A Lady's Visit to the Gold Diggings of Australia in 1852-53. Mrs. Charles Clacy
ought to have been elected leader, but from some mis-management that dignity was conferred upon a stout old gentleman, who had taken a pleasure-trip to Mount Alexander, the previous summer.
Starting is almost always a tedious affair, nor was this particular case an exception. First one had forgotten something—another broke a strap, and a new one had to be procured—then the dray was not properly packed, and must be righted—some one else wanted an extra "nobbler"—then a fresh, and still a fresh delay, so that although eight was the appointed hour, it was noon ere we bade farewell to mine host of the "Duke of York."
At length the word of command was spoken. Foremost came the gallant captain (as we had dubbed him), and with him two ship doctors, in partnership together, who carried the signs of their profession along with them in the shape of a most surgeon-like mahogany box. Then came the two Germans, complacently smoking their meerschaums, and attending to their dray and horses, which latter, unlike their masters, were of a very restless turn of mind. After these came a party of six, among whom was Gregory and two lively Frenchmen, who kept up an incessant chattering. Joe walked by himself, leading his pack-horse, then came our four shipmates, two by two, and last, our own particular five.
Most carried on their backs their individual property—blankets, provisions for the road, &c., rolled in a skin, and fastened over the shoulders by leathern straps. This bundle goes by the name of "swag," and is the digger's usual accompaniment—it being too great a luxury to place upon a dray or pack-horse anything not absolutely necessary. This will be easily understood when it is known that carriers, during the winter, obtained 120 pounds and sometimes 150 pounds a ton for conveying goods to Bendigo (about one hundred miles from Melbourne). Nor was the sum exorbitant, as besides the chance of a few weeks' stick in the mud, they run great risk of injuring their horses or bullocks; many a valuable beast has been obliged to be shot where it stood, it being found impossible to extricate it from the mud and swamp. At the time we started, the sum generally demanded was about 70 pounds per ton. On the price of carriage up, depended of course the price of provisions at the diggings.
The weight of one of these "swags" is far from light; the provender for the road is itself by no means trifling, though that of course diminishes by the way, and lightens the load a little. Still there are the blankets, fire-arms, drinking and eating apparatus, clothing, chamois-leather for the gold that has yet to be dug, and numberless other cumbersome articles necessary for the digger. In every belt was stuck either a large knife or a tomahawk; two shouldered their guns (by the bye, rather imprudent, as the sight of fire-arms often brings down an attack); some had thick sticks, fit to fell a bullock; altogether, we seemed well prepared to encounter an entire army of bushrangers. I felt tolerably comfortable perched upon our dray, amid a mass of other soft lumber; a bag of flour formed an easy support to lean against; on either side I was well walled in by the canvas and poles of our tent; a large cheese made a convenient footstool. My attire, although well suited for the business on hand, would hardly have passed muster in any other situation. A dress of common dark blue serge, a felt wide-awake, and a waterproof coat wrapped round me, made a ludicrous assortment.
Going along at a foot-pace we descended Great Bourke Street, and made our first halt opposite the Post-office, where one of our party made a last effort to obtain a letter from his lady-love, which was, alas! unsuccessful. But we move on again—pass the Horse Bazaar—turn into Queen Street—up we go towards Flemington, leaving the Melbourne cemetery on our right, and the flag-staff a little to the left; and now our journey may be considered fairly begun.
Just out of Melbourne, passing to the east of the Benevolent Asylum, we went over a little rise called Mount Pleasant, which, on a damp sort of a day, with the rain beating around one, seemed certainly a misnomer. After about two miles, we came to a branch-road leading to Pentridge, where the Government convict establishment is situated. This we left on our right, and through a line of country thickly wooded (consisting of red and white gum, stringy bark, cherry and other trees), we arrived at Flemington, which is about three miles and a half from town.
Flemington is a neat little village or town-ship, consisting of about forty houses, a blacksmith's shop, several stores, and a good inn, built of brick and stone, with very fair accommodation for travellers, and a large stable and stock-yards.
After leaving Flemington, we passed several nice-looking homesteads; some are on a very large scale, and belong to gentlemen connected with Melbourne, who prefer "living out of town." On reaching the top of the hill beyond Flemington there is a fine view of Melbourne, the bay, William's Town, and the surrounding country, but the miserable weather prevented us at this time from properly enjoying it. Sunshine was all we needed to have made this portion of our travels truly delightful.
The road was nicely level, fine trees sheltered it on either side, whilst ever and anon some rustic farm-house was passed, or coffee-shop, temporarily erected of canvas or blankets, offered refreshment (such as it was), and the latest news of the diggings to those who had no objection to pay well for what they had. This Flemington road (which is considered the most Pleasant in Victoria, or at least anywhere near Melbourne) is very good as far as Tulip Wright's, which we now approached.
Wright's public-house is kept by the man whose name it bears; it is a rambling ill-built, but withal pleasing-looking edifice, built chiefly of weather-board and shingle, with a verandah all round. The whole is painted white, and whilst at some distance from it a passing ray of sunshine gave it a most peculiar effect. In front of the principal entrance is a thundering large lamp, a most conspicuous looking object. Wright himself was formerly in the police, and being a sharp fellow, obtained the cognomen of "Tulip," by which both he and his house have always been known; and so inseparable have the names become, that, whilst "Tulip Wright's" is renowned well-nigh all over the colonies, the simple name of the owner would create some inquiries. The state of accommodation here may be gathered from the success of some of the party who had a PENCHANT for "nobblers" of brandy. "Nothing but bottled beer in the house." "What could we have for dinner?" inquired one, rather amused at this Hobson's choice state of affairs. "The eatables was only cold meat; and they couldn't cook nothink fresh," was the curt reply. "Can we sleep here?" "Yes—under your drays." As we literally determined to "camp out" on the journey, we passed on, without partaking of their "cold eatables," or availing ourselves of their permission to sleep under our own drays, and, leaving the road to Sydney on our right, and the one to Keilor straight before us, we turned short off to the left towards the Deep Creek.
Of the two rejected routes I will give a very brief account.
The right-hand road leads to Sydney, VIA Kilmore, and many going to the diggings prefer using this road as far as that township. The country about here is very flat, stony and destitute of timber; occasionally the journey is varied by a water-hole or surface-spring. After several miles, a public-house called the "Lady of the Lake" is reached, which is reckoned by many the best country inn on this or any other road in the colonies. The accommodation is excellent, and the rooms well arranged, and independent of the house. There are ten or twelve rooms which, on a push, could accommodate fifty or sixty people; six are arranged in pairs for the convenience of married persons, and the fashionable trip during the honey-moon (particularly for diggers' weddings) is to the "Lady of the Lake." Whether Sir Walter's poem be the origin of the sign, or whether the swamps in the rear, I cannot say, but decidedly there is no lake and no lady, though I have heard of a buxom lass, the landlord's daughter, who acts as barmaid, and is a great favourite. This spot was the scene last May of a horrible murder, which has added no little to the notoriety of the neighbourhood.
After several miles you at length arrive at Kilmore, which is a large and thriving township, containing two places of worship, several stores and inns. There is a resident magistrate with his staff of officials, and a station for a detachment of mounted police. Kilmore is on the main overland road from Melbourne to Sydney, and, although not on the confines of the two colonies, is rather an important place, from being the last main township until you reach the interior of New South Wales. The Government buildings are commodious and well arranged. There are several farms and stations in the neighbourhood, but the country round is flat and swampy.
The middle road leads you direct to Keilor, and you must cross the Deep Creek in a dangerous part, as the banks thereabouts are very steep, the stream (though narrow)