FROM ADELAIDE TO BENDIGO.

FROM ADELAIDE TO BENDIGO.

OVERLANDING VICISSITUDES.

By BENDIGONIAN.

On Saturday, August 22, "The Argus" published an interview with Mr. J. H. Walker (now of Heidelberg) on early Bendigo. His experiences on the field were interesting, but even more so was the journey overland from Adelaide, which he made in 1851. He tells the story with admirable clearness, thus:—
"I arrived in Adelaide in 1840 from London, and was there in August, 1851, when news was received of the discovery of gold, first in New South Wales, then in Victoria. Everybody was upset. Every man who could possibly leave, left his business and belongings and proceeded to the dig- gings. Adelaide was almost bare of men. Among those who went when the news was first received was my friend, C. J. Brown. He was brought up as a lawyer, and kept a library in Rundle-street. He was married, and his sister-in-law lived with him and Mrs. Brown. He had made a start on the diggings at Bendigo when he was accosted one day by an acquaintance from Adelaide. 'Halloa, Brown! what are you doing here when your wife is dying in Adelaide?' He had left his wife well in health ; but full of misgivings he hastened home the long journey from Bendigo, and found on his arrival that his wife had just recovered, though still weak, from a serious illness. Well, Brown brought back with him a matchbox filled with gold, and told us stories of the fortune to be made at the diggings in seeking gold and in storekeeping. He was going to re- turn to the diggings at once. Would I join him? Of course I would. Mr. Henry Penny, a native of Liverpool, agreed to become a member of the party, and three young men also volunteered. The party thus consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Brown and her sister, Mr. Penny, Dr. M'Caul, Hugh Byers, a man whose name I cannot recollect just now, and myself. The first trouble that presented itself to us was how to get to the diggings. The few vessels running between Adelaide and Melbourne were rushed ; in fact, they were filled weeks before the date of sailing. The fares were high, and the company rough, so rough that Brown, who had journeyed by sea on his previous trip, said that he would not take his wife and sister-in-law across by ship. We accordingly agreed to travel overland. Not one of us knew anything of bush life, but we thought we could make Bendigo in about a fortnight, and as for finding the route—well, we were told that if we could make the Murray we could ask the way from station to station. There were two routes—the shorter lay over a 90-mile desert, the other crossed a desert 30 miles wide. We elected to go the latter.
"So off we started. Brown had bought a wharf dray and a splendid entire, with an old horse called 'Tom' as leader. The rest of us possessed a dray, also drawn by two horses. Brown's dray was packed with eatables, and a large tent, to be used for a store when we reached the diggings, and also contained butter, jams, potted meats, &c., for sale, besides a goat, to provide the ladies with milk. Brown was a Cockney ; full of pluck and energy ; Penny, middle-aged, absent-minded, and very short-sighted ; Mrs. Brown, small, neat, active, and intelligent ; her sister, a quiet, lovable girl ; the rest of us strong, young fellows, with light hearts ; and a red-haired Irishman, employed as driver. We got to Gawler Town the first day ; came to a small hill, and then Brown's dray stuck. We then saw we could not cart the heavy tent and the bulk of the stores, and they were sent back to Adelaide to go to Victoria by water. Next day we resumed our journey, with a light load, and light hearts, but it was very hot, and soon our faces began to blister in the sun. We accordingly thought it better to camp by day and travel by moonlight, The moon was neatly full, and the night so pleasant and cool that we were as gay as you please when we resumed the journey. Penny had a beautiful saddle horse, called Marmion, which he allowed Mrs. Brown to ride, and we had not gone a mile before Marmion bucked, and unseating Mrs. Brown, disappeared. Mrs. Brown was not much hurt, she was so light ; but the horse was lost. We travelled most of that night, but there was very little track to guide us, and when day dawned we found ourselves near the place from which we had started off in the evening. We had been guided by the moon, and made a nice circle. We plodded on until we reached the desert, and a very anxious time we experienced crossing the sandy waste. No water to be got, with the horses not nearly as fresh as they were, we toiled all day, hot, tired, and miserable. I went ahead to look for the track, and mile after mile I longed or a sight of the Murray. At last I gained
the top of a hill and then I saw what I shall never forget—a broad valley, beautifully green, studded with giant trees, and dotted with lagoons, and flowing down the centre a very wide river. The sight after the scrub and the waterless desert took my breath away. I ran back to tell the glad news to the party, and all were overjoyed. Mrs. Brown and her sister had walked a good deal of the day, and they were nearly done up, but a sight of the valley made them happy. Camped in long grass, we ate, smoked, and sang. There was to us no river like the Murray. But the scene is all changed now. The spot is now called Menindie. As the mosquitoes were in swarms, we lit small fires around the camp, and falling asleep, 'dead beat," were aroused by fire. A breeze had sprung up, and the grass around us was burning. I rushed to save the guns, which were stacked at the foot of a tree, and a powder-flask exploding,
all the flesh was burnt off the back of my hand. We, however, soon succeeded in mastering the fire, and did not lose many things.
"It was grand travelling along the Murray—plenty of feed and plenty or water. One day we were brought to a standstill by an anabranch, as it was called, which appeared to us a small stream running into the Murray. The water was up to our chins, but we carried everything over on our heads, and floated the dray across. We were in a difficulty about getting the ladies over until we found a blackfellow with a canoe, a log hollowed out, in which the ladies were paddled to the opposite bank. We there met two stockmen, the first white men we had seen since leaving Gawler.
They gave us lots of information about the country ahead, and when we told them we had lost Marmion they said he had been found, and was at Gawler. Penny offered
£1 to anyone to return and bring him back, and I travelled back 70 miles to Gawler, and got the horse. It was a long ride there and back, but I caught up the party all night. Penny was queer at times. He moved along by himself, and one night when we were camped, he was missing. All next day we did not see him, but the following day we came across him. He was very much knocked up. He explained that he had lost the track, and had slept in a cave. When he awoke he found a lot of white things about him. It was a burial-place of the blacks. When a chief dies the natives make thick skulls of white clay, and wear them so many days, after which the skulls are placed in a kind of cave. One evening, we were camping in a thick scrub and had just got tea
ready, Mrs. Brown was missed. We searched for her until it was quite dark, and we were considerably alarmed for her safety,
when who should appear but a man on horseback, with my lady in front of him. It appeared that she had gone to look for the goat, and had soon lost her way. She was sitting down, crying, when a stockman appeared on the scene. It was the first white woman he had seen in that part of the country—and he rarely saw anyone at all, except the blacks—so his first remark was naturally, 'Where the devil did you come from?' 'I am lost,' she sobbed. 'Put your foot on my boot,' he directed, ex-tending his foot, and he swung her into the saddle before him. He soon picked up our tracks, and I can assure you he received a cordial welcome.
"It was a very pleasant journey from Menindie to Commissioner's Crossing, although Brown, the two ladies, and myself were alone. Penny rode with us part of the way, but soon left us. The Irishman was frightened by the desert, and he rode back to Gawler, while the young men, wishing to get on more quickly, pushed ahead. Our severest trial arose when we lost the horse. Brown had charge of our belongings, and I tracked the horses, which was not easy work when they made for hard country. However, I never lost them for more than a day. When we were nearing the Commissioner's Crossing we bought a small black horse, and broke him in, to help the other horses to pull, and he, perhaps, saved our lives, for now our worst troubles commenced. I don't know why the place was called the Commissioner's Crossing.
There was hardly anyone living there, but it was the only point at which you could cross the Murray for miles, and then the river was very wide and the current very swift, although the banks were good. But how to get over? We felt helpless. Yet we must push on. First there were the horses to consider—Charlie, the grand en- tire who had done all the pulling ; Tom, the old horse who was the leader ; and the newly-purchased black horse, my saddle pony. We were told to drive in the horses, and they would swim across. 'We are always doing it,' said the men. 'But how about the dray?' 'Oh, we will send you a cask, and the dray will float over on the cask, with some blackfellows pulling it. And all your things the blacks will take over in their canoes.' In the horses went. All swam bravely, but the heavy Charlie gave up in the middle, was whirled round with the cur- rent, fought gamely a while, and then sank. We felt as if we had lost a very dear friend ; he had been such a faithful animal. When we had everything across we put old Tom in the shafts of the dray, and appointed the little black horse leader. But it was a sorry turnout. After going a few miles, we camped at the edge of a lagoon. where there was splendid feed, intending to stop there a few days to strengthen old Tom, so as to make an effort to reach Lake Boga. Bill the old horse was not fated to assist us further in our journey. Soon after we had halted I found Tom up to his head in mud, in the middle of a lagoon. I could not get near him, but fortunately I had seen some blacks, whom I persuaded by means of a stick of tobacco to come up and help us. About 20 men with their lubras came for- ward, but for a time they did nothing except jabber, jabber, and point to the horse. At last they got their lubras into the mud, and these women scooped back the mud with their hands until there was a clear space around the horse. Then, by means of a rope, we pulled the horse on to the bank, and left him to warm in the sun. Next morning, alas! we found him dying. We were now in rather a tight fix—two ladies, scarcely any money (not that it would have been much good to us at that stage), hardly any provisions ; and only one small horse, with a heavy wharf dray. How- ever, we were now as hard as nails and very game, especially Mrs. Brown. We picked out a few provisions, the tarpaulin, and our few clothes from our belongings, and decided that we must only go a few miles a day. I had only the clothes I stood up in, for after we lost the big horse we had at times to leave at the side of the track portion of our possessions, and go back for them, and on one occasion the blacks stole everything.
"The most difficult undertaking was now to find food for four strong young people. With the gun we had been able to replenish the larder, for game, especially ducks, was plentiful. But at last we got to the last cap. And we were very hungry. Cautiously I crept to the edge of a lagoon, which was black with ducks, and, firing, wounded several. Into the water I dashed to secure the spoil, but the ducks were divers, and, as fast as I swam towards them, they would dive, although too hurt to fly. I stuck to the chase until I got one fine fellow, and we had a good stew that day. Next day I had
no cap, and there were five large geese. I got within range, and tried to fire the charge with a lucifer, but the gun would not go off. So we had to go hungry, with any amount of good food about. The flour had nearly given out when we tried to spin it out by adding to it a large proportion of bran, but the mixture disagreed with us, and we had to give it up. Then we came to a sheep run. The squatter's name was Splatt, and we asked his man to sell us some provisions, but he refused. ' I don't want people for the diggings bothering me,' he said. The real cause of his annoyance was that he could not get men to remain on the station ; all were so eager to reach the goldfields. But the fool maddened me. Why, the diggings were making the colony, and he could not see it! One young Adelaide man, named Dutton, recognised what the diggings meant to the stations. He travelled over- land from Adelaide, and having some capital to start with, bought up one station after another, and sent the stock on to the fields.
"We resumed our journey after our bitter experience at the station, and a hard task it was over rough country, with no track of any kind, scarcely anything to eat, and all four on foot. But eventually we reached Lake Boga, and here met a Moravian missionary, who did all he could for us. He put us on the right track, and in another week we came to what we had not seen for nine weeks—a public-house. It was Booth and Argyle's bush public-house, at Bullock Creek, about seven miles from Bendigo. It seemed very strange, after being so long alone, to find ourselves in a crowd of great big diggers, with any amount of money, calling for nobblers at 2/6 each. And a rough crowd they were. We were, however, happy enough to see them, though we did not remain very long among them, for, after obtaining some food, we pushed on to Bendigo."
And what became of Mrs. Brown's sister? Mr. Walker and Mrs. Walker exchanged glances across the room and smiled. And the glances and smiles bridged over in a moment a period of nearly sixty years.

The Argus
Saturday 17 October 1908
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