Published: 4 Feb 2021

Once down on the Eureka field the boys found it most demanding and as crowded as assumed. Logan had arranged somewhere to pen the sheep. Finding a plot for themselves was more difficult, having to take up living space away from any advantage towards their success in fossicking. It was soon decide they would need to settle before even purchasing mining equipment, while the sheep took first preference and Tom’s presence fortunate and most helpful in carting fodder. Quickly half the number was sold and at profit elevating some of the cartage cost.

On arrival it was most obvious their presence as new chums was looked upon with suspicion and when approached most guarded their answers and prowess. Purchasing camping equipment was easy as there was always a number giving away the hunger for gold and like what was offered before they left Geelong, selling at more than reasonable prices so not to have to cart their equipment back to the port.

There was also the harassment from police, even if the boys weren’t camped near a fossicking creek or yet in possession of mining equipment they were often obliged to present their miner’s right and exposed to a barrage of questions, most unrelated to why they were there.

Day by day Tom appeared to settle into the boy’s routine, while the maltreatment from his father was fading as his excitement developed towards the camp. It appeared the lad had talent in making friends, his gregarious nature and lack of inhibition made him popular with the diggers. Daily he would do the rounds of his favourites, sometimes running errands or delivering messages, returning with much useful information on the protocol of mining as well as what was necessary to do so. He was also developing a dislike for the police and authority which both boys found somewhat troubling as there was a lack of tolerance within the ranks especially towards children in the between years as they were highly impressionable.

On a number of occasions Tom was waylaid by the police and heavily questioned, while his pockets searched and a small broken knife blade he had found confiscated. One officer made an improper suggestion to the lad but believed more to shock than carry. Although the suggestion was guarded in innuendo Tom well understood its meaning but as became his habit when questioned he played dim.

There was one disturbing moment some week after they had settled. Tom arrived back from visiting his newly found friends appearing most distressed and when questioned by Logan he shrugged his shoulders and kept to his silence.

“Has someone had a go at you?” Chance asked.

“No,”

“So what is bothering you?”

“Nothing,”

“So why the long face and quiet?”

“Dunno’,”

“Then be that way and keep it to yourself,” Chance was disappointed with the lad’s reaction but didn’t wish to alienate their relationship by forcing disclosure.

“No I won’t have that Tom, if you are in partnership with us even the bad times are to be shared,” Logan quickly interjected.

“Da’.” Tom simply said.

“Has your father approached you?” Logan asked.

“No but Bob Larkin over at Ball Creek said a horse was stolen from the government yards and by a George Burns and that’s my da’s name.”

“It could be someone with the same name,” Chance suggested.

“What two people called George Burns in the one camp?” Tom dismissed beyond probability.

“Possibly it was your father but if he was into stealing a horse, don’t you think he would be long gone by now?” Logan surmised.

“Maybe,”

“Not maybe Tom, if it was your father and stealing a horse, it would be to go somewhere and as far away from here as possible. He wouldn’t wait around waiting to be taken.”

“What if he finds me?”

“As I said he would be long gone and you have Chance and me to protect you.”

Tom appeared to accept Logan’s supposition but stayed close by for a number of days before becoming confident enough to return to his visiting. Even so Logan did make some enquiries and by accounts the Burns in question would have been Tom’s father and a bounty had been issued of one hundred pounds for his capture but Logan kept his findings from the lad.

If Tom hearing about his father was a consequence, more so was Chance meeting up with the Reverend Eric Kidd the wayward vicar from Bridge Town and without his collar. At first Chance didn’t recognise the man as he now supported a mostly grey beard, it being as black as pitch but only some months earlier. Gone was the vicar’s portly belly, gone most of his hair and by his language even god and family were no more.

The meeting between Chance and the Reverend was at the general store while Kidd was arguing with the store holder on his prices and begging for credit but without success.

“Reverend Kidd,” Chance acknowledged as the man was about to depart empty handed while counting the pittance drawn from his pocket. As quickly he thrust his hand back deep within the pocket of his torn overcoat but faltered on hearing the mention of his name.

“Who would you be?”

“Don’t you recognise me, Chance Wilcox, Piers’ son from Bridge Town?”

“Bridge Town,” Kidd repeated as if it brought much pain to do so.

“Yes we have the staging inn.”

“What are you doing here?” Kidd but demanded.

“Most likely the same as you’re good self.”

“What broke and going to hell in a handcart,” The Reverend growled while obviously eager to be away.

“How is your family?” Chance asked, remembering the man had denounced them all for golden dreams.

“That is long passed and I must wish you good afternoon,” The man gave a smile more akin to pain, a slight nod of the head and departed. Chance thought of offering charity but the man’s rudeness soon dissuaded him from further encounter.

Logan had found the local agent for the bank but mistrusted the agent’s intentions, so he took his business into Ballarat proper, although keeping his association with Elsie Downs mute as the manager appeared to be over interested in his affairs.

As for the Eureka Lead it was quickly noticed there was a high measure of distrust within the camp. Many had secrets from past lives, being escaped convicts from Tasmania or Western Australia, or those whose names could be found on the colony’s most wanted list. Others were fugitive from unwanted marriages, or paying for the upkeep of children and those new to the Lead quickly learned not to ask questions of personal nature. One thing was a constant that being support for any digger who fell foul of the law regardless of his crime.

When it came to striking gold most kept it quiet not to be waylaid while visiting the assessors, or robbed while they slept. There was always the gregarious who couldn’t help whooping it up on the least of strikes, bringing others to view their find with envy and claim jumpers while away at business or entertainment.

Once Logan’s account was arranged and communication between Ballarat and his home branch had been established it was time to think of revisiting the Golden Shovel and discuss its purchase.

At first Chance was negative towards Logan’s idea of taking on the hotel but living in a tent on wet ground, cheek by jowl with hundreds of suspect miners with shady intent was beginning to warm him to the project, not to mention the lack of privacy which put an end to any amorous expression. Even Tom was showing excitement and with his developing confidence could make jest of his past, admitting it would be a change to make hotel beds rather than work them.

Before approaching Jeremiah Stubbs and the Golden Shovel it was decide to survey the hotel in secret and seeing Logan was known to Stubbs, it was left for Chance to assess the property. During what was believed to be a busy night Chance tried the bar and what beer and spirits were offered. He soon found the beer to be watered and the spirits limited but there were a good number in and appeared to be quite amiable but Stubbs was missing and the bar attended to by a well capable women, who appeared to have a way with the drinkers that kept the conversation flowing and the fists unclenched.

Chance believed the building to be sturdy enough and although he hadn’t seen the rooms he did walk the upper floor, again he was satisfied in its structure. He also noticed there was a dining room and kitchen but the hotel didn’t supply meals. Armed with the information Chance approached Logan with his judgement, agreeing if the price was right they should purchase the property.

The boys arrived at hotel mid afternoon then after some time exploring the external and out buildings they entered, spying Stubbs in what appeared to be convert conversation with a police officer. The officer pointing his position towards Stubbs with a well armed forefinger with Stubbs shaking his head in obvious disagreement.

Stubbs was a big man with long unkempt black hair and equal beard, which descended a good distance down his barrel chest to his rotund belly. By the man’s physical appearance Stubbs could be considered southern European, possibly Italian but his accent was most definitely lower class London and when he spoke it was loud and coarse, without consideration if there were women present or not. There was an adage when women entered in on men’s conversation, being ducks on the pond but with Stubbs he would ignore such a warning and continue on with his foul language regardless.

On noticing Logan’s approach he broke conversation with the officer who answered but a few words and commenced on his way, “I’ll call by later about the other,” the policeman said before leaving and on passing the boys, paused long enough to give them the once over but made no comment.

What first came to Chance’s notice was the patrons being a good dozen or more and down in mood, suggesting if not at their diggings during the day, they must have meagre pickings and had gathered to share misfortune.

“I still think his price is a little high,” Chance quietly admitted as they approached the bar.

“As I said I’m sure we can beat him down a little. What do you think of it so far have you any concern since your previous visit?”

“It’s the bar and grog that brings in the customers and he appears to have little stock.” Chance recounted while once again mentally valuing the bar and its contents.

“We could soon restock,” Logan suggested.

“Quite so – but.”

“Ah that mysterious but; come on he’s spotted us.”

“You are back again young fellow, have you had further thought on my offer?”

“Yes some thought Mr. Stubbs but you will need to come down a little and subject to my business partner’s opinion,” Logan suggested keeping his voice below the dull hum of the bar, while attempting to hold a professional slant to his tone

Stubbs gave Chance a disrespectful glance believing the lad much too callow to understand the workings of a hotel, especially one situated amongst the suspect dealing of the diggings and the graft of the local police.

“My business partner, Mr. Wilcox comes from a family of hoteliers Mr. Stubbs,” Logan assured taking away the man’s belief he could describe his own price.

“And where would that be?” Stubbs asked.

“Bridge Town across the Blue Mountains from Sydney,” Chance answered, his eyes following the staircase past the small crowd to the upper floor.

“A country inn I would expect,” there was a measure of disrespect in the hotelier’s manner, with supposition of badly brewed ale and watered down whisky and rum.

“No Mr. Stubbs a staging hotel of some establishment and the first between Katoomba and Bathurst,” Chance proudly corrected.

“What about you Mr. McGregor, were you also in the hotel business?”

“Sheep Mr. Stubbs,”

“Yes as you said, you were looking for somewhere to pen a small flock. Was my suggestion of Charlie Todd of use?”

“Yes he was most helpful.”

“If you purchase the Golden Shovel there would be room behind but you would have to search near and far for fodder,” noticing Chance’s obvious interest in the establishment Stubbs suggested he give him a tour.

“How many serviced rooms Mr. Stubbs,” Chance asked as they ascended to the upper floor.

“Six, not including the private quarters but at a pinch there are two store rooms that could be converted.”

“Bathrooms?” Chance questioned.

“One shared on the upper level and a second in the private rooms, there is a boiler off the kitchen for drawing hot water but the oak tub for the service rooms will soon need replacing.”

“What about meals?”

“At present I only do them on request but the kitchen is well appointed.”

“I noticed the out buildings behind, what do they include?” Chance asked.

“Washhouse, stable and half an acre of land, possibly a little more and a storage shed,” Stubbs gave a grin, “one tree, a lemon and the only one for quite a way, except for that in the Eureka hotel’s yard.”

“Half an acre?” Chance repeated.

“Plenty of room to hold your sheep for a while, as for the stable I rent space there in for local horses as I don’t have one myself but there is a reasonable cart if you have need.”

“What about staff?” Chance asked.

“Only Roslyn but she will be coming with me and there is a woman who helps out at the Eureka who goes by the name of Mary Findlay and fills in on the occasion, but if you use Mary keep an eye on her with money and don’t tell here your business as she is inclined to report back to the Eureka. Also watch out for Jim Bentley, he owns the Eureka and is somewhat shady at the best of time.”

“Yes I’ve already encountered Mr. Bentley,” Logan admitted.

“I noticed you were speaking with a police office, is there any stand over tactics I need to know about.” Chance remembered when his father took over the Bridge Town inn there was bother with a certain police constable who attempted extortion. As Edward was the local magistrate he soon had the problem resolved and the constable approached but after support from his station sergeant he was sent west and not approached for his malicious intent.

“Not with the police on the Eureka Lead, I give them free drinks on the occasion to keep the peace but only at my pleasure. There are occasions with the troopers, they are often a law separate and some in their number are said to run protection routs but to date I’ve had little bother with them,” Stubbs admitted.

“Are the rooms fully occupied?”

“Half at present but usually full, sometimes I have to make up the store rooms but I charge less for them.”

“Not many in tonight?” Chance suggested.

“A quiet night, usually more than double the present crowd but there is entertainment on offer in town.”

As Chance had secretly cased the hotel during the previous week he was content Stubbs was being in the most honest, giving Logan a veiled eye of approval.

“Then what are your thoughts Mr. Wilcox? Stubbs questioned as the tour concluded.

“I’m not too happy about the price but otherwise I think we can do business,” Chance admitted.

“I do have some movement,”

Chance turned to Logan for support.

“It’s your call Chance, you know hotels. I know sheep.” Logan gave an agreeing nod as he backed away from decision.

“Would it be possible to see the books?” Chance asked more out of appearing knowledgeable than of use as many business men massaged the figures to their own advantage.

“My bookkeeping isn’t what you may call business savvy Mr. Wilcox but I can show you the receipts and the hotel bank account.” Stubbs offered as Chance made final inspection of the accommodation. Turning to Logan he gave his final approval, Logan returned agreement. “Yes Mr. Stubbs I think we can do business.”

“Then be it so, come to the back room and we will discuss the matter further,” Stubbs nodded to his barmaid as the three retired to the private quarters behind.

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