Published: 31 Dec 2020

Two days had passed and still the boys remained in Geelong attempting to get a feeling for the colony and glean information about gold fossicking. Unfortunately most of what they heard came from those who had failed and were returning with negative aspirations.

One thing they did learn being there was much disquiet in Ballarat and its sister settlement of Bendigo, most of which was caused by the fee for the miner’s rights, also that police could demand to see your licence at anytime of day or night and if it could not be produced on the spot it was a fine or a severe beating, or both.

At last it was time to commence their journey but without success in purchasing horses and the frequent rain since their arrival meant the boys would need to walk. Once that decision was made, there was the preparation of provisions and discarding what would be too heavy to carry, or deemed unnecessary for future use. Fortunately they had travelled light but even their extra clothing was going to be a burden for their backs.

It was decided to start their journey on the morning of the fifth day and after a hearty meal retired to their room to once again consider what they would be taking.

“How far did you say it is to Ballarat?” Chance asked as he decided on which of his three pairs of trousers he would leave behind but being sure a second pair of walking boots were included, not forgetting his favourite battered hat he had since a kid, decorated with two fishing hooks and a parrot feather tucked into the blue ribbon he won on sports day and used as a hat band.

“Fifty-five miles, so I am told.”

“So if we walk from sunup to sundown it should take the best part of three, possibly four days.” Chance calculated.

“It will be like old times when we were kids and walked all the way to Bathurst and back.” Logan held up a shirt with a rent along the front then decided it was well beyond use. “I’m looking forward to the walk but it would have been nice if we could have purchased horses.”

“That’s about the lot.” Chance placed his pack aside.

“Don’t forget your miner’s right certificate?”

“I’ve packed it away in an oil cloth. I noticed there is paper and pencils at the hotel desk; do you think we should send a letter home?”

“We should I suppose,” Logan half agreed, “but I don’t think Hamish will be too interested in what I’m up to.”

“Nor our Sam, I should write to dad, he did appear somewhat concerned with my leaving,” Chance admitted.

“I believed we can afford a penny for postage.” Logan agreed while uncertain what he could report, as not a lot of interest had yet occurred.

“Twopence for New South Wales,” Chance corrected.

Logan lifted his eyes, “that hat!”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s got a hole and smells like my dog after rolling is sheep shit, I’ll buy you a new one before we leave.”

“Never, I’ve had this hat since I was eleven, the year I won the hundred yards on sports day.”

“I’ll say one thing, you head may not have grown but the other sure has.”

Both laughed and placed their packs aside as they went to the lobby to consider their letters for home.

Writing letters became ponderous for ideas, becoming short and to the point. When finished Chance asked what Logan had written. Instead of explanation they swapped about and read each other’s correspondence. “That isn’t how you spell travelling, it has two l’s.”

“Then fix it.”

“I shouldn’t as it is part of your character.”

“Then don’t – give it back and I’ll post.”

“Stamps?” Logan said and was told they could be purchased from the hotel desk; also their correspondence could be left there for posting.

Logan purchased the stamps. “Look-see at the stamps,” he said and offered one up to Chance.

“It’s a half length of Victoria,” Chance explained while viewing the dull red portrait of the queen, seated on the throne and appearing most displeased.

“How do you know that?” Logan asked.

“You’re not the only one who reads.”

“Come on let’s get them posted and be on our way.”

On reaching the outskirts of Geelong the boys observed a second much larger native camp, its number appeared to surpass fifty and mostly women with young children. The men would either be away hunting or working for the many farm allotments close by. They would gladly take on chopping wood and carting for supplies of sugar or anything that was sweet, also when it could be obtain, alcohol and tobacco became their pleasure and they took to the first with gusto.

A government decree forbade the supply of alcohol to the natives but the rebellious element in the colony simply ignored the directive, finding entertainment in watching drunken natives rolling about in stupa. There was another side to the natives and that was their uncanny ability to thieve and would do so even while under scrutiny. It was believed the natives had little understanding of ownership as all belonged collectively and they belonged to the land.

The native huts were rudimentary, created by circling saplings into a half eggshell design, with a covering of mud and grass. The structures kept out most of the weather but were no more than somewhere to sleep or shelter from the hot noonday sun, or to display occupation of territory. Outside the simple entrances could be found their meagre belongings, spears, throwing sticks, tree bark bowls and well crafted fishing nets created from bark or reeds. It could be said that all they made was skilful and perfected for purpose but never in excess.

Some natives had taken to wearing pants but seldom a shirt or jacket, not to hide their initiation marks, unless the garment had a measure of authority such as part of military uniform. Many simply went about naked in the warmer weather. The women once past birthing age allowed their breasts to sag, appearing as two strips of black leather hanging from their chest and void of erotic appeal. There appeared to be no shame in their nakedness with the natives mockingly laughing when the good Christian white women of the colony loudly protested against the devilish sight, while they canvassed to at least have the native men wear trousers.

It is said that any journey commences with the first step. A step taken by the boys with at least a measure of trepidation but by the early morning they were on their way and without much effort clear of the town and approaching a creek with a fair amount of running water. Cowies Creek was bridged on the Geelong to Ballarat road by a timber structure, wide enough for a coach but little more and railed on one side.

At the crossing it was noticed a number of native boys were enjoying an early morning swim, all as naked as the day they were born and without care for the openness of the waterhole to a number of farm allotments on either side. Swimming with the small group was a white lad of equal age and as carefree towards his lack of clothing as his native friends.

Chance approached the bridge and leant against the railing while smiling broadly at the sight and gaining Logan’s attention he pointed towards the group.

“What’s got your interest?” Logan questioned as he noticed the lads.

“Only watching,”

“Has he taken your fancy,” Logan referred to the white who stood laughing at his friends’ antics while they frolicked about in the water, sounding like a gaggle of squabbling geese.

“Not so much fancy but you must admit he is a big boy.”

“A little scrawny if you want my opinion.”

“I wasn’t referring to his posture,” Chance honestly corrected.

“True but he is breaking two regulations.”

“And what would they be?” Chance asked.

“Firstly fraternising with the natives and secondly swimming between the hours of sunup and sundown, that being naked or not.”

“What about the native kids and the men they are mostly naked in public.”

“To most they don’t count, besides I wouldn’t like to be the one who enforces the wearing clothes on them,” Logan dryly answered.

“Sometime you are a little too serious my friend.”

Chance came away from the rail and continued across the bridge but did take one last glance at the naked white lad.

“Do you think so?”

“I do but I love you all the same.” Chance added as a sweetener.

“Possibly it comes from being around Hamish for so long.” Logan offered and gave a chortle, “do this, don’t do that get on with it,” he drolly muttered with a huffing breath.

“What was that?”

“I was being Hamish; it was about all he ever said.”

“You can’t blame your brother.”

“I don’t really blame Hamish, he was only a boy himself when he had to take on the roll of father to two younger brothers, it couldn’t have been easy,” Logan genuinely admitted.

“Anyway,” Chance answered as they continued away from the little civilization Geelong had to offer.

“Are you gonna’ expand on that?”

“Sam was worse and would thump me if he was displeased and he was always displeased.”

“What did Piers have to say about that?” Logan asked.

“Not a lot, dad’s opinion was whatever didn’t bruise or break made you stronger.”

“No broken bones then,” Logan asked.

“None from Sam but I think I broke a toe once.”

“You think?”

“Well it bloody well hurt for days.”

The journey towards Ballarat was slow and the going rough as the road was often nothing but wheel tracks through the scrub. Much of the country was meadow with a number of small holdings beside the way. Few appeared prosperous, being little more that a small flock of sheep, dairy cow, draft animal and an acre or so of grain but never much beyond personal usage or for barter with neighbours.

Before long they came upon two men believed to be returning from the goldfields and as they neared one spoke, “righto young fellow’s about to try your luck?”

“We thought we may,” Chance cautiously agreed.

“My advise is to about turn and go back to your mothers,” the first of the two announced, representing a slur on the boys seemed youthful appearance.

“Why do you say that?” Logan asked.

“We have been panning every flaming creek possible and didn’t find enough to buy bread.”

“Or renew the miner’s right.” The second added to their woe.

“I thought gold was laying about on the ground for the taking?” Chance questioned although by now had commenced to understand that may not be so.

“Was that way now you have to dig; there’s plenty coming up but deep but without equipment you break your backs for pittances.”

“What about panning?” Chance asked.

“Some if you are lucky, although the best spots have long been taken up.”

“We would still like to try,” Logan nervously offered as his confidence commenced to erode.

“Go for it,” the first traveller said as he and his mate continued their return towards Geelong.

“Oh a question, I guess this is the correct track for Ballarat?” Logan asked before the travellers could put pace between them.

“One but the longer and better track is from Melbourne. You won’t find much civilization this way.”

“What do you think of that?” Chance asked his tone carrying the same anxiety as was in Logan’s thoughts.

“An understanding has been forming since we arrived in Geelong and it isn’t promising.” Logan offered.

“Possibly we have left it too late,”

“I agree but best not to be hasty and once in Ballarat we can make further decision. If it isn’t panning for gold, I am sure between us we can come up with something.”

“What return home and admit we failed,” Chance said.

“I wouldn’t go as far as that, we are resourceful enough – mark my words if not gold something will turn up. Besides we only said we were going to look for gold and never admitted we would find any.” Logan heard his words but found them lacking in reality.

“It may not have been said but I expected to find lots,” Chance admitted.

Logan laughed.

“What was that for?”

“I had the same opinion but Hamish said the only gold I would find would be the failed glint in my eyes.”

“That was a right put-down,” Chance protested.

“Didn’t concern, I simply added it to the many he issued.”

“All Sam had to offer was good riddens.”

During the day they were to pass other failed miners returning from the goldfields and to a man they wore the same failed expression. Some stoped for a chat, or cadge for tobacco which neither of the boys used. Others to give advice where to pan and what to avoid, also explaining the numerous malicious tactics the police used to incriminate innocent miners. Mostly quite dangerous as dropping burning wood down a pit when a miner hid to avoid producing his miner’s right.

The traveller’s request for tobacco brought memory to Chance, being a time when Clem Robb the horse breaker from Caloola Bend came by. Robb had placed his pipe aside to explain the rudimentary of correct rein usage, when Sam collected the pipe and commenced to puff on it. His excessive coughing gave him away and Piers without warning gave Sam a clout so hard it sent his head in a spin. If I catch you doing that again, I’ll make you eat it, Piers had warned. With the image fresh, chance asked Logan if he had ever smoked.

“Tried it once but couldn’t see sense in doing so.” Logan shared his usual sensibility.

“Me either and after Sam got a walloping from dad, I decided not to try.”

“Sam smokes now,” Logan recollected.

“He’s past age and dad said if he wants to wreck his body then it’s his problem.”

“You know the Chinese smoke something called opium,” Logan shared.

“What’s that?”

“Dunno’ but if you pass their dens it stinks.”

“I thought that was some kind of scented thing to chase away evil spirits.”

“That as well but the opium come with it and what I’ve heard it puts them in a stupa and sometimes they see things.”

“Like what?”

“Things, you know ghosts and dead people and places not of this world.”

“Do you believe that Logan,”

“Na, but I guess if grog makes you do stupid things than the stuff they smoke is probably as bad or worse.”

“I did ask Sam why he smoked,” Chance admitted.

“What was his answer?”

“He said it pissed off dad and that was his pleasure from it.”

“To be honest I can think of a whole host of things to piss people off without smoking.”

“True but that’s Sam for you.”

“I can’t imagine Hamish smoking he is much too in control for pleasures.”

“I once caught Sam smoking down behind the Henry machinery shed.” Chance offered with a titter of delight.

“Only once,”

“Ah but this time it was different.”

“Continue,”

“He was not only smoking but had his trousers to his knees and giving his pizzle a good tug.”

“Two pleasures for the price of one,” Logan laughed, “did he see you watching?”

“I was too smart for that but I watched for some time then he started making strange noises and he squirted over his bare leg. That was the first time I saw a man squirt.”

Again Logan laughed.

“What about you?” Chance asked.

“My first pull was dry and I thought I was about to piss myself. I was all of nine and kept at it until around thirteen and then – well what do you know.”

“What happened?” Chance asked.

“You can guess the rest. Come on enough of it, I’m getting hard and there is still miles to travel,” Logan paused, “I know when you had your first tug.”

“You should as it was with you but I went solo both morning and night for days after.”

“So did I;” Logan gave Chance a shove to the shoulder; “we were both randy little buggers ay’.”

“I must admit we still are,” Chance admitted.

“Come one march ahead before we lose the light.”

By evening with the sun setting in long golden rays through the eucalypts, thoughts diverted to a meal and where they should camp for the night. Ahead they spied a small creek and on approach found it had a fair supply of running water.

“Good enough site?” Chance suggested and scooped up a handful of water to try its sweetness.

“Good enough. Can you smell something?”

“I can, it smells like roasting meat,” Chance admitted as the aroma of cooking filled his nostrils and rumbled his belly.

“It sure gets ya’ juices going – look there is already someone camping along the creek.”

As Logan spoke a deep voice came through the scrub, followed by the image of a big man supporting extremely red hair and whiskers. His shoulders were as wide as an axe handle and his hands almost the size of dinner plates.

“Hey you two got any tea?”

“Some,” Logan answered.

“Then how about an exchange; roast mutton for a measure of tea.”

“That sounds like a decent exchange,” Logan admitted as they followed the man back to his camp fire.

“John Kelly ‘tis the name; most call me red but I can’t for the love of Jesus understand why,” he made jest.

The two entered into the camp to the sound of a crying baby.

“Dat’ there ‘tis me woman Ellen and the leanbh is young Edward me third born but we call him Ned.”

The boys nodded and gave greetings to the woman but she remained concerned for the child’s discomfort.

“Feed it woman,” the man demanded and without hesitation she slipped her dress and breastfed the child.

“Tis’ a fine set of lungs would you not agree?” the stranger suggested.

“It was hungry,” Chance offered.

“Tis’ always hungry, one of these days it will be a right bugger for the Jonnies,” the man laughed, “he’ll be for the hanging that’s for sure.”

The woman cursed her husband in Irish while continuing with the feeding.

“So what would you young fellas be calling yourself?” Kelly accepted a measure of tealeaves and passed them to his woman, then offered a portion of roasted meat to the boys.

“I am Logan McGregor,”

“A Scottie to be sure,” Kelly claimed.

“My father was Geordie from some place called Berwick,”

“Rich I would be supposing,” Kelly suggested in a not so friendly manner.

“Not so, he was a convict but ran sheep,” Logan glanced across at the fleece hanging to dry on a tree branch.

“Steeling sheep from a protestant Englishman isn’t theft.” Kelly remarked noting Logan’s gaze and offered a second helping. What about you young fella’, ya’ are awfully quiet?” Kelly questioned Chance.

“Chance Wilcox,”

“What kinda’ Quaker name is that?” Kelly laughed.

“No never a Quaker Mr. Kelly,” Chance answered.

“Never mind, enjoy the mutton.”

“Where are you going Mr. Kelly?” Logan asked but Kelly hadn’t finished with Chance’s name.

“Are you English Chance Wilcox?” Kelly questioned sternly.

“No I’m the son of the son of a convict, my grandparents were drowned in a flood and a Sam Wilcox took my father in and accepted that name. I don’t know where my family came from, only that he arrived on a ship called Prince of Wales.”

“By the look of ya’ you could pass as Irish, so we will be leaving it at that. You asked were I am heading, I have purchased some land near a place called Beveridge and intend to stock it with sheep.” There was irony in Kelly’s words and he couldn’t resist continuing with equalled mockery, “gonna’ stock it with good stolen English sheep if given but half a chance.”

Neither of the lads made remark as Kelly poured the tea into pannikins. “There you go lads strong black tea, get that into ya, it’ll surely put hairs around ya’ bod. “I don’t suppose you would be packing a little tobacco?” Kelly asked.

“I’m sorry but neither of as smoke it,” Logan admitted and smiled in memory of his and Chance’s earlier conversation on smoking.

“I got some opium from a Chow would you like to try it?” but before either boy gave answer Kelly withdrew his offer, “probably best not, you really need to mix it with the bacca.”

Once the feeding was over the baby fell asleep as the mother gently rocked it while singing a lullaby in Irish brogue. Kelly came back to the conversation.

“I was a convict myself,” he said and paused.

“Stealing from the English it was and lucky not to have been given the rope, all for trying to survive,” another pause, “sent to Van Diemen’s Land I was but now I’m here.”

“You can make a go of it Mr. Kelly if you put a mind to doing so,” Logan suggested and immediately wished he had remained quiet. Kelly’s eyes narrowed under the light of the campfire, his teeth clenched as he pointed at Logan but for some reason, possibly as the boys were his guests he pulled his temper.

“So you are going to try panning for gold?” Kelly asked.

“Try,” Logan answered.

“I tried and failed, being Irish was only part the problem, being an emancipist as bad but worst of all it’s the jonnies; most of the wallopers are emancipated convicts and Irish themselves and should know better how to treat a fellow countryman.”

“Did you have any success?” Chance asked.

“A little, that is how I purchased the land at Beveridge but I lost a good deal in fines for not having a current miner’s right. I tried to explain it only ran out the previous day and I was on my way to renew it when I was pulled.” Kelly gave a grin.

“Were you being truthful Mr. Kelly?” Logan made light.

“Of course not but it wouldn’t have mattered if it were fact.”

Logan gave a long yawn and stretched his arms towards the tall branches above their heads, “we’ve a long walk tomorrow so should be turning in; Mr. Kelly would you mind if we use one of your burning logs to start out camp fire?”

“Isn’t my company to your likings lad?”

“I thought you would like some privacy,” Logan quickly answered.

“For what reason would that be, besides we would be having some of your tea come the morning and you some cold mutton for your bellies.”

“Then the invitation is gratefully accepted.”

“Stoke the fire and get yourself down in some comfortable spot and count the stars,” Kelly suggested. Chance moved to the far side of the campfire and dumped their packs.

Kelly took a deep breath, “you boys have never been to the old country?”

“Were born here Mr. Kelly,” Chance answered.

“Tis’ Red – my da’ was Mr. Kelly. Ah for the green of Ireland. As green as an emerald from the queen’s crown but the night’s sky, it was never liking to what is out here.”

“Would they not be the same stars?” Chance asked.

“Same sky for sure but the stars are different, in this country those I can recollect appear the wrong way round and there are many more.

The boys refrained answer.

“I suppose god in his wisdom deemed it so,” Kelly deducted.

“What about the Southern Cross?” Chance asked.

The baby Ned commenced to cry and the woman cursed Kelly for keeping to the night. Kelly swore back and laughed, “women what can ya’ do lads, can’t live with them; can’t live without them. Enough of stars get some sleep and dream of all that gold you are going to find,” Kelly suggested.

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.

28,027 views