Harry Tramps over S.A.
Above: Early townships at Burra Burra
BURRA BURRA TO ADELAIDE.
August 1st, 1864
The mail-coach, with five horses, started promptly to time. It was pleasant this riding after tramping!
As I have described in a separate article the tricks played by young passengers upon other people along the route, including that upon the other and surly mail-driver, I will not dilate here, but just say that after an interesting drive to Kapunda, and train-ride thence to Adelaide, I arrived in the metropolis late that evening.
At that time I had no one to welcome me. Dear Marianne was not then my sweetheart, although I was secretly drawn towards her.
I used to go and see her two brothers, Tom Clode – afterwards Inspector of Mounted Police – and Alfred Clode, for we three were great chums. Then, of course, I always saw her.
She was kind to me, and we had many a romp together. She was a fine-limbed girl even then, and she had just turned sixteen, the same as myself.
I well remember one day her clasping her arms around me and wrestling with me. Of course I won, for I was athletic with constant practice, although she was heavier than I.
She loved me all the time, as after events proved. She was exceedingly good-looking, but awkward in manner owing to to much self-consciousness.
My parents were none too pleased at my return. However, I got work as a plasterer’s laborer at a wage of One Pound sterling per week.
I did the hard graft well. Mixing the mortar gave me a sprained wrist; but that did not disable me. And I stuck to my post, and helped to plaster at least one house in North Adelaide. [while I am transcribing these notes (in 1931) mason’s laborers are getting One Pound sterling per day!]
Alf Clode was a farm hand. So also was Tom. But the latter soon got into the mounted Police Force, in which service, as I have mentioned, he rose to be Inspector at a salary of Three Hundred and Fifty Pounds a year.
[I have included a couple of illustrative videos from hiker Josh West:
‘Josh West spent two months hiking the 1200km Heysen Trail to fundraise for [Black Dog Institute] mental health’]
Read more: https://www.trekkingwest.com/heysen/heysen-trail-in-the-press/
​
Below:
"Paratoo" Station 1934, Homestead of Peter Waite and Matilde Methuen from 1864-1875 after they were married.
SECOND JOURNEY TO PARATOO – 1864
August 23rd, 1864
Once more, after three weeks in Adelaide, I made a start for the North-East. Made the usual train-and-mail journey from Adelaide to Burra Burra via Kapunda, but not in one day this time!
One interesting event happened on the train. After leaving Gawler, there is a stiff gradient in a cutting near Roseworthy. This gradient was about one in forty-five. Now, I believe, it is about one in sixty-four.
The rails were slippery. The engine puffed and puffed! – slowly – and – more – slowly! It was going like a knocked-up stockhorse, just as I afterwards rode one after wild cattle.
Then the engine stopped – just like the horse! – and couldn’t go another yard! It stood still rather more than half-way up the cutting.
The banks were high on either side, and nothing was visible in front except the rails going over the hill. Our engine wailed out its note of woe in one continuous whistle.
Roseworthy was not far away. There happened to be another engine there with steam up – perhaps kept there for just such an emergency!
After a long wait, the spare engine came along very cautiously towards the cutting. Then, seeing our train at a standstill, slid slowly down the hill and hitched itself to our engine – evidently with matrimonial intentions!
With this added power and weight, we soon climbed the hill and reached Roseworthy. We were now behind time.
As lost time had to be made up, we sailed along with both engines. At all down gradings we went at such terrific speed – it must have been seventy miles an hour – that, on putting my head out of the window, the wind was blown down my throat so hard I could not get my breath, and had to draw in my head quickly.
Upon arrival at Kapunda, Cobb & Co’s conveyance was so crowded that I, with others, had to be left behind.
I stayed at the Sir John Franklin Hotel. (illustrated above)
The stone this hotel was built of was a kind of soapstone, and it could be easily cut with a knife, [it hardened with exposure] much the same as can that used at Mount Gambier, which is a white or grey, and a red dolomite.
The hotel was two stories high. I spent my spare time profitably by going over the great Kapunda Copper Mines, then in full working.
One shaft, I remember, was on an incline, very steep. But I walked down it easily – that is, I walked down it till it became too dark for me to see, when I turned around and walked upwards into the light again.
Another shaft – vertical – must have been a very deep one. A whim was going at great speed. The rope whizzed up, but it seemed an age before the great bucket reached the surface.
Sixty fathoms was the depth of the deepest shaft – or three hundred and sixty feet.
Above: Kapunda Copper Mine, by George Angus and lithographer J.W. Giles, c. 1845,
Mine workings at Kapunda showing men at work
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Copper was first found there in 1843. I strolled all over the mines, and saw all the above-ground operations.
The ore seemed to be green carbonates, but there were other varieties.
I had dinner and tea at the hotel. But things were not so homely as at the Burra Hotel at Kooringa – too much starch! – and formal civilization!
​
That night I slept in a room upstairs. A gentleman had the bed to sleep in – I had the sofa to sleep on.
It was narrow, uncomfortable, slippy, with a slope towards the floor, where it landed me before morning!
It was like an ‘outlaw’ Bush horse. It was determined to throw me when it could catch me unawares. And it did! When I had got to sleep, my sofa kept edging me outwards, until at last I fell on the floor with a tremendous thud! – a thud I thought loud enough to awaken even a watchman!
But it did not seem to disturb the gentleman in the bed. In case he should be awake, however, I said out aloud to myself so that he could hear: ‘Snakes and ‘possums! that’s the first time I ever fell out of bed!’
I wasted my breath apparently, for the sleeping gentleman did not reply. From that time onward till daylight, that sofa and I fought each other. I did not love it, but had no wish to lose its company so early.
The sofa had different ideas. It did not mind being sat upon, but to take my full length was repugnant to its self-respect. and it tried hard to get rid of me.
Once or twice I found myself sliding over the edge. At daylight I gladly bid my uneasy couch goodbye.
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Below: Main Street Kapunda 1871
KAPUNDA TO BURRA BURRA.
August 24th, 1864
I spent the morning among the mines until eleven a.m., when our vehicle was ready for us. I did not trouble public-house bars, not being a boozing man, and also knowing the value of money.
This time it was no Cobb & Co’s coach that was at our service, but a two-wheeled spring-cart! with two horses. Our load was nine persons – still the ‘nine muses’ it appears! Perhaps nine is the unlucky number!
Anyhow, it was a big load for two wheels on a rough track. I will reiterate here, there were no made roads as far north as that in the early sixties – only natural trails over virgin ground, with their deep holes and their deep ruts.
About five miles from Hamilton, a big mud hole, a big lurch, a big creak, and every spoke in the nearside wheel crashed away from the hub, and let us down gently into the mud! The spokes were not broken right off.
So the driver asked who would volunteer to carry the mails on horseback to the Burra, from Hamilton. Everybody hung back! At last I thought it my duty to offer my services. And I did.
The driver looked looked at me hard. He evidently thought I was too young. He may have had an idea that a boy of sixteen was not equal to a horseback ride of forty miles at an average speed of eight miles an hour, carrying heavy mailbags.
At last he said, ‘Jump up, then!’ Up we both got accordingly. The query was whether the crushed wheel would last the five miles to Hamilton. We both sat, one behind the other, on different seats, as closely as possible to the one sound wheel.
The other wheel wobbled like the figure 8. With careful driving and slow, we at last reached Hamilton. Here the driver got the ostler to relieve me of the task of taking on the mails to Kooringa – much to my satisfaction!
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The other passengers were footing it. By the time they had put in an appearance, a Cobb & Co’s coach with five horses was ready for us. We started.
The harness must have been old. Break after break occurred. The driver requisitioned all the saddle-straps of the party for repairs. I was sly enough not to listen to his blandishments, for no compensation was offered.
I had paid One Pound sterling for my fare, and I stuck to my saddle-straps! It was one of the Rounsevells who had the contract for carrying the mails, and who owned the then Cobb & Co.’s coaches.
Accident after accident happened! The climax was reached when, late in the day, the leader fell! and the other four horses and coach ran on top of him!
For we were travelling at the rate of about twelve miles an hour at the time, along an open flat not far from the Sod Hut. Twelve miles an hour is a full gallop.
Confusion reigned supreme! The job was to get the other horses out of their entangling harness, and the fallen horse from underneath the lot. This was eventually done, and the horse was found to be practically uninjured.
I still stuck to my saddlestraps; but the other passengers lost theirs. It was ten p.m. when we reached Kooringa. We were four hours late.
The Burra Hotel girls were as nice as ever. A splendid tea we had! Eggs galore! This must have been where the early settlers around Clare obtained a market for their produce. In those days eggs were threepence and fourpence a dozen.
There was no time that night to look about. The bedrooms all being outside in a row, – one single bed to one room – each man had a key to himself. Thus he was free to come and go as he chose.
Yet no one was allowed in bed before ten p.m. unless he had the room for more than one night. This was to encourage lodgers to spend their money in drink. But not so much as a penny’s worth passed my lips.
My hotel expenses were: – Tea, 1/-; bed 1/-; breakfast, 1/-; total, three shillings.
As I was going ‘on the Wallaby Track’, I did not need the girls’ services to call me early in the morning. Nevertheless, I was up at daylight, had an early breakfast with the early ones, and made a start.
BURRA BURRA TO WILDONGOLEECH.
August 25th, 1864.
As I have previously mentioned, one had to travel a mile before getting out of the Burra Burra townships – Kooringa, Aberdeen, Redruth, and Copperhouse. First down Kooringa main street; going east. Then turning north near the Post Office.
After that, crossing a patch of vacant ground before coming to Aberdeen. There was no bridge over the Burra Creek then, only a ford. If a flood was on, you had to wait or wade.
[This is rather a coincidence: wait and wade: for the name of the manager of Paratoo was Peter Waite, and the name of the overseer Christopher Wade!]
I passed two other public houses, but neither saw me inside. I had my Bluey on my back.
The first day’s tramp out of the Burra was most monotonous. At first there was a flat, opening out into a plain. On the left a range fifteen miles long – and it took many hours to get past it. That everlasting range was a nightmare!
In five miles, I reached Hallett’s station and Hallett’s Well. But in the meantime I had picked up two swell swagmen! – that is to say, they owned a horse. The horse carried the swags, while they ‘paddled the hoof’.
They were both good fellows. When I look back upon those past and bygone years, I feel astonished at the courteous kindness I invariably received from Bushmen, whether on tramp or on the stations.
These two horse-swagmen were no exception to the rule.
They invited me to throw my swag on their nanto’s back, which I did, and thus walked lightly. They were good travelling companions.
One valuable (?) acquisition they had thoughtfully brought along with them – and that was a bottle of Old Tom. They did not hide it in their swags, either!
So hospitable were they, that after one of them had had a swig, and the other had had a swig, they passed it along for me to have a swig.
I declined it firmly, thanking them for their kind intentions. They persisted! I was adamant!
All this as we walked along by the side of that fifteen-mile range on the Western side of Mount Bryan Flat.
We walked the full distance of twenty-two miles to Wilgondoleech – otherwise Willogoleech – now Hallett. I was very thirsty.
Towards the end of the day the end of the bottle came also – that is, there was about an inch of gin in the bottom. The men pressed this upon me, saying it would quench my thirst. I consented to try it.
Placing the bottle to my lips, I tried to drink some. It choked me, however, and none went down. I spat it out, and choked and gasped like a man coming out of gas, and became red in the face.
I think that, next to whisky, gin is the vilest concoction ever distilled! So there is no love lost between us.
My friends soon finished the rest of the spirit. Two men – one bottle of gin – one day. Not bad!
While travelling along that day, I saw a bird’s nest on the ground, made entirely of little stones laid together like mosaic work. Had I the naming of that bird, it would be known as ‘The Mason Bird’ – with a Tilbrooki at the end of it!
Oh, no! I would have let the other fellows add that word!
We arrived at the one hut at Wildongoleech at sun-down, tired enough, were hospitably entertained by the shepherd, given tea, allowed to sleep on the floor, and went off next day.
The horse was hobbled out, this being grass country, with plenty of both feed and water.
WILDONGOLEECH TO GOTTLIEB’S WELLS
(now Terowie)
August 26th, 1864. –
The shepherd following out his sheep at (dawn), we started also. We had twenty miles to walk to Gottlieb’s Wells – McCulloch’s station. It was grass land all the way.
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Paratoo Station was originally held by Dare & Mundy in the 1850s–1880s and gave its name to the Hundred and locality of Paratoo, officially gazetted in 2000
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In 1888, Hugh Patterson (H.P.) MacLachlan founded a wool enterprise at Paratoo, which grew into the family’s long‑standing Merino sheep station and base of the Jumbuck pastoral empire
Never a fence anywhere. There were no ranges to surmount. The ranges were there, but ran parallel with the plains. And the track wound around the hills and through saddles of slight elevation, and along the plains, which were undulating, sloping, and flat. We skirted beautiful pine groves of great area and density.
I saw more emus this day than ever before or since. Flocks of twelve or thirteen wandered about gracefully over the splendid grassland. They took little notice of us. I stated ‘flocks’ above, but it would perhaps be more accurate to say ‘mobs’, for there were mobs of them all around us.
One bird ran at its greatest speed for five miles without stopping, and disappeared around a rise. It had evidently been chased.
This must have been a typical Australian scene of peace and plenty for the southern fauna before the advent of white man, with his civilization and his burdensome overpopulation!
The mirage appeared even so early in the season. The small stumps of sheoak near by appeared to be tall men miles away. As we approached, they would break into two, the upper part rising, and the lower parts taking their natural size and shape.
Around us were beautiful phantom lakes that had no water for a foundation. In the distance giant objects came into view. The nearer we got to them the smaller they became, till at last they parted in the middle, like the tree stumps, the top half disappearing skywards, and the underpart turning into pine trees.
Right up to Gottlieb’s Wells this well-grassed land continued. We completed the twenty+two mile journey by three o’clock in the afternoon. It was too early for ‘sundowners’.
We all three being of the same mind, and scorning to wait till night, went boldly to the kitchen. The cook was a woman! – the only woman-cook I have ever seen on a station.
She told us to go and see the owner. We accordingly bearded the lion in his den at government house. The lion came out. Could we stay there that night? We had walked twenty miles from Wilgondoleech, and did not wish to wait till sundown to ask permission.
Mr McCulloch cast his kindly eyes up at the sun. ‘It’s only three o’clock! A bit early. But as you have travelled twenty miles, you may stay the night.’ A decent old gentleman was Alexander McCulloch! He had himself known what it was to be without a bawbee in his pocket!
His run then comprised four hundred and seven square miles, and carried forty thousand sheep. It was all grass land, and is now turned into farms. It was held under lease, at a peppercorn rent. That was why no fine station residences were ever built.
‘Government House’ was generally little better than a hut. In fact, most of them were huts. Others just stone cottages. The only ‘residence’ I saw was Peter Waite’s at Paratoo, and that was built by generous-hearted Mr Thomas Elder – afterwards ‘Sir’ – the man who gave me fifteen shillings as pocket–money on my first trip up.
I might mention here that Mr McCulloch, in his latter days, retired to a mansion which he had built, at Princess Royal, some miles out of the Burra to the eastward.
​
His end was a sad one. He fell into the fire while in a fit and was badly burnt, and from the effects of which he did not recover.
He had two buxom daughters. I saw them on horseback. A shepherd was in love with the younger, but was afraid to press his suit.
The elder daughter married a well-known lawyer and politician and afterwards a Judge of the Supreme Court. She had a dowry of Twenty Thousand Pounds from her father.
We went down to the kitchen quite leisurely, expecting to get tea with the other hands after six o’clock! But, strange as it may seem – for ‘there’s many a slip’ – I, at any rate, got neither bite nor sup till ten o’clock at night!
The reason was this. Traveller after traveller appeared on the scene soon after our advent until, at six o’clock, there were no less than twenty assembled there!
Then, to put the climax to the affair, – and send our cook off her head entirely – up came twenty German shearers in a waggon and demanded tea! They were a cheeky lot, too!
Like Chinamen, when in mobs, they showed their true character as blustering bullies and worse. They were going to situations, too, and ought to have paid. This was the beginning of the shearing season. Hence the number of men on the Wallaby Track – myself included.
The cook struck work then. She had been at it ‘manfully,’ making damper and roasting sides of mutton to try and feed us strangers. She became distracted and threw down her – utensils – when the waggon-load of loud-mothed, cheeky Deutschers arrived.
She stood there, however, and looked on. I had had nothing to eat since daylight, had walked twenty miles, and not being one of the noisy, clamouring sort, was likely to go hungry that night. I was a curly-headed kid – and showed it, for we did not then crop our heads short as we do now.
Whether the cook took a liking to me or not on account of my youth I do not know; but seeing me there all forlorn amongst the grasping crowd, she, at ten o’clock at night, came and asked me if I belonged to the German gang. I told her ‘No’, and that I had had nothing to eat since six o’clock that morning, and mentioned the distance I had come since then.
Pushing me up to the slab table, she said she would look after me. She soon returned with a big chunk of roast ribs of mutton, lots of damper, and a pannican of tea. Ye gods! how I blessed that good woman!
After that, I cared for no man! not even for a wagon-load of German shearers! I camped on the floor somewhere.
Again, next morning, the Germans had to prepare their own food – both damper and mutton – or Johnny Cake in place of damper.
The cook looked after me again in the morning and gave me a piece of broiled mutton to help me on my journey. I lost my two travelling companions here.
The Germans made a start in their big wagon. They were certainly a swaggering lot! As the waggon and four started off, one of them fired a rifle, and I heard the bullet whizzing out of range. Why he fired, and what at, I did not know.
The cook looked on and saw them disappear, satisfaction mingled with disgust written large upon her face.
And all this long before the Kaiser-mad war of 1914-1918!
GOTTLIEB’S WELLS TO PARNAROO
August 27th, 1864.
With ‘Mathilda’ on my back, I set off on another twenty-mile stage for Parnaroo. Four miles over grassy plains took me to Doughboy Hut and Doughboy Well.
Tramping some miles further N.E. brought me to the desert country – outside Goyder’s line of rainfall.
Stony creeks, spinifex, and mallee scrubs were encountered, with desert vegetation generally. At sundown I reached Parnaroo.
There again I had tea, a shakedown on a woolskin couch, with breakfast next morning – cold mutton and damper, black tea with black sugar.
PARNAROO TO MARTIN’S WELL
August 28th , 1864
Leaving the station early in the morning, I walked five miles, and came to a shepherd’s hut on the left of the trail. Then, going through a splendid fullgrown mallee scrub, I emerged on to a great plain, with hills in the distance all around.
The feed was saltbush – good and fresh. But a great and ruinous drought was looming ahead! Already the winter had been a dry one. Disaster was soon to follow!
The day’s itinerary seemed lengthy and wearisome. A long vista ahead always makes a journey appear longer than one winding amongst hills and over rises.
I had nothing to drink all day, as usual. I sat down occasionally for a rest, and watched the kangaroos hop along. They were in constant view all day.
Emus were not so numerous, but I saw some now and again. Bush wallaby abounded everywhere, running from bush to bush.
Eagles soared along overhead in the calm Australian air, without so much as a flap of the wing, whilst the grouped burrows of the kangaroo rats were plentiful, the owners themselves being underground all day.
It was too early in the summer for snakes. They would show themselves later on, together with lizards of various kinds. The sleeping lizard was the most common, with the longtailed Jew lizard and the iguana the largest.
At last Martin’s Well came in sight. The clanking of the whip chain could be heard, and I was assured of a resting-place for the night, and a good feed.
Upon arrival I was welcomed by the two men, whom I knew.
I will describe Martin’s Well here.
One hundred and twenty feet deep, it was sunk through solid rock all the way. The only timbering was to keep the mouth intact. With a whip there was only one bucket – a wheel overhead and one on the ground-line.
A whisker at the bottom of the well could be heard clearly by anyone on top. With timbered wells it was different, as I shall show. The water was so brackish that nothing but sheep could drink it.
MARTIN’S WELL TO PARATOO.
August 29th, 1864.
On this date, with Bluey on back, I set out for Paratoo. In my diary the distance is given as twelve, and this must be correct. On the latter part of the tramp I came to scrubs of native peach trees, and had a good feed of this strange fruit.
Perhaps I ought to give a description of the fruit here. Plenty of Australians have never seen it.
The fruit itself when ripe has a rich-red skin, with flesh an eighth-of-an-inch thick stretched around a beautiful etched stone one-half to three-quarters of an inch in diameter, with a large kernel inside.
[The Quandong (botanical name: Santalum acuminatum). Despite its nickname, it is not a true peach (Prunus persica), but its bright red fruit resembles small peaches in appearance and tart flavour.]
The stones made excellent necklaces when mounted in silver. The trees are now scarce, and are on the road to extinction. They ought to be cultivated in gardens, both as a shrub and for their fruit and stones.
Passing through black-oak scrubs, I arrived at Paratoo at midday. Twelve miles may not seem much of a journey on paper – nor is it.
But let a city boy walk from North Adelaide, through Glenelg, to the Brighton Rocks. That would open his eyes as to tramping short distances. He must also carry his swag, and go without water or food.
For an ordinary day’s tramp he should also do the return journey on the same day, and under the same conditions, without a bite or a drop passing his lips. If he undertook that journey every day for a term, it might set him thinking!
AT PARATOO 1864
I was engaged at Paratoo, as I was wanted for whim-driving – that is, water-drawing, and as a kind of knockabout hand. Shearing was just starting.
I stayed on the Paratoo Run on this occasion from the 29th August until 8th October, of the same year. It was a short but eventful time.
​And when things so fitted in with me that when the ‘tide in the affairs of man, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune’ [William Shakespeare] arrived, I was just ready to take advantage of it.
And I did seize the opportunity and rode on to fortune and happiness, the latter lasting for thirty-seven and a half years.
I wrote some of my experiences and read them to her. She became so interested, that I asked her if she thought it worth my while continuing them. She replied that of course it was!
Those were happenings of the early day, and those days had now gone by for ever. And thus it was that I continued them – alas! not for my dear one now, for she has gone across the misty river, but to refresh my memory by reading them over now and again.
Then again, there may be one or two others who may be interested in my experiences when I am gone. To resume.
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I was taken on at Paratoo by Peter Waite himself.
The Deep Well had fallen in during my absence! And I was needed to drive the horse and whim which kept the well empty while it was being repaired.
Cause of the catastrophe. – The constant baling of water from the pipeclay strata, although timbered for the whole one hundred and fifty feet, gradually dissolved the ground behind the pine slabs.
The water that came up was cream-colored, showing that dissolution of the soft strata was going on all the time. Thus solid matter was continually coming up.
Effect. – The original ground behind the timber was non est – not there! It was mostly in the sheeps’ insides!
Result: – The timber could not stand up alone, and consequently tumbled in for fifty feet up, with a great crash!
​
I have written an article detailing this incident, and therefore just say here that two Cornish miners, after much labor, filled up the back chambers and re-timbered the well.
My job was to work all night and keep the well ‘forked’ – that is empty, or dry – for the miners to resume work each morning, Sundays included.
At first, after the night’s work, I went kangaroo-hunting in the daytime, instead of going to sleep in the hut. Consequently at night I could hardly keep my eyes open.
In the small hours one morning I went dead asleep with my head overhanging the 150 ft shaft!
My gentlemanly mate – Goldie by name – saw that I was asleep, and dragged me away by the heels!
Sleep
The reason I had my head over was this. To see whether the big sixty-gallon bucket was visible at the bottom, – which denoted that the well was nearly forked – we threw red-hot cinders down to illuminate the bottom.
I had just performed that operation, and fell asleep in the act.
I have done many things while sound asleep.
I used once to have only four hours’ slumber from Thursday morning till Saturday night. I have then gone fast asleep while eating my dinner.
I have got out of bunk fast asleep, threaded my way through intricate passages, and woke up afterwards and found myself folding newspapers as rapidly and evenly as if I were wide wake. That was in the Register newspaper office, Grenfell street, Adelaide.
In the same office I have awakened other men so done up for want of sleep that they have sat up in the bunk, stared me in the face, and said, ‘Alright, I’m awake!’ But I could tell by their glassy stare that they were dead asleep all the time!
Upon my moving away, they would tumble down, dead to everything. And they have done the same with me.
There were rows of double-tiered bunks in the Register office for mixed night and day workers. Getting up out of a sound sleep and starting work at twelve midnight was the nastiest experience.
Two and a half years of that kind of work did I have before I was fifteen years of age.
In the Register office I have sat at a ‘case’, setting up type, and, in spite of everything, my head has nodded – nodded – nodded – till it has sunk down on the ‘case’ in oblivion!
Half the time there I was on night work, the other on day work; but it was generally mixed.
But, to come back to the Deep Well on Paratoo Run. I need not have gone kangaroo-hunting when I should have gone into the arms of Morpheus ?
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Of the big row over the horsefeed with the day driver and the two Cornishmen against myself, in which I came out victorious,
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And about Duncan McRae getting a ducking while suspended half-way down the well.
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Also about my losing my hat down the shaft, and my going after it, narrowly escaping going thirty feet under water, and various other incidents.
All these I have duly recorded in another M.S. book, entitled ‘Memoranda; or Notes of Incidents.’ A repetition is not needed.
The only bullock-driving I ever did was at Paratoo, save and except driving the pair of bullocks in the Paratoo Well whip, drawing water. I did that on many occasions.
I had orders from P.W. (who never asked if I had ever seen a bullock before), to yoke up a team of four bullocks to a dray, take them out to the Deep Well, five miles away, and bring back a four-hundred gallon iron tank from there.
This I did, but nearly upset the whole show over the bank of a steep creek – one foot more, and the whole lot would have toppled over.
However, I ‘come – withered’ the cunning animals out of danger.
With reference to drawing water at the Paratoo station well – one hundred and twenty feet deep – with the bullock whip, one day, before I went there, this work was going on when the chain broke close to the pair of bullock at a time when the great bucket was near the top, and the bullocks nearly one hundred and twenty feet away.
The full bucket darted down the shaft, the chain flew over the poppet-head, struck the man on the landing place, and knocked him down the well. Thus the poor man was doubly killed!
I can answer for the terrific strain upon the bullocks’ shoulders. The chain simply ‘talked’ as the bullocks staggered up the course!
There are many things that the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals never see!
Ribs
One day, while in the Paratoo horse yards – there were no stockyards, no cattle being on the run barring bullocks – I was jammed in a corner against the rails by a horse, while another big fellow pounded him on the ribs with newly-shod heels.
I could not get away. I could feel the shock through the horses’ body. I was pressed hard against the timber, but was only bruised a bit.
Since then I have had my ribs broken on four different occasions – all on the right side.
On one occasion two of my ribs took nine months to knit firmly together again. I never had a doctor. Just bound them together with strips of sheeting.
The shock of the blow winds a fellow! It’s amusing to think of afterwards! He thinks he’s a goner every time! But he isn’t!
In shearing sheep I have broken their ribs in trying to keep them down. Yet they were never inconvenienced.
Deep Well
The work at the Deep Well was going on apace. The two Cousin Jacks, in starting operations, had chained up all the timbers that were in situ from the one-hundred feet level to the surface, then gradually and cautiously extracted the fallen timbers, and the mud and slush.
The drought was descending upon us. There was little natural feed for the horses, and my horse was getting poorer. We were also short of oats and bran from the station.
It was then that the row over the horse feed took place.
For I had to look after my horse and see that he was equal to his work of keeping the well empty every night. I was justified in the action I took, and was successful in every way, for never once was the well flooded through any neglect on my part.
Cleaning out the well, and putting in fresh timbers, and filling up the cavity, took a long time, but it was satisfactorily accomplished by those two sturdy and plucky Cornishmen.
But perhaps I had better give more details, as all this happened long ago, and I doubt if any of the person interested in the affair are alive now – 1931 – with the exception of myself.
All day the miners toiled below.
‘Ted M.’ – a youth of eighteen – and another hand did the hauling for them in the day time. He had that staunch and reliable mare, ‘The Duchess.’
Goldie and I worked all night, with my black horse. This horse of mine did not like work. Like the present-day Labor party, he was always on strike. But I had to coax the strike out of him, or the well would have been flooded.
My two buckets each held sixty gallons of water. Ted’s buckets held each thirty gallons of slush. So he and ‘The Countess’ had the easier job.
Thus Goldie, the gentleman (he was a gentleman’s son), and I worked through the dreary nights from dark till after daylight. We had a fire to keep us warm.
At first, on each night, the water had gained on us, and it would be past midnight ere we had it under control. Then we ‘forked’ the well had brought the water up as fast as it came in.
It was rather an anxious time until we had mastered it. The horse I hobbled out all day in the scrub at the back of the hut. And in the evening I tracked him down, brought him in, and fed him with a little bran and oats prior to harnessing him for the night’s work.
I do not remember Goldie doing anything at all except land the buckets!
Even after I gave up the kangaroo-hunting my daily rest was disturbed.
For there were six of us in a single-roomed hut, with an open doorway and one window-opening. There was only one bunk.
I slept on the earthern floor, and when the miners came in to cook their midday meal, Goldie and I were unavoidably disturbed. But neither of us complained by so much as a word.
Our rations of flour, mutton, tea, sugar, and salt were brought to us regularly, together with a four-hundred gallon tank of Paratoo water for ourselves and horses.
Although I had given up hunting the nimble kangaroo, except to get a tail or two for a stew or to make a sea pie, I nevertheless did a lot of exploring, as I had plenty of time after a few hours’ sleep in the morning.
I explored the scrub for miles around to the north and N.W., and also the flat land westwards.
It was in that big scrub that I captured the two young eagles in the neck of sticks in the sandalwood tree
Besides the numerous animals that were about, caterpillars in long trains abounded, and it was interesting to watch their movements.
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Horse Feed
After the row about the horse feed, things went smoothly –
‘Ted’ had hidden the horse feed from me, saying that Christy Wade, the overseer, had been out and stated that ‘Ted’ was to keep all the horse feed for ‘The Duchess’.
I knew that to be a lie, and made him hand it out to me in spite of threats to ‘smash me’ made by one of the miners, as he held his fist in my face! In spite of the fist – of which I took no notice whatever – I advanced on to ‘Ted’ so threateningly, with my hands clenched by my sides, that he hastily pulled out the horse feed from under the bunk where he had hidden it.
And I gave my horse an extra big supply under their noses!
And they were mad with rage! For the other Cornishmen had also threatened me. I was as cool as a cucumber all the time – outwardly, of course.
Inside, I was a volcano of determination – just like my old father used to be.
Needless to say, Christy Wade had never been out. And even if had been, he would not given such a foolish order, for he was a just man and a sensible one.
The well being once more secure, the sheep were brought in to water again by their thousands, and ‘Ted. M’ and I were once more in possession of the water-drawing.
We both slept in the hut, and it was then that I captured the young eagles. I brought them back to the hut, and made a cage for them.
The biggest was a very fine bird. We worked on like this for some time till at length I decided to return to town, for, things being slack, the old hands who had nothing else to do were put on to the water-drawing again.
So I decided to clear out and not waste any more time in a place where I saw no prospects of getting on. I was always scheming to get on.
My thoughts were then turned to squatting or farming. My two mates – Alf Clode and Tom Clode – were then in the farming line. I had serious thoughts of getting them to join me in some venture in that way.
However, without money what can one do! One must work and save first. Taking my swag, with the head of the dead eaglet with me, and leaving the live bird with the man at the hut, I proceeded to Paratoo – a walk of five miles.
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Peter Waite
Arrived there, I went to the store for a settlement with Peter Waite.
All I had to do was to get a cheque for my wages at the rate of fifteen shillings a week.
I also asked the manager – that is P.W. – for the usual two-and-six for the dead eagle’s head. He point blank refused to give me the reward, but said he would give me half-a-crown for the live eagle that I had at the Deep Well hut! This was too generous!
I was astounded at the refusal to pay for the head. And as to the offer of half-a-crown for one of the finest eagles on the Eastern Plains, I was fairly indignant.
The bird was worth at least Five Pounds.
Regarding the manager with a look of scorn, I told him in plain language that I would go back to the hut and kill the bird first before he should have it!
I was usually a very mild, obedient boy.
So he was much taken aback at my turning on him in that fiery way.
He looked confused, and said no more on the subject.
But then he told me I owed the store seven shillings and sixpence for things I had purchased there.
I informed him I owed the store nothing, as I had not bought a thing at the station this time. He contradicted me flatly, deducted the money and gave me my small cheque!
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I was then only sixteen. At twenty years of age I became an employer of labor myself, and remained so until I retired from business.
And I can afford now to laugh at this exhibition of meanness and lack of justice to a young lad who, all alone, was fighting for a place in the world.
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This man was a Justice of the Peace, too, and he should have made enquiries, and treated me fairly.
Of course I never intended carrying out my threat to destroy that beautiful eagle that I had brought up by hand.
So, although, in stepping out from Paratoo, I made a detour in the direction of the Deep Well hut, yet, when out of his sight, I made still another detour, and went off south.
I have no doubt that P.W. sent the bird to Mr Elder (afterwards Sir Thomas Elder), to add to his collection of Australian fauna which he had at his residence and grounds at ‘Birksgate’, Glen Osmond. (Illustrated below)
Above: Peter Waite and daughters 1887
Below: Waite House, Urrbrae S.A.
In 1875 the Waite family moved from ‘Paratoo’ to a rented residence at Glenelg before finally moving into Urrbrae House (above) in 1877 on their return from an overseas visit.
