 
 It is a curious fact that wild horses can be run 
 down much more easily in steep rocky mountains 
 than in level forest country. In the former wild 
 horses can't travel fast, and not being accustomed 
 to fast work they are not only more easily winded, 
 but get all abroad when tackled by a determined 
 horsemen on a well-bred, fast, corn-fed horse. In the 
 level forest country the brumbies gallop off like mad, 
 the moment they see or hear a horseman ; conse- 
 quently they are always in good wind and in good 
 running condition, and it is a much more difficult 
 matter to run up to them than in the steep ranges. 
 At Brookong we reckoned we had to gallop forty 
 miles to run down wild horses. 
 
 Their performance is the best I have ever heard of, 
 but they thought nothing of it, and never talked about 
 it. I got it out of them quite by accident. With men 
 like these is it any wonder that our boys have dis- 
 tinguished themselves in action. Again and again 
 I say 
 
 God bless them for their big soft hearts, 
 And the brave, brave grins they wear. 
 
 In the drought of 1869 all the water in our big 
 138,000 acres Galore paddock dried up except a little 
 in Green's Gunyah dam, where the township of Lock- 
 hart is now situated, and a little in one other tank a 
 few miles away. I was very anxious to get this water 
 fenced off so that I could trap all the wild horses and 
 cattle, but could not get Mr. Hebden's consent. I 
 then told some Urana men, named Tweedie (fine fel-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 325 
 
 lows) that if they would fence off the waterholes they 
 could have all the horses they could trap for their 
 trouble. The Tweedies set to work and fenced off the 
 water. Green Gunyah took about three-quarters of a 
 mile, and the other water about half a mile of fencing. 
 A strong yard was erected at one end of the Green 
 Gunyah enclosure and a gateway left. The fencing 
 did not prevent the sheep from watering, but no large 
 stock could water without coming through the gate- 
 way. The brumbies soon found the way into the 
 water, and for a few nights the Tweedies let them, 
 come in and out as they liked. Then the Tweedies 
 camped some distance away, and at night one of 
 them sat on the ground behind one of the posts of 
 the one gateway leading into the enclosure, and, as 
 the horses tried to get back after having had a drink, 
 he threw sticks at them, frightening them back. At 
 daylight the rails were put up and the bag inspected. 
 At the end of two weeks there were about 900 head of 
 horses in the yard. It was a great sight. The horses used 
 to stampede sometimes, and if one of them fell it 
 never got up again, being trampled to death. During 
 the first week a good many were killed in this way, or 
 had to be shot. One day I got carried away in a 
 stampede, and if my horse had fallen it would have 
 been all up with me. I felt very uncomfortable until 
 I managed to pull my horse down the bank of the 
 creek, and thus get out of the rush. 
 
 When all the horses had been trapped, word was 
 sent to all the neighbours. All the branded horses, 
 numbering over 300, were drafted out, and 26 horse- 
 men took them safely to the Tirana pound, about 
 thirty miles away, not one being lost. All the wild 
 horses on the run, except one, were trapped that 
 one, a pure white stallion, used to jump into the en- 
 closure at night and jump out again. At the end 
 of ten days the Tweedies came to me and said they 
 would have to throw up the job. They had lost half 
 of their own horses it was a drought they could
 
 326 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 get no hay, and they said they would have to let the 
 horses go. Finally I agreed with them to pay them 
 money out of pocket, and that I should take over 
 the horses. 
 
 After the branded horses were taken away there 
 were about 500 head left. I put them in the stockyard 
 and tried to draft off the best, but it was impossible 
 to separate them. I then got my rifle and shot about 
 350 of the culls one afternoon, and paid the Tweedies 
 to drag the dead bodies away a bit. The main coach 
 to Wagga ran pretty close to the yard, and I got into 
 great trouble over the terrible stench that arose, but 
 I could not even get labour to skin the horses, and 
 save the hair from the tails and manes, so could not 
 get them burnt. When I had finished shooting most 
 of the horses my shoulder was quite black from the 
 recoil of the rifle. At times a bullet would go through 
 three horses at once. A bullet went right through 
 one mare, in at one side and out at the other about 
 four inches below the spine, and she was none the 
 worse for it. 
 
 Half a dozen of us took the remaining wild horses 
 down to the head station, 12 miles, without any 
 trouble, and after a few days we branded them, trans- 
 formed the stallions, and after tailing them for three 
 weeks I sent them to Corowa, where they realised 
 nine shillings a head, being less than the cost of tail- 
 ing and droving. 
 
 There were some good looking horses amongst them, 
 but as a rule real brumbies turn out badly. They are 
 inbred and badly inbred, and have no stamina. When 
 I was shooting the culls a teamster asked me to let 
 him have a big half-draught horse. I told him the 
 horse was too old, but as he was anxious to have it, 
 1 let him take it. He roped it, and when it was 
 being pulled up it dashed at one of the dead horses 
 and savagely caught a leg in its mouth. When I 
 looked at the horse's mouth, the teeth were broken.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 327 
 
 He must have been twenty years old. A bullet soon 
 ended his career. 
 
 I bought two fine-looking branded horses out of 
 them from our neighbour, Jackson, of Boree Creek, 
 both unbroken. One a strong bay I broke in he 
 was about eight years old and very savage. He used 
 at first to run right at me with his mouth open, but I 
 Rareyed him, and soon got him quiet. I called him 
 Bravo. The other was a very handsome, coal-black, 
 well-bred horse. Jackson said he must have been ten 
 years old. He was very quiet and quite gentle, and 
 made a good hack. All he ever did was to run along 
 with his head almost on the ground, striking at the 
 bit, but he soon gave this up. 
 
 I was riding him one day out on the run, and the 
 bit dropped out of his mouth. I was going pretty" 
 fast, and there was a five-wire fence in front of us. 
 I put my arms round .his neck and dropped oft 6 on 
 the ground and rolled over all right. He never offered 
 to kick me, and galloped away. He jumped the wire 
 fence like a bird. I got him again. Another horse 
 I at one time had run in out of the wild horses at 
 Brookong, was bucking with me one day, and sud- 
 denly stopped, threw up his head and caught me so 
 heavily in the mouth as to knock out a tooth, knock- 
 ing me out of the saddle at the same time. The brute 
 kicked me as he went away, and I never saw him 
 again. I named him "Bertrand," after a Sydney 
 dentist who was condemned for murdering a patient, 
 but who got off with a life sentence, and was after- 
 wards liberated. 
 
 We got rid of about 200 wild cattle at the yards in 
 which we trapped the horses. It was a splendid 
 clearance. The wild cattle and horses must have con- 
 sumed the grass of 12,000 sheep, for they picked the 
 very best and trampled a lot more. Moreover, they 
 broke the fences, and sometimes a quiet horse escaped 
 among them,
 
 328 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 I was greatly pleased over the capture of the brutes 
 at such a small cost, too. 
 
 While I was at Brookong we had as Commissioner 
 of Lands Mr. Crommelin, a man of a very different 
 stamp to the Land Appraisers so graphically depicted 
 by my friend Tighe Barton in his most interesting 
 and racy reminiscences. And here I must protest 
 against my friend's sweeping condemnation of these 
 appraisers. I quite well know the men to whom Mr. 
 Barton alludes. One of them, when appraising the 
 value of a selection of mine, gave me a great many 
 hints that he would like to have a pair of horses I 
 was driving, but I was not going to bribe the brute, 
 and took my chance of having the land put up. As 
 a matter of fact, it was not put up. The other was 
 valuing some of my neighbour's (Murphy's) land, 
 and he asked him to sell him a horse he had taken a 
 fancy to, but my neighbour never "dropped" to 
 what the fellow was aiming at, and the appraiser 
 went away without the horse. When I drew Murphy's 
 attention to what the fellow had been up to, he felt 
 inclined to kick himself. I am afraid, had he known 
 what the appraiser was driving at, he would have let 
 him have the horse ! 
 
 These men should never have been employed by 
 the Government; they were known to be shady char- 
 acters. All this happened thirty years ago, and they 
 are the only two appraisers I have ever known of that 
 kidney. 
 
 Tom Crommelin, Commissioner of Crown Lands in 
 New South Wales, was a Bayard sans peur et sane 
 reproche, a high-bred English gentleman of the old 
 type capable, courteous, and overflowing with the 
 milk of human kindness. He was respected and loved 
 by all who knew him; generous and large-handed to 
 a degree ; very fond of horses, indeed devoted to them, 
 and before coming to Australia, being well off, he 
 indulged his sporting proclivities, and not being con- 
 tent with keeping a good string of hunters, he unfor-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 329 
 
 tunately went on the turf. He was a famous horse- 
 man, and owned some good horses, and Avon some 
 good races. One of his racehorses was the well-known 
 mare "The Widow." One of his exploits was ac- 
 complishing a water jump of some thirty feet to win 
 a wager for a friend. Crommelin got another friend 
 to be at the landing side of the water jump, dressed 
 in hunting costume and with a pack of hounds. As 
 Crommelin, also in hunting costume, started his horse 
 Nonsense for the jump, his friend gave a view 
 hallo and galloped off with the hounds, and Crom- 
 melin, giving another hallo, sent his horse at the water 
 at a merry pace an got over with a little to spare, 
 winning the bet for his friend. I wish I could remem- 
 ber some of the many yarns told me by the dear old 
 man of his exploits in ' ' silk and scarlet. ' ' 
 
 Whenever Tom Crommelin arrived at a station, 
 and there were children to the fore, solemnly and 
 courteously the old gentleman would approach the 
 lady of the house or the governess, as the case might 
 be, and assuring her that it was his birthday, asked if 
 the children might have a holiday. Of course his 
 request was never refused, but after a while it leaked 
 out that the old gentleman 's birthday always occurred 
 when he visited a station where there were children. 
 
 One winter, it must have been 1870, I drove to 
 Faed's Butherwah Station to meet him, with four 
 horses in my little buggy, in order to bring him to 
 Brookong. The Urangeline Creek was very high and 
 rising, and I had to cross it to get to Faed 's. I found 
 it quite high enough, and told Mr. Crommelin to lose 
 no time. In order to raise the seat so as to be out of 
 the water I borrowed a bag of potatoes from Faed, 
 and this I put on the seat, and the buggy cushion on 
 top of it, also Mr. Crommelin 's luggage, so we were 
 well cocked up in the air. The creek had risen mean- 
 while and the horses had to swim, but the heavy bag 
 of potatoes and our weight kept the buggy on the 
 bottom, and the water did not come over the potatoes,
 
 330 
 
 so we got over dry. When he saw the horses swim- 
 ming and a few little things out of the buggy going 
 floating down the stream, the old fellow looked at me 
 so comically, but never saying a word, that I roared 
 with laughter. Mr. Crommelin thought it a great 
 joke. 
 
 He quite enjoyed having a drive next day with four 
 horses, two of them never having been in before, but 
 he refused to shoot at a wild turkey from behind 
 them. Mr. Crommelin 's headquarters were in Albury, 
 and everyone loved him there, too. 
 
 Some years afterwards when I was working as a 
 parson in Albury I used to visit a poor dying Ger- 
 man, and I found he was lying on a hard mattress. 
 I mentioned this in Crommelin 's hearing, and he 
 asked me to take him to see the sick man that even- 
 ing. I went to the hotel for him, and he came out 
 with a mattress on his back. He had taken it off his 
 own bed and carried it to the poor German and in- 
 sisted on him using it. This was an index to Crom- 
 melin 's character. 
 
 I can always see the dear old man as if standing 
 beside me with a whimsical look on the sweet old face. 
 I did love him, and do love him, and what's more I 
 know he loved me. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 I think it was about 1870 that it was decided to 
 give the then Governor of New South Wales, the Earl 
 of Belmore, a trip througli the country which would 
 give him a good idea of the bush, and of bush life. 
 
 Lady Belmore and Miss Gladstone, her sister, were 
 to accompany him. A committee was formed at 
 Wagga to arrange their route from Wagga on to 
 Deniliquin, and I was asked to put up the Governor
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 331 
 
 and party, from Saturday until Monday, at Brookong. 
 I replied that it would give me much pleasure, but 
 that as I was only a manager, the Governor would 
 have to take us just as we were. I could not make any 
 arrangements involving expense. The committee re- 
 plied that the Governor wished particularly to see 
 how people lived in the bush, and that he much 
 deprecated any fuss being made by way of entertain- 
 ing him, and that they were sure he would thoroughly 
 enjoy a quiet two days in a bush home. I therefore 
 made no more preparations for them than I would 
 have made for some friends of the owners coming to 
 pay us a visit. My sister was fortunately staying with 
 me. I met the party about ten miles from Brookong 
 with four of MacKinnon 's grey horses, all ready 
 harnessed, and put them into the Governor's trap, 
 and left the coachman to come on in my buggy. The 
 road, just a narrow bush track, was badly cut up and 
 very heavy, so much to the Earl's surprise I pulled 
 off into the bush, which was timbered and scrubby. 
 He seemed to think it rather infra dig when I had 
 now and then to call to him to duck his head to avoid 
 the branches. However, he did as General Birdwood 
 did when being shown through the trenches one day 
 at Gallipoli by an Australian, who hastily called out, 
 "Duck, Birdie, duck." "And what did you do?" 
 said the General, to whom Birdwood was telling the 
 story. "Why, I ducked," said "Birdie." 
 
 We were travelling pretty fast, and had got out of 
 the scrub when I turned round and said to Lady 
 Belmore, "I hope I am not going too fast." "Not a 
 bit," said she, incautiously. "You can go faster if 
 you like." The Earl said nothing, but looked a good 
 deal as I let the horses spiel out at a hard gallop. 
 The road was now good. We soon left the rest of the 
 party police and all out of sight, and kept the pace 
 well up right into the Brookong garden through a 
 very narrow gateway. Lady Belmore and Miss 
 Gladstone were delighted, but I think the Earl was
 
 332 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 not quite so much pleased; anyway I am quite sure 
 he did not like to be told to duck his head. 
 
 They were all just as nice as could be, no side or 
 frills, and they seemed very pleased at being left to 
 do just as they liked, and no fuss made about them. 
 Lady Belmore had no maid, which was a blessing, 
 and the aide-de-camp was an awfully nice fellow, a 
 Captain Beresford, a connection of mine he said. We 
 had a very rough couple in the kitchen. We used 
 to call the woman "the donkey engine," in reference 
 to the fairy-like tread and explosive mode of ex- 
 pressing herself. I had warned her to call Lady Bel- 
 more ' ' my lady, ' ' but the ' ' donkey engine ' ' said to me 
 shortly after the arrival of the party, "Drat the 
 woman, I'll call her Mrs. Belmore." And Mrs. Bel- 
 more it was, much to Lady Belmore 's and Miss Glad- 
 stone 's amusement. Miss Gladstone later on married 
 a very nice New England squatter, Dumaresq. 
 
 Lady Belmore was very handsome. The whole party 
 made themselves quite at home, and evidently en- 
 joyed their visit. The first night, at dinner, we had 
 macaroni cheese, and the "donkey engine" sent it in 
 cold, greatly to the amusement of my sister and 
 myself, but our guests were, I think, rather devoid 
 of a sense of humour, for they never smiled over it. 
 And now just here I have got an opportunity of 
 slipping in my macaroni cheese story. 
 
 A very fine old Irish squire, who also had a very 
 fine old Irish butler, had to dinner one day a jumped- 
 up parvenu neighbour. In due course macaroni 
 cheese was served, and as the old butler passed the 
 cheese to the parvenu, the latter called out, "Shug- 
 gar." The old butler scorned to reply. After a bit 
 the man again called out "Shuggar." Greatly scan- 
 dalized and incensed, the old butler bent down and 
 hissed into the luckless man's ears, "'Tis mustard 
 they ates with that, and bedamt to you." 
 
 I am sorry I can't remember the place where this 
 happened about seventy years ago in Ireland.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 333 
 
 My guests were glad to rest quietly on Sunday, and 
 just stroll about or read. The only subjects that I 
 could get the Earl to talk about were calves and tile 
 draining. I knew a little about calves, and he was 
 interested to hear that I had branded as many as 340 
 in one day, and that on big cattle stations as many 
 as ten thousand calves were branded in a year. If it 
 had been fifty years later I could have said twenty- 
 five thousand, for they branded that number one year 
 at "W. F. Buchanan's big Wave Hill Station in the 
 Northern Territory. On tile draining the Earl had 
 it all his own way. 
 
 As it was out of the question asking the "donkey 
 engine" to wait at table, I borrowed from a neighbour 
 a man who said he had been a valet. This chap did 
 not do so badly; he was deft and handy, but gave 
 me nothing to eat, and hovered about the Earl with 
 "Will your Lordship try a potato?" "Will your 
 Ladyship try this or that?" So that my sister and 
 I had hard work to keep our faces. In fact, between 
 the "donkey engine" and the valet we enjoyed our- 
 selves immensely. 
 
 Sunday night it rained all night, and in the morn- 
 ing the Brookong Creek was in flood and our four 
 horses had got across. Before the creek came down 
 Mr. Dill whipped into the creek, swam his horse over, 
 and drove our four greys back over it. With the 
 water dripping off them, they were harnessed up and 
 put into the trap, much to the surprise of the Gover- 
 nor, who had witnessed the whole performance, and 
 said to me, "Well, that is something to remember." 
 
 His drive was something to remember, too, for I 
 heard some years afterwards that he gave his friends 
 in England a graphic account of his visit to Brookong. 
 
 We had eighteen miles of heavy mud and water 
 to splash through to get to Urana, and we did it 
 under the two hours. James Cochrane met us at 
 Urana, and took the party out to his beautiful home,
 
 334 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 "Widgiewa," afterwards sold to J. S. Horsfall, and 
 by him sold to one of the Falkiners. Cochrane enter- 
 tained the Governor right royally for two days, and 
 gave a kangaroo hunt, and all sorts of good living. 
 I am afraid I annoyed my old friend Cochrane not a 
 little at Urana, when he asked me, "What shall I 
 call the Earl?" "Oh," I said, "he's a first rate 
 fellow, and so long as you don't call him too late for 
 his dinner you may call him anything you like!" 
 Cochrane did not forgive me for a long time, and 
 got home on me later by telling his friends that after 
 one of my many falls I arrived at some function in 
 a flour bag! 
 
 There was a story current that on the occasion of 
 Sir John Young's visiting "Widgiewa" old Jimmy 
 Wilson being then manager and host Wilson, whose 
 soubriquet was "Ursa Major," hesitated as to how 
 he would address Sir John, and finally floundered on 
 "Your holiness." 
 
 After I delivered up the Governor and party at 
 Urana, I had six horses to take back to Brookong, 
 and only my own little buggy to put them in. It 
 was a little old tray buggy Charley Lloyd had sold 
 to me as being about done. I ran it for four years, 
 patched up with green hide, clothes line and wire, so 
 that it became quite a bye-word in the district. I 
 arrived at the Yanco with it one evening. Joe Weir 
 came home late, after we had all gone to bed, and 
 saw a strange buggy in the yard. He was wondering 
 who had come, but when he looked at the buggy he 
 said at once, "Greenhide and clothes line Fether- 
 ston's here!" 
 
 I had once to take a pair of horses over to Weir, 
 so I made up six and put them in the little old buggy. 
 My brother came with me. I had no breeching and 
 no brake. The six horses, if they chose, could have 
 gone anywhere at any pace they liked with us, but 
 they went along gallantly. About six miles from the
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 335 
 
 Yanco the rim came off one wheel and we ran along 
 for a short distance on the spokes. We were near a 
 fence, so took a piece of wire out of it, and fixed up 
 the wheel, and reached our destination all right. Joe 
 Weir that evening, on his way home, called at an old 
 ram shepherd's. He asked the shepherd, "Did you 
 see Mr. Fetherston go by to-day?" "I don't know 
 who it was," said the old man, "but I saw a bluggy 
 lunatic go by with a mob of horses, and he had some- 
 thing tied to them." 
 
 The next day we took our six-in-hand to Yamma 
 to give the Lloyds a treat. We found Roddie Mur- 
 chison, of Yathong, there with a four-in-hand in a 
 buggy. The following day we started off, and going 
 along the road we came rather suddenly on a swaggie. 
 When he saw two buggies and ten horses he stared 
 at us open-mouthed. "Must be a bluggy circus," 
 we heard him say. 
 
 I did a lot of scrub driving while at Brookong, and 
 still more while at Goorianawa. I could take a buggy 
 and four horses through scrub no one could have got 
 through with a pair, for you want strength to pull 
 through scrub. You have to pull a lot of it down 
 with the horses and buggy. In pine scrub I have 
 often had the hind wheels lifted right off the ground 
 by the recoil of a big pine sapling, and have had to 
 cut the saplings before I could get on. 
 
 I have often lost sight of my leaders in scrub. In 
 scrub driving you must never hesitate. Often when 
 approaching a tight place I used to look away till I 
 reached it; then there was no time to hesitate. I 
 just had to go for the best opening. I always drove 
 with long traces. I have never use bars; had I 
 used bars I'd have had ten times as many smashes. 
 With long traces fastened well back to rings in the 
 wheeler's traces you can turn as sharp as you like 
 without any risk of a broken pole, and if your team 
 should get away with you you can always pull your
 
 336 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 leaders one way and your wheelers the other, and 
 they must stop. Some of them will probably fall, 
 and that stops the lot. 
 
 As I had given up races, to me the event of the 
 year while at Brookong was the annual show at 
 Wagga Wagga. We had no show stock at Brookong, 
 but my friend Godfrey Mackinnon, of North Goo- 
 nambil, on the Billabong, was a great fancier of good 
 stock. He went in for good sheep, good cattle, good 
 dogs, good fowls, and good horses. Godfrey and I 
 became staunch friends. He was not what you could 
 call a horsey man ; he was not a crack horseman, and 
 just a fair driver, but he greatly loved to ride and 
 drive good cattle. He had several beautiful hacks, 
 and a number of handsome high-class harness horses. 
 
 The latter used to get a bit too much for Godfrey, 
 would not stand at gates for him, nor yet always 
 start off well, so he used to send them over to me to 
 work and train. In a month or two I used to get the 
 horses perfectly quiet at gates, and at starting, but 
 as soon as I sent them back they were as bad as ever. 
 
 I have never had any trouble with horses at gates ; 
 the great thing is not to let them start the moment 
 you get into the buggy, or, worse still, when you put 
 your foot on the step. Never let your horses start 
 till you are settled in your seat, and until you tell 
 them to start. 
 
 At show time I always had some of Godfrey's 
 horses in hand. For one show I made up a very 
 unique team, consisting of four grey horses hitched 
 in rather an unusual fashion. I had a fine dapple 
 grey in the shafts, then two handsome greys ahead 
 of the shaft horse, and ahead of them all I had in 
 the lead one of the most beautiful and perfect horses 
 I have ever seen old Gambler, who, on this occasion, 
 took first prize as best lady's hack, first prize as best 
 gentleman's hack, as well as first prize as best tan- 
 dem leader. My shaft horse took first prize as best
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 337 
 
 single-harness horse, and the other two greys got 
 first prize as buggy pair. 
 
 It was a very pretty team and was much admired, 
 and was so handy that I could have driven it any- 
 where that a pair of horses could have gone. I drove 
 Gambler without winkers, and he behaved like the 
 gentleman he was. As I had six reins to handle, and 
 four very spirited horses attached to a light single 
 buggy, without a brake, it must have been evident 
 that the horses were well trained. 
 
 I called this get-up the "Diamond Team," but 
 with my friends it went by the name of the "Bedlam 
 Team." I had nothing to drive in but a low, light 
 old one-seated buggy, with no brake, and after three 
 days in the stable the team took some holding going 
 home. I was by myself, and was in the dark over 
 half of the fifty-six miles. One part of the road 
 was cut through scrub, and I found it hard to keep 
 the track in the dark, but it was still more hard to 
 get back to the track when I got off it, for by the 
 time the buggy was off the road old Gambler was 
 ever so far in the bush, and the same thing hap- 
 pened when getting back on the track. However, 
 we made home all right in a little over five hours. 
 
 After one show I did the same distance, less four 
 miles, in four hours with three of the team. At the 
 end of fifty-two miles one of my wheels had got on 
 fire, and got fast stuck. I had to leave the buggy, 
 and ride the last four miles bareback. 
 
 The night before taking the Bedlam Team to the 
 show, Tom Shaw, who was one of the sheep judges, 
 came to Brookong (by invitation), I having promised 
 to drive him to the show. Tom Shaw was a man who 
 took good care of himself, and his agreeing to sit 
 behind the Bedlam Team seemed out of the question. 
 My friends offered to bet odds against my getting 
 him to go with me. However, I lay low, and in the 
 morning the buggy drew up with a beautiful tandem
 
 338 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 hitched to it, Gambler as leader, and away we went 
 nice and quietly, Shaw greatly pleased. About six 
 miles on at a gate we overtook one of my chaps lead- 
 ing the other two horses. I said to Shaw, "There 
 are two of MacKinnon's horses going to the show. 
 They are very quiet. If I join them to our team 
 it will save the man going to Wagga, and he is 
 wanted at home. You will not mind if we join them 
 to our team?" By this time Shaw had got "set," 
 as the cricketers have it, and he made no objection 
 and off we went. The horses travelled beautifully, 
 and Shaw said he never enjoyed a drive so much in 
 his life. 
 
 On another occasion I had arranged to drive God- 
 frey to one Wagga show in his own buggy, and four 
 of his horses. Unfortunately, one of the good four 
 greys had gone lame, and we had to replace him in 
 the team with a much inferior animal. We stayed 
 at Pomingalarna, a few miles out of Wagga, for the 
 night. A Mr. Paul, who was married to a very 
 charming wife, put us up for the night. Over night 
 I asked him if he had a grey harness horse that 
 would match ours, so that I could take the inferior 
 animal out of the team, as she quite spoiled it. He 
 said he had the very horse for us, and in the morn- 
 ing he showed us a fine upstanding grey horse, just 
 what we wanted. Paul said the horse was rather 
 flash, but that, he knew, did not matter to me. How- 
 ever, as I was driving Mackinnon's buggy with him 
 for a passenger, I said I would try the new horse 
 with one other before starting off with the team. 
 Pomingalarna is situated on a hill. I put the new 
 horse in with one of ours and drove him a couple 
 of miles. He pulled very hard, and when I returned 
 I said I would not take him unless I could get a bit 
 with a curb to it. Unfortunately we found a curb 
 bit, and we put the new horse, whom we had 
 christened Paul, off-side in the pole, and started off
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 339 
 
 down the hill. We had no brake. Paul tried to bolt 
 at once, and when I checked him on the curb he 
 lashed out, and in a second the whole four were off, 
 Paul lashing out viciously. We got down the hill, 
 but with the horses galloping furiously. The buggy, 
 which had a heavy hood on it, began to sway so that 
 we could sarcely remain in. Mackinnon said, "Can't 
 I help you?" I said, "It will be all over in a few 
 minutes," and as I spoke the upper part of the 
 buggy in one of the sways parted from the lower and 
 turned over, and we with it. The horses ran dif- 
 ferent sides of a tree a little further on, and that 
 stopped the wheelers. The leaders went off, but were 
 caught, and none of the horses was injured. I got 
 off with a scraped face, but Mackinnon was a fairly 
 heavy man, and fell heavily on his back, and was a 
 bit hurt. Frank Murphy, of Clear Hills, was behind 
 us with a nice pair of greys; her was a good sport. 
 We caught our own three horses, put one of Murphy 's 
 with them, and drove the four into Wagga. As we 
 drove into the yard some of our friends came out 
 and said, "Well, Godfrey, the odds about your get- 
 ting here without an accident were about even, but 
 here you are all right." When they saw my face, 
 and Godfrey limping, the truth had to come out, but 
 really it was quite a pretty little incident, and gave 
 Godfrey something to talk about for a while. 
 
 At this same show there were two young English- 
 men who had a station near Wagga. The name of 
 one was Rasch; the other belonged to the good old 
 English family of "Pine Coffin." The name of the 
 firm, "Rasch and Pine Coffin," was certainly rather 
 remarkable. 
 
 Godfrey MacKinnon's elder brother, Charles, was 
 a well-known personality in Riverina, and being a 
 Highlander, was naturally irascible. On one occa- 
 sion he was crossing a mob of cattle over the Mur- 
 rumbidgee when in flood no bridges or punts in 
 those days.
 
 340 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 When the cattle got into the middle of the river 
 they began to ring. The stockman swam his horse 
 in after them to stop them ; if the cattle continued 
 to ring it meant loss. When cattle are ringing, 
 whether on land or in water, you must, in order to 
 stop them, head them in the direction they are ring- 
 ing. The stockman did the opposite to this, and 
 when Charley saw what he was doing he knelt down 
 and fervently prayed, "Oh, Lord, drown the beggar; 
 drown him, drown him, but save the horse." 
 
 In 1868 an event that created much interest in the 
 sporting world came off at Wagga Wagga. This was 
 the historic Ten-mile Race. 
 
 The idea originated with my old friend Rawdon 
 Greene, or, as he himself pronounced it, "Wawden 
 Gweene." 
 
 As I then had conscientious scruples as to attend- 
 ing races, I, much to my regret then and ever since, 
 missed seeing this most interesting event. 
 
 The prize was 300; weights, twelve stone with 
 allowances. The first five horses were in splendid 
 condition, and were well ridden, and came in not 
 much distressed. One of them was H. T. Bowler's 
 "Australian," ridden by that first-class old-time joc- 
 key, Billy Yeomans, who is still to the fore growing 
 wheat somewhere in the Grenfell district; Richard 
 Grosvenor rode his own horse, "Comet," into second 
 place; William Bowen only managed to get third 
 place with that constant and fast mare, "Riverina." 
 (As showing the quality of the "Ten-mile" horses, it 
 is worth mentioning that Riverina had run third in 
 the Melbourne Cup in Tory Boy's year.) These 
 three horses finished close together. Camel, with 
 that good old sportsman, James Gormly, in the 
 saddle, and Jerry Sneak, ridden by another good 
 local sportsman, were well in it. Gormly had won 
 twenty-two races with Camel, and in discussing this
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 341 
 
 race he stated that Camel was fresh and frisky half 
 an hour afterwards. 
 
 In addition to Australian, Bowler had his half- 
 sister, Welcome, entered. Both were put into strong 
 work for the race, and after a bit it was found that 
 after seven miles the mare could beat Australian. 
 Unfortunately she was given too much of it, and an 
 eleven-mile gallop upset her, and Australian had to 
 uphold his owner's hopes in the long race. 
 
 The pace was good all the way. Yeomans steadied 
 his mount for the first four miles, keeping well be- 
 hind ; then he challenged Comet and Riverina, finally 
 winning comfortably; but it was no run-away race. 
 Besides Australian, two other stallions ran in the 
 race Troilus, and a horse of J. E. "Warb's called 
 Cotherstone, ridden by his owner. Cotherstone not 
 only ran last, but was greatly distressed, though he 
 took nearly half an hour to run the ten miles. Ten 
 miles in thirty minutes is not much of a performance 
 for a racehorse in racing condition. A first-class 
 trotter would have covered the distance in less time. 
 
 I myself, as mentioned in my Muntham experiences, 
 rode a horse only five days off the grass, and an out- 
 law at that, twenty-two miles in an hour and seven- 
 teen minutes. I left Portland at five o'clock one 
 evening, reached the second river, twenty-two miles, 
 and was home at Muntham at a little after one 
 o'clock in the morning, seventy-seven miles, on the 
 same horse. 
 
 The Ten-mile race was run in twenty-three minutes 
 and thirty-five seconds, or at the rate of two minutes 
 twenty-one seconds to the mile. When it is remem- 
 bered that at about that time six minutes was not 
 considered bad time for three miles, the time taken 
 in running the Ten Mile must be considered as most 
 creditable to the horses engaged in it. A good deal 
 of exception was taken to racing horses for such a 
 long distance ; it was considered by many to be cruel, 
 and the race was never repeated. Only two of the
 
 342 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 horses, Troilus and Cotherstone, were greatly dis- 
 tressed, but these horses could not have been in good 
 condition, and should never have been started. 
 
 This race reminds me of some interesting incidents 
 related to me by Mr. Thomas Bond, of Yarum, near 
 Lockhart. Mr. Bond is a son of Mr. E. R. Bond, 
 mentioned in my Morgan reminiscences. Mr. Bond 
 and Mr. H. J. Bowler, of Milla Milla, near German- 
 ton (now Holbrook), were great rivals on the turf. 
 On one occasion Mr. Bond won the two principal 
 races at Germanton with a horse called Casteneer. 
 Mr. Bowler did not relish being beaten on his own 
 ground, as it were. There was a good deal of wordy 
 warfare .over the respective merits of these horses 
 between Mr. Bowler and Mr. Bond. Eventually a 
 match was made for 100 a-side between a horse of 
 Mr. Bond's and a horse of Mr. Bowler's, once round 
 the course, and catch weights. Mr. Bowler had the 
 lightest weight jockey in the district, a six-stone boy, 
 and no doubt he thought that catch weights would 
 give him some advantage. Mr. Bond knew quite well 
 about Bowler's light weight, but, like Brer Fox, he 
 lay low. When they had saddled up, Mr. Bond put 
 his son Thomas (my informant) into the saddle, and 
 with a two-pound saddle he brought down the scale 
 at three stone twelve pounds, the boy being between 
 seven and eight years old and a grand little horse- 
 man. He weighed just three stone ten pounds. 
 
 Mr. Bond's troubles then commenced, for the 
 crowd said it was little short of murder to start so 
 small a boy to ride a good big horse in a race, and 
 they threatened to pull him off. "Eventually I was 
 allowed to ride," said Tom Bond, "and after the flag 
 fell, and we got going, Father used to cut across the 
 course from point to point, shouting out instructions 
 to me, which, needless to say, I never heard. I was 
 leading into the straight, and had the race well in 
 hand when a big new chum Irishman, who was work-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 343 
 
 ing for us, lost his head and rushed out into the 
 middle of the straight, waving his hands in the air, 
 with is hat in one of them. My horse shied a bit, 
 but a couple of chops of the whip straightened him, 
 and passing the Irishman I won the race amidst the 
 greatest excitement I have ever seen." 
 
 Mr. Bowler was very wild at being beaten, and 
 declared if he had to go to Melbourne he'd get a horse 
 to beat Bond. 
 
 At the next Wagga meeting, the year of the Ten- 
 mile Race, Bond's Casteneer won the Town Plate, 
 and, standing on the scales, Mr. Bond said to Mr. 
 Bowler, "What do you think of that?" "Oh, a 
 fluke," said Bowler. The following year Casteneer, 
 having been sold to Peter Macalister, of Wagga, 
 again won the Town Plate, whereupon Mr. Bond 
 called for three cheers for the horse that fluked the 
 Town Plate. However, both these men were good 
 sports and raced for the sport, not for the money. 
 As instancing this, on one occasion a horse of Mr. 
 Bond's fell in a steeplechase, and although Mr. 
 Bowler had a horse in the race, he galloped after 
 Bond's horse, caught him and put his rider on again. 
 
 Mr. Tom Bond is wonderfully good at training 
 horses in saddle and harness, and in performing 
 tricks. When I was valuing for the State Land Tax, 
 he was driving me one day in a sulky with a very 
 fast trotting mare. We were bowling along gaily 
 at all out fourteen miles an hour, when without 
 warning he dropped the reins on the mare's back. 
 In a moment the mare stopped dead, and had Mr. 
 Bond not steadied me, I'd have gone out over the 
 splashboard. That was his way of stopping the 
 mare ! 
 
 At the present time he has a horse called Laddie. 
 This horse won for five years at Lockhart as a lady's 
 hack, beating Sydney winners, and has won numerous 
 other prizes in saddle and harness. "Laddie is a
 
 344 AFTER .MANY DAYS 
 
 wonderfully clever performer, ' ' says Mr. Bond. ' ' He 
 will count any number he is asked ; he will tell the 
 number of days in a week, weeks in a month, and 
 months in a year. He will answer any question 
 by nodding his head for 'yes/ and shaking it for 
 'no.' He will go into any stall either head first or 
 tail first, will turn in the stall, and go into any other 
 stall, head or tail first. He will bring out all his 
 harness, piece by piece. He will get a halter or any- 
 thing I send him for, and give it to anyone I direct 
 him to. I can blindfold him and hide my whip, hat 
 or coat, not far off, and he will find them and bring 
 them to me. When he is standing in the stable I 
 can open the door and call him out, and let anyone 
 shut the door and fasten it with the usual fastening. 
 He will pull the bolt back, open the door, and get 
 my whip or anything I tell him to get, and bring it 
 to me, and he will walk over to the sulky and back 
 in between the shafts ready to be yoked. I can send 
 him across the street at Lockhart to get my overcoat, 
 and he will get it, and then help me on with it when 
 he brings it." 
 
 C. M. Lloyd, of Yamma, was judge in the Ten Mile 
 Race. He was one of my oldest and dearest friends. 
 Shortly after I went to Brookong I got a letter from 
 my old employers in Queensland, William Sloane 
 and Co., asking me to inspect for them a property 
 called Yamma, occupied by a Mr. Young. I was 
 delighted to do so, and found Yamma to be very 
 good country, and reported accordingly. This visit 
 was only one of many through the bush from Broo- 
 kong to Widgiewa, and on to Yamma through 
 Yarrabee. While at Brookong, and afterwards when 
 working as a bush parson in the district, I saw a 
 great deal of the Lloyds, and some of my very hap- 
 piest days have been spent at Yamma. One visit I 
 paid to Yamma when I was a parson rather amused 
 us all. A very nice friend of Lloyd's was up for a
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 345 
 
 change from Sydney, and he being delicate, Mrs. 
 Lloyd prescribed whisky and milk for him before 
 breakfast. I always liked having short family 
 prayers when I could have them without worrying 
 people, also a short service on Sunday. I spent three 
 or four days at Yamma at this time, including a 
 Sunday. When the Sydney guest was saying good- 
 bye he warmly thanked Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd for their 
 kind hospitality, but he added, "I must say I have 
 never had so much prayer and whisky in my life. ' ' I 
 may state that Mr. Lloyd was one of the most tem- 
 perate of men. 
 
 One evening at Yamma, I was sitting waiting for 
 dinner, when I heard a shout and a yell. I had an 
 interesting book and took no notice. Just then Mrs. 
 Lloyd appeared on the scene most irate with me. 
 "There you are sitting quietly, and do you know 
 that Mr. Sugden has just trod right on a snake, and 
 it has got away?" I said I hoped he had not hurt 
 the snake, but that did not mend matters. Mr. 
 Sugden when returning from a shower bath in his 
 bare feet had plumped right 011 the reptile. They 
 scored off me after all, for Mr. Snake had got in 
 behind the lining of my bedroom, and, although we 
 could hear him rustling, we could not get at him. 
 
 A few days afterwards, Mrs. Lloyd was in the 
 kitchen, which had a ceiling of hessian covered with 
 paper. Some heavy body could be seen passing over 
 the ceiling, and it was thought to be a possum. A 
 shear blade was fastened to a long stick, the ceiling 
 lining was cut through, and down dropped a huge 
 snake, no doubt my friend. He was at once des- 
 patched. 
 
 Sometimes the Lloyds used to pay me a visit at 
 Brookong, much to the delight of us all. On one 
 occasion I took Mrs. Lloyd out for a drive with an 
 impromptu four-in-hand two horses in the lead that 
 had not been driven before; but this I kept to my-
 
 346 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 self. On one trip I had to go through some thick 
 pine scrub (there was no track). Mrs. Lloyd sud- 
 denly clapped her hands. "It's just lovely," she 
 said. "Why, I can't see the leaders." Charley said 
 he couldn't stand this sort of thing, and further 
 scrub drives were interdicted. 
 
 Mr. Lloyd was a great favourite not only with his 
 brother squatters and his own employees, but all over 
 the district, so much so that although land was being 
 selected freely, Yamma was left severely alone to a 
 late date. There was "Scotty Turnbull," who wanted 
 land, and someone told him he could get just what 
 he wanted at Yamma. "What!" said Scotty, "me 
 select on Mr. Lloyd. No blooming fear; I'd cut my 
 blooming head off first." 
 
 Charley Lloyd's first blood horse was old Trouba- 
 dour, who still bore the marks of bullet wounds 
 received when he was the favourite (stolen) hack of 
 Ben Hall, the bushranger. 
 
 With the purchase of The Diver in 1873, Mr. Lloyd 
 committed himself to what turned out to be a very 
 successful racing career. When in Melbourne he met 
 that great racing authority, W. F. Dakin. On look- 
 ing over the stud-book with him, Dakin put his finger 
 on a Maribyrnong colt and said, "Wherever that 
 colt is, if he is sound, he is a racehorse." 
 
 Mr. Lloyd was so impressed that he determined to 
 find the horse and buy him. He did find him, and 
 found that under the name of Dolphin he had won 
 some up-country races. He bought him, but had to 
 give the (for then) stiff price of six hundred guineas, 
 but Mr. Lloyd looked to having got a Cup winner. 
 He changed the horse's name to The Diver, and if 
 The Diver had had a man on his back he could not 
 have lost the Melbourne Cup of 1874. He was ridden 
 by a stable boy who knocked up and could not ride 
 the horse home, and he came in third all abroad. 
 
 There was a lot of money on The Diver; every
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 347 
 
 boundary rider in Riverina and every friend of Mr. 
 Lloyd's had something on him. 
 
 Haricot won the Cup, but The Diver, with Billy 
 Yeomans up, turned the tables on Haricot in the 
 Wagga Cup soon after. 
 
 The best horse Lloyd ever owned was Swiveller, 
 by Snowdon, out of Little Nell. Swiveller was a 
 great horse, and could stay all day, and he finished 
 his racing career as sound as when he started it. He 
 won twenty-two races. 
 
 There never were two straighter men on the turf 
 than my two good and true friends, C. M. Lloyd and 
 Charley Hebden. Lloyd retired; he found he was 
 too heavily handicapped. Such men will take no 
 points, as do so many; the odds are against them, 
 and they retire. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 In 1867 or 1868, when attending what I think was 
 the first show held at Jerilderie, well known as the 
 scene of one of the Kelly gang bushranging exploits, 
 Joe Weir, who was then managing the Yanko Station 
 for Samuel Wilson (later on Sir Samuel), asked me 
 to go down to a bend on the Colombo to look at some 
 rams that were for sale. We both summed up these 
 rams as not at all what was wanted. They had good 
 frames, but the wool w r as just what we did not like; 
 the quality it was to which we chiefly objected. The 
 wool was so coarse that we concluded there must be 
 a long wool cross in the rams we were looking at. 
 Moreover it was open and faulty on top of the rump. 
 The belly wool was light and a bit wasty, and there 
 was not much wool on the points. At that time those 
 among us who fancied ourselves as judges of sheep, 
 went for sheep well covered all over with wool of
 
 348 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 high quality, belly wool as good as anywhere else, 
 and wool to the toes. The highest class Tasmanian 
 sheep of the Sir Thomas type, and the Cox and 
 Havilah Mudgee sheep, were our standard. Conse- 
 quently these rams on the bend of the creek were 
 condemned by all the best judges at that Jerilderio 
 show. They were the property of G. Peppin and 
 Sons, of Wanganella. Had we known that later on 
 the sales of Peppin-bred stud sheep off Boonooke 
 would for twenty years aggregate not far short of 
 half a million sterling, some of us experts ( !) would 
 have no doubt altered our opinions. 
 
 There is no doubt at all that large numbers of 
 strong woolled ewes, carrying heavy fleeces of long 
 stapled wool, were introduced into Riverina from 
 South Australia in the early sixties. I know that 
 strong woolled ewes were then purchased by the 
 owners of Bundure station, for I saw them and put 
 them down as having a touch of the Lincoln in them. 
 The Desaillys, too, I know got over a lot of strong 
 woolled South Australian ewes. We always under- 
 stood (in 1866) that the Peppins started their flock 
 on strong woolled South Australian ewes, and I feel 
 sure that our supposition was correct. 
 
 I suppose it will be accounted heresy, and my 
 Falkiner friends will feel inclined to jump on me, 
 when I say that I have no doubt there is a strain 
 of Lincoln blood in the Peppin sheep. To my mind 
 this is a great advantage, and accounts for the large 
 frames and good constitutions, as also for the length 
 of staple and brightness and colour of the wool. 
 
 All the South Australian sheep that I have seen 
 have, in my opinion, a touch of Lincoln in them, and 
 further, so have, I think, all those flocks in New 
 South Wales that are famous for big frames, together 
 with quantity of robust, lengthy, bright wool. 
 
 It is well known that there are two strains of blood 
 in the Peppin sheep to wit, the Rambouillet blood 
 sired by that splendid imported ram, Emperor,
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 349 
 
 and the American blood, sired by that fine ram, Old 
 Grimes. 
 
 After Wanganella and Boonooke were sold in 1878, 
 F. S. Falkiner, who bought Boonooke, evidently in 
 classing his sheep, followed the Old Grimes strain, 
 while Austin and Millear followed on the Rambouillet 
 type. The result appeared very plainly. The Boo- 
 nooke sheep became better covered than the Wanga- 
 nellas and carried a denser fleece of wool, but not so 
 lengthy in staple nor so bright. (I speak of twelve 
 year ago.) 
 
 The Wanganella type have barer heads, and barer 
 points, and not nearly so much belly wool; the wool 
 is also stronger. I carried a piece of wool off a 
 Wanganella stud ewe in my pocket book for years, 
 and everyone to whom I showed the sample put it 
 down as crossbred wool. 
 
 I know of two other high-class flocks which I am 
 sure have a touch of Lincoln blood. 
 
 Then there is Calga. A few years ago this was one 
 of the grandest flocks in New South Wales whop- 
 ping big sheep, carrying heavy fleeces of robust wool. 
 Calga at one time carried all crossbred sheep, but 
 the ewes got too fat to breed, and the owner, Jim 
 Murphy, had to give up the longwools. Murphy sold 
 to the Ryders, my neighbours. One year Charley 
 Ryder asked me to have a look at 1500 young ewes 
 he had picked out for a special flock. 
 
 "Why, Charley," said I, "they are all cross- 
 breds." 
 
 "What could I do," replied Charley. "Are there 
 any ewes there that I could have rejected?" 
 
 1 said, "Not one. They are the finest lot of flock 
 ewes I have ever seen." 
 
 In my opinion the raison d'etre of the success of 
 all these flocks is that there is a touch never mind 
 how little of Lincoln blood in them, and I look 
 upon it as a decided factor for good, and by good 
 I mean profit.
 
 350 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Can it be possible that some of the female ances- 
 tors of these big Rambouillet sheep, of which Emperor 
 was a type, had been making love some time or other 
 to a gentleman sheep with long wool? 
 
 Passing from "crossbreds" to men "on the cross." 
 About twelve months before I took charge of Broo- 
 kong the notorious bushranger Morgan met his end. 
 
 Morgan was a monster, the most blood-thirsty and 
 brutal bushranger on record in New South Wales. 
 The man, except on one occasion, always played a 
 lone hand; he knew that he was an outlaw with a 
 big price on his head, dead or alive, and uncertain 
 from hour to hour when he might be shot down. 
 Ordinary bushrangers had sympathisers, and ''bush 
 telegraphs" (people who informed them of the 
 whereabouts of the police), but Morgan had no 
 friends the brutal and unprovoked murders he had 
 committed caused him to be execrated by everyone. 
 He should have been a Prussian; his was a career 
 of frightfulness. He aimed at striking terror into the 
 hearts of people generally, so that they would be 
 afraid to give any information as to his movements, 
 and for the most part he succeeded. Shepherds and 
 others who used to come across him kept their own 
 counsel, and as he had no mates he reigned unscathed 
 for a considerable length of time. He was a splendid 
 horseman and a dead shot, and he never gave a 
 chance. It was while Archie Irvine was managing 
 Brookong that Morgan terrorized the whole country- 
 side, his chief haunts being in the Brookong scrub. 
 
 If Morgan was a determined man, old Archie Irvine 
 was much more so. Archie hailed from the black 
 North of Ireland. The Osbornes were very clannish, 
 and all the hands employed by them hailed from the 
 North of Ireland. Morgan had no terror for old 
 Archie Irvine. He told his shepherds to tell Morgan 
 that he challenged him to stick up Brookong, that 
 he was ready for him any time he liked to come.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 351 
 
 And Archie quite meant it it was not bluff. To 
 one of the younger Osbornes, who was acting as over- 
 seer, the old man said, "Look here, if Morgan comes 
 and you do not stand up to him, you are the first 
 one I'll shoot." 
 
 An old Brookong shepherd described Irvine to me 
 as a most determined man. "The owld chap," said 
 he, "had talons on him like an aigle, and if he once 
 had got them on Morgan's throat he'd have torn it 
 out of him. Morgan was 'galad' (frightened) of 
 the old man." I asked the shepherd if he had ever 
 seen Morgan. "Av course I seen him," said he, 
 "but it's not likely I'd be telling anyone." 
 
 Mr. Dill, who was a great friend of Irvine's, and 
 also was the only one who could get Archie away 
 from the drink when the fit was on him, described 
 Archie Irvine to me as a very powerful man, quite 
 unusually strong. He was very quick with his fists, 
 and, in fact, an athlete. Mr. Dill told me he saw 
 Irvine when he was fifty-five, jump backwards and 
 forwards over a stick held in each hand, and at that 
 age he could put through most of the young men on 
 the station at jumping or vaulting. 
 
 On one occasion Irvine was riding home from 
 Wagga. Evidently he had been watched, for shortly 
 after passing the Brookong boundary two armed men 
 rode up, one each side of him, and he saw a third 
 on ahead, on foot, and armed with a gun. In a 
 second old Archie struck out with both hands, catch- 
 ing the two fellows in the face. They both fired, as 
 did the man with the gun, but Irvine got away un- 
 harmed. Yet he was superstitious, for one night, 
 late, passing an old grave, he saw beside it what he 
 took to be a ghost. He forthwith put spurs to his 
 horse and got away. It was believed that the ' ' ghost ' ' 
 was Morgan. 
 
 During Morgan's reign of terror old Irvine always 
 carried two loaded revolvers. At meals one was on
 
 352 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 the table, the other in his belt. Just the same when 
 counting sheep ; he would lay one revolver on a post 
 beside him, and told the overseer and others that if 
 Morgan turned up, and they saw him and did not 
 warn him (Irvine), his first shot would be at the 
 man who failed to warn him. Morgan never was 
 game to stick up Brookong or to tackle Archie Irvine. 
 
 Another man in that district who stood up to Mor- 
 gan, and indeed acted exactly as did Archie Irvine, 
 was James McLaurin, of Yarra Yarra. He was one 
 of the early pioneers, having landed in Sydney in 
 1837. Becoming disgusted with the cruel way in 
 which the convict servants were treated, McLaurin 
 pushed out and got to the Murray. Then, while 
 employed by a large cattle man, one Edward Hume, 
 he made two trips to South Australia with cattle. 
 On one of these trips McLaurin discovered the Ed- 
 wards River, called after Edward Hume. Later on 
 he took up country near Deniliquin, now Morocco 
 and Hume gave him cattle to stock it. 
 
 With the discovery of gold came a great rise in 
 cattle values. The price rose from 1 before the gold 
 discovery to 25 afterwards. McLaurin and his bro- 
 thers became large cattle owners, and did well. Later 
 on, when pleuro broke out, and inoculation was un- 
 known, they had 30,000 worth of cattle destroyed 
 by the Government, and they somehow received but 
 little compensation. Next James McLaurin opened 
 a flour mill in Albury, which later on he exchanged 
 in some way for Yarra Yarra Station, where he put 
 together 90,000 acres of magnificent land. This land 
 is still in the possession of the McLaurin family. The 
 late Gordon McLaurin, one of the sons, several times 
 represented his district in Parliament. 
 
 James McLaurin was many times threatened by 
 Morgan, but, arming himself with a rifle and revolver, 
 and in addition an old sword, he defied the outlaw. 
 He also kept someone constantly on guard, and it
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 353 
 
 was not McLaurin's fault that he and Morgan never 
 met to try conclusions. 
 
 As an instance of Morgan's brutality, take the 
 Round Hill episode. Morgan bailed up the station, 
 and had got all he wanted. All the people on the 
 station were mustered, and were standing on the 
 verandah of the store. As Morgan rode away, some- 
 how his own revolver went off. Thinking someone 
 had fired at him he at once fired into the crowd, 
 breaking the leg of a young fellow named Heriot. 
 When it was pointed out to him that it was his own 
 revolver that had gone off, Morgan professed regret, 
 and told one of the men to get a horse and go for 
 Dr. Stitt, a neighbouring squatter. As the man was 
 riding away, Morgan rode after him and shot him 
 
 through the back, saying, "You b , you are going 
 
 for the police." He then helped the wounded man 
 back to Round Hill Homestead, but he died next day. 
 Morgan sat up all night with the two wounded men. 
 That no one was game to go off for the police, or for 
 help all that night, is an illustration of the funk 
 Morgan's brutality had established. Two days after 
 this Morgan came on Sergt. McGinnity and a trooper. 
 Riding up behind them, he shot through the back 
 the Sergeant, who dropped off his horse dead, while 
 the trooper made off and got away. Morgan had 
 become like a wild animal. 
 
 It was in a Brookong scrub that Henry Baylis, 
 the plucky police magistrate of Wagga Wagga, was 
 so badly wounded by Morgan. The police had got 
 information as to Morgan's whereabouts, and Baylis 
 went off with them to capture the outlaw. They 
 found Morgan's camp all right in thick scrub back 
 from the Urangeline Creek. The ashes of the fire 
 were quite warm, and there were two lots of blankets 
 in the tent. The police party waited till after dark, 
 at some distance from the tent, but no Morgan 
 appeared. Then light rain began to fall. The night 
 became pitch dark, and can it be believed that the
 
 354 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 whole party of four got into the tent out of the rain, 
 eagerly waiting, with their arms at full cock, for the 
 arrival of Morgan! Suddenly they heard a stick 
 crackle, and Baylis rushed out, revolver in hand. At 
 once he was fired at, and at once he returned the fire, 
 but fell badly wounded. Morgan, who on this occa- 
 sion had a mate, cleared out, and it was too dark to 
 attempt to follow him. 
 
 Next morning Morgan and his mate rode up to a 
 shepherd's hut on the Urangeline Creek, and when 
 the man came out Morgan shot him through the body, 
 saying, ''That will teach you to put the police on 
 me." The man didn't die, and he told the police 
 who came up, soon after, that Morgan had a mate 
 with him who appeared to be in a bad way. The mate 
 was never seen again, and it was believed that Morgan 
 had shot him to get rid of him. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Morgan confessed to young 
 Heriot, the night he sat up with him at Round Hill, 
 that the man was dying, and in great pain, and that 
 he shot him to put him out of his misery. He said 
 he had buried him in the scrub, and that he had put 
 a piece of sapling up over his grave to mark the spot. 
 There is no doubt that it was the mate with whom 
 Baylis had exchanged shots, each nearly killing his 
 man. 
 
 Baylis suffered from his \vound to his dying day, 
 and after many years was voted a considerable sum 
 in compensation. 
 
 Still another man who made a most determined 
 effort to capture Morgan was E. M'. Bond, pastoralist 
 on the King River, in Victoria. One day word came 
 to Mr. Bond that Morgan was about. Bond at once 
 got the assistance of two of his neighbours, and some 
 of their men, and they hurriedly started out to try 
 and capture the bushranger. Unfortunately they 
 could only muster one double-barrelled gun. One 
 barrel was loaded with shot, the other with ball. Mr. 
 Bond carried the gun for a time, then handed it
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 355 
 
 over to Evan Evans, who was with him. After a bit 
 Bond sighted Morgan, but, being unarmed, just kept 
 him in sight till Evans came up. When he came up, 
 Bond wanted him to fire at Morgan with the object of 
 "winging" -him, but Evans objected, saying it was 
 against the law. "Oh, damn the law," said Bond, 
 and by this time Morgan had heard them approach, 
 and had faced round. He parleyed with his pursuers 
 for a bit, but, as night was coming on, Bond brought 
 matters to a conclusion by snatching the gun from 
 Evans and calling on Morgan to surrender. Morgan 
 failed to throw up his hands, and Bond fired. Mor- 
 gan jumped into the air as if hard hit, but on landing 
 bounded off like a deer. However, if the bushranger 
 was fleet, Bond, his pursuer, was fleeter, and had 
 almost come up with him when he twisted his foot 
 and sprained his ankle. Despite the pain, he still 
 rushed on after the flying bushranger, and when he 
 had once more almost reached him he again twisted 
 his ankle, and had to abandon the chase. Though 
 in great pain, and with his ankle swollen, to use his 
 own words, "as big as his head," he mounted a horse 
 and continued to scour the country, without success, 
 for the quarry that had twice escaped him. 
 
 From that day till three years later, when he saw 
 Morgan lying dead, Mr. Bond said lie constantly 
 prayed to meet Morgan again face to face and man 
 to man, and have it out with him, never going out 
 unarmed, and never sitting down to a meal without 
 a revolver on a chair beside him. Morgan made no 
 secret as to his having returned to Victoria expressly 
 to shoot Bond. He told some contractors that he 
 would rather have Bond's life than 500. 
 
 Morgan met his deserts in April, 1865, at Ewen 
 McPherson's Peechelba Station, on the Victorian side 
 of the Murray. Morgan took the Peechelba folks 
 unawares, and had all the men portion bailed up in 
 a room in a few minutes. He kept the whole place 
 bailed up all night. Meantime a housemaid, a very
 
 356 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 smart, plucky girl, had managed to elude Morgan 
 long enough to tell one of the station hands what 
 had happened. 
 
 In the morning Morgan inarched McPherson and 
 some others in front of him to the stockyard in order 
 that the outlaw might pick a horse. As they made 
 their way to the yard a man named Quinlan, who 
 had been concealed from view, and had been watch- 
 ing for a chance, suddenly tired at Morgan from 
 behind, and the miscreant dropped, shot through 
 the spine. Morgan lived only a couple of hours, and 
 just as the Huns term it cowardly to ram a sub- 
 marine, Morgan declared he had not been given a 
 fair chance, and that it was cowardly to take him 
 unawares and shoot him from behind. When he lay 
 dead at Peechelba, his old foe, Mr. Bond, rode over 
 to view him, and on turning up his shirt he saw the 
 wound on his arm where he had shot him three years 
 previously. 
 
 Hunted, and haunted, and hounded, 
 
 Outlawed from human kin; 
 Bound with the self-forged fetters 
 
 Of a long career of sin. 
 Hands that are red with slaughter, 
 
 Feet that are sunk in crime 
 A harvest of tares and thistles 
 
 For the pending scythe of Time. 
 
 JENNINGS CARMICHAEL. 
 
 A Mr. Black, overseer at an adjoining station to 
 Brookong, had a very fine blood mare, and she had 
 a very fine colt foal. This colt's father had sired 
 some good jumping horses, and I had got my eye on 
 the colt. Eventually when he was two years old, and 
 broken in, I bought him for 25. He was a great 
 raking fellow, and stood, even at that age, at over 
 sixteen hands, so I called him Chang, after the 
 Chinese giant. He turned out a great lepper. I
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 357 
 
 could trot him up to any gate in the wire fences at 
 Brookong, and he would pop over as if he liked it, 
 which he did. He never turned his head with me, 
 and never fell either. When I had decided to leave 
 Brookong, and enter the ministry, I decided to sell 
 Chang, and I rode him down to Melbourne. I stayed 
 at Deniliquin Station, Alec. Landale 's place, on my 
 way down. I had been telling Landale what a good 
 fencer I was riding, so next morning, when I mounted, 
 Landale said, "Let's see him jump." The horse 
 had only just been saddled, and I turned him round, 
 and, with only a few yards' run, he took me into a 
 yard over a fence five feet high. "That'll do," said 
 Landale, "he can jump." 
 
 I stayed at Kamarooka, Charley Kelly's place, also, 
 and the colt carried me in and out of his outside 
 garden paling fence. Charley offered me 75 for 
 him, but I wanted 100, and besides I had promised 
 Dr. Fitzgerald the refusal of him. I put him in 
 Fitz.'s stable, and stayed at the little doctor's the 
 night I got to Melbourne. Next morning the Doctor 
 and I and his Irish groom went down to St. Kilda, 
 and I showed the Doctor what the colt now three 
 years old could do over fences, and he at once gave 
 me 100 for him. He changed his name to Colossus, 
 he hunted, and also raced him, but he had not pace 
 enough. However, he turned out a grand hunter, 
 and the Doctor never grudged having paid 100 for 
 him. 
 
 I put in a remarkably good day's work once at 
 Brookong. We mustered two paddocks, one a scrubby 
 one; we put 30,000 sheep through the race drafting 
 and redrafting we had only two gates in those days 
 and I myself rode forty miles. I earned my tucker 
 that day at any rate, and most likely I did not get 
 to bed till late, settling accounts with men. I have 
 often, when returning home in the evening, lain down 
 under a tree and had a half-hour's rest, for I knew 
 I would not get much when I got home.
 
 358 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 I was never an out of the way good sheep counter. 
 I have never been able to count except in twos. The 
 best counters count sheep just as they come, say two, 
 then three, then five, and so on. The quickest sheep 
 counter I ever saw was an old German I have men- 
 tioned up in Queensland. I remember counting a 
 paddock of 15,000 weaners in an hour and five min- 
 utes, in twos. I am sure that old German would 
 have counted them in half the time. 
 
 I had a few falls while at Brookong over wire 
 fences, but these were accidental. I was laying out a 
 new fence, and it got late. I galloped away with a 
 flag to mark the line, and the fence I was making for 
 was much nearer than I expected. I galloped into 
 and over the fence before I knew where I was, and 
 of course, got a heavy fall, cutting my nose on the 
 wire, but how that occurred I could not make out. 
 Another night, coming home in the dark, I cantered 
 right into and over a six-wire horse paddock fence, 
 my horse rolled on me, and my head got under me. 
 I thought I had broken my neck. It was a long time 
 before I could get on my horse, he was half-stunned 
 too. 
 
 Some odd incidents occurred one time and another 
 to me. I was driving fast down a gravelly hill close 
 to the Galore, with a pair in a buggy, when, to my 
 surprise, I saw a wheel running down the hill in 
 front of me. I pulled up, and only then did the axle 
 go to the ground. The nut had come off, and ray 
 off-front wheel had followed suit. I went back and 
 found the nut and put the wheel on again all right. 
 It certainly was odd. 
 
 I ran in two brumbies one day; I offered to bet 
 that I would ride one and lead the other ten miles 
 next day, but I was not taken up. I did ride one 
 and lead the other round the horse paddock next day. 
 Brumbies are easily tamed. 
 
 One evening I was watching at a dam on the Uran- 
 geline Creek for wild horses to come to water, hoping
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 359 
 
 to get a shot. I had my rifle. A little after dusk a 
 solitary horse came in, and as it stood on the bank 
 after having had a drink, I fired, and the horse fell 
 over apparently dead. As I got up to it I found 
 to my disgust it was a broken-in mare with a pulled 
 tail, too. The poor thing was quite quiet. My bullet 
 had gone through her neck, and had touched the 
 spinal cord and had, what the American Indians call, 
 creased her. I made a halter of my stock whip and 
 led her home, and when the wound was healed I 
 found her owner and let him have her. I never told 
 him how I had captured the mare. 
 
 All the time I was at Brookong I had service at 
 the home station every Sunday evening, and I avoided 
 Sunday work as much as I possibly could. I well 
 remember one Sunday. I had the last of some hay 
 out, and I felt greatly tempted to get it in ; the men 
 would have tackled it at once. However, I did not 
 move it, and that evening at service it just happened 
 that in the chapter I read occurred the following: 
 "And on the Sabbath day they rested according to 
 the Commandment." (Luke 23: 56.) It at once 
 struck me how very foolish I would have looked had 
 I got the men to get the hay in. 
 
 One shearing I was very anxious to see a balance 
 lever wool press which Blackwood had at Hartwood. 
 We finished shearing a day before Hartwood, and 
 Hartwood was cutting out at 12 o'clock next day, so 
 I had 75 miles to ride by 12 o'clock to see the press 
 at work. I took two horses and led one half way, left 
 the one I was riding and got to Hartwood at 12 
 o'clock by my time, then found I was exactly an hour 
 fast, so we had been shearing for weeks an hour fast. 
 
 I had a sharp ride into Wagga one morning, 56 
 miles to breakfast, 9 o'clock. I had two horses. 
 
 It was in this year that some of the boundary 
 riders on the stations in timbered country had to go 
 round the fences on foot ; the ground would not carry 
 a horse. On Brookong, in ordinary wet seasons, the
 
 360 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 wheel traffic always went over the red soil, but in 
 this year the red soil became a quagmire, and drivers 
 had to take to the black soil. The growth of grass 
 was enormous. Three hundred wethers got bogged 
 in some low ground on one of our plain paddocks. 
 The grass was so high that they were not seen, and 
 they all died. When found months afterwards, the 
 clay had dried round them, and there they were as 
 fast as if they had been bricked in. 
 
 Just at the time of one of Mr. Hebden 's periodical 
 yearly visits heavy rain had fallen, and the country 
 was pretty well under water. He had come by coach 
 from Deniliquin, indeed from Echuca, a long jour- 
 ney. The morning he got to Brookong the coach 
 had got stuck in the middle of a big watercourse. 
 There were only Mr. Hebden and a servant girl on 
 board. The driver took the horses out, and told his 
 passengers they would have to ride on one of the 
 horses barebacked. Hr. Hebden explained to the girl 
 that she would have to straddle the saddle. "Oh," 
 said the girl, "I'll ride spraddle legs or any other 
 way so long as I get out!" 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 In 1868 a gang of bushrangers took possession of 
 the Upper Murrumbidgee from below Narandera to 
 Wagga, and above Wagga into the Tumut district. 
 The gang consisted of four young desperadoes Dick 
 the Devil, the Doctor, Blue Cap, and a young chap 
 named Druce. As is usually the case, they had all 
 been in trouble about horses, and were wanted by 
 the police before they "took to the bush." They 
 stuck up pretty well all the stations in the above 
 district, but, beyond exchanging their horses and 
 taking clothes and any money they could lay their 
 hands on, they behaved quite decently, and did no-
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 361 
 
 thing brutal. On several occasions, it is true, they 
 got the ladies on stations they had stuck up to play 
 and sing for them, but their request was made quite 
 politely, and I know some of the ladies made quite 
 a joke of it. 
 
 It was said that they compelled one truculent 
 squatter below Narandera, Waller, of Kooba, to cook 
 mutton chops for them, but this gentleman indig- 
 nantly denied this; and later on Waller got home 
 on the bushrangers, for he and the police attacked 
 them so fiercely that the bushrangers had to leave all 
 their horses but one, and their rifles, and swim the 
 river in order to get away. I could never make out 
 why they were not followed; but it was late in the 
 day when they swam the river. 
 
 We had prepared for a possible attack at Brookong 
 by planting some firearms, a rifle and two revolvers 
 and a shot gun, but heard that the police had cap- 
 tured two of the bushrangers, the Doctor and Dick 
 the Devil, and that the gang was broken up, so our 
 planted firearms were taken out, excepting one rifle, 
 which was forgotten, behind a picture. 
 
 We had some rain one day, and I considered that 
 the sheep were too damp to shear, although the 
 shearers were most anxious to go at them. In those 
 days the trouble was not to get the shearers to shear 
 sheep they thought might be wet, but to prevent them 
 from shearing sheep that they knew were wet and 
 that they wanted to persuade us were dry. 
 
 It is really an extraordinary thing this ' ' wet sheep ' ' 
 business of late years almost incomprehensible but 
 it is no use making a fuss about it. If you put the 
 shearers into court there are always ten men to swear 
 the sheep were wet against about two to swear they 
 were dry. No manager in his senses will try to shear 
 wet wool, apart from the great danger involved 
 should it take fire; wool if pressed damp will dis- 
 colour and become depreciated in value. 
 
 As we were not shearing I took advantage of the
 
 362 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 spare time to ride over to a neighbouring shed, that 
 of Bobby Band, and to my disgust I found they 
 were shearing, as the shower had missed them. Robert 
 Rand, who died some years ago worth nearly a million, 
 leaving no will, was my neighbour at Brookoug for 
 the six years I managed there, and a right good 
 neighbour he was always stood his share of any joint 
 fencing, or any repairs, and joint claims on the boun- 
 dary and was always jolly and cheery. He was 
 "near," without doubt, but he was a man of his word, 
 and a just man. By the way, that yarn about Mor- 
 gan making Mr. Rand dance on the table while Mr. 
 Rose, the manager, played the concertina, is an in- 
 vention, but it's perfectly true that he compelled Mr. 
 Rand to promise he would issue double rations to all 
 his outstations under a threat of being shot, and this 
 was regularly carried out. The story goes that the 
 ration cart had just left the store when the news 
 came that Morgan had been shot at Peechelba, where- 
 upon a messenger was despatched post haste after the 
 cart, and the extra rations were brought back ! 
 
 As I rode up to the Brookong homestead on my re- 
 turn from Bobby Rand's, I saw quite a crowd of men 
 in front of the store, which was situated at the back 
 of the house, and like almost all old Australian home- 
 steads, it was approached from the back. Seeing the 
 crowd, I said to myself, the shearers have heard that 
 Rand is shearing, and they have rolled up. As a 
 matter of fact, the sheep washers had struck and 
 rolled up, and, as it turned out, at a very inopportune 
 time, for Blue Cap and two mates had at the same 
 time stuck the place up. This I did not know, and as 
 I rode up I noticed that the crowd opened out a bit, 
 and a man kneeling on the ground covered me with a 
 rifle, and called out, "Stand." He was not thirty 
 yards away. I wheeled round, quickly lay down flat 
 on the mare, and went for all I knew. The man 
 fired, but I did not even hear the whistle of the bullet, 
 and got away. Of course I knew that the place was
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 363 
 
 stuck up, and by the time I got to the home paddock 
 fence (about a quarter of a mile), I came to the 
 conclusion that it was " up to me " to go back. I could 
 do nothing by going on the nearest police station 
 (Urana) was eighteen miles away, and I reckoned it 
 was my place to return and protect the station, and 
 the people on it, so far as I could. As I rode back 
 to the house, a young fellow with a poncho on met me 
 about half-way and turned back with me. He did not 
 offer to bail me up. I said to him, "Are you fellows 
 bushrangers?" "We are," he said. "And who may 
 you be?" "I'm Blue Cap," he replied, with quite 
 an air. "Oh," I said, "I thought your gang was 
 broken up anyway, I'm sure we do not want you 
 over this way. I wish you had kept on the other side 
 of the river (the Murrumbidgee)." "Oh," he said, 
 
 "that b Waller drove us off the Murrumbidgee, 
 
 and I have picked up a fresh mate, a chap named 
 Hammond. It was him fired at you." "Well," I 
 said, ' ' he can 't hit a haystack. I was not thirty yards 
 off when he fired." "Ah, well, you see," said Blue 
 Cap, "those rifles throw high at close quarters." 
 
 We rode up to the store together quite "friendly 
 like." Blue Cap never offered to bail me up. He 
 did not present a pistol at me, and if I had had a 
 pistol on me I could have got the drop on him, and 
 have secured him. I had carried a little brass Sharp 's 
 repeater in my waistcoat pocket up to within a few 
 days of the bailing up, but, as luck would have it, 
 had discarded it. 
 
 I tied up my mare, walked over to the fellow who 
 had fired at me and said, "What sort of a fellow are 
 you to fire at a man for nothing, like that ? ' ' He said, 
 "You should have studd." I said, "It's about time 
 to clear when you see a rifle aimed at you." "You 
 should have studd," he said again. 
 
 The third bushranger was standing with a crowd of 
 men in front of him, a rifle leaning against him, and 
 a cocked revolver in his hand. I walked up to him,
 
 364 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 and had a good look at him, and counted his firearms. 
 As I turned to walk away, he said, "Stop, you can't 
 go. I'll shoot you, if you don't stand." I guessed he 
 would not fire, so just said, "I'm all right, I'm not 
 up to anything," and went on into the store, where I 
 found Blue Cap and Hammond one was trying on 
 clothes, the other watching revolver in hand. I had 
 some chat with them across the counter. Blue Cap 
 said, "I suppose you will follow us." I said, "I don't 
 know. I'm busy shearing, but I'll put the police on 
 you. ' ' Blue Cap laughed. " Oh, " he said, ' ' we don 't 
 care a damn for the police, but mind you, we'll be 
 on the watch, and if you go after the police, we'll 
 follow you and shoot you." "It's a bargain," I said 
 "If you can catch me, you can shoot me." 
 
 When the three bushrangers rode up to Brookong. 
 John Dill, who was the overseer, was going down to 
 the woolshed, and they called out to him, "Hi, young 
 man." He thought they were some flash young 
 shearers, and took no notice, but they soon unde- 
 ceived him. One of them galloped up to him, and 
 putting a pistol to his head, told him to come along. I 
 may say that John Dill, Robert Curtis, the store- 
 keeper, and a man named Hemphill, a fine fellow, made 
 up the whole of those on whom I could depend for 
 help if an opportunity should occur to handle the 
 bushrangers. The sheep washers had come up in a 
 body on strike, and their leader openly fraternized 
 with the bushrangers. 
 
 One armed man will quite suffice to hold up fifty 
 ordinary men, and after all is it to be wondered at? 
 Someone is pretty certain to get shot, and it may 
 be any one, and what have they to gain? 
 
 The rangers then went on to the store with John 
 Dill, and one of them, lounging over the counter, said 
 to Curtis, the storekeeper, "We have come to bail you 
 up, young man." Curtis took no notice, thinking it 
 was just flashness, and seeing a tomahawk lying on 
 the floor, he stooped to pick it up and put it in its
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 365 
 
 place. In a moment he found a revolver at his head, 
 and a voice said, "Drop that quick, or I'll shoot." 
 Curtis then realised that he was "stuck up." 
 
 They asked him to produce any firearms he had, and 
 he brought out his favourite shot gun, down the 
 barrel of which they made him pour water. Then 
 they said to John Dill, "You have a revolving rifle 
 here; we want it." He replied, "You can't get it." 
 Blue Cap put his revolver at Dill's head and said, 
 ' ' You get it, or I '11 shoot you. " " Shoot away, ' ' said 
 Dill, and there that little episode ended. 
 
 They then broke into my office, and rifled the cash 
 box of a few pounds in cash and a cheque belonging 
 to one of the men, for about 30, which he had asked 
 me to keep for him. 
 
 As any men came up to the store they were bailed 
 up, and one of the robbers kept all the men in front 
 of him. He had his rifle leaning against him, and his 
 revolver stuck out in front, cocked. I counted on the 
 three bushrangers' arms capable of discharging fifty- 
 two shots. 
 
 By this time I had appeared on the scene. After 
 a bit Blue Cap said to me, "On these occasions we 
 always shout for all hands. Let us have some liquor." 
 Throughout Blue Cap was spokesman, and was quite 
 civil, in fact, he evidently had adopted the Claude-du- 
 val style. I told him that the storekeeper would give 
 him some grog, so he went to him. He returned in a 
 few minutes with some rum, and smelling it, said, 
 "I'm sure you have something better than that." 
 "Oh, yes," I said, "there's brandy." So he was 
 supplied with some, and then. he came to me with 
 bottle and glass, and said, "We always commence 
 with the boss first. " " Well, ' ' I said, ' ' this boss won 't 
 have any." "Oh, no offence, no offence," he said. 
 Some of the men had a nip, some declined. All the 
 "on strike" sheep washers had more than one nip, 
 and the leader slapped Blue Cap on the back, and
 
 366 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 said he was one of the right sort that was the way 
 to make the blurry squatters sit up. 
 
 Then Blue Cap and Hammond went back to the 
 store to get some clothes, and one kept guard while 
 the other tried on clothes. While there I took out my 
 watch, and Blue Cap said, "We can take that watch." 
 I took it off and threw it to him, and said "Take it." 
 "Oh, no," he said, "we have plenty, it's no good to 
 us, keep it." I felt inclined to throw it at his head. 
 
 Then he said to me, "Will you come down to the 
 horse yard and show me the best of the horses?" 
 I replied, "You know them well enough. You'll take 
 that big bay horse with the white hind foot" a 
 beautiful horse and well bred, but he was a little 
 lame, and I told them so, but they took him. Then 
 Blue Cap said, "We'll take that little mare you were 
 riding; you never rode a bad one, and she scooted 
 pretty swift down to the gate just now. You have a 
 chestnut racing mare here by Troubadour, the old 
 horse Ben Hall used to ride." 
 
 One time Hall, Gilbert, and a bushranger known 
 as "The Old Man," were riding three noted race- 
 horses, Troubadour, and two others. 
 
 I said, "Yes, but you can't have her." "Oh, can't 
 we, indeed, how's that?" "Well," I said, "she does 
 not belong to me, and I'll not let her go." "Oh, 
 we '11 see about that ; who does she belong to ? " " She 
 belongs to Mr. C. M. Lloyd, of Yamma." "Oh, if she 
 belongs to Mr. Lloyd, we'll not touch her!" 
 
 It turned out that Hammond had been working at 
 Yamma, and having been sick there, was so well 
 looked after that he was grateful, and so the little 
 racing mare was left. It was pretty good of these 
 chaps, for a racing mare was straight into their hands, 
 and they could have returned her. I used to chaff 
 Charley Lloyd and Mrs. Lloyd about their friends 
 the bushrangers. 
 
 I had a good chat to Blue Cap by himself, and ad- 
 vised him to drop it. I said, "You separate and go
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 367 
 
 on the square, and you'll probably get away. You 
 know how it will all end. You'll be shot or hanged. 
 Remember the end of all the men who took to the 
 bush, Gilbert, Ben Hall and O'Meally were shot, so 
 were Bourke and Morgan. Peisley, Manns and Dunn 
 were hanged, Frank Gardiner got thirty-two years. 
 All were either shot, hanged, or gaoled, and all died 
 poor. ' ' 
 
 "I know," he said. "They died like dogs. I ex- 
 pect to do the same ; it 's too late for us now, we have 
 fired on the police, and our lives are forfeit we'll 
 see it out." 
 
 They cleared out about six o'clock, and as they 
 were leaving I heard one say, "We'll go to Mahonga 
 and shoot old Bobby Rand." As soon as they were 
 gone I caught a good mare and slipped out at the 
 back of the place, made a bit of a detour, and gal- 
 loped down fourteen miles to Faed's station, Buther- 
 wah. I warned those there, and went on post haste 
 four miles further to Urana. The police there were 
 out "after the bushrangers." I wired to Wagga and 
 Albury and other places, and went back to Faed's 
 and had some supper. I found that they had two 
 shot guns and two old single-barrelled duelling pis- 
 tols. I told them what the rangers had said about 
 Bobby Rand, and suggested we should go across to 
 Mahonga, about twenty miles, and see what we could 
 do, and that we would probably be in time to save 
 Mr. Rand; but they were not "taking any." I am 
 afraid I was rather angry. I had been stuck up on 
 a big station with a hundred men, and I had been 
 fired at, and felt horribly humiliated. I never felt so 
 small in my life, and it still rankles. I got one of 
 the pistols from Faed, and cleared out. 
 
 I didn't tell them that I intended having a go on 
 my own. My idea was that I might sneak on the 
 bushrangers, and perhaps cut them off from their 
 horses, and if I could get a pot shot at them, as they
 
 368 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 did at me, I was determined to take it if I could. I 
 felt as the Yankees say, "real ugly." 
 
 It was now quite dark. I rode along till I hit the 
 road going from Urangeline to Mahonga, struck a 
 match, and found there were no tracks, so then I made 
 back to Urangeline and sneaked up to the place. No 
 sign of any bushrangers. I went in and wakened Mr. 
 Rose, the manager. He had heard nothing of the men. 
 I said, "Have you a revolver?" He said, "Yes." 
 "Well," I said, "up you get and come along with 
 me." "No jolly fear," he said. "Well, lend me the 
 
 revolver. " " No, I won 't, ' ' he said, ' ' you are a d d 
 
 fool. By your own account those chaps treated you 
 right well, and did no harm ; go home and go to bed. 
 If you follow those chaps and they get you, they will 
 certainly shoot you, and small blame to them, and 
 then they'd go back to Brookong and burn the place 
 down. Go home, man, it 's the best thing you can do 
 for your employers and yourself." 
 
 I called him all the names I could think of, but 
 he only laughed, so off I went. About a mile and a 
 half back on the track to Brookong was a hut, called, 
 curiously enough, the Flash Hut. As I got close to 
 it the moon was just rising, and I had just time to see 
 horses hurry up to the hut, when a voice called out, 
 "Who's there?" and at once a shot rang out and a 
 bullet whistled. I made off, and five or more shots 
 were fired. I lay down flat on my mare and went 
 xig-zagging, and as fast as she could go. This time 
 I heard the bullets. I made for the creek and crossed 
 just below a dam called the Four Mile Dam. The 
 whole creek is dammed, and the water generally 
 reached from one dam to the next. I rode on home, 
 but sat up till morning, in case the rascals paid us 
 another visit. 
 
 Next day the Urana police rode up, and I went 
 with them to the Flash Hut. The man living there 
 was evidently either a sympathiser of the bushrangers 
 or more likely was afraid to speak, for he stoutly
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 369 
 
 denied that anyone had been at his hut, and stuck to 
 it that I was absolutely mistaken. No mounted men 
 had been there, not shooting had occurred ! We went 
 on up the creek to Wallandool, but heard nothing 
 of our men. We were riding along in the dark, and 
 making for Piney Range (now Walbundrie), when 
 we noticed a small fire some distance off the road in 
 thick scrub. Three of us dismounted, and, creeping 
 along cautiously from different directions, we sud- 
 denly rushed in on the fire, and there was a harmless 
 old swaggie having his pot of tea ! The odd part of 
 it was that the old fellow was not in the least put out 
 by the policemen and myself so suddenly rushing on 
 him, with revolvers in our hands. He never even got 
 up off the ground. I believe he had seen our men, 
 but, of course, he swore he had not. 
 
 We rode on, and just at daylight we rode up to 
 Piney Range pub. As we approached we could just 
 make out the barrel of a rifle pointed at us through 
 a window shutter, and a voice called on us to stand. 
 Of course we knew it was not the bushrangers. They 
 would have started firing. 
 
 It turned out that it was the publican, who said 
 he had heard of the Brookong sticking-up, and 
 thought we had come to bail him up. The police went 
 on, and I returned home to my shearing. 
 
 A few days afterwards one of our boundary riders 
 told me that my little inare with the saddle and 
 bridle on her was floating in the Four Mile Dam 
 dead of course. I said, "That's all right, there's one 
 of the bushrangers there, too." So we watched the 
 dam, and sure enough a few. days later the body of 
 my friend Mr. Hammond floated up to the surface, in 
 rather a gruesome condition, so much so that a cheque 
 of mine that I found in his pocket took a lot of airing 
 before it could be handled. 
 
 There was an inquest on the body, and, curiously 
 enough, there was another inquest at the head station 
 the same day on a man who died from snake bite.
 
 370 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 My brother-in-law, William Rawlins, of Yathong, 
 happened along and "sat on the bodies." 
 
 The snake bite death was rather a strange one. A 
 man arrived at Brookong one evening with a big 
 brown snake in a kerosene tin. He said he was a 
 snake charmer. Next morning he let the snake bite 
 him, and all he did was to scarify the back of his neck. 
 The man was evidently mad. Nothing was said to me 
 till about three o'clock in the afternoon, when one of 
 the shearers told me about it, and said he thought the 
 man was dying. I went down, and, sure enough, the 
 man was in a bad way ; his teeth were locked. I could 
 get nothing down his throat, and he died towards 
 morning. The sergeant of police, who, needless to 
 say, was an Irishman, recorded the verdict "that the 
 deceased died from the effect of a bite of a snake of 
 unsound mind." 
 
 To return to the bushrangers. So far as 1 could 
 make out, when they saw me approaching the hut, 
 they thought at first that the police were on them. 
 About half a mile above where I crossed there was 
 an old dam broken in the middle, and from the bank 
 it looked as if the dam was all right, and that it ex- 
 tended across the creek. Whether all the bushrangers 
 galloped into the water or not I never found out, 
 but at any rate Hammond did, and met his deserts, 
 as indeed did all of them, for Blue Cap was taken some 
 months afterwards near Gundagai, as he was riding 
 along the road on my bay horse. A trooper in plain 
 clothes was coming along in the opposite direction, 
 and recognising Blue Cap and the horse, he had Blue 
 Cap covered as he rode up, and he captured him. 
 Blue Cap got ten years in 1868, but was let out the 
 same time as was Gardiner. The other man was 
 taken up somewhere in the Riverina backblocks, after 
 wounding a policeman in the head. He got a death 
 sentence, but this was commuted to fifteen years; he 
 was let out in 1874. 
 
 There never was a bushranger but came to a bad
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 371 
 
 end, and there was a lull in bushranging until the 
 Kelly gang took to the bush. The end of their career 
 at Glenrowan followed, by the capture of Power, may 
 be said to have terminated bushranging in Australia. 
 These and other matters are graphically narrated in 
 Mr. Inspector Sadleir's Recollections of a Victorian 
 Police Officer, also in White's Australian Bush- 
 rangers. 
 
 The following spirited verses are by the poet Bar- 
 croft Boake, whose body was, on the 10th May, 1892, 
 found hanging by the lash of a stock whip from the 
 branch of a tree at Long Bay, Middle Harbour, 
 Sydney. 
 
 Barcroft Boake has left us some fine poems, many 
 of them, as has been well said, "breathe with the 
 breath of genius," notably so one entitled Where the 
 Dead Men Lie. 
 
 Out on the wastes of the Never Never, 
 
 That's where the dead men lie! 
 There ivherc the heat wares d-ance for ever! 
 
 That's where the dead men lie! 
 That's where the Earth's loved sons are keeping, 
 Endless tryst; not the ivest wind sweeping, 
 Feverish pinions can wake their sleeping 
 
 Out where the dead men lie! 
 
 Boake was a great admirer of Lindsay Gordon's 
 poetry, and, like Gordon, he was subject to fits of 
 depression. In one of these fits he took his own life. 
 
 These verses, Fetherstonhaugh, and those entitled 
 Jack Corrigan, were found in Boake 's coat pocket as 
 he hung on the tree, together with a note in pencil to 
 hand the verses to Mr. Archibald, of the Bulletin, in 
 which paper they duly appeared.
 
 372 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 FETHERSTONHAUGH. 
 
 Broolfong station lay half asleep, 
 
 Dozed in the Western waning glare, 
 'Twas before the run was stocked with sheep, 
 
 And only cattle depastured there, 
 As the Blue Cap mob reined up at the door, 
 
 And loudly saluted Fetherstonhaugh. 
 
 "My saintly preacher," the leader cried, 
 "I stand no nonsense, as you're aware, 
 
 I've a ivord for you if you'll step outside, 
 Just drop that pistol and have a care. 
 
 I'll trouble you, too, for the key of the store, 
 For we're short of tucker, friend Fetherston- 
 haugh!" 
 
 The muscular Christian showed no fear, 
 
 Though he handled the key with but small delay; 
 
 He never answered the ruffian's jeer, 
 Except by a look which seemed to say: 
 
 "Beware, my friend! and think before 
 You raise the devil in Fetherstonhaugh!" 
 
 Two hours after he reined his horse, 
 
 Up in Urana, and straightway went 
 To the barracks; the trooper was gone, of course, 
 
 Blindly nosing a week-old scent, 
 Away in the scrub round Mount Galore, 
 "Confound the fellow!" quoth Fetherstonhaugh. 
 
 "Will any man of you come with me, 
 
 And give this Blue Cap a dressing down?" 
 
 They all regarded him silently, 
 As he turned his horse with a scornful frown. 
 
 "You're curs, the lot of you, to the core, 
 I'll go by myself!" said Fetherstonhaugh.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 373 
 
 The scrub was thick on Urangeline, 
 
 As he followed the tracks that twisted through 
 The box and dogwood and scented pine 
 (One of their horses had cast a shoe), 
 Steeped from his youth in forest lore, 
 He could track like a nigger, could Fetherston- 
 haugh. 
 
 He paused as he saw the thread of smoke 
 From the outlaiv camp, and he marked the sound 
 
 Of a hobble-check as it sharply broke 
 
 The silence that held the scrub land bound, 
 
 There were their horses, two, three, four! 
 "It's a risk, but I'll chance it!" quoth Fetherstan- 
 haugh. 
 
 He loosed the first, and it walked away; 
 
 But his comrades' silence could not be bought, 
 For he raised his head with a sudden neigh, 
 
 And plainly showed that he'd not be caught, 
 As a bullet sang from a rifle bore, 
 
 (t lt's time to be moving!" quoth Fetherstonhaugh. 
 
 The brittle pine as they broke away 
 Crackled like ice on a winter's pond. 
 
 The strokes fell fast on the cones that lay 
 Buried beneath the withered fronds 
 
 That softly carpeted the sandy floor, 
 Swept two on the tracks of Fetherstonhaugh. 
 
 They struck the pad that the stock had made, 
 
 A dustily red well-beaten track. 
 The leader opened a fusilade, 
 
 Whose target was Fetherstonhaugh's back, 
 But his luck was out; not a bullet tore 
 
 As much as a shred from Fetherstonhaugh.
 
 374 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Rattle them, rattle them, fast on the pad, 
 Where the sloping shades fell dusk and dim! 
 
 The manager's heart beat high and glad, 
 For he knew that the creek was a mighty swim, 
 
 Already he heard a smothered oath, 
 
 ''They're done like a dinner!'' quoth Fetherston- 
 haugh. 
 
 It was almost dark as they neared the dam, 
 He struck the crossing as true as a hair, 
 
 For the space of a second the pony swam! 
 Then shook himself in the chill night air. 
 
 In a pine tree shade on the further shore, 
 
 With his pistol cocked, stood Fetherstonhaugh. 
 
 A splash! an oath! and a rearing horse! 
 
 A thread snapped short in the fateful loom, 
 The tide unaltered swept on its course, 
 
 Though a fellow creature had met his doom, 
 Pale and trembling and struck with awe, 
 
 Blue Cap stood opposite F ether stonhaugh. 
 
 While the creek rolled muddily on between, 
 The eddies played with the drowned man's hat, 
 
 The stars peeped out in the summer sheen; 
 A night bird chirruped across the flat. 
 
 Quoth Blue Cap, "1 owe you a heavy score, 
 And I'll live to repay it, Fetherstonhaugh!" 
 
 But he never did, for he ran his race 
 Before he had time to fulfill his oath. 
 
 I can't think how, but in any case 
 He was hung or drowned, or it may be both, 
 
 But whichever it was, he came no more 
 To trouble the peace of Fetherstonhaugh.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 375 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 My mare fell with me one night at the Brookong 
 horse paddock gate, and I broke my nose, and a very 
 painful break it was. I rode up to Wagga next day 
 (fifty-five miles), and Dr. Robinson pulled my nose 
 with one hand and pushed it straight with the other 
 and set it for me. I had to ride to Deniliquin shortly 
 after 112 miles. Just before getting into the town 
 my horse stumbled, and I jerked my head. I was 
 walking up the street when I met my cousin, Dick 
 Fetherstonhaugh, then living at Cobram with his 
 cousin, Fred Wolseley. Dick Burst out laughing when 
 he met me, and said, "Whatever have you been doing 
 to yourself; why your nose is as round as a hoop?" 
 and sure enough it was. I went to Dr. Noyes, who 
 pulled my nose, pushed it, straightened and fixed it 
 up again. I went to Deniliquin to attend as a witness 
 on a court case. A well-known man a publican, 
 John Taylor was accused of stealing a lamb, and I 
 was called to attest as to whether the lamb could have 
 been sired by a Vermont sire. I could not attest any- 
 thing of the sort, and indeed quoted the old saw, "It's 
 a wise child knows its own father." The accused 
 got off. That afternoon I rode to the Yanko on my 
 way home. Joe Weir was down a shaft at the wool 
 press in the wool room. I looked down and said, "I 
 have broken my nose, but I have had it fixed up all 
 right." "Fixed up, have you?" said Weir. "Why, 
 man, it's all over your face." He summoned Scotty 
 Turnbull, the well-known groom at the Yanko, and 
 sent me off to Jerilderie in a buggy to see Dr. 
 Stewart, a retired naval surgeon, who, in due course, 
 took his turn at pulling and pushing my unfortunate 
 nose, and got his fee out of my equally unfortunate 
 pocket. Next day I returned to Brookong, and when 
 I met my sister, said, "Well, I'm back, and have had
 
 376 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 two doctors at my iiose, but Dr. Stewart has made 
 a really good job of it this time." "Good job?" 
 ejaculated my sister. "Why your nose is worse than 
 ever ; the sooner you go to Wagga and see Dr. Robin- 
 son the better." I said, "Cart ropes won't drag me 
 to any more doctors." I set to work,, got some card- 
 board and some glue, and sat down before a looking 
 glass. Then, after the manner of the several doctors, 
 I pulled my nose with one hand and pushed it into 
 place with the other; then, having soaked the card- 
 board in glue, I bent it and clapped it on my re- 
 paired nose. The cardboard stiffened, and I consider 
 I made a good job of it. I could easily add another 
 chapter to Laurence Sterne's chapter on noses in 
 that inimitable book Tristram Shandy. 
 
 In recounting my experience with my broken nose 
 in connection with my trip to Deniliquin, I men- 
 tioned a man named Taylor, who kept the Royal 
 Hotel at Deniliquin. Taylor was a very smart man, 
 a real hustler; he had any amount of go and initia- 
 tive, but, unfortunately, he was just a bit too smart. 
 On the occasion of a big flood in the Edwards he 
 posted off to Tocumwal on the Murray, bought an 
 old punt, floated it down the Murray, towed it up 
 the Edwards to Deniliquin, and made a good thing 
 out of the venture. 
 
 He had his hotel lighted with gas in 1866 ; the gas 
 he made on the premises out of the refuse (chiefly) 
 from the hotel. 
 
 An old centenarian, one William Denny, who died 
 in 1916 at Walhallow Station, on the Liverpool 
 Plains, in his 104th year, told me a curious story 
 about this same Taylor. Old Denny, who was "on 
 the wallaby,"* had been doing some work for Tay- 
 lor, and Taylor had bested him, so the old man was 
 very sore, and he took to the road again. The night 
 he left Deniliquin lie got to a little farm with a cot- 
 tage on it, and no one living in it. It looked like 
 rain, so Denny got in through a window and camped 
 
 *Travelling looking for work.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 377 
 
 in the cottage. In the middle of the night he heard 
 the noise of a dray coming up; it pulled up close to 
 the cottage. Denny wondered what was up ; he got 
 out quietly and watched. There were two men with 
 the dray and one was Taylor. The two men dug a 
 big hole in the garden, and Denny began to wonder 
 if they had murdered someone. After they had dug 
 the hole they took a lot of things out of the dray, 
 chiefly plate, and buried it, covered the hole, and 
 went away. Denny reckoned that they had commit- 
 ted a robbery, and it was in fact a robbery, but it 
 was his creditors Taylor was robbing. 
 
 Taylor immediately after went insolvent, but the 
 plate was discovered, and Taylor got several years 
 for fraudulent insolvency, and my old friend Denny 
 chuckled. I did not intend to introduce Denny till 
 later on in my Reminiscences, but I may as well give 
 all I know of his history now, for it is very interest- 
 ing. 
 
 When I was valuing for the State Land Tax in 
 1902 my good friend, F. J. Croaker, manager of 
 Walhallow Station, on the Liverpool Plains, took me 
 to see an old man named William Denny, who had 
 applied for the old age pension, he then being in his 
 ninetieth year. 
 
 There was some difficulty as to his continuity of 
 residence in New South Wales, and it was thought 
 that a conversation with the old man might enable 
 me to satisfy the authorities as to Denny's bona fides. 
 Shortly afterwards Mr. Croaker succeeded in getting 
 the pension for him, and indeed if any man in the 
 State was entitled to a pension old Denny was, as his 
 history will show. 
 
 I saw Denny again at intervals and we became 
 very friendly. I always greatly enjoyed a good long 
 chat with him. He had a wonderful memory, was 
 replete with anecdote, and had a fund of dry humour. 
 Most of his life had been spent in New South Wales. 
 
 My last interview with Denny was in 1915 ; he was
 
 378 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 then in his 103rd year. He was very much alive 
 indeed ; his mind quite alert, and no hesitation in his 
 speech. His bright twinkling eyes beamed with fun 
 and mischief; no one would have taken him to have 
 been over eighty. He enunciated his words perfectly, 
 and to hear him talking out of your sight you would 
 not have known he was fifty. He could talk for a 
 couple of hours without showing signs of fatigue, 
 and he was the best of good company. 
 
 In 1909, when in his 97th year, Denny slipped on 
 the rocks when crossing the Mooki River, and frac- 
 turen the neck of the thigh bone. He had to go on 
 crutches to the end of his life, which occurred in 
 January, 1916, in his 104th year. 
 
 The accident had no effect on Denny's never-failing 
 good spirits; he always looked on the bright side of 
 life, and made the best of it. His keen sense of 
 humour must have been a great source of strength 
 to him. Said he, "If T had not broken my thigh I'd 
 be trying to shear yet. Did you know Ronald, of 
 Nebea? Well, T shore for him when I was seventy- 
 three. I did a bit of shearing in Victoria in the 
 early days. I shore for Andrew Chirnside; that 
 mountain, Alt. William, is called after me. It's 
 truth I'm telling you. Oh, you have been there? 
 Well, over the range, you know, lies the Victoria 
 Valley. A chap well, we'll call him Cotter used 
 to come over from the Valley to duff Andrew's cattle ; 
 he had been an old Derwenter; his earmark was to 
 cut off both ears. There were three chaps sent over 
 from the Derwent (Van Diemen's Land) together to 
 Victoria ; this man Cotter, Tulip Wright, and Teddy 
 Halfpenny. 
 
 "Why, Denny," I said, "I remember Tulip Wright. 
 He kept a public house between Lancefield and Mel- 
 bourne. He had a garden full of tulips. When a 
 little girl my wife picked up a cheque for 78 in 
 front of the pub." 
 
 Said Denny, ' J Do, you know Sam McCaughey?"
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 379 
 
 "I know him well," said I, ''but he is now Sir 
 Samuel McCaughey." 
 
 "Never mind the Sir," said Denny. "I shore for 
 him two or three years, and I'd never ask to shear 
 for a better man. We used to sign on for 17/6 a 
 hundred, but he used to pay us up to 25/- a hundred, 
 according to the cut we gave him." 
 
 "And how were you paid, Denny?" 
 
 "I got the 25/-, and though I shore fewer sheep 
 I lost nothing by it. Anyway, a man thinks more 
 of himself when he's getting his cheque if he thinks 
 he has given the cove a good cut for his money. Sam 
 McCaughey," said Denny, "is an evenhanded man 
 and a good worker himself. Why, I did hear that 
 he and Joe M'cGaw, him that was super at the Yanko 
 for Sam Wilson, and afterwards owned Burrabogie, 
 on the Murrumbidgee, that these two worked as hard 
 as any two navvies on a big piece of pick and shovel 
 work on the Wimmera, in Victoria, for the Wilsons. ' ' 
 
 During my last interview with the old man in 1915 
 I said to him, "Denny, I'd like you to give me a 
 sketch of your life and let me make notes of what 
 you tell me. One of these days I mean to write up 
 my reminiscences, and I'd like to have you in them." 
 Denny was quite pleased, and what he told me was 
 spread over several interviews. I took notes and 
 wrote them up immediately after I left Denny, so 
 that all through this narrative I give Denny's actual 
 words. 
 
 ' ' I was born, ' ' he said, ' ' on the Hawkesbury on the 
 13th May, 1812, at a place called Wilberforce, called 
 after that fine man who played so great a part in 
 the emancipation of the slaves. I am an only son. 
 My father was in the army, in the 88th Rifles, the 
 Connaught Rangers, and he attained his captaincy. 
 He made three trips to Australia with convicts; one 
 in 1807, another in 1809, and before his last trip, 
 which was in 1811, he got married to an Irish girl. 
 He was one of the veterans (pronounced Viteran by
 
 380 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Denny). After his last trip he got a grant of land 
 at Wilberforce. This settlement on the Hawkesbury 
 was known as the Viteran's Flat." 
 
 Denny was unlike the typical tall wiry Hawkes- 
 bury native. He was short and thick set, had been 
 a very strong man, and had never been ill in all his 
 long life. He once dislocated his shoulder, and went 
 to the Liverpool Asylum, where Dr. Beattie fixed 
 him up, and was very good to him, but the Asylum 
 inmates were, Denny said, "a tough lot, and a dirty 
 lot, too." 
 
 "I have lived under five Kings and one Queen 
 George the Third, George the Fourth, William, Queen 
 Victoria, and her two sons, Edward the Seventh, God 
 bless him, and the present King. Edward the 
 Seventh was born in 1841, and the Princess Royal, 
 her that married the German Emperor, was born a 
 year before that in 1840. Begad," said old Denny, 
 with a merry twinkle in his eye, ''the old Queen lost 
 no time in giving the English people plenty of 
 Royalty." 
 
 "Yes," said Denny, "I'm a Catholic, but I live 
 and let live. I'm like that Irishman who said, 'God 
 is good and the devil none too bad if you don't rub 
 him up the wrong way.' See here," said Denny. 
 "I don't like that Church of England. She was 
 started by that villain of a King who murdered four 
 wives and would have done for the fifth only she saw 
 him out. He left the old church just for his own 
 bad ends." 
 
 "Dr. Bland, a navy surgeon, was my godfather. 
 He came out on one of my father's trips with con- 
 victs, having been sentenced to seven years for kill- 
 ing a brother officer in a 'dooel.' The two were serv- 
 ing under Nelson on the old Victory, and they had 
 an altercation in which Bland, who told me the story, 
 gave the other the lie. A meeting was arranged, but 
 Nelson, hearing of it, called them up to him, and said, 
 'We want our officers to fight for their country, not
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 381 
 
 against each other, and the first man that attempts 
 to fight a ' dooel, ' I '11 hang him instantly at the yard- 
 arm.' When the Victory reached land the two men, 
 who were so eager to fight, met, and Dr. Bland shot 
 his man dead. 
 
 "In those days," went on Denny, "a dooel was 
 looked upon as quite an ordinary affair, and the 
 usual penalty for killing your man was a fine of a 
 shilling. In this case the dead man's friends were 
 bigwigs and very influential, and poor Bland got 
 seven years. However, on landing, no surgeons or 
 doctors being available, Bland was at once appointed 
 honorary surgeon to the Government Hospital, and 
 he acted as such till he had served his time. When 
 he became a free man he was regularly appointed 
 surgeon. Later on he was appointed one of an 
 executive council of four, the other three being Went- 
 worth, Blaxland, and Bob Lowe. Bland then used 
 to drive a little carriage painted red with red lamps. 
 It was well known in Sydney as the ' Red Pill Box. ' ' ' 
 "Did you ever know Lowe?" asked Denny. 
 "Well, Denny," I said, "Lowe had left Australia 
 before I came out; no doubt you allude to the man 
 who became Chancellor of the Exchequer after he 
 went home, and afterwards Lord Sherbrooke?" 
 
 "That's the man," said Denny, "and a bad tem- 
 pered man he was. He got his back up at Dr. 
 Bland's appointment on the Executive, he being a 
 Government man (convict), and in a huff Lowe 
 refused to act with Bland. Even at school Lowe was 
 a cantankerous chap ; someone once wrote an epitaph 
 for Lowe. I'll give it to you." He promptly 
 quoted : 
 
 Here lie the bones of Robert Lowe, 
 And where he's gone I do not know. 
 If he's gone to realms above 
 Farewell to harmony and love. 
 If he's gone to a lower level 
 We can't congratulate the devil.
 
 382 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 "1 remember," says he. "Lowe defending a prisoner 
 named Knatchbull for the murder of a Mrs. Jamie- 
 son. Knatchbull put the poor woman sitting on a 
 fire to make her say where her money was, and 
 finally he killed her, and he an educated man. too. 
 In spite of Lowe's defence, Knatchbull was con- 
 victed and hanged." 
 
 Denny was pretty good on epitaphs. I can only 
 remember two of them. "Did you ever hear of Sir 
 John Trollope?" "Well, no." "He wrote an 
 epitaph on himself." 
 
 Here lies the body of Sir John Trollope, 
 I caused the stones to roll up. 
 When God shall take my soul up, 
 My body shall fill this hole up. 
 
 The next is bordering on the profane ; it was writ- 
 ten, said Denny, about a man named Todd, who had 
 an enormous mouth, which he generally kept open. 
 He consequently got the name of the Gaper. 
 
 Here lies the body of Andrew Todd, 
 Stranger tread lightly o'er the sod. 
 For if he gapes you're lost, by d. 
 
 "Governor Brisbane," says Denny, "on his way 
 out, called at Pit-cairn Island, and was greatly taken 
 with the Bounty mutineers, and made up his mind 
 to get them over to Australia. With that end in view 
 he shifted the Viterans from Wilberforce, and gave 
 them grants of land in others places, intending to 
 settle the Pitcairn islanders on the land occupied by 
 the Viterans. However, the powers that be would 
 not consent to it, and nothing came of it." 
 
 Denny's father was shifted to Bathurst, but got a 
 grant of laud somewhere about Camberwell, where 
 his mother lived later on. 
 
 "I started work when I was nine years old, strip- 
 ping wattle bark, but when I was ten years old I
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 383 
 
 was sent to school in Castlereagh-street, to old Mac- 
 gregor, till I was twelve or fourteen. He learned 
 me to read, and to write, after a fashion. There 
 were about twenty-three scholars there, among them 
 G. M. Pitt, and a boy named Weston. Old Mac was 
 a stern man, my word," said Denny, with a twinkle 
 in his eyes (and good, honest eyes they were). "He 
 could leather you and no mistake. They don't 
 leather the young chaps enough these days. Why, if 
 a boy was properly leathered now his mother would 
 get the mimber for the district to see about it in the 
 House, so she would. 
 
 "At fourteen years old I was apprenticed to a 
 ship's carpenter, but I never learnt much of that 
 work. The carpenter put me sawing; his name was 
 Cuthbert, and when he found I was good at it he 
 kept me sawing. I was as strong as a young bull. 
 When I had served my time as apprentice I went to 
 Circular Quay, and started sawing for old John 
 Cook, a Bristol native; he came out a bird stuffer 
 and went to the Richmond, and the sawyers there 
 took him in hand. The blacks were pretty bad on 
 the Richmond then; the married people all lived in 
 the centre of the settlement. One day Cook saw the 
 blacks coming, and gave the alarm. The men all 
 ran up out of the sawpits, and made such a show 
 that the blacks cleared out. The sawyers were so 
 pleased with Cook over this that they made up 
 100,000 feet of logs for him, and sent it to the Cir- 
 cular Quay, and he started cutting it up, and I 
 started in to help him. This I think would be about 
 1840, and I would be about twenty-eight then. I was 
 thirty-six when I came up to this country, and shore 
 here for three years. This place then belonged to 
 Billy Nolan. John Bales owned Walhallow, and he 
 went to law with Nolan. At that time, ' ' says Denny, 
 "you couldn't own a station on both sides of a 
 river. Eales contended that the Mooki was not a 
 river with a frontage, but only a chain of waterholes.
 
 384 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 "I was never here again till 1902 that was sixty- 
 four years after. Mi'. Croaker brought you to see 
 here in 1902; that was the time he got me the 
 old age pension, and a lot of trouble there was to 
 get it for me, an Australian-born and then ninety 
 years old, and you'll remimber," says Denny, "you 
 helped Mr. Croaker in getting me the pinsion. But 
 I got it all right, and a good job it is for me." 
 
 "Tell me, Denny, where were you all that sixty- 
 four years?" 
 
 "Well, I was here, and there, and everywhere 
 Victoria, Queensland, but mostly in New South 
 Wales. A good while I was sawing in Sydney; I 
 was sawkeeper, that was better than sawing. I was 
 down in Melbourne, and saw the first race ever run, 
 where the present course is at Flemington. Plenipo 
 ran and won. He belonged to a publican named 
 Jack Smith; he beat Borneo, belonging to one of the 
 Hunter Brothers. The match was for 500 a-side. 
 I think this was in 1841, but can't be sure. It was 
 the year of the big comet. It was as big up in the 
 sky as this hut; it spanned the whole firmament" 
 (Denny's own words). "You'd see the Jews in a 
 great fright; they wanted to sell anything they had. 
 but bedad you know in all their fright they'd give 
 you nothing for nothing. There was more than Jews 
 frightened, too, and I tell you, sir, there's plenty 
 worse citizens of this Commonwealth than the Jews. 
 Why, there's Christians (God save the mark) that 
 would lamb you down and skin you for your last 
 penny not that I was ever lambed down. My spare 
 cash never went in drink except in a big shout now 
 and again." 
 
 "Did you ever see the Hunters ride, Denny?" 
 
 "I did, but I can't remember them much; there 
 was one fair terror, Jack Hunter." 
 
 "Yes, I remember old Colonel Snodgrass, and his 
 son Peter, too, that was a member of the Assembly 
 later on."
 
 WILLIAM DEXXY 
 In His 102nd Year.
 
 THOMAS N. FITZGKKAI.D
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 385 
 
 "In 1834 Cox and old Harry Dangar were at 
 Goonoo Goonoo, but they had to shift, and Cox settled 
 on Ghoolendaddy and Nombi, and Dangar at Myall 
 Creek, and there was not a myhall on it." 
 
 "In '37 the massacre of blacks took place at Myall 
 Creek, but Mr. Dangar knew nothing of it till after 
 it happened. I was shearing, and after the massacre, 
 Mr. Dangar sent me to Myall Creek to muster the 
 cattle." 
 
 "The blacks were massacred right enough. The 
 stockmen had got the gins and promised the black- 
 fellows presents, and when there were no presents 
 the blacks played up, and the stockmen marched 
 them out to a place, where sixty or seventy were 
 shot. It was a horrible massacre. That talk about 
 chaining the blacks together was all lies, but the 
 blacks were marched along to a piece of open ground, 
 and sixty or seventy were killed. The fools of men 
 boasted about it, and they were arrested, all except 
 'Micky Bad English,' an Irishman, so-called because 
 he spoke such bad English. He had queer yarns 
 about the shooting all mixed up with queer Irish 
 words. I got the 430 cattle all right, and Dangar 
 left two stockmen to mind them. I went back to 
 my mother in Sydney." 
 
 "Do you remember when Buckley was found?" 
 
 "Yes, I saw Buckley once at a place now called 
 Dromana. At that time Gellibrand was lost, and 
 there was a big reward for him. He was found near 
 a mountain; there was a little fire and a saddle, 
 bridle and whip. A man named Thorpe found him. 
 The mountain was called Mt. Gellibrand after this. 
 Thorpe was stockman for Faithfull on the Ovens, a 
 place called Buffalo Mount. Bill Thorpe was the 
 first man I ever heard called Buffalo Bill; it was 
 while looking for Gellibrand that he found Buckley 
 with a tribe of blacks. Buckley fell on his knees 
 and repeated all he could remember of the Lord's 
 Prayer. 
 
 M
 
 386 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 "Do you know a place called the Piney Range?" 
 said Denny. 
 
 "Yes, I know it well," I replied. 
 
 "It was at one time a rendezvous for all the horse 
 and cattle stealers in that district; it's about eighty 
 miles out of Albury. Many a time Morgan, the out- 
 law, called in at the Piney. When Mr. Kiddle bought 
 Walbundrie, on which the Piney Range pub. stands, 
 he pretty well bought up the township, including the 
 pub., and the Piney Range mob of evil-doers was 
 broken up. Well," said Denny, "I was one time at 
 the Piney, sawing out the timber for a public house 
 for a man named Galloping Dick. There was a man 
 named Geary working there. He came to me and he 
 said, 'I want to make a confession. I put away a 
 man in Victoria seventeen years ago at the Stony 
 Rises, beyond Colac. I was shepherding there, and 
 I had just killed a sheep for myself when a man 
 came up and caught me in the act. In a minute I 
 caught hold of an axe, and put it into him, and he 
 fell dead. I got a bag, and cut him up, and put the 
 pieces into the bag, and my wife, who saw the whole 
 thing, helped me to put it on the horse, and I took 
 it away and buried it under one of the big heaps of 
 stones. When I got back my wife had run away, and 
 I have never seen her since. Then I cleared out, too. 
 Now I can't stand it any longer. I mean to give 
 myself up.' ' 
 
 " 'Well.' said Denny, 'go to Galloping Dick, 
 and tell him ; it's no business of mine.' 
 
 "Dick would have no truck, with him either, so he 
 went to Albury and told the priest, and he told him 
 to go to Mr. Tom Browne, the Police Magistrate 
 (Rolf Boldrewood). Mr. Browne told him that as 
 the murder had occurred in Victoria, he had better 
 go across the river to Wodonga, where he (Mr. 
 Browne) also adjudicated, and give himself up there. 
 Geary was arrested, and taken to the Stony Rises, 
 and, sure enough, the remains were found. Then
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 387 
 
 the wife was found, and gave her evidence, and 
 Geary was duly hanged." 
 
 "Did you ever try the Diggings, Denny?" 
 
 "Yes, I made a rise of 700 one time, but then I 
 went to Major Creek diggings, and I blewed it all; 
 that's what happens to most diggers." 
 
 "No, I never drank, but I gambled." 
 
 "How gambled?" 
 
 "Oh, hazards; I never bet. Last time I was in 
 Sydney I was forty-five years old. It was the time 
 of my mother's death." 
 
 "I was once bitten by a black snake on the finger. 
 I had an axe in my hand, so I at once chopped the 
 finger off, and, in doing this, I took a piece off the 
 next finger, as you can see. I went to Sydney, 
 and my godfather, Dr. Bland, fixed it up for me. 
 
 "There was an old fellow in Van Dieman's Land; 
 he was taken for killing a bullock, and he was sent 
 to Sydney to be tried, and an Irish barrister, one 
 Monty Dillon, defended him. They took the bullock 
 hide over in a cask, and they thought they had the 
 men jailed safe enough, but when the cask was 
 opened out came a kangaroo skin ; they had rung the 
 changes somewhere, and the man got off. 
 
 "The first Cup ever run for in Sydney," said 
 Denny, "was when I was seven years old. It was 
 run in Hyde Park, and the end of that year news 
 came out of the birth of Queen Victoria on 24th May, 
 1819. 
 
 "I was talking to a man named Walthers one 
 day," said Denny. "He fancied himself on dates, 
 so I said to him, 'Walthers, can you tell me what 
 three great events occurred in 1812?' 'Well,' said 
 Walthers, 'there was the burning of Moscow,' but 
 he couldn't tell me the other two. 'Why,' I said, 
 'there was the taking of Badajos, and in 1812 Wil- 
 liam Denny was born.' 'Oh, you be damned,' said 
 Walthers. 
 
 "Did you know Mosely, of Tibbereenah ? "
 
 388 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 "Yes," I said. 
 
 "Well," said Denny, "he was a good sport, and a 
 hard case, and could use his fists. He kept pet snakes 
 all over the place. There was a curse on Tibbe- 
 reenah; no one ever did any good with that place. 
 A man followed and shot an outlaw there, a bush- 
 ranger, and after he had shot the man, he began to 
 think it was not the bushranger at all, and he cleared 
 out. A chap named let us say, Smith found the 
 body, and thought he'd go for the reward and chance 
 it being an outlaw, so he chopped off the head and 
 took it to the police, who were satisfied that it was 
 the man they wanted, and as a reward Smith got a 
 grant of land at Tibbereenah, and there always has 
 been a curse on the place since. Anyway, Mosely 
 did no good with it." 
 
 "The old Royal Hotel in Sydney was, I think, 
 built the year after I was born, 1813; it was built 
 by George Barry, the 'Gentleman Thief.' 
 
 "Governor Denison was coming past one day with 
 a gentleman each side of him, where I was sitting 
 with two other chaps. As he passed I took off my 
 hat, and he returned the salute, and the two gentle- 
 men took off their hats, too. 'Bedad, Denny,' said 
 one of my mates, 'we never thought you knew the 
 Governor?' 'No more I do,' said I, 'but you see it's 
 etiquette from one gentleman to another to lift your 
 hat.' I had him there." 
 
 Old Denny was much missed by Mr. Croaker and 
 his family, and Walhallow will never be the game to 
 me without him. R.I.P. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 I was much circumscribed in the management of 
 Brookong. The wool sales and stock sales did not 
 pass through my hands, I was not kept informed as
 
 AFTER MANY DATS 389 
 
 * 
 
 to the returns, so I cannot supply any information 
 as to the profits that were being made at that time 
 from station properties. Being a leasehold and fenced 
 in, I should say that Brookong paid handsomely on 
 its capital value. At the same time I remember a 
 friend who owned a very good small property in the 
 district saying to me that he would rather have my 
 position as manager of a large station than his posi- 
 tion as owner; but then he was heavily in debt. 
 
 That portion of Riverina extending from somewhat 
 west of Deniliquin right up to a bit east of Wagga, 
 and embracing all the country between the Murray 
 and Murrumbidgee Rivers, and including the north 
 frontage of the Murrumbidgee, from Wagga to below 
 Narandera, has done right well for all the men who 
 purchased properties there in the early sixties. I 
 cannot think of any one station owner who did not 
 make good on all that area, except William Halliday, 
 and his failure was in no way due to the country, 
 for had he remained to manage the station himself 
 and not gone to Sydney and Melbourne, he would, 
 had he lived, have come out a very wealthy man. 
 
 A number of station owners in the district under 
 notice made a great deal of money and left it to 
 their children. Now, how it is that so much money 
 has been made off this Riverina country, while on 
 country in other parts of New South Wales, with 
 richer soil and a better rainfall, the failures have 
 been many, as note what my friend R. D. Barton 
 says in his very interesting and vigorously written 
 Reminiscences. He says, "Before 1902 few graziers 
 made money ; the best they could do was to rear their 
 families and pay expenses." 
 
 Riverina is just as subject to droughts, is not bet- 
 ter fattening or lambing country, nor it is better 
 wool-growing country than the country further north, 
 with which Mr. Barton was conversant. 
 
 The reason, in my opinion, is not far to seek. 
 Almost every acre of the area under notice in
 
 390 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 Riverina was purchased by Victorians, and I have 
 no doubt that the success to which I have just drawn 
 attention was due to the up-to-date methods observed 
 by these progressive men from the State which Jack 
 Robertson styled "the cabbage garden." 
 
 As late as 1877 I rode over a great part of New 
 South Wales outside Riverina with the view of pur- 
 chasing a station property. When I came to a well- 
 improved property, fenced in and sub-divided, with 
 good tanks or wells, good homestead, good gates and 
 also good sheep, I had not to ask as to where the 
 owner hailed from. He was sure to be a Victorian. 
 If I rode through an unfenced property, with pot- 
 hole tanks (death traps), no wells, a tumble-down 
 homestead, and inferior shepherded sheep, I could 
 make sure that the place was owned by a New South 
 Welshman. These remarks apply only to the West- 
 ern and Central Divisions. 
 
 A very notable example of the contrast between 
 the old New South Wales style of station manage- 
 ment and that of the Victorian occurred in that well- 
 known station, Calga, in the Castlereagh district, 
 near Coonamble. This property in 1873 consisted 
 of some 180,000 acres of, chiefly, rich basaltic plains 
 running up to the foothills of the picturesque War- 
 rumbungle mountains. These mountains rise to an 
 altitude of 4000 feet over sea level. Calga has an 
 annual rainfall of 20 inches, that is three inches over 
 that of Brookong. This fine property, together with 
 some 30,000 shepherded sheep (being all it would 
 carry in its unimproved state), was sold by the 
 owner, an experienced New South Wales squatter, 
 to Mr. James Murphy, a Victorian. Mr. Murphy 
 told me that Calga was sold because of the difficulty 
 and cost of watering the country. Mr. Murphy 
 fenced and sub-divided the run, excavated a few 
 tanks, made some dams in the watercourses, and, in 
 about seven years, sold at a big profit to the Ryder 
 Brothers, also Victorians. At the present time, and
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 391 
 
 only as the result of fencing and water improve- 
 ments, a fifth of the original area of Calga is carry- 
 ing as much as the whole area carried under the pre- 
 vious regime. 
 
 I often wonder where all the New South Welsh- 
 men have got to, for, except in the Eastern Division, 
 nine out of ten of the stations in New South Wales 
 are owned by Victorians or sons of Victorians. 
 
 I must not forget to mention how much Australia 
 is indebted to these same old-time New South Wales 
 squatters for the good work they have done in breed- 
 ing the grandest horses in the world for endurance 
 on the road and in the cattle camp. Alas, it is hard, 
 if not impossible, nowadays to pick up a horse of 
 which the picture herewith, drawn by Harry Stock- 
 dale, is the type. 
 
 The Australian horse has made a great name for 
 himself in Egypt and in Palestine. Our returned 
 soldiers cannot speak too highly of them, although 
 at times they had to go for 48 hours without food 
 or water, they "stuck it" well out, to the joy of their 
 riders. 
 
 During my time at Brookong almost all the stations 
 were leasehold. The only station owners who bought 
 land were the Learmonths, of Groongall, on the Mur- 
 rumbidgee. To the amazement of other squatters 
 they, about 1870, applied for and purchased 300,000 
 acres of, chiefly, saltbush plains and myall country . 
 on the north bank of the Murrumbidgee, at 1 an 
 acre. Forty years afterwards, although a great deal 
 of money had been expended in improvement, the 
 land would not have brought 1 an acre in the open 
 market. The leasehold rents were very moderate 
 indeed at the time of which I write, and wool and 
 stock were a fair price, so that station owners should 
 have been coming money. I remember one year when 
 English buyers came round giving a shilling a pound 
 for the greasy wool on the station. We had droughts 
 about one year in five but until 1877 there were
 
 392 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 no big losses in this district. That of 1869 was a 
 pretty bad drought, and a number of sheep were 
 sent to ''the Hills" that is, the Upper Murray coun- 
 try. We sent 6000 sheep from Brookong in 1869, 
 and had no losses either in the hills or at home. I 
 remember, however, Mr. Blackwood, of Hartwood, 
 telling me later on that, if his backers were to force 
 him to sell, he would go out without a shilling. This 
 was after he had had to buy land. 
 
 Again I remember a firm on the Murrumbidgee 
 owners of a splendid property becoming pushed. 
 The station was valued by a friend of mine for the 
 mortgagees at 80,000. This would not have cleared 
 the mortgage, so the mortgagees carried them on, and 
 within twelve months the station was sold for 
 160,000. 
 
 That was a hard case of the Desaillys. A bad 
 drought hit them hard, and the mortgagees took pos- 
 session. The day the Desaillys left their station, the 
 drought broke, and they were bogged on the run 
 they had just lost. This sort of thing happened to 
 not a few then and since. At one time the banks 
 and pastoral institutions foreclosed on a man with- 
 out much hesitation. Directors of financial institu- 
 tions had no bowels of mercy. They did not then 
 realise the wonderful recuperative powers of Aus- 
 tralian soil. Now it is quite different. Any steady, 
 experienced, industrious man who keeps his backers 
 thoroughly informed of all his transactions, and of 
 the state of his country, will get fair play, and more 
 than fair play, from any of our large pastoral insti- 
 tutions. He will get fair play, too, from banks, but 
 banks are not so well posted on pastoral matters as 
 are the big companies. In fact, the financing of large 
 squatting concerns is not considered to be strict bank- 
 ing business, so that banks are not nearly so liberal 
 with squatting customers in bad times as are the 
 large companies. Squatters who have to borrow 
 should bear in mind that while the companies look
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 393 
 
 to getting their profits out of the wool, banks get 
 their profits out of the interest on money lent. A 
 pastoral company wants to lend as little money as 
 it can, and to get as much wool as it can. A bank 
 does not deal in wool, and does not look to it for its 
 profits. 
 
 In the days of which I am writing almost all the 
 stations in New South Wales outside the eastern part 
 consisted of leasehold land. When they were sold 
 they were sold at so much a head for the sheep, the 
 leasehold and improvements given in, and this pro- 
 cedure still obtains in Queensland. About one-third 
 cash was paid, and the balance at 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 
 years, bearing 7 per cent, interest. A buyer calcu- 
 lated on having the place clear of debt at the end of 
 five years. That is, he expected to, and generally 
 did, pay the balance of the purchase money out of 
 the profits. At times droughts came and the specu- 
 lator lost everything. 
 
 In 1861 the pastoralists of New South Wales re- 
 ceived a staggering blow under the belt in "Jack 
 Robertson's" "Free Selection before Survey Act," 
 and yet what a splendid opportunity existed for 
 bringing in land legislation that would have made 
 New South Wales one of the greatest countries in 
 the world! 
 
 What should have been done was so patent to any 
 thoughtful man that one is lost in amazement that it 
 was not carried out. Everyone can see now that if 
 good big areas of land suitable for settlement had 
 been chosen where the rainfall was sufficient, and to 
 which rail communication could have been extended, 
 and this area set apart under rigid conditions of 
 residence and improvement, and no man allowed to 
 take up a holding of more than a limited area, while 
 the land not required was debarred from purchase 
 altogether, the prosperity of the colony was assured. 
 
 Those dispossessed of their land could have been 
 compensated by an assessment struck on those who
 
 394 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 were left iii possession, and the rentals could have 
 been doubled, and compensation for necessary im- 
 provements allowed to leaseholders at termination of 
 their leases. The colony would soon have been 
 studded with thriving farms and thriving farmers, 
 prosperous towns, well equipped with water and 
 schools, the whole colony would have become wonder- 
 fully prosperous, and the Crown would have held a 
 magnificent estate ever growing in value. It is very 
 easy being wise after the event, my readers will say, 
 but I can assure them that the scheme I have out- 
 lined was often put out by squatters in those days. 
 But free selection before survey was a great cry to 
 go to the polls with. 
 
 I was sitting beside old Jack Robertson one day 
 at lunch at the old Reform Club. We had just pur- 
 chased a station called Goorianawa, all leasehold. 
 The old man put his hand on my arm and said, 
 "Look here, young man, sell your blooming shirt and 
 buy the land," and he repeated his advice. 
 
 Jack Robertson's Act set the men who wanted land 
 and the men occupying the land at each other's 
 throats. In one day the value of a squatter's tenure 
 fell by one half. Any Thursday any man could 
 select anywhere on the squatter's holding that was 
 not protected by improvements. Unscrupulous men 
 tried to blackmail by cutting a man off from his 
 homestead, wool shed and sheep wash or frontage. 
 On a cattle run cattle camps would be selected. I 
 have known the owner of a fairly small run ruined 
 on one Thursday. Sixteen selections were taken up 
 on him by one family. That means 40,000 acres at 
 one swoop. 
 
 I have known a man posing as an intending pur- 
 chaser of a run make himself acquainted with all 
 the weak points of the run, then offer the owner half 
 the value of the 'place. Refusal meant the selection 
 of all the salient positions of the run, the owner 
 being forced to take what he could get.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 395 
 
 On the other hand Jack Robertson's Act left room 
 and to spare for the run-holder to harass any selec- 
 tor, bona fide or otherwise, who wanted to settle 
 down and make a home for himself. Many and 
 many a hard working honest good fellow was worried 
 into selling his selection. The Act gave the run- 
 holder (or indeed anyone else who wanted to) any 
 amount of opportunity of dummying, that is taking 
 up land by means of men paid for the job. In a 
 short time this great Act had half the men in New 
 South Wales at each other's throats. It purposed 
 to stop the aggregation of large estates; it actually 
 led to the building up of large estates. 
 
 Some years ago about the important town of 
 Wagga there was a great outcry, "Burst up the large 
 estates." The town was, it was quite true, hemmed 
 in by large properties, and men who wanted small 
 areas of land could not get them. Yet it is a fact 
 that the men who were most vociferous in demanding 
 that the large estates should be "burst up" were the 
 sons of the men who,- by selling their selections, had 
 built up these same large estates! 
 
 For some time after Sir John Robertson's Act 
 became law the original occupiers had only to buy 
 picked portions of their runs, but very soon it became 
 a race between the squatters, and the men who 
 wanted land, either to use or to make money by re- 
 selling. Squatters had to borrow money, and borrow 
 at eight per cent., too, to enable them to buy as much 
 of their holdings as would save them from ruin. All 
 had to go into debt, and many got heavily involved, 
 for not only had they to borrow money to buy, say, half 
 of their holding, but they had to borrow money to 
 enable them to improve the purchased half so that it 
 would carry more sheep. The effect of all this was 
 not all bad, for many men put their heads and 
 their hearts into their business, and found after a bit 
 that they were able by judicious expenditure on im- 
 provements, more water and smaller paddocks, and
 
 396 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 by growing better sheep, to get as good a return 
 from half the area as they before got from the whole. 
 It must be remembered that I am now writing of 
 the state of affairs during, say, the first fifteen or 
 twenty years of the incidence of Sir John's famous 
 (I was nearly writing infamous) Act of Free Selec- 
 tion before Survey. 
 
 The leaseholders (squatters) had no desire to buy 
 the land; they only bought when forced to do so, 
 and to save themselves from ruin. Many found them- 
 selves between the devil and the deep sea. If they 
 didn't buy, ruin stared them in the face; if they 
 borrowed money at eight per cent, to buy, and were 
 hit by a bad drought or by a big fall in wool, or, as 
 sometimes happened, were hit by both, then they 
 were ruined, just the same. 
 
 While I was at Brookong, all of that area of 315,000 
 acres, only the 640 acres on which the homestead and 
 woolshed stood was freehold. I urged the- owners to 
 protect the station by buying a frontage, and the 
 land round the tanks and dams. This land could 
 then have been bought at 1 an acre. But they 
 would not hear of it, and laughed at me when I sug- 
 gested that they should buy the plains, then con- 
 sidered to be the best land, at the price mentioned. 
 As for the forest and scrubby country, no one ever 
 thought of buying it. 
 
 I was standing with Bobby Rand one morning on 
 the verandah at Urangeline, and I pointed over to 
 the Wallendool and Brookong scrubs, and I said, 
 ' ' What is that land worth, Mr. Rand ? " He said, ' ' I 
 would not give half a crown an acre for it." That 
 land with the timber merely killed would to-day 
 bring forty half-crowns an acre. 
 
 At that time in Riverina the plains country was 
 looked upon as far more valuable than the timbered 
 country. To-day (in 1917) the timbered country, 
 killed and cleared, is worth about four times moro
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 397 
 
 per acre than the plains, and the killing and clearing 
 has not cost more than 1 an acre. 
 
 Selection was creeping on steadily, and before I 
 left one or two selectors had taken up land on 
 Brookong. One knowing Scotchman selected round 
 our sheepwash. 
 
 Very soon it became evident to Mr. Hebden that 
 unless the owners were prepared to spend a large 
 sum of money in buying land they had better sell. 
 Accordingly in 1873 Brookong, with 96,000 sheep, 
 was sold to William Halliday, of the Wimmera, in 
 Victoria. I am not sure about the price, but it was 
 over 100,000. 
 
 Mr. Halliday was a man of large ideas, very specu- 
 lative and very capable. What attracted him on 
 Brookong, and what induced him to buy the property, 
 was the large extent of heavily timbered land. He 
 saw that most of this forest land was composed of 
 rich basaltic soil; the bigger the trees the richer he 
 knew the soil to be. He had seen in Victoria that, 
 by ring-barking, the carrying capacity of land could 
 be trebled and quadrupled. He knew by his own 
 experience in Victoria that the forest country on 
 Brookong, which was only carrying some 60,000 
 sheep, could, by ringing, by more water and by more 
 fencing, be made to carry 140,000 sheep. In his eyes 
 it meant almost a fortune. He at once set to work 
 to kill the timber, excavate large tanks, and sub- 
 divide the large paddocks. While hard at work at 
 this he was caught in the terrible 1876-1877 drought 
 which lasted well into 1878. Halliday 's sheep died 
 like flies. By the time the drought was over he had 
 very few left. He lost 130,000, but his heart never 
 failed him. All through the drought he had gangs- 
 of men ringbarking and suckering trees and excavat- 
 ing tanks and skinning sheep. His fences for miles 
 were covered with sheep skins yet his backers, in- 
 spired by his energy and go, stuck to him. In 1878, 
 about March, he told me all this himself believing
 
 398 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 that rain was near, he took a fortnight's offer in 
 Victoria of some 90,000 ewes in lamb. He went on 
 up home to Brookong. A few days before his offer 
 was to expire rain fell; it poured rain all night. 
 Some of his tanks Avere filled, there was a certainty 
 of good grass, and a good lambing was assured. In 
 the morning he got the wires to work he had the 
 telephone on to his office and he closed the deal for 
 the 90,000 ewes in lamb at an average of 4/9 a head. 
 Rain had also fallen in Victoria, and he got the sheep 
 home without loss. He got a clip and a lamb from 
 the ewes. These were worth about 10/- a head, and 
 the ewes were worth 10/- ahead off shears. He sold 
 half of them. This transaction put him on his legs 
 and further increased the confidence of his backers. 
 
 Halliday told me how he and Mrs. Halliday had 
 come out to Victoria. Upon coming ashore they sat 
 down on their boxes, which contained all they had 
 in the world. Mrs. Halliday was a grand help-mate 
 for her plucky, capable husband. They and James 
 Richmond, so well known later on as the owner of 
 Haddon Rig, who had for many years been living 
 in Scotland, came out together and went up country 
 together; and each very soon got positions as over- 
 seers on sheep stations. After a while they were 
 offered a small station on easy terms. They pur- 
 chased this, Richmond took charge of it, Halliday 
 kept his billet, and they pooled the salary. James 
 Richmond was just as capable a man as Halliday 
 both Scotchmen. They prospered exceedingly, and 
 each became owners of large stations, and each in 
 that terrible 1876-1877 drought lost over 100,000 
 sheep. They always continued fast friends, and well 
 would it have been for Halliday had they remained 
 partners. 
 
 Halliday was now on the crest of the wave ; he im- 
 proved Brookong so that one year he shore 300,000 
 sheep. This would mean a return after paying ex- 
 penses, except interest, of some 75,000 for the year !
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 399 
 
 Halliday was very generous, and very good and 
 liberal to his employees, but he was a determined 
 man, and in the big strike of 1888 he fought the 
 shearers for all he was worth and beat them badly. 
 All the same they always respected Halliday. I will 
 have something to say about that strike and other 
 strikes in my second volume later on. 
 
 In my time we had stands for only thirty-six 
 shearers at Brookong, and these were for hand 
 shearers. We paid 17/6 a hundred, but for several 
 years I paid by results, the rate ranging from 17/6 
 a hundred sheep to l/5/- a hundred. It answered 
 well, but gave me a great deal of trouble, as I had 
 to enter a rate on every pen of sheep shorn as I 
 counted out. The good shearers were greatly pleased 
 with the arrangement, but the indifferent shearers 
 did not like it, chiefly, I think, because I told the 
 17/6 men they need not come again. One of the best 
 shearers I had in the shed was a German farmer 
 from Albury, one Davy Dale, a fine fellow he was. 
 He had been a long time in Australia; he never 
 varied, but shore like a machine. He used to average 
 80 big wethers a day, and 115 ewes; but it must be 
 remembered that in those days sheep only cut half 
 what they cut now. Davy 's hard work made him sweat 
 profusely, and he always brought a towel with him 
 to mop up the moisture. When I went to Brookong 
 the flock (Macansh blood) cut considerably under 
 five pounds a sheep. Halliday had 97 machine stands 
 in his shed, and used to shear from 7000 to 10,000 
 sheep a day. 
 
 Halliday showed great judgment in securing land 
 on Brookong, and when the land racket was over he 
 was still in a first-class position, for all the land 
 he had purchased (some 170,000 acres) had almost 
 doubled in value. Halliday could at that time have 
 sold out and remained a wealthy man, but he looked 
 upon Brookong as a gold mine, and so it was had he 
 retained the management in his own hands. He was
 
 400 AFTER MANY BAYS 
 
 at that time appointed a member of the Legislative 
 Council, and a very good and useful member he was. 
 Halliday's kind, big, generous nature led him into 
 spending money like water; he put his name to bills 
 for friends ( ? ) who were dabbling in mines, and 
 thereby lost thousands. He dabbled in mines him- 
 self, to wit, Tarangaba, one of the biggest swindles 
 ever perpetrated in Australia. Halliday must have 
 lost a pretty penny over that mine. It was a Queens- 
 land man whom I knew well who got up this swindle. 
 He was a man we all looked on as perfectly honest, 
 but if anything rather a softy. A softy, indeed! 
 God save the mark! He could have bought and sold 
 the lot of us. Tarangaba was supposed to be a 
 second Mt. Morgan, and the gold that was shown 
 as coming out of it was similar to the Mount 
 Morgan gold. It was an immense proposition, and 
 the public rushed the shares, although many shook 
 their heads and threw cold water on it. Experts 
 as to whose capability and reliability there could be 
 no doubt inspected the mine carefully, took samples 
 themselves, took these samples away under seal, and 
 reported most favourably. One young assayer, highly 
 connected in Sydney, spent two months at the mine, 
 and came away not only satisfied, but enthusiastic. 
 Still grave doubts existed among many well-known 
 mining men. Some of my friends had taken shares, 
 and, knowing that Halliday and his friends were 
 pretty deep in the mine, I asked for his opinion. 
 He said, "I can't tell you definitely at present, but 
 we are sending up Tom Conran to report^ and when 
 he comes back I'll tell you." 
 
 Tom Conran 's inspection and report on the Taran- 
 gaba knocked the bottom out of it. He summed up 
 his report in a few words, "There was never any 
 gold taken out of Tarangaba except what was brought 
 there from Mt. Morgan. It's a huge swindle." 
 
 When Conran got to Tarangaba he was received 
 effusively. What assistance did he want? They
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 401 
 
 would do everything to facilitate his inspection. He 
 said, "All I want is a wheelbarrow, a pick and a 
 shovel. I want no one with me." He noticed that 
 this seemed to upset them, but they gave him what 
 he wanted. He had his own assay plant, and he 
 took it down the mine with him. He spent two weeks 
 over the mine, packed up his belongings, said nothing, 
 and went to Sydney. His report I have already 
 given. Tarangaba was "bust." 
 
 How the "salting" was done has never been ex- 
 plained to me, but one hypothesis was that the water 
 which was supplied to those who had previously 
 assayed the mine was impregnated with gold. But 
 this would not explain the case where a man had 
 taken away his own samples under seal. However, 
 the manipulators were clever enough to hoodwink 
 high-class experts and the public, and they were 
 never got at and punished, but I am glad to say the 
 principal delinquent died quite a poor man. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 The winter of 1870 was so dry that the sheep were 
 watering at the tanks and dams right up to llth 
 September. I was then in the middle of shearing, 
 and on account of the dry time I had been sending 
 all the sheep that I could, as they were shorn, out 
 back into the scrub paddocks. Between the llth 
 September and the 17th over five inches of rain fell. 
 These heavy rains in the spring of the year caused 
 an abnormal growth of grass, more particularly of 
 the corkscrew seedy grass, which ever since has been 
 such a pest to lambs. This was my first experi- 
 ence of this grass, and unfortunately it came as a 
 surprise, and a very disagreeable surprise, to scores 
 of Riverina men. Owing to the delay in shearing
 
 402 AFTER .MANY DAYS 
 
 due to the constant rain on the warm spring weather, 
 this wretched grass had attained to an abnormal 
 growth, and had run into seed. As soon as the seed 
 ripened and began to shed, trouble arose. This seed 
 penetrates the skin and pierces right into the flesh. 
 If sheep are in the wool, the wool becomes a thick 
 mass of matted seed, and the unfortunate animal 
 quickly dies. On many stations it was found to be 
 quite impossible to get the sheep to the shearing 
 sheds, and thousands were shorn out in their pad- 
 docks. 
 
 Some stations caught with thousands of their sheep 
 unshorn lost heavily. One of my neighbours lost 
 7000 sheep in a very short time. Fred Wolseley, 
 then of Cobram, lost 13,000. The losses generally 
 were very heavy in Biverina. 
 
 The season at Brookong, through our being more 
 to the east and somewhat higher, was always nearly 
 a month later than the country to the west of us, so 
 that I had plenty of warning. I was hurrying the 
 shearing as much as I could. I was very much 
 alarmed, and, to make matters worse, many shearers 
 from sheds to the West of us, who had cut out, were 
 daily passing Brookong, and making my shearers 
 very unsettled. Some of my chaps told me that they 
 had been advised to strike for a higher rate, as they 
 had me at their mercy. 
 
 I was not afraid of a strike, for the bulk of our 
 shearers were small farmers and farmers' sons from 
 Queanbeyan and Yass and other parts to the East of 
 use, decent, respectable chaps, who shore regularly 
 for us every year, and who, I knew, would play the 
 game and go straight. At this time it was customary 
 all over Australia to wash the sheep before they were 
 shorn. I used to ride down to the sheepwash, four 
 miles away, about three times a week, in the evening, 
 after shearing was finished for the day. One even- 
 ing, while returning from a visit to the wash with 
 Mr. Dill, my horse put his foot in a hole and rolled
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 403 
 
 over on me; his quarters caught me heavily across 
 the chest, and as I staggered up still holding the 
 reins with all the wind knocked out of me and in 
 great pain, I gave vent to some groans. Dill called 
 out, ''Are you hurt?" I said, in the intervals of 
 my groans, "No, if I was hurt much I couldn't sing 
 out like this." Dill helped me on my horse and we 
 rode home. My old friend Ludlow Watton was with 
 us at the time; he was a capital rough and ready 
 bone-setter. He found both collar bones and the 
 acromion of the left shoulder broken. He soon ban- 
 daged me up all right, and I tackled the shed next 
 morning after breakfast and stuck to it till we fin- 
 ished shearing, nearly three weeks later on. My 
 reason for sticking to the shed was that while I was 
 confident that the men would not strike for higher 
 rates while I remained in charge, I was just as con- 
 fident that if a new boss took charge a strike would 
 almost certainly occur. I thought nothing of the 
 broken collar bones, and although my right shoulder 
 gave me great pain, I put it down to a strain. So I 
 just battled on to the end of the shearing. Had the 
 men struck I knew Mr. Hebden would have fought 
 it out, and by this time the seed w,as nearly ripe, and 
 I knew of the great losses that had occurred else- 
 where. So I dreaded any delay. As it was, even 
 while pushing all I knew and shearing early and late, 
 we lost 600 wethers from the grass seed. We finished 
 shearing one evening about five o'clock, and I settled 
 with every man on the place before I went to bed 
 at 11 o'clock that night. I had close on seventy men 
 to settle with. I laid myself out for a day in bed, 
 but next morning I could not rest, and was off over 
 to the shed about six o'clock. I was just like a man 
 with delirium. I daresay a good stiff nip of whisky 
 would have done me good, but at that time I was 
 a teetotaller, so did not try that. I was really quite 
 worn out, and should have been under treatment. 
 After a few days I rode up to Wagga (fifty miles)
 
 404 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 and saw two doctors, but beyond complimenting 
 Watton on his skilful bandaging of the collar bones, 
 they could not diagnose my further injuries, and I re- 
 turned to Brookong. Then I saw Dr. Stewart, at Jeril- 
 derie, an old navy surgeon who had been on one of Sir 
 John Franklin's Arctic expeditions, but he could do 
 nothing. My right shoulder at the back continued to 
 give me much pain, although I ate and slept well, I 
 got thinner and lower every day, though continuing 
 to do my usual work on the station. Then I got 
 sciatica and neuralgia, and eventually asked for four 
 months' leave on half-pay. Leaving Charley Hebden 
 in charge, I went to Melbourne. I had had so many 
 fractures and injuries, and had always made so light 
 of them, that no doubt my friends made light of 
 them also. I saw several medical men in Melbourne, 
 but got no satisfaction, and I .was still getting thinner 
 and lower every day. One day I met my friend 
 Herbert Power in the street, and he said, "What's 
 the matter? You look pretty miserable." So I told 
 him. He said, "What does Fitzgerald say about 
 it?" I said, "I have not been to him." Herbert's 
 reply was not complimentary to my understanding, 
 and he forthwith called a cab and took me to Dr. Fitz- 
 gerald. My introduction to this wonderful surgeon 
 was "Fitz, this fellow has had a bad fall; look over 
 him and see what's the matter." "We'll have some 
 lunch first," said the Doctor. 
 
 After lunch the little surgeon gave me a thorough 
 overhauling. He took half an hour over it, and any- 
 one knowing his wonderful facility at diagnosing 
 injuries will wonder at the time he took. "Both 
 clavicles fractured," he said at once; "the acromion 
 process of left shoulder, the little crow's beak bone, 
 right shoulder, one clavicle dislocated, and still out 
 of place at the sternum, and, the worst fracture of 
 all, the right shoulder blade split from top to bot- 
 tom." As the doctor discovered each fracture he 
 used to say, "Most amusing, most amusing." No
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 405 
 
 doubt he intended "most interesting." At any rate 
 I failed to see where the amusement came in. Fitz- 
 gerald then explained to me that although all these 
 fractures had united, yet from my not having rested, 
 they were still throwing out callus, and that all my 
 food instead of making muscle was used up in mak- 
 ing callus. Consequently I was wasting and losing 
 flesh. He made Power feel my shoulder blade, point- 
 ing out that it was three times as thick (with callus) 
 as it should be. Fitzgerald got my collar bone into 
 position, and I had to get a contraption to keep 
 it in place. He gave me bromide and something 
 else, and before long, with rest, I got all right, but 
 I was for a long time "below par" and run down. 
 
 I had also contracted sciatica, so I returned a few 
 days after in a cab and told Fitzgerald that he'd 
 have to cure the sciatica so that I could attend a 
 Government House ball, which was coming off in five 
 days. Fitzgerald tackled to, and began by running 
 a series of big pins into the nerve, but it did no good. 
 Next day he injected aconite into the nerve. This 
 was very painful, but it had the desired effect. I was 
 able to go to the ball and dance all night, though 
 one girl, who was really my attraction to the ball, 
 declined to dance with me, as she said she was sure 
 she would hear my bones rattling ! 
 
 The effects of the aconite injection kept me fairly 
 free of sciatica for some years. 
 
 Fitz. set me right, and the experience was the 
 beginning of a friendship which lasted to the day 
 of his death. I promised him that if he survived 
 me he was to have my body for anatomical purposes, 
 but he went first. The best description I have heard 
 of Sir Thomas' wonderful powers of surgical diag- 
 nosis was: "He has got eyes in his fingers." 
 
 It's wonderful how nervous doctors become over 
 little things that a layman would never notice at all. 
 "Fitz." got a scratch on one of his fingers, and it 
 became a little painful probably owing to his fixing
 
 406 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 his inind on it and he got so upset I had to sleep 
 in the room with him for the night. He was think- 
 ing of tetanus or blood-poisoning all the time. Ho 
 was a wonderful man. A friend told me that he sat 
 up till near daylight with him one morning, and they 
 both consumed a fair amount of whisky. My friend 
 had an appointment to meet Fitz. at 9 o'clock, but 
 he put it off till 10 o'clock, and when he arrived the 
 little doctor was there as neat as usual, and as fresh 
 as could be, and very angry with my friend for not 
 being up to time. When I was working as a parson 
 out among the wood-cutters and charcoal burners in 
 the Heidelberg, Doncaster, and Gardner's Creek dis- 
 tricts, I met one of my "parishioners" one day with 
 her arm in a sling, so I stopped and asked her what 
 was the matter. She was a big rough woman, and 
 could use language when irate. She said she had 
 hurt the shoulder six weeks before, but the chemist 
 had given her some ointment for it. I thought it was 
 out of place, so got off my horse and had a look at 
 it. She had dislocated the shoulder, and I told her 
 to go in next day to Fitz, and I'd meet her. Fitz- 
 gerald never demurred, but sat her on the ground; 
 I put my foot under the shoulder and pulled, and 
 although it had been done over six weeks, Fitz. 
 slipped it in in a few minutes. The woman's lan- 
 guage while under the chloroform was just a bit 
 strong. 
 
 One day Fitz. said to me, "I want you in the sur- 
 gery after lunch." I found a woman there and a 
 doctor. The woman had had a dislocation of the 
 shoulder three months before, and it was still un- 
 reduced, although her doctor had told her it was in 
 place. Fitz., as in the other case, sat the woman 
 on the floor and tied a towel round the wrist and 
 arm. The other doctor gave the chloroform, and I 
 pulled steadily for all I was worth. Fitz. told me 
 to stop, and the doctor said, "Ah, I see it's in now." 
 It wasn't, and Fitz. said nothing, but looked a good
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 407 
 
 deal. He told me to pull again while he manipulated 
 the arm, and I felt the bone slip into place. Now 
 this was three months after the dislocation had occur- 
 red. What the other doctor thought of himself I 
 can't say. 
 
 Fitzgerald used to let me attend some of his opera- 
 tions at the hospital. I saw him excise the tongue 
 from a man of fifty, and after the operation the old 
 fellow refused to be carried away. He walked off 
 bravely, and bowed to the doctor as he went. I saw 
 him ten days afterwards, and could hardly detect 
 where the incision had been made in the jaw. I also 
 saw Fitz. operate (his own operation) for talipes 
 in a little girl. It was wonderfully interesting, and 
 also successful. He was one of the kindest of men. 
 Children patients just loved him. He was ever a 
 staunch and good friend to me. He was a wonderful 
 operator, and the more critical and difficult the 
 operation the cooler he was. Fitz. was very fond of 
 a good horse, did a good deal of racing, was a real 
 sport, and the number of patients he attended for 
 "love" merely was very great. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 The summer of 1871 at Brookong was exception- 
 ally hot. We had had a heat wave lasting three 
 weeks. The thermometer maximum for those three 
 weeks had averaged 101 in the shade. No one on the 
 station was sleeping inside; all lay out, and even 
 then it was too hot to get much sleep. I was still 
 suffering from the effects of my bad fall, and much 
 debilitated. The grass was long all over the run, 
 particularly in the timber country, and, as it was 
 dry as tinder, we were in dread of bush fires. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon, with the thermometer at
 
 408 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 J15 degrees in the shade, four of us were lying on 
 the floor in the hall of the Brookong house, when I 
 heard the sound of a horse galloping. At once I 
 guessed what was the matter. "Boys," I said, 
 "there's a fire as sure as fate," and I remember I 
 said to myself, "This will just about settle me." 
 Sure enough, next minute a man jumped off his horse 
 at the store. He and his horse were dripping with 
 sweat. "A big fire in the Galore," said the man; 
 "it has come on from the top of Boree Creek run." 
 By this time Mr. Dill and Charley Hebden were off 
 to gather together all the men on the place, and in a 
 very short time eight of us, with beaters and bags, 
 galloped off, leaving the rest to follow with the ex- 
 press waggon and water cask, and shovels, rakes, and 
 other fire-fighting weapons, blankets and tucker. We 
 were not long covering the twelve or fourteen miles 
 to the fire, but we could make little impression on it 
 until nightfall. Then, with other help, we made 
 good play at it, and by about two o'clock in the 
 morning we had it, we considered, pretty well 
 knocked out, and the men had a feed and lay down 
 to sleep. I rode on well around to the head of the 
 fire, and found that the burning grass was all 
 knocked out, but that there was a line of about eight 
 miles with hundreds of trees alight. We had no fire 
 carts in those days, and knew that we had a pretty 
 big order before us next day. 
 
 We started to work about four o'clock next morn- 
 ing, one gang to the west, the other to the east, 
 burning down trees on fire too big to cut down, and 
 brushing back any live coal or stuff that would start 
 the grass going again. All went well till about three 
 o'clock in the afternoon, when the wind rose into 
 half a gale. In half an hour there was over three 
 miles of a face of fire rushing southward and east- 
 ward, the wind being from the north-west. 
 
 There was a good beaten road about three miles to 
 the east, and a narrow bush track about a mile to
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 409 
 
 the south. I took a good look at the fire just to 
 calculate what height the flames were, and I put the 
 height at from twenty to thirty feet among the trees. 
 The country was all open forest where the fire was 
 then. If it were once to cross the track to the south 
 I knew that nothing could save all the station to the 
 south. There was no possibility of beating the fire 
 out, a frontal attack was impossible no man could 
 get anywhere near it, and by the time we could have 
 knocked out a mile of the side of the fire, the head 
 would have gained two or three miles. I could see 
 that the only hope of saving the station was to burn 
 alongside the southern track, and let the new fire 
 work back to the big blaze. I had provided myself 
 with plenty of matches (much better if I had had 
 a piece of tarred rope). I started running on foot 
 along the bush track dropping lighted matches as I 
 went, about a foot out from the track, and leaving 
 three or four men to see that my fire did not cross 
 the road. I had about three miles to go to hit the 
 good beaten road to the east, running north and 
 south. It was a race between the fire and me to the 
 road, but I won by about a hundred yards, and right 
 glad I was. My men prevented the fire I lit from 
 crossing the road, and by sundown we again had the 
 big blaze in hand, and by 12 o'clock that night we 
 had all burning trees safe, and were able to turn in 
 free of apprehension to sleep till daylight. The 
 wind still continued from the N.N.W. The third day 
 we again kept all right till the afternoon, when the 
 wind again blew up strong. Bark from the burning 
 trees flew over the north and south road in many 
 places, and in a short time the fire was blazing away 
 to the east and south as fiercely as ever. I had sent 
 word to the home station to send out any men look- 
 ing for work, so by this time we had more help, and 
 more men kept coming every day. Every night we 
 got the fire well in hand, and every afternoon it 
 broke out again. Before many days we had formed
 
 410 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 into quite an efficient and seasoned fire brigade, with 
 axes and shovels and beaters, and so forth. H we 
 only had had a fire cart and hose we would have had 
 the fire mastered the first night, but fire carts were 
 not then thought of. After a bit travellers looking 
 for work came straight out to the fire, and we soon 
 had a big gang on, and had formed a central fire 
 camp. We had trouble in saving some of the sheep ; 
 about two hundred were burnt, also four miles of log 
 fencing. I had to drive one lot of sheep over the 
 burning lower log of a fence. We saved all the 
 boundary fences. All hands worked like Trojans. 
 This went on for nine days and nights, and on the 
 ninth night we had run the fire into the main beaten 
 Wagga road to the south, and out on to our neigh- 
 bour's, Sandy Davidson, on the east, and he and his 
 people had got it well in hand by then. On the 
 afternoon of the tenth day I walked down to the 
 road and caught the mail coach going to Brookong, 
 and a nice looking object I was, black and burnt, 
 and my clothes in rags, but, strange to say, I was 
 quite well and not knocked out. In fad 1 felt twice 
 the man I did when, on hearing the noise of the horse 
 galloping, I had said to myself, "This will about finish 
 me." I can honestly say that I did as much work 
 at the fire as any man who was at it, and besides that 
 I had all the bossing of the show and the responsi- 
 bility, and every night after the men had turned in 
 I had to go and reconnoitre and lay schemes how to 
 circumvent the enemy, and yet there I was quite 
 well and right. 
 
 It was a great lesson to me as to how greatly the 
 mind affects the body. The excitement of the fire 
 and the absolute necessity for prompt and vigorous 
 action re-vitalised my nervous system, and the hard 
 work actually did me good. I have never forgotten 
 that experience. Many and many a time since, when 
 I have been run down and when I felt done and 
 miserable and life not worth living, the memory of
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 411 
 
 the experience of that Big Brookong Blaze has 
 bucked me up and enabled me to keep going. 
 
 As I am now approaching the end of my Brookong 
 reminiscences, I would like to recapitulate a little. 
 When I took charge of Brookong there were 46,000 
 shepherded sheep, and these took some fifty hands to 
 look after them in ordinary times, and about ninety 
 at lambing time. When I gave up the management 
 of Brookong the 315,000 acres were divided into six- 
 teen paddocks; twelve of these averaged 25,000 acres 
 each; the other four were small (?) paddocks of 
 from 1000 to 2500 acres. Our horse paddock con- 
 tained 2500 acres. Compare this with the area and 
 condition of the land my son (now on active service) 
 and I have been occupying for the last ten years. 
 Our holding has an area of only 8000 acres, and is 
 subdivided into sixteen paddocks ranging from 80 
 acres to 600 acres, and one paddock known as the 
 big (!) paddock of 1100 acres. That is to say, our 
 little block of 8000 acres is divided into more pad- 
 docks than was the huge Brookong area of 315,000 
 acres. This very plainly illustrates the advantages 
 of closer settlement. 
 
 One of our Brookong paddocks, all scrub, contained 
 an area of 138,000 acres, and one man rode the 
 fences of this enormous paddock. He was a married 
 man, and I am glad to say that several of his sons 
 are well-to-do farmers to-day in New South Wales, 
 as are many boundary riders and their sons of those 
 days. 
 
 I could give scores of instances showing what a 
 grand country is New South Wales for steady indus- 
 trious young men with a little "go" in them. I will 
 give some of these later on in the second part of 
 these Reminiscences, but here I may instance the case 
 of a thrifty married couple, well known to me, on a 
 station almost adjoining Brookong. They had no 
 children. In 1873 the careful old couple had saved 
 1500 ; with this they retired, and took ship and went
 
 412 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 home to Scotland. (The old country is always home 
 to us in Australia.) Their wages were 70 a year, 
 and found. For this the husband killed, milked, 
 groomed, and did the knock-about work on the home- 
 stead, and the wife was cook and laundress, often 
 only cook. 
 
 I say it advisedly, and without hesitation, that, bar 
 sickness, every working man in Australia who chooses 
 to be steady and saving could in ten years' time be 
 independent, that is to say, he could be his own boss, 
 and probably be an employer of labour instead of an 
 employee. It may be said that it is fortunate for em- 
 ployers of labour, in the bush especially, that between 
 amusements, drink, races and. frittering money away, 
 the great bulk of the Australian workmen do not 
 save and become employers. Yet such a theory will 
 not hold water. The more men on the land, and the 
 more employers, the more men we would have to im- 
 port. What a prosperous community we would in a 
 decade be if all Australian employees took to saving 
 their wages. 
 
 This was in the 'seventies. Now as I write in 1917 
 wages are much higher. Married couples get 110 a 
 year and found, and under an astounding award by 
 one of our Judges shearers get 30/- a hundred (they 
 can average 110, and some men have gone up to 270. 
 sheep per day), and station hands 48 /- a week and 
 found. This is an advance of 25 per cent, in the 
 already high shearing rate, and of from 80 per cent, 
 to 95 per cent, in the wages of station hands. The 
 outlook . under these excessive wages is very serious 
 for producers of wheat, wool and meat (the wages of 
 farm hands have gone up in proportion). 
 
 For some time my mind had been turned towards 
 trying to get into the ministry that is, to become a 
 clergyman. Something my friend, C. M. Lloyd, said 
 1o me one day in this connection strengthened the 
 idea in my mind. While on my holiday another old 
 friend, Mrs. John Sadleir, wife of John Sadleir, who
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 413 
 
 gave us that very interesting book, Recollections of 
 a Victorian Police Officer, still further strengthened 
 the idea till I could not get it out of my mnid. The 
 more I considered it the more it took hold of me. 
 Eventually, in November, 1871, I took the decided 
 step of resigning the management of Brookong with 
 the view of preparing for the ministry. 
 
 Mrs. Sadleir, who was a great friend of Dean 
 Macartney, of Melbourne, assured me that I would 
 have no difficulty in becoming ordained, and that 
 whenever I decided definitely she would see the Dean. 
 
 I finally left Brookong in March, 1872, being then 
 in iny 35th year. I "had been nearly six years there. 
 My hopes of becoming a successful station manager 
 had been fulfilled, for as soon as it was known I was 
 leaving Brookong I received several very good offers 
 of management from owners of large properties. One 
 was an offer of 600 a year. Another was a very 
 tempting offer indeed, being nothing less than a 
 managing partnership in a very valuable Riverina 
 station. The owner, a North of Ireland man, was 
 going to take his family to the "old country" for 
 five years, and he made me an offer which would 
 have been worth at least 1200 a year to me, and 
 everything found on a most liberal scale. Knowing 
 that if I accepted the offer I would be, as the saying 
 goes, a made man as far as financial position went, 
 and that I would be in a position to ask the girl whom 
 I had loved for some five years to join her lot with 
 mine, I was sorely tempted to accept. But my heart 
 was set on entering the ministry, and in trying to 
 do some really good work in a world in which at 
 that time I thought the great majority were going 
 straight to hell. I declined the offer, recommending 
 a valued friend for the appointment, which he 
 received. He never knew that it had been offered 
 and declined by me. He fitted it well, and told me 
 that it had been worth 1500 a year to him.
 
 414 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 And now, although I have not got through half of 
 my many years, I find that the "memories old" have 
 grown into more than enough to fill a goodly volume. 
 
 Should this volume meet with approval, I purpose 
 putting the recollections of the succeeding forty-five 
 years into another volume, embracing four years of 
 clerical life, twenty years again on the land as man- 
 aging partner in Goorianawa Station, about eighteen 
 months in connection with the Graziers' Meat Export 
 business, some four years in mining, most of the time 
 in North Queensland Gulf country, then some six 
 years in Land Valuation in New South Wales, chiefly 
 for the Commissioners of State Land Tax, and finally 
 eleven years back again on the land in the Coonamble 
 district not far from Goorianawa, where I had pre- 
 viously spent nearly twenty years of my married life. 
 
 Hoping that my recollections may prove interest- 
 ing, not only to my friends, but to the general reader, 
 I will now say "Au Revoir. "
 
 - APPENDIX. 
 
 In the early Saxon times all that part of Northum- 
 berland watered by the sources of the Tyne, with 
 the district afterwards called Alston Moor, was given 
 to a military chieftain for repelling the incursions 
 of the Britons. 
 
 The name of the "Warrior" who founded the family 
 was Frithelstan, and is so written in the old Saxon 
 chronicles and other records. The addition of haugh 
 to the name came in this manner. In the old Saxon 
 dialect "halgh," pronounced "haugh," meant a 
 valley or alluvial lowland, and a branch of the family 
 having built a castle in a sequestered valley of the 
 Tyne (at this day one of the most interesting struc- 
 tures in Northumberland), that branch after the 
 Norman Conquest was called "Fetherston-de-halgh," 
 and took for their arms gules a chevron betwixt three 
 ostrich fethers argent. 
 
 In the reign of King John, Helias de Fetherston- 
 halgh endowed the Monastery of Hexham. 
 
 In the wars of Edward III. with Scotland, Thomas 
 de Fetherstonhalgh had a mandate from the King to 
 array all his men at arms. 
 
 Richard Fetherstonhaugh, D.D., was Chaplain to 
 Queen Catherine, of Arragon, and conducted the 
 pleadings in the affair of the divorce with so much 
 zeal that the King had him beheaded in 1540. 
 
 In 1651 Sir Timothy Fetherstonhaugh, who was in 
 arms for the King, was taken prisoner at Wigan, and 
 beheaded at Chester by Milton, one of Cromwell's 
 Colonels. His eldest son, Henry, was slain in the 
 battle of Worcester, fighting on the King's side. This 
 devoted loyalty to the Crown met with no return 
 
 415
 
 416 APPENDIX. 
 
 from Charles II., even the family estates were not 
 restored. Sir Henry Fetherstonhaugh, a grandson 
 of Sir Albany, died in 1746, aged 100, without issue, 
 discarding his nephew, William Henry, in the direct 
 line, and appointing Matthew Fetherstonhaugh, a 
 more distant relative, for his heir. This gentleman 
 was created a baronet in 1774, leaving one son, the 
 late baronet, who left no issue, BO the title became 
 extinct. William Henry 'married Miss Shafto and 
 impoverished himself on the turf; his son, William, 
 after fruitless attempts to retrieve his fortunes, died 
 in Yorkshire at an advanced age. His son George 
 died young in 1780, leaving an only son, now His 
 Majesty's Consul at Havre, in France. 
 
 There are branches of this ancient family in Cum- 
 berland and in Ireland. Some of the family went 
 to Ireland in the time of Cromwell and acquired 
 estates there. The Fetherstonhaughs of Kirkswald 
 have always taken distinguished rank with the gentry 
 of that country (Cumberland), and have for its head 
 in Ireland Sir George Fetherstonhaugh. 
 
 Published in the Daily News, London, October 
 28th, in connection with the death of Sir Henry 
 Fetherstonhaugh. 
 
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