Published: 27 May 2021

Gilbert quickly settled into the boy’s routine at the hotel while at the store he was found to be most helpful. Many who came to the store remembered the lad from his father’s accident at the Glory, offering kind reverence, patting his head while gently speaking, you alright kid.

After a short time it was decided he had worked off his owing to Morris Kent so Chance enrolled him at a local school but Morris kept him on as after school help and paid him a few shillings for his effort.

Gilbert had some education and could read of sorts but found arithmetic somewhat daunting. After serving a woman and giving the incorrect change he was quickly delegated to the broom and deliveries. As for private arrangements at the hotel, Gilbert was allotted Tom’s old room off the bar, so there wasn’t reason to hide or explain their relationship.

“Where are Mrs. Wilcox and Mrs. McGregor?”

It was an innocent enough question from the lad, coming out of a quiet moment while Logan was reading the Ballarat Star and Chance sat pondering over the hotel’s expenses. His ledger was simple, two columns side by side, one plus and the other minus, while believing lessons from his sixth grade were well worth the attention he had paid. Logan’s mathematics was sound but he bored quickly with bookwork.

Chance placed his pencil to the table and took a breath, while Logan kept to his paper believing that was a question best handled by his friend.

“That’s a funny question Gilbert?” Chance answered.

Logan gave a grin from the security of the newsprint.

“I thought all men married when they turned twenty-one.” Gilbert had been doing his multiplication homework and until speaking seemed innocently disconnected from other thoughts.

“What about all the diggers, there are hundreds, no thousands of men unmarried on the goldfields?” Chance offered as a cover.

“I thought they had wives back home,”

“Some would but most are single men, it is a rough life for a woman on the diggings.” Chance could feel Logan’s grinning even through the cover of his newspaper and wasn’t going to let his friend get away without an appendage to the question. “What do you think Logan?” he quietly asked.

“What’s the topic, I wasn’t listening,” Logan lied and folded the paper to the side table.

“Why some men don’t marry when they reach twenty-one,” Chance repeated Gilbert’s question.

“Is that the time, best I do the lockup, I’ll leave you two to your conversation,” once spoken, Logan departed.

“Thank you,” Chance quietly uttered as Logan passed by.

“My pleasure,” Logan gave a titter and closed the door on the discussion.

“How are you going at school?” Chance asked diverting from what could develop into a difficult situation.

“Alright but I’m the oldest in my class by some years.”

“Does that concern you?”

“It makes me feel silly and there is a girl who follows me around all the time.”

“Do you like girls?” Chance asked.

“I guess so but she is just a kid.”

“Treat her kindly, even little girls have feelings,” Chance returned to adding his figures and took a deep breath, “good profit this month,” he quietly spoke and put the ledger aside.

“I’m about ready to go upstairs, is there anything you would like before you go to bed?” Chance asked.

“Are you and Logan brothers?” Again the question was innocent but its sauce was somewhat daunting.

“No,” Chance simply answered believing it was Tom all over again.

“Cousins, I have four cousins but I’ve never met them.”

“Not even cousins,”

“Oh,”

“Why oh?”

“No reason,”

“Our fathers were friends since they were young and were once in business together.”

“What business was that, hotels?”

“My father eventually married into a hotel family and Logan’s father owned a large sheep station – Logan is still partner there with his brothers.”

“Oh,”

“Gilbert, where is this conversation heading?” Chance curiously asked.

“Nowhere, would you check my homework before I go to bed.”

Chance accepted the homework, “that one is wrong,” he said and pointed to the multiplication of seven by nine, “it should be sixty-three not fifty-eight. “Does your teacher teach the times tables?”

“Yes but we only reached seven times yesterday and I haven’t yet mastered it.”

“The others are correct, what about spelling?”

“I had to read a chapter of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, it is new from America.”

“Do you like the story?”

“I don’t like reading much.”

“Would you like me to read some of it to you?” Chance asked.

“Not tonight, I’ve had enough of school work and I can read it while in bed.”

Earlier that night there had been a storm which had turned to drizzle. Logan was by the bedroom window mesmerised by the halo of mist around the lamplight. There was just enough illumination to see the puddling forming on the road but little more. He thought of those in leaky tents without the warmth of a fire to keep out the damp.

A man passed under the streetlamp huddled into his coat, his hat pulled down covering his features. “Not a night to be out,” Logan spoke rhetorically as Chance entered the room.

“You said?” Chance questioned.

“I was talking to myself; I said not the best of nights to be out and about.”

“Thank you for leaving me with Gilberts questioning,” Chance grumbled.

“I thought it was in need of a mother’s explanation.”

“Cheeky bugger; no seriously do you think he expects?”

“What is there to expect?”

“Well it was difficult and he wanted to know if we were brothers or cousins.”

“And what was your answer?”

“I said we were bed friends.”

“You what?”

“No I simply explained our family connections.”

“You do worry too much about what people think, besides we have our own connecting rooms.”

“I guess, while on the subject of Gilbert?”

“What about him?”

“He thinks you don’t like him.”

“It’s Tom all over again. I like the kid but unlike you, I feel it best not to become too attached to him being around. He’s not a pet dog you know and sooner or later, probably sooner, he will find his legs and move on.”

“I do get attached and admit so but it’s my character,” Chance hurtfully answered.

“And I love you for it. I’ll try and be more understanding with him in the future.” Logan drew the curtains and came away from the window, “it is well he is away from the elements on a night such as this that is a certainty.”

“There is a leak at the back of the cellar in the far corner above the barrels.” Chance recollected.

“I’ll have a look tomorrow.”

‘Yes I must be more welcoming to the kid,’ Logan thought as Tom came to mind and his feelings of guilty after Tom’s demise, believing the lad went to his grave supposing Logan didn’t like him. ‘He’s not a bad kid; yes I must treat him more kindly.’ Logan released a smile while watching Chance ready for bed. ‘Mother Wilcox strikes again but oddly I like the idea. Even more so the second time around.’

“What are you thinking?” Chance asked recognising the thoughtful expression Logan radiated.

“I was thinking on what you said about Gilbert’s concern about me liking him.”

“He will be fine, I wouldn’t worry.”

“No you are correct; I’ll try to be more understanding.”

Early Wednesday morning found much activity at the Ballarat Railway station, also an unusual representation of troopers. The Melbourne train was due to depart an precisely eight thirty, now it had gone ten and no reason for its delay had been issued. Eventually it departed and had hardly gone five minutes when a wagon escorted by troopers arrived.

The late wagon thus returned to its depot without much interest shown in its progress from those at the station or those on their way to work. As for those working at the station it was but another day and they had the arrival of the up train from Melbourne to contend with as it was due at midday.

In the main the up train was to be a goods only service but this day two extra passenger carriages had been connected and there were some thirty passengers on their way to Ballarat, many with coach connections beyond. The connecting of the extra carriages had also delayed its departure by half an hour and with the delay at Ballarat both services were running late.

Stan Winslow the driver of the down train decided to try and make time lost in Ballarat but by reaching Clarendon Siding and the bypass line he hadn’t made up any at all but as a bonus there wouldn’t be a long wait for the Melbourne train to arrive and its passing.

As Stan approached the bypass track he could clearly see the smoke from the up train in the distance.

“Looks like Bill Stud is also running late;” Winslow said to his fireman expecting to find it already waiting at the bypass. He pointed to the distant smoke stack. Lue Barnett the fireman stuck his head through the space near the firebox and received a face full of coal dust and soot. He coughed and agreed as the points for the bypass came into view.

The signal ahead was stop and as Winslow slowed his engine he caught sight of a worker on the points. He waved but there wasn’t any reply. “That’s not Ralph Jackson,” Winslow said as they passed by the points. Lue Barnett gave a shrug then noticed someone was on the up points as the Melbourne train turned into the bypass line at speed.

“What’s going on?” Winslow shouted and hit the brake, the engine commenced to slow further but not enough to avoid a collision with the other train.

At that moment the second driver realised the building catastrophe as both services were entering onto the bypass, it then also braked. One second, two, three four seconds no more and the two engines collided, sending Winslow, Barnett and the second driver onto the tracks. The fireman on the up service was crushed between the fire box and the coal tender. Immediately the smell of burning flesh permeated the air with scalding steam all about.

The fireman screamed once then no more.

As the two engines kissed the forward motion lifted them both into the air and as they toppled beside the tracks the shudder of the crash cannoned along both trains. Some carriages splintered, some fell to their side but most of the destruction was on the up train with its many passengers.

As the dust and steam settled a number of men wearing bandanna across their faces smashed their way into the down train’s guards van which although at a vicarious angle remained upright. “Open the goods car,” one shouted and brandished a pistol in the guards face.

“It isn’t locked,” the guard nervously answered while holding his arms high and quivering like a jelly in afternoon sun.

“It’s unlocked,” the man shouted down to his accomplishes who quickly opened the door.

“There is nothing in here but boxes of vegetables and milk churns,” the second called back.

“What do you mean nothing?” the first questioned.

“As I said nothing, it’s empty.”

The masked man in the guard’s van turned to the guard. “Where’s the gold! He shouted.

“It arrived late and missed the connection.” The guard weakly answered.

“Hey,” The first called back.

“What,”

“We’re outa’ here before the jonnies arrive. There’s no fucken’ gold.”

“Whata’ you mean no gold?”

“It missed the connection.”

As quickly as it had occurred it was over and the raiders departed leaving a scene of carnage.

It took some time for the news of the accident to reach Ballarat but when it did, it was for every available man and cart to hurry to Clarendon Siding. On their arrival they found seven dead and up to twenty injured, with many moving about as in a daze but no sign of those responsible for the tragedy.

Stan Winslow the driver of the down service was the most lucid describing who he had seen at the points, while the guard gave a vague description of who held a gun to his head but was most clear on their intention, being for the gold shipment and who was injured by their actions far from the bushranger’s concern. To give the bandits some credit, if that was possible, their information was the gold train had but few on board while the up train was thought to be goods only.

Chance was in the hotel yard when he noticed Gilbert returning early from school and surprised as it wasn’t yet two in the afternoon.

“Has the school burned down?” Chance dryly asked.

Gilbert came to the fence and leaned over, “haven’t you heard?”

“I haven’t left the hotel all morning, “heard what?”

“There was a train smash at Clarendon Siding, so they gave us the day off.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“I can’t rightly say but by the talk about it seems so. It was bushrangers after the gold shipment.”

“Did they get it?” Chance asked.

“No, the gold was late in arriving and the train left without it.”

The excitement that lifts from tragedy lingered about Ballarat for some days and it was decided that in the future a contingent of troopers would accompany gold shipments. As for the manipulation of the points, it became a problem to be solved, with the only conclusion being to take care while approaching a bypass line.

Late summer, a new year and the brave new county was teaming with fresh immigrants wishing to escape the hardships of Europe and its many wars and revolutions. The colony of Victoria was bursting at the seams with new arrivals, its population closing in on a million, while that of London was past three million.

The port of Melbourne offloaded immigrants by the dozens and loaded wool, gold and wheat for the motherland. It was the same from Sydney and now even the north was becoming populated as less temperate and tropical land opened for cattle, sheep and the growing of sugarcane along the Capricorn coast.

As for Ballarat it was becoming the hub for an expanding district. Now it was more for freedom, good chance and open spaces and not for gold that attracted. As for the Golden Shovel and the boys, their days were as mundane as ever. Business was good and growing and young Gilbert had finished his schooling, while he remained working part time for Morris Kent at the store.

It was one of those lazy summer days with the mercury rising when Logan entered Kent’s store. It was early for Gilbert to be at work and Morris was busy with a new consignment of kitchen utensils.

“Good morning lad,” Morris greeted being happy for the distraction.

“Morris, I see you have a new supply of those wok things.”

“For the Chinese but some find them handy for gold panning.”

“That’s a new one; I never thought much of them until our cook introduced me to their use.”

Morris approached, “what can I do for you today?”

Logan passed a list Chance had compiled earlier, “no hurry Gilbert can bring them when he’s finished work.”

“He’s a good lad but I still can’t trust his additions,” Morris admitted as he gave scrutiny to the list, “there are a coupled of things I’m out of,”

“Do your best but I will have some of those local peaches, Chance has a liking for them. I’ll take them with me.”

As Morris went about weighing the peaches he remembered; “oh there is a letter for you, it came yesterday and I forgot to give it to Gilbert.” Morris retrieved the letter from a small pile he had in a section set aside for the postal agency. He passed it to Logan, who folded the correspondence to his pocket without concern.

After finishing at Morris’ Logan took the long way home along the creek where Chance once had his claim, now it was the yard to a small cottage, with the creek running along its rear boundary. Even Peter Lalor’s mullock heap had been cleared and his mine shaft filled and covered. ‘Progress,’ he thought with a smile and walked on then he remembered the letter. As he commenced to remove it from his pocket he had a change of mind, deciding later was as good a time to discover its contents.

It wasn’t as if he received many letters and those he did were usually forward bookings for the hotel, addressed as such but this instance it was personally address and the hand somewhat familiar. His interest grew as he continued his extended stroll but though reading would only take away the quietude of the day.

It was evening before Logan again remembered his letter while quietly seated in their private office and watching Chance at work with the accounts. He laughed.

“What’s so funny,” Chance asked.

“I like watching you.”

“Why would you wish to do that?”

“I like the way you wrinkle your brow when you are concentrating.”

“I don’t like making errors.”

“You should get Gilbert to give you a hand, he needs the practice.”

“Oh yea, two and two make seven – Did you pay Morris?” Chance asked.

“No I didn’t think the account was due.”

“Yesterday,”

“I’ll do so tomorrow; anything else outstanding?”

“The butcher, and your promised Wu-Liang a rase.”

“Again tomorrow, I’ll need to draw cheques on the bank of New South Wales: and I’ll need your signature as well. Speaking of Gilbert, where is he?”

“Helping cook; I’ve written the cheques, only needs your counter signature.”

“What would I do without out you – oh that reminds me I have a letter.”

Chance closed his ledger book and set aside the cheques for Logan’s signature. “Who is it from?”

Logan withdrew the now crumpled envelope, “it looks like Ned’s hand.” He opened and commenced to read. He drew a deep and worrying breath.

“What!”

“It’s from Ned and Hamish has had an accident.”

“Is he badly hurt?”

Logan remained silent.

“Is he hurt?” Chance repeated.

“He is dead.” Logan’s tone went into shock as he read on.

“It was while loading the dray with wool bales, the axel failed and he was crushed.

“Oh,” Was all Chance could utter.

The only payment our authors receive are the emails you send them. Let Gary know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

28,016 views