Published: 28 Jan 2021

It was near sundown when Logan returned carrying a heavy load of supplies. Placing them down he took a deep breath and turned to Tom, “I should have had you come as my packhorse.” The lad gave an agreeing smile. “How did you go with the butchering?” Logan asked as he noticed the fleece drying on a branch.

“Done and we salted much of it,” Chance answered while sending Tom for water for their cooking pot.

“Did you get everything?” Chance asked once the lad was beyond hearing.

“Most, but with difficulty it is like walking a maze down there and everything is three times the price, a right rogue’s gallery of thieves and cutthroats.”

“Tea, coffee?”

“No coffee, but you are really asking if I remembered Tom, true?”

“I guess so,”

“I did but no chocolate. Were you brave enough to explain our situation to him?”

“Yes,” Chance gave an ironic chortle, “do you remember when I tried to explain the same to Roslyn Parker?”

“I never liked that girl; she hung around me like a blowfly on a sheep’s arse,” Logan recollected.

“She was alright but threatened to cut our pizzles off.”

“What about her?”

“Explaining to Tom is how I felt while trying to relate our relationship to Roslyn.”

“Yes I remember, she came to me the following day and asked me if there was anything squalid between us,” Logan admitted.

“You never said,”

“She did and said there was a way proving I was being truthful, that being to have it on with her.”

“How did you get out of that one?” Chance quizzically asked.

“I didn’t,”

“You didn’t?” Chance gasped.

“I didn’t and it was my first and only,”

“You never told me,”

“Something’s are better left unspoken; anyway what about Tom?”

“He said he likes girls but guessed about us anyway.” Chance related as Tom returned with the water. Filling the cooking pot he put it to the flame.

“I got you something,” Logan said and produced a new shirt; he threw it to the lad.

“What’s this?”

“A new shirt, that one you are wearing is beyond redemption.”

Tom removed his torn shirt.

“By the look it’s a size too big,” Logan reckoned.

“I’ll grow into it,” Tom said and after displaying his new shirt for fit he tossed his old shirt into the fire without hesitation.

“Why did you do that?” Chance asked.

“It’s burning the past,” Tom said as the flames quickly devoured the material.

“Tom and I went up the rise after you departed. I’ve never seen so many people in one place before.” Chance admitted as he added some vegetables from Logan’s fresh supplies and cuts of mutton to the now boiling pot, “I don’t know how you found anything.

“It wasn’t easy but I did enquire where to pen the sheep,” Logan gave a huff of irony, “no fields to speak of, hardly anything but mullock heaps and holes while the water in the creeks is mudded and mostly undrinkable.”

“So what about fielding the sheep?” Chance asked.

“I found a spot, it will cost and we will have to forage for fodder but if we sell them off quickly there shouldn’t be a problem and I had good offerers without seeing them.”

Logan stretched back and withdrew a pamphlet from his pocket. As Tom was the closest he passed it to him.

“What’s this?” the lad asked and viewed the pamphlet upside down, which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Can you read and write?” Logan asked.

“Never had any schooling, da’ said it wasn’t necessary,” The lad shamefully lowered his eyes.

“Da!” Logan growled loudly.

“We’ll have to do something about that,” Chance suggested as Tom passed the pamphlet to him. Chance read the article.

“There is a meeting of miners at some place called Bakery Hill in town called by a Tim Hayes and I heard they are going to burn their miner’s rights.” Logan exchanged.

“Why is that?” Chance asked.

“Because they increased the licence to thirty shillings a month and must be produced on demand even when not on your claim.”

“What about ours?”

“Good until the end of the month then we will have to renew,” Logan explained. “I did notice some miners being hunted down by mounted police, also heard a few shots fired.”

“It appears we have arrived at a difficult time,” Chance admitted.

“It seems it’s been that way for a good year or so and is only now coming to a head,” Logan checked their cooking pot and gave it a stir, “I was told there is still plenty of gold around but becoming more difficult to find.”

Chance folded the pamphlet and passed it back to Logan, who fed it to the fire. “What will we do about our plans?” Chance asked, his concern towards failure becoming obvious.

“Good question, firstly let’s get the sheep down below and settle them, then we’ll have to purchase a tent and find a patch of dirt,” he laughed, “a handful of dirt I would reckon but some find colour by going through the tailings of others.”

“Is that accepted?” Chance asked.

“Not if you’re a Chink; or if you find anything. I hear some are a little touchy about that.”

“I’ll find gold – just watch me,” Tom proudly announced.

Logan soon deflated the lad’s bravado, “without a licence you’ll find nothing kid.”

“Oh,”

“Never mind, you can look after our camp and we will share any we find with you,” Chance promised.

“Yes but remember a three way share of nothing is still nothing,” Logan censured.

“Three ways?” there was much surprise in the lad’s response.

“If you do equal work then you deserve so,” Logan promised.

During their evening meal Logan appeared to be somewhat distant and when challenged by Chance, simply acknowledged he was developing an idea based on information he had encountered while at the camp but would sleep on it and share in the new day. It was a common occurrence with Logan to ponder on a thought for a time before expressing, while sometimes it would dissipate before being disclosed at all.

With the sun gone the evening became quite cool and the three huddled closer to their camp fire with Logan holding onto his thought. Instead it was Chance who had voice and wished to know more of Tom’s life story although it was lacking in personal adventure, “so Tom you are a Vandemonian?” Chance asked as he stoked more heat into the fire while feeling the chill of darkness creep around his back and shoulders.

“I guess so but these times we are considered to be Tasmanian,” the lad corrected.

“Mark my words, one day we will all be considered to be Australians,” Logan put across the argument.

“The colonies will never agree,” Chance boldly denoted.

“They won’t have choice but to federate,” Logan assured.

“Why would you say so?”

“For a start, England is at war with Russia who has threatened to attack all British colonies and even if Russia doesn’t do so, England is too far away to protect us. We are on our own and need each other.” Logan had only that day read about the war with Russia while visiting the mining camp and his first thought was, here we go again.

“Still until then we are all separate countries under the crown, even as far as developing our own armed forces and navy,” Chance proudly assured.

“Are you referring to the Electra?” Logan asked with a doubtful chuckle.

“Her and the Victoria,”

“The Victoria hasn’t arrived as yet and the Electra belongs to the British navy and would be flat out challenging a whaling boat, then at the first sign of trouble elsewhere it would be diverted.”

“It is a start; anyway what do you think Tom?”

“I don’t really,” Tom simply answered.

“What was growing up in your so called Tasmania like?” Chance asked believing extracting information from the lad was most difficult but necessary to draw him away from his dark past.

“Da’ was once a bounty hunter when he was younger.”

“Who did he hunt?” Chance laughed.

“Have you heard of John Batman?”

“He with John Fawkner founded this colony and Fawkner is now living in Melbourne but I don’t think Batman ever had a bounty on his head.” Logan offered some fact to the conversation.

“I don’t know him,” the lad admitted.

“Never mind Logan he’s a book of history – go on what about your father being a bounty hunter.”

“Da’ helped John Batman capture the bushranger Matthew Brady.

“So your father holds some fame,” Chance gave credit but the cruelty dealt to the lad over his short life soon removed any consideration for his father.

“What is Tasmania like?” Logan asked.

“Green fields and high mountains,” the lad answered.

“Is it like here?”

“Somewhat but it snows down to sea level in some parts and I once met a man who came from England, he said Tasmania was like a little piece of England that floated away and found itself at the bottom of New South Wales.”

“Poetic,” Logan said.

“Is Tasmania an island?” Chance asked.

“Even we are an island,” Logan corrected.

“Yes an island continent as our teacher once said,” Chance answered not wishing to be though uneducated.

“It is an island but I don’t know how big it is and it only takes a couple of days sailing to reach here,” Tom answered.

“Enough of history, I’m going to check on the sheep,” Logan lifted from the warmth of the fire, stretched then disappeared into the night, his way guided by the fire’s reflection.

“Thank you for my shirt.” Tom called after Logan as he went.

“No worries kid,”

It was a quiet overcast night with only the babbling of the creek to muse the ears. Off in the distance a dog howled but was the call of a camp or farm dog and not that of a native dingo. Over the hill he had crossed to visit the mining camp a faint glow could be seen reflected on the covering of cloud, depicting their closeness to Ballarat but no sound of civilization reached across the short distance.

Finding the sheep well rested Logan returned to the camp somewhat concerned towards the outcome of their little adventure. Logan had a plan, more an idea but he would sleep on it and share with the morning. As for fossicking for gold, each day it was becoming more perplexing to thought, believing an alternative may be necessary but had kept his doubt to himself not to disappoint Chance.

Tom was up before Logan and had the breakfast fire well alight before anyone joined him.

“Good morning lad – good job.” Logan complemented as he stretched the sleep from his joints. He yawned then went to look in on Chance, who had the early morning vigilance over their flock; “Everything alright?” Logan asked as he approached and placed a hand on Chances shoulder. He gently massaged through his heavy night coat.

Chance smile, “I did hear a dog earlier but it was at distance somewhere south along the creek.”

“Could have been the one I heard last night but it sounded like a farm dog.”

“No it was a dingo for sure,”

“They pay havoc if given the opportunity, even tare the fleece from a sheep’s back.”

“Is Tom up?” Chance asked.

“He is doing breakfast.”

As Logan spoke a commotion was heard along the Geelong road coming from the direction of Ballarat. The boys advance towards the sound as a coach came into view. On approach the coach slowed and stopped.

“Wanting transport – have room for one?” the driver asked.

“No only interested, are you for Geelong?”

“Melbourne we change directions at Buninyong but there is talk of a new service to Geelong in a matter of weeks.”

“What happened to the old Geelong service?”

“You mean Edward Devine,”

“That was his name,”

“His coach broke down and he’s giving it away.”

“Nice looking coach,” Logan commented.

“Cobb and Co,”

“It doesn’t appear to be English?”

“Freeman Cobb is from America; it is one of their new designs and is swung on leather straps to give a better ride. Mr. Cobb only started services a couple of weeks back,” the driver lifted his whip and cracked it across the lead horses head, “can’t stop have a schedule to keep.”

As the coach departed Chance shook his head. “What?” Logan asked.

“Changes, everything is changing at a wild rate.”

“For the better I should think,” Logan answered.

“Better for some. I like the old ways, slow and methodical, you get there eventually but have the opportunity to enjoy the travel.”

“Like us footsore walking from Geelong,” Logan complained.

“Point taken.”

“I also heard while getting supplies that they are working on having a steam locomotive in Melbourne,” Logan informed to add to Chances concern on progress.

“Changes,” Chance huffed once more and returned to the breakfast fire.

With breakfast finished Chance remembered that Logan had something he wished to share from the previous night so he approached his friend.

“It is but an idea and you may not like it,” Logan offered.

“There is only one way to find out and that is to ask.”

“Righto, I was thinking we may not be able to find a place to dig, never mind find colour.”

“So you have said before but after coming this far I would at least like to give it a go.”

“True, I didn’t mean not try but while I was getting supplies I met up with a Jeremiah Stubbs who has a hotel, it is a little rough but solid enough and has a second level with rooms.”

“Where is this leading?” Chance asked.

“He wishes to sell it then return to Sydney; I thought with your experience in making beer and working in your dad’s inn, we could purchase it.”

“I don’t have any money,” Change quickly answered more as a deterrent than a fact.

“I do, and his asking is fair, while for cash in hand I am sure he would lower it even further.”

“I was looking forward to fossicking.”

“And we will but why not have something to fall back to if we don’t strike it lucky. Besides we don’t have to keep it if we strike it rich or bore with looking, then we could sell it on.”

“It is a thought,” Chance agreed.

“Sleep on it; we will remain here for the rest of the week to fatten the sheep, I am sure it won’t sell quickly.” Logan approached Tom, “what about you lad, have you ever worked in a hotel?”

“Only hotel beds and that wasn’t my choice,” Tom answered displaying a measure of disdain towards his father’s practice of lending him for money.

Logan passed over the lad’s confession although he wished to scald him for his negativity but thought better of doing so, realising it was still quite sensitive.

“Did you go into the city proper?” Chance asked as Logan turned from his conversation with the lad.

“Not right in but I could see quite some and there are many grand buildings at that. What I did notice there is a high degree of unrest and if the government isn’t careful they will have a rebellion on its hands,” Logan once again commented on the sense of dissatisfaction he had encountered throughout what was known as the Eureka Lead.

“That wouldn’t happen,” Chance disagreed.

“And why not?”

“English people aren’t like that,” Chance answered without realising any measure of strength in his argument.

“What about the French, they cut off old Louis’ head – and that of his wife.”

“Yes but they weren’t English.”

Logan gave a mocking laugh.

“Well they weren’t – were they;” Chance continued.

“What about the rum rebellion in Sydney, Uncle Edward told me about it, and they imprisoned Governor Bligh.”

Chance lacked an answer.

“What about the American rebellion?” Logan strengthened his argument.

“They weren’t English,”

“They were at the time of the rebellion and by their accent there are many Americans down there on the goldfields who still hold that rebellious sentiment,” Logan paused and lifted a pointing finger, “and French, and Italians and every other country conceivable, they are most definitely not English and they are all down there and unhappy.”

“I don’t have an answer to all that except hope nothing will eventuate.” Chance said while releasing a worrying breath.

“Nor I, but whatever we won’t be part of it.”

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