The carriers immediately galloped on to the fifteen-mile bend of the Normanby River, where a number of teams and packers were camped. In the morning a well-armed search party was formed. On arrival at the scene of the murders, scouts were posted to give notice if the blacks were returning. A grave was dug, and the bodies lowered into it. While this was being carried out noises were heard in the scrub. The party proceeded in the direction of the sound and found the little girl, a large gash across the forehead, her stomach ripped up by the blacks' wooden knives, and her eyes picked out by crows. The body was brought in, and buried with the father and mother. Flour, sugar, tea, gunpowder, etc., etc., were heaped up on the ground, but there was no sign of the dray. Inspector Douglas, in charge of the native police, was informed. His detachment followed the murderers across the Normanby River, where they overtook and dispersed them. Portions of the dray, stripped of all the iron work, were also found.

The police learnt, through the troopers from some blacks who were captured, that Strau's party was camped for dinner when the blacks attacked them. The man was speared while reading a book beneath the dray, and the woman was sewing, sitting against the wheel of the dray. Before being killed outright, the woman was subjected to horrible outrage by the blacks. It was intended to keep the little girl, but two old gins quarrelled over her possession, and it was decided to kill the child, and so avoid dissension among the tribe. From these murders the lagoons were known as the "Murdering Lagoons."

On my way back to Cooktown I camped near the grave. That night I laid down in the centre of the bullocks when they camped after feeding, holding my loaded rifle and horse by the bridle. Bullocks are very sensitive to the smell of wild blacks, and will almost certainly stampede should any be about. Camping among the bullocks is considered the safest place one can find.

Some time later, while at this camp, I was mustering my bullocks on the plain between the scrubs, when they stampeded. I looked, I could see nothing, but I knew that blacks must be the cause. On returning to the waggons, I was informed that three troopers, who had run away from Cape York, had been to the camp. They had no clothes, but rusty rifles, and had fought their way through the wild tribes of the Peninsula. My bullock bells were the first sign of civilisation they had met for three months.

Mr. William Hann had just arrived at Palmerville with a mob of fat bullocks from his Maryvale Station. I purchased 13 steers from him at L16 per head. The cattle were very quiet after their long droving, and as I was returning to Cooktown with my empty waggon, I was enabled to break them in. At that place I bought another waggon, and with spare bullocks from my first team, I was able to put two full teams on the road.

Sub-Inspector O'Connor's camp was at the Laura River. On one occasion, when dispersing some blacks, the troopers, who were all Fraser Island natives, saw the shiny, black skin of an aboriginal hiding in the bush some distance away. They fired, and a little fellow about six years of age got up and ran towards them. The troopers picked him up, and he became a favourite with them. They delighted in instructing him in drill and discipline, and he proved an apt pupil. O'Connor and myself became great friends, and many a happy hour I've spent at his barracks when passing to and fro to the Palmer. Knowing I had no black boy, he gave me the little fellow he had so well drilled. I bought a pony for him to ride, and it was laughable to see him, if we happened to meet the troopers on the road, straighten himself up and salute the officer.

O'Connor told me an amusing incident which occurred at Government House in Sydney, when his cousin, Sir Hercules Robinson, was Governor. Invitations had been issued for a reception, at which Captain St. John, the aide-de-camp, called out the names of the guests as they arrived. Presently, he called out "Mr. Smith!" In response, one of those present walked towards the Governor, saying, "I don't think your two-year-old filly will win the Stakes this year," and went on talking racing matters. The captain relieved the situation by informing him that there were refreshments in the other room. When all the guests were assembled, Sir Henry Parkes, the then Premier, asked Captain St. John, how that man, pointing to Mr. Smith, came to be there, and said, "Do you know that he is one of the greatest scamps in Sydney," and added, "For God's sake get him out of here, or there'll be a scene." Captain St. John said he only knew that his name was Smith, but acting on Sir Henry's advice, he approached him, stating that he had by mistake received the invitation intended for another Mr. Smith. The man retaliated by saying in a loud voice, "Oh, ah, very well; I've had two whiskeys and a soda, which comes to eighteen-pence. Here is half-a-crown; you may keep the change yourself."

In 1875, I loaded my two teams for a new diggings which had broken out about 40 miles S.W. of Cooktown. The township had been called Byerstown, after Johnny Byers, who had established a business there. Mr. Byers, many years after was appointed Government Land Agent at Hughenden, and subsequently Land Commissioner there. He is now stock and station agent, doing good business in that town.

Finding carrying paid well, I purchased another waggon, and by breaking in more steers, established my third team. These I now loaded for Edwardstown. This was the popular name for the main township, about 40 miles up the Palmer River from Palmerville. It was officially known as Maytown, but the diggers would not recognise the latter name. To reach this place we had some very rough country to negotiate by a new road opened from the Laura, over what was called the Conglomerate. Although not as good as the road via Palmerville, it was much shorter. On returning to Cooktown I loaded my three teams for Blacksoil, where there was a store kept by Sam Burns, who, I understand, is still in that locality.

The wet season set in much earlier this year, and caught us in the flooded country beyond the Normanby River, but by double banking the teams, and working in the rain, we reached an anthill flat which was so boggy that it was impossible to cross unless we made a sound road. We had passed two teams camped, but as I was within 15 miles of my destination, I determined to push on. My drivers and I cut down saplings, and made a corduroy, across which we sledged the twelve tons of loading. This was rather risky, as we had a quantity of dynamite on, the explosive caps of which were inserted in 50lb. bags of flour. During our work, which took three days to complete, the other teamsters would frequently ride past and say, "That's right, boys, make a good road for us," but did not offer to help. This riled me and my men.

Sub-Inspector O'Connor, knowing we were close, rode over with his troopers to give us a hand. When we had got the last of the waggons through, and put the loads on again, it was quite dark. After supper I said it would serve the other fellows right if we took up the saplings and burnt them. The idea caught on with the men, and by the aid of the troopers, we took up every stick and, with some trouble, made a huge bonfire of them. As they were saturated with water it was difficult setting them alight, and the rain continued the whole time. However, by about midnight we completed our job, tired out, wet through, and no dry blankets to sleep in. Next morning, we were yoking to move on when the owner of the other teams came up and threatened us with revenge for burning the timber. When he saw O'Connor and his troopers he calmed down, and returned to his teams, regretting he had not assisted us. He now had to do as we had done, but with all the saplings which had been in close proximity cut down. The next day we reached our destination, and formed a good camp at the Blacksoil to enjoy our Christmas dinner and a well-earned rest.

I now began to feel a tinge of rheumatism in my arms through wearing wet clothing continuously. About the new year one of my saddle horses came into the camp with a portion of a spear stuck in his rump. We threw him and cut out the barbed head of the spear, but the wound afterwards remained a running sore. I caught the camp horse, which we always kept hobbled, and started in search of the others. In following the tracks, I found where the blacks had rounded them up—killing two, one my favourite hack—and had taken away the meat for consumption.

After mustering the others, I reported the matter to O'Connor, who had just received the information of the murder of two packers, and was preparing for a long patrol. Six troopers, O'Connor and myself, started—all being fully armed. I took them to where the blacks had killed two horses; the boys then followed the track by instinct, as I thought. The rain had washed out all signs to me. When crossing a high ridge, so bare and hard that our horses left no tracks, two of the trackers were riding ahead, the others driving the pack horses behind. I said to O'Connor, "I don't believe they are on the tracks." "Well," he said, "I can't see any, I will call them back." He called out "Sambo!" which was the name of the Corporal, "Where track?" Sambo pointed to a blade of spinifex. I asked "Where?" He answered, "There." So I got off my horse, and there was a tiny speck of blood which had dropped on the root, and had not been washed off by the rain. It turned out the Myalls had been carrying the flesh of my horses, and the blood had dropped here and there.

We came to where the blacks had had a great feast on the bank of the Kennedy River. At this spot it was rather wide, with a sandy bed, the water running over it about two feet deep. I found the shoes, tail, and mane of my favourite horse on the bank. We held a consultation, and it was decided to send two of the boys with the pack horses back some distance from the river, and then to travel parallel with it, as the country close to this river was very broken. The rest of the party were to follow the river down towards Princess Charlotte's Bay. We had a boy out on each side to see if the Myalls had left the river bed. They knew we could not track them in the water. We followed the river down for two days, and I shall not forget the torture of walking bare-footed on coarse sand with water running over it. I tried walking in the water with my boots on, but the sand came into my boots and made my feet quite sore. O'Connor was in the same plight as myself.

On the afternoon of the third day, the boys saw smoke rising about a mile ahead. We immediately left the river and put up our tents for a camp, short hobbling the horses with no bells on, but could not boil the billy, as smoke from the fire would be seen. The moon rose about midnight, and as the rain had ceased, we decided to start about 2 a.m., leaving our horses and belongings in camp.

It was a rather weird procession as we made our way along the river. Five naked black troopers in single file in the lead, their only dress a cartridge belt round the waist and cap on head. They were most particular in wearing it when going into action, otherwise there would be difficulty in recognising them or each other. O'Connor, myself and the corporal brought up the rear.

After travelling some distance through grass, which in places was over our heads, we heard a peculiar chuckle on an island in the bed of the river. It was decided to send the five boys round to the other side, whilst we, O'Connor, Sambo, and myself remained, and waited. Towards daylight we heard shots apparently about a mile down the river, and ran in their direction. We had not gone far when a big black fellow sprang up from the river, disappearing in the long grass before I could bring my rifle to the shoulder. I then heard a shot behind me. We afterwards found the Myall dead, and eventually reached the place where the blacks had camped. The boys had previously dispersed most of them. If at any time I felt a compunction in using my rifle I lost it when I thought of the murders of Strau, his wife and daughter, and the outrages committed upon them, and again of the murder, and eating, of two packers a short time before.

We burnt all the blacks' weapons and several dilly bags containing the dead bodies of infants which they carried about with them. The stench of burning human flesh was sickening.

I went with one of the troopers down the river, where the soil at the roots of a large gum tree had been hollowed out by the water. Underneath it resembled a huge cave. Without saying anything to me, the trooper fired two shots into the cave. I then asked, "What are you firing at?" He replied, "Two fella sit down there." After which he hauled out the dead bodies of two blackfellows.

On our way back we met the troopers from the Palmer, who were also out for the same tribe. The Palmer police went on down the river, and we returned to the Laura Camp quite tired out. The troopers told us the reason they did not stop at the island on their way down was because it contained only a mob of old gins, who had knocked up the previous evening, and could not make the camp.

When preparing to return to Cooktown, O'Connor prevailed upon me to wait at the police camp while he and the troopers patrolled the road past Murdering Lagoon. On his return, he told me the blacks had been there during the wet season, and had dug up Johan Strau's grave, and carried off the bodies. When I arrived at the place with the teams, I saw the stains made by the chest of tea the blacks had pillaged off the dray on the day of the murder.

Sub-Inspector O'Connor was a cultured Irish gentleman. Being possessed of a private income, he would provide money prizes for shooting amongst his troopers, and despite being only possessed of the old Snider rifle, they quickly developed into good shots. Probably this and their known capabilities in tracking induced the Victorian authorities to requisition their services to track the noted Kelly Gang bushrangers in 1878. Mr. O'Connor and his boys, with Constable King, from Maryborough, were at Glenrowan when Ned Kelly was taken prisoner, and the remainder of the gang burnt in the public house.



On reaching Cooktown I again loaded my three teams for Maytown, returning to Palmerville empty, where I sold one of my teams. On the trip my rheumatism became so bad that I determined to take a trip to Sydney, leaving my teams to camp during the wet season now commencing, in charge of one driver and the black boy.

I left Cooktown in the E. and A. Company's s.s. "Singapore" in December, 1875. On board I made the acquaintance of Captain Pennefather, lately Comptroller of Prisons, who, at that time, had a fleet of boats at Thursday Island, engaged in pearl fishing. On arrival at Townsville, John Dean (late M.L.C.), came aboard, and we renewed an acquaintance formed some years before when he was butchering at Townsville, and where I had purchased steers from him.

It was my first trip on the coast, and with fine weather, I was delighted with the beautiful scenery. Owing to the early rains the numerous islands were clad in their richest verdure, especially did the Whitsunday Passage appeal to me. Most of the islands in the passage were inhabited by aboriginals, who made a practice of coming out in their canoes to the steamers, picking up food, etc., thrown to them from the ship. One of our crew threw out a loaf of bread, which was attached to a piece of rope. A blackfellow and his gin in a canoe close by the ship caught the loaf, but the moving of our boat tightened the line, which pulled him out, his canoe being capsized, and he and his gin were struggling in the water. However, as they were good swimmers, they soon righted their canoe with the loss only of the loaf of bread. During the trip lunch was spread daily under the awning on the top deck. This was much more pleasant than down in the stuffy cabin. After leaving Moreton Bay the sea became rough. A water spout formed not far from the ship, and it appeared large enough to swamp us had we been under it. The wind made it hard to light matches for a smoke, so Captain Pennefather introduced his flint and steel, and lit a stick composed of dry buffalo manure; this we found very useful with which to light our pipes.



CHAPTER VIII.

We arrived at Sydney on a Friday night early in January, 1876. John Dean required a rig out, and being a man of 21 stone weight could not buy a ready-made shirt, so had to be measured. We stayed at the Occidental Hotel, in Wynyard Square, and hearing that "Our Boys" was being played at the Theatre Royal, took seats in the orchestra stalls, which consisted of wooden spring seats. We arrived when all was quiet and the play in progress. As John sat down every screw came out of the seat, and he plumped on the floor to the amusement of the audience. The fun was greater when he was seen slowly, but successfully, to lower himself into another seat.

After the performance, thinking we had sufficient bump of locality to find our hotel without inquiry, we walked, and continued walking until we found ourselves down at the wharves, which, we had been told, was an undesirable quarter at any time, but especially late at night. From a passer-by, we learnt that the hotel was a long distance off. After receiving instructions, we reached our lodging just as the bar was being closed at midnight. Dean suggested a drink, which we ordered at a side window, and asked the barmaid to bring the liquor into an adjoining room. A man calling himself Count Bismarck, and who was greatly excited about something, was in the bar. He said to Dean, "Aren't you going to shout for me." Dean replied, "No," at which the Count remarked, "Oh, never mind, I have plenty of money." Dean replied, "You must be a mean blooming beggar, then, to ask me to shout." Dean and I sat at a small table discussing the play, when a revolver shot rang out and something seemed to strike us. We immediately rushed for a green baize door, but saw no one. On returning to the room, the barmaid, who was quite pale, asked "Are you dead?" I answered, "No." At the moment I did not realise the absurdity of the question, or that the answer was unnecessary.

We failed to find the German, who had disappeared. Mr. Yeo, the landlord, ran in to inquire what the trouble was. When we returned to the room I found a bullet under the chair I was sitting on. It had struck the ceiling, and brought down the plaster. Later, in Melbourne, John Dean heard that Count Bismarck had been sentenced to two years' imprisonment for shooting a man.

After a very pleasant time in Sydney, I found the rheumatism had left me, so I deemed it desirable to return north, and to work. On my arrival in Townsville I found the wet season was not yet over. Many friends prevailed upon me to stay back in Townsville, where I put in a most enjoyable fortnight with some of my old pals.

At the end of the fortnight, the s.s. "Banshee," a boat of about 100 tons, was advertised to sail for Cooktown, via the Hinchinbrook Channel. I booked my passage by her, and was informed she would sail at 5 a.m. on a certain day.

I was staying at the Criterion Hotel, on the beach, where the evening previous to my intended departure, I was given a send-off, which lasted into well-advanced morning. Owing to this I missed the boat.

A few hours afterwards it was blowing a cyclone. Spray came over the hotel. It was thought the "Banshee" could not live through the blow, and we were not surprised when we learnt very quickly that she was wrecked about 3 p.m. the same afternoon. It was ascertained later that, finding her engines were not powerful enough to make headway against the wind, the captain tried to weather a rocky point on Hinchinbrook Island, so that he might beach her in a sandy bay beyond. She failed to get around the point, and lifted by a wave over the rocks, became fixed in a cleft, where she soon bumped a hole in her hull. Such of her crew and passengers who were not lucky enough to be thrown far inland were drowned, or crushed to death. One passenger, named Burstall, crawled out on a boom, from which the waves swept him high on to the rocks. A following wave put him out of danger, but left him considerably bruised. Out of thirty-seven on board, sixteen were saved, one a stowaway, who, it was said, walked out of the hole made in the ship's hull by the rocks.

A few days afterwards I returned to Cooktown by the s.s. "Singapore," and saw what was left of the "Banshee" in the distance. In February, 1877, the "Singapore" ran ashore on L. Island, off Port Mackay, and became a total wreck.

I had left my riding horses in Cooktown, and a day or so after my arrival, I went on to Palmerville to send my teams down to the Port. Having done this, and started them two days ahead, Mrs. Jackson, whom I have mentioned as having met some years previously in the Peak Downs district, asked me to take 200 ounces of gold down to the bank. I agreed to do so, carrying it in my valise on the saddle. I was very glad when I reached the waggons to get rid of the gold, as it proved a very dead weight on my legs.

During this wet season (1876), the Government had sent a boat to the Laura River to carry travellers across. These were very few. The boatman was very much alone, and I found that the blacks had taken the opportunity of eating him. While driving the leading team up the bank, I saw numbers of blacks' tracks all around the boat. We drew up a short distance from the bank, and after unyoking, I made my customary visit to water, with towel and bucket, which latter was filled for the cook. The water in the river was running in a channel on the opposite side, and when I was close to it, I heard a chuckle such as the blacks make. Looking towards the crossing I saw a mob of blacks bathing, and one running towards the bank. Without a second look, I dropped the bucket, and sprinting across the sand and up the bank to the waggons, I called out, "Get the rifles ready! The blacks are at the crossing." After waiting some little time we saw Sub-Inspector Townsend and his black troopers riding towards us. He stayed for dinner, and from mutual explanations I learnt it was his troopers' tracks I had seen. They were returning from an inspection down the river, and had camped at the crossing over night. They decided to have a bogey before dinner, and the boy I saw running, went to get his uniform cap to denote a trooper. Had I taken a second look, I should have seen Mr. Townsend with them. He laughingly described me racing, hidden with sand which my feet were scooping up, in my haste to get the firearms.

Up to now, carrying had been so remunerative that one would have seen one-time station managers, ex-inspectors of police, old naval men, and all sorts and conditions of other men wielding the bullock-whip and making good earnings, but as competition became keener, carriage fell much lower and more difficult to obtain. The goldfield was falling off, and more in the hands of the Chinese. I had a very hard time to keep my three teams in employment during the year.

In December, 1877, I again suffered severely from malaria, and having previously sold one of my teams, I decided to make another trip to Sydney, leaving the driver to bring down the two teams to the Laura, and camp there until my return. The wet season was setting in, consequently we could not procure any loading. I had an uneventful trip down to Sydney, and again met with John Dean at Mona House, in Wynyard Square.

I returned to Queensland about the beginning of March, 1878, the malaria having left me.

Passing through Townsville, I met Fitzmaurice, who told me that carrying had fallen away between Cooktown and the Palmer, and that he had left that district. He suggested that I should join with him in carrying to the western country, and added that he had been informed by a squatter that there was a good opening for a store at the Conn Waterhole, on the Diamantina River. This is about forty miles down the Western River, from where Winton now is.

The suggestion appealed to me, and it was agreed that I should go on to Cooktown, start my two teams overland to Townsville, then return and drive one of his three teams on our western trip without loss of time.

On my arrival in Cooktown, I went to the Laura, where the teams were still camped. Everything was in order, and my bullocks fat. I started them on their long trip overland to Townsville, where Fitzmaurice and I had purchased sixteen tons of assorted merchandise from Clifton and Aplin. Arriving in Townsville in a few days by steamer, we loaded up for the far and, to most Queenslanders, what was then unknown country.

Both Fitzmaurice and myself were well known to the firm through our carrying for them from the Port to the several diggings. They generously gave us the goods without our paying any cash, and without giving even the scratch of a pen. When I returned to Townsville at the end of 1879 to purchase more supplies, I signed a promissory note for the cost of all the goods at four months. Practically, Messrs. Clifton and Aplin generously gave us the sixteen tons of goods on a credit which extended over twelve months, and which were only paid for when the note matured.

It was my fortune to have now met in Townsville a man who was then bearing a high reputation in North Queensland, but who was soon to become famous farther afield. By some reason I cannot even now understand, the diggers very seldom put their confidence or trust in the wrong man, and in John Murtagh Macrossan, they found their idol. Mentally big, physically small, his eloquence, ability and courage brought him, on their behalf, into conflict with strong and powerful influences.

I met him later in the Parliament of 1888. In this were many able men, but none, not even the great chiefs McIlwraith and Griffith, could overshadow Macrossan.

In his private life, which was most exemplary, I found Macrossan—although it was said he was otherwise—to be most tolerant to all who might differ from him in social and religious matters. Like most of his countrymen, he was, however, in politics, a strong, bitter partisan. Once a question became political, if one did not agree with Macrossan, he made an enemy. Between him and McIlwraith a close, personal friendship existed for years, but towards the end of Macrossan's life they became estranged. This was due to the strong, independent stand Macrossan took on a political matter which gave McIlwraith offence.

In a conversation I had with McIlwraith just prior to his leaving Queensland, as it turned out to be, for ever, he spoke most feelingly of Macrossan's memory and their earlier friendship.

Although Macrossan had many chances of enriching himself, he died, in 1891, as he had lived, a man, poor in the world's goods, but rich in the esteem and respect of all, not excepting those who very widely, and strongly differed with him on political, national, or religious matters.

Had he lived in latter years, I doubt if he would have become a popular leader of what is generally designated as "The People."

He was not an opportunist, and he could not submit his independence of mind, character, or principles to any person or junta.

His breach with Sir Thomas McIlwraith proved this.

If an impartial biography of John Macrossan should ever be written, it will prove interesting and instructive reading.



CHAPTER IX.

We started the teams from Townsville about the end of July, 1878, and passed a gang engaged on construction of the railway line to Charters Towers at Double Barrel Creek, now known as Toonpan, 17 miles from Townsville.

Our destination was Collingwood, more widely known as the Conn Waterhole, where the Government Surveyor had laid out a township situated about 40 miles west of Winton.

Having heard that the business men of Charters Towers were offering a reward of L50 to any carrier who would open a more direct road to the western country, and that a road party had left to mark the line, we decided to try and win it. On our arrival at the Towers, we interviewed the merchants, who disclaimed any knowledge of a reward having been offered for opening the road. We decided to follow the road party, who had marked a line to junction with the old Flinders road. On the journey I found a tree on which I had cut my initials when travelling to the Gulf with sheep, some twelve years before. Owing to double banking the teams through the heavy sand bordering "Billy Webb's Lake," we had to camp without water that night. There was green picking on the water-less lake for the bullocks, but they had to be watched. The road party had left an empty cask where they had camped on the lake, and one of the bullocks, a poly, smelling water in the bottom of the cask, forced his head into it. On lifting his head, the cask came with it. The bullock, being unable to see, made for his mates with their bells on, and then a general stampede of the bullocks took place in all directions. Finally, a bell bullock made for the timber, the poly followed him, and running against a tree, smashed the cask. Thus ended an amusing incident, with no damage done except to the cask.

The road party left the old road and made a ploughed furrow across the downs to Rockwood Creek, which we followed, and camped the night there.

Fitzmaurice, whilst riding after the bullocks, met Mr. Bergin, the man in charge of the party, who told Fitzmaurice that he was instructed to mark a direct line to Collingwood, on the Western River, and that he intended going up Thornhill Creek, cross the divide between the Landsborough and Diamantina Rivers, and then run down Jessamine and Mill's Creeks to the Western River, and thence to Collingwood.

We took the road up Rockwood Creek to its head, and crossed the same divide as the road party were going, only farther north, striking the head of Manuka Creek, which we ran down to its junction with Mill's Creek. This we followed to the present site of Winton, which we reached at the end of October. The new road opened by the road party had so many patches of heavy sand on it, and long stages for water, that it was never used by carriers, and some years later Ramsay Bros. obtained permission from the Government to close that portion of it running down Jessamine Creek, on the Oondooroo run.

A few years later the Government made tanks on the road between Hughenden and Winton, after which all traffic from Townsville to Winton and the west generally, came that way.

Mr. Tom Lynett, whom I had previously known on the Palmer, and who was backed by Burns, Philp and Co. to start a store, had left Townsville for the same destination as ourselves, if the locality was found to be suitable.

He did not overtake his teams until they reached the Twelve-mile Hole, on the Elderslie road, where he stopped them while he rode on to Collingwood, the newly-surveyed township, to inspect.

He concluded the country was subject to floods, so he turned his teams back, and decided to build on the spot on which we found him camped when we arrived with our teams.

We also met a man named Bob Allen, who had been located in the neighbourhood for two years or more. Allen was an ex-sergeant of police, who left Aramac about 1875 to start a store and public house on what is known as the Pelican Hole, one mile west of the site of Winton. Very heavy rains fell in 1876, and we were told he was compelled by floods to remain two days on the wall-plate of his building.

When the water allowed him, he shifted what was left of his hotel and store, and re-erected them on the present site of the Queensland National Bank, Winton.

Allen, Lynett, Fitzmaurice and I discussed the removal of the building, and forming the town back on higher ground.

We offered to do the work without cost, but Allen and Lynett decided to remain where they were. We had to accept the position, and agreed to build in line with the others.

This formed the base upon which Mr. Surveyor Jopp laid out the township afterwards.

After putting up a skeleton shed covered by tarpaulins, I obtained from Ayrshire Downs two loads of wool for our teams, returning to Townsville. In the meantime, Fitzmaurice had disposed of L600 worth of goods. I was occupied a whole day pasting the pieces of the torn and damaged cheques. I then started for the nearest bank, which was at Aramac, 250 miles away.

A drought being on, I had many difficulties in getting through.

There were only 5,000 sheep on Vindex, and these were camped on a water-hole which had been filled by a stray thunderstorm. The remainder of the sheep from the run were travelling for grass and water on the coast near Townsville. As a compliment, I was allowed to replenish my water-bag, and to obtain one drink for each of my two horses.

My next camp was off the road on East Darr Station, where a mob of kanakas were cutting down scrub for fencing.

When I reached Muttaburra, I found the hotel to be a grass hut. It proved to be a very rowdy place, so I decided to camp on the ridge outside the town without food, and have my breakfast when passing through in the morning.

I carried L600 worth of cheques in my trousers pocket. This I thought was the safest place.

I was very pleased when at last I reached Aramac, after bank hours, and handed the money to Mr. Fulton, the manager of the Queensland National Bank, and the next morning found only L30 of them dishonoured.

Immediately on my return to Winton, I started for Townsville to load my two teams with timber and iron to build an hotel. I travelled with Fitzmaurice's teams to assist them over a dry stage to Rockwood.

We camped close to Oondooroo Station and when bringing the bullocks in to be yoked in the morning, one of them jumped and tossed his head in the air, and I then saw a tiger snake disappear in a hole near by. The bullocks were yoked up, and after going a short distance the off-side poler of one of the teams dropped dead. On examination, we found two small punctures in the nose. It was the bullock I had seen jump and throw up its head.

When we reached Manuka Station there was only one water-hole near the road. The owner of the station was preserving this for his stock. The distance to the next water was 20 miles, so it was absolutely necessary we should obtain a drink for the bullocks before we tackled the long stage.

I interviewed Mr. Anderson, the owner, and having explained our position, asked to be allowed a drink for the bullocks. He flatly declined to allow this.

After about an hour's pleading, he gave his consent subject to the proviso that the bullocks should be watered in batches of ten at a time, and so preserve the hole from being puddled. We watered the stock in the evening, and by travelling all night, managed to reach Rockwood without mishap. Here I was told I would get water for myself and horses 25 miles further on.

The next water after that would be 55 miles to Hughenden, on the Flinders River.

I left the teams to make a long road round Tower Hill, which was a good-watered route. When I reached the 25-mile, where I was told I would get water, I found the ground just glassy, the water having evaporated in the December sun.

Knowing the distance I would have to go without water, I decided to hobble the horses out on dry grass, and dodged the sun round a tree until the afternoon, when I saddled up. In about ten miles I passed Cameron Downs Station, which was deserted. I reached the water about eight the following morning, very thankful to have come through the 80 miles safely. It had been a glorious moonlight, by which I could see the tracks of numerous snakes on the road. I felt that if my horses were bitten it would mean a perish for me.

I remained at the water until about 5 p.m., when I rode into Hughenden township, which was formed on the spot where I had camped with the sheep some twelve years before. I put up at Magnay's hotel, and was glad to have a square meal for dinner.

In the morning I resumed my journey, and having previously travelled the track frequently, went miles off it to obtain better feed for the horses to camp.

I overtook my own teams between Dalrymple and Townsville, and drove one of them to the camp outside the latter town.

After engaging another driver, the timber, iron, a billiard table and some stores were duly loaded and despatched. I remained to sign the four months' promissory notes for these and the goods previously referred to, and to give the teams time to negotiate the 30 miles to Thornton's Gap, as the crossing of the coast range was called at this place. At the foot of the Gap I joined them, and assisted in getting them to the top. I left the teams here and rode on to Winton.

On my arrival, I found that Fitzmaurice had sold out of most of the supplies except the grog, which he was keeping for the hotel. He then started on horseback for Townsville to give delivery of the wool, and load up his three teams with stores, etc.; also more timber and iron to build the store. He would also bring his wife and child with him.

At this time Winton was the rendezvous of some of the worst characters of the west; fights were frequent on the then unformed streets.

The rowdies threatened to take the grog in the store, and as there were no police nearer than Aramac, I deemed it best to dispose of all the liquor to Allen, the local publican, who jumped at the chance to obtain a supply.

A few residents formed themselves into a vigilance committee.

The late Mr. J. A. Macartney passed through to visit his property, Bladensburg Station, and seeing how things were, wrote to the Home Secretary asking for police protection.

My teams had now arrived with the building material, and carpenters were put on to erect the hotel. This was not finished until the end of 1879, when it was opened under the name of North Gregory Hotel.

Great difficulty was experienced with the floors, there being no timber for them. We puddled the mud and got the black gins to tramp it down, adding a picaninny to their backs to increase their weight.

About July of this year, Fitzmaurice returned from Townsville with three horses and a light dray on which he had brought his wife and little girl.

Taking a plan of the hotel with me, I started for Aramac to interview Mr. Sword, the P.M. (afterwards member of the Land Court), to obtain a provisional license. This he refused to grant until the building was erected.

When I returned Winton was entirely out of liquor, and Allen did a great business in selling bottles of painkiller as a substitute. It was laughable to see men take a bottle out of their pocket, saying, "Have a nip, mate, it's only five shillings a bottle?"

About March, 1880, the Western River was in high flood, and ran miles wide.

Sub-Inspector Kaye, of the native police, and Mr. John Haines, the manager of Elderslie Station, were in town, and wished to get to the station 40 miles down the river.

We put our carpenter on to make a boat, which carried them and the troopers safely to their destination.

Shortly afterwards Sub-Inspector Fred Murray came out from Blackall, bringing with him Sergeant Feltham, who formed the police station in a small building which I rented to them.

There was only a log to which offenders were chained. One day Feltham went down to the store, leaving a prisoner chained up. Shortly afterwards he was surprised when he saw his prisoner (who was a very powerful man) marching into the public house carrying the log on his shoulder, and call for drinks. It took three men to get him back to the lock-up.

Fitzmaurice's teams arriving, we were enabled to complete the store building, stock it, and the hotel, and resume business, which had been suspended owing to running out of goods, etc. My teams had gone down empty, and were now on their way up with more loading.

The original name for the town—now known as Winton—was Pelican Water-holes. Bob Allen, the first resident, whom I have mentioned, acted as post-master. The mail service was a fortnightly one, going west to Wokingham Creek, thence via Sesbania to Hughenden. There was no date stamp supplied to the office, but by writing "Pelican Water-holes" and the date across the stamps, the post mark was made, and the stamps cancelled. This was found to be very slow and unsatisfactory.

Allen was asked to propose a name, and he suggested that the P.O. should be called "Winton." This is the name of a suburb of Bournemouth, Hampshire, England, and Allen's native place.

We had kept one of Fitzmaurice's teams to haul in firewood, and posts to fence a paddock on Vindex run, the lessees, Messrs. Scott and Gordon, having given us permission to do so.

The manager of Elderslie also gave us permission to fence in a piece of ground at the Pelican Waterhole for a vegetable garden.

The team obtained employment at Bladensburg, where Mr. Macartney was building a stockyard. As I felt clerical work to be hard on me, I would take an occasional trip with the bullocks to relieve the drudgery.

During this year the member for Gregory, Mr. Thomas McWhannell, passed through Winton, and opportunity was taken to bring under his notice the necessity for a water supply for the town. The disabilities we suffered under were pointed out. We had to procure water from a hole in Mistake Creek, two and a-half miles away, the water of which was frequently polluted by numbers of dead cattle. By his efforts a sum was passed by Parliament for water conservation.



The Oondooroo bullock team had come in for supplies, but the driver started drinking, and was unable to take the team home.

Not having forgotten my old avocation, I took his place, and thereby began a close friendship with the Schollick Brothers, who were completely out of rations when I arrived.

During this year the town and district were invaded by a plague of rats, travelling from north-east to south-west in hundreds of thousands.

The vermin would eat the buttons off one's coat when camping out. Cats and dogs were surfeited from killing them. I told the Chinaman cook of the hotel that I would give him a pound of tobacco if he caught a hundred rats. That night, as I was sleeping on a stretcher at the back of the store, I was several times awakened by what seemed to be a stamping of feet. In the morning I found that the Chinaman had obtained an ironbark wooden shutter, and rigged up a figure four trap with bait underneath, and by this means had obtained a wheelbarrow full of dead rats.

These rats had bushy tails, and apparently lived on the roots of grass. These devastated the country through which they passed. It was unknown whence they came from or whither they went.

The rats were followed by a plague of dead cats in the water-holes. The rats had gone and the cats having had plenty, did not follow, but died in the water-holes.

Our team driver was James Gordon, one of two brothers who owned the selection which later became famous as Mount Morgan. We sold this team to Warenda Station, and James Gordon went with it.

During this year (1879), Vindex Station was purchased from Scott and Gordon by Chirnside, Riley and Co., of Victoria, who, like other investors, spent money lavishly to develop the country.

The manager was Mr. J. B. Riley. This gentleman died in 1889, but is still affectionately remembered throughout the district.

To those who knew him, his death was felt as that of a staunch personal friend. By none was his death more regretted than by those who worked for him, either as permanent or casual employees, and by whom a monument to his memory has been erected on Vindex.

Outside the property he controlled, J. B. had three personal hobbies, a good horse, the Winton Divisional Board, and the local Hospital. Of these three hobbies his principal one was the hospital and its sick occupants. On his death it was felt that the most appropriate monument to him would be a new ward for eye complaints to be added to the hospital.

This was generously subscribed to by all classes, and the J. B. Riley ward of the institution served to remind us of one who, by his charity, goodness and generosity, was a good man, but whose shyness did not allow of this being known. His brother, Mr. F. W. Riley, and Mr. R. L. Chirnside, who were closely associated with him, carried on his good work, and became as deservedly popular.

Throughout this year (1880) the town and district had made progress, and new people were coming in.

We were now doing a good business in both store and hotel, consequently we had to depend on drivers for our teams without supervision.

It was decided that I should follow the teams to Townsville to in some way dispose of them, and also to bring up a man to assist Fitzmaurice in the hotel.

When I reached Dalrymple I learnt that one of Fitzmaurice's teams had been swept over the rocks while crossing the Burdekin River, and that eight of the bullocks were drowned. It appeared that the river, though not a-swim, was running strong at the crossing.

The first team crossed safely, but on the other reaching the strong water, the driver of the team rode around to the off-side to keep the bullocks up the stream. His efforts were unavailing. With his horse he was carried into deep water, from which they were rescued in an exhausted condition. Not so with the team.

The bullocks were all drowned, and the waggon wrecked on the rocks. Fortunately, being empty, only eight bullocks were yoked to the waggon, but they were the pick of the team. This accident strengthened our desire to dispose of the teams.

I sold Fitzmaurice's remaining team at Townsville at a satisfactory figure, and my own two teams were sold on their arrival to one of the drivers on terms.

The agreement was that we should provide him with loading from Townsville to Winton at the rate of L30 per ton, until he had paid the purchase money of it. This he did in a few trips.

These teams could not carry the whole of the goods I had purchased, so I left an order with Clifton and Aplin to forward the remainder by carriers as soon as they could despatch them. I engaged a suitable man to assist Fitzmaurice, and we left with saddle and pack horses for Winton, taking the shorter road via Charters Towers.

This we left at Rockwood, to make a still shorter route across the Downs from Culloden Station, over which the road party had ploughed a furrow across to cut the head of Jessamine Creek, at the back of Oondooroo Station.

In crossing the divide between the Landsborough and Diamantina waters, we rode over virgin country which was infested with bush rats, and numbers of tiger snakes gorged after eating them.

In one place, which was 25 miles from water, the snakes were so numerous that we had a difficulty in getting our pack horses safely through them. Yet it is argued that snakes are never very far from water.

In 1880, Cobb and Co. bought up a number of mail services throughout Western Queensland, and the general regularity and convenience of their coaches served to open up the country. Cobb and Co. carried out its contracts under great difficulty in times of flood, but more frequently of droughts, and their record is one of which the company and its servants might well be proud. Their coaches are now practically of the past, but the time was when Cobb and Co.'s name was a synonym for efficiency and, when humanly possible, for punctuality. There were many less enjoyable ways of realising life than by, say, to be leaving Barcaldine for Aramac in the dark of an early morning on the box seat of a coach behind a spanking team of greys, driven by a master hand with the whip and ribbons. And then if one stayed the night at a stage, where two or more drivers met, and exchanged experiences of the trip, their horses, but more than all of their passengers, what an interesting time might be passed.

It was remarkable how observant of passengers the drivers would be, while the passenger all the time laboured under the impression that the driver's time was taken up with his horses.

The idiosyncracies of passengers would be discussed by drivers, and it more than once happened I have heard of the peculiarities of certain passengers at places hundreds of miles from where they came under observation.

Nearing Charleville, on a road I had not travelled before, I had a trip I had made from Normanton towards Croydon related to me by a driver whom I had never seen until then.

I learnt he was told the story by the driver of the Blackall coach, who had heard it in Barcaldine from Tommy Thompson, who was told it in Winton by Tommy Cahill, who received it at Hughenden from Martin Warneminde.

I was quite satisfied and did not inquire further.

Judging by the way they fulfilled the requests at different mail stages, these men must have been gifted with wonderful memories. At one stage a driver might be asked to call at Smith's, the storekeeper, and "tell him to give you a couple of pounds of tea and some potatoes for me;" at another to get a pair of boots, size three, for the missus; at Jones', to get a bottle of eye lotion, and so on. These orders would be faithfully given on arrival, and the goods obtained before the driver would attend to his own comfort or pleasure.

From personal knowledge of Cobb and Co.'s men, in fact to western mailmen generally, one might lift one's hat with respect as a tribute to honesty and faithfulness for work well done and duty honourably carried out.



CHAPTER X.

In 1880, our young township was becoming heard of, and was honoured with its first police magistrate in the person of Mr. Robert Johnstone. This gentleman had been a Native Police officer, and was associated with Dalrymple in his explorations on the coast north of Cardwell. Dalrymple so much appreciated Johnstone's work that he named the outlet of one of our great sugar districts—and a most beautiful stream—after him.

I believe there is only one copy of Dalrymple's narrative of his expedition extant, and that is in our Parliamentary library. This narrative should be re-published as a school paper so that present-day Queenslanders might know something of the history of discovery within their own country. I doubt if many children, or even adults, know of the work done by Dalrymple, Hodgkinson, Landsboro, the Jardines, and many other Queensland explorers.

At this time the Court House and lock-up were in the same building, opposite our store, in the main street. It was built originally for a boarding house.

All the Winton streets were named after the stations which lay in the direction in which the streets were running. For instance, east and west—Elderslie, Vindex, Cork and Dagworth. Those facing the north were called Oondooroo, Manuka, Sesbania and Werna.

Mr. Johnstone conducted the first Government land sale this year, at which Lynett and ourselves secured the allotments facing Elderslie Street on the north side, extending through to Vindex Street at the back, comprising an area of about three acres each. We had put a high figure on our improvements, and we purchased the land at the upset price of L6/10/- per half acre. Allen had only a half-acre facing the same street, and this was purchased by the Queensland National Bank. The bank immediately opened business in a Coffee room, which Allen had erected at the back, pulling down the public house to erect banking chambers in its place. Mr. Doherty was the first manager, succeeded by Mr. Alexander, and by Mr. Arthur Spencer a year or so later.

In 1879, Julius von Berger, a refugee from Schleswig Holstein, to escape Prussian rule, commenced business as a chemist. He was clever in his profession, unassuming in character, and behind his retiring disposition was a fund of kindness and simplicity which endeared him to all. He died, much regretted, a few years back at a ripe old age.

The Government had now let contracts for building a court house and police barracks in Vindex Street and post office in Elderslie Street.

In 1881, a contract was also let by the Government to excavate a tank of 15,000 yards, to a man named Collins. He quickly commenced operations with his plant at Magpie Gully, about half-a-mile from the town. When he had made a hole of about 12 feet deep, a very heavy thunderstorm filled the excavation with water. Previously, he had to cart his water nearly three miles, and he was now desirous of utilising the water in the excavation for his camp and horses. With difficulty he obtained permission from the Government Inspector supervising the work to make another roadway on the opposite bank. When this was allowed, he was able to continue the work until he had got to a depth of 19ft. 6in., or 18in. more than the specified depth of 18ft. He then removed the earth from the opposite side to the required depth of 18ft. When completed, he put in a voucher to be paid for the extra 18 inches, which the Supervising Inspector refused to certify, unless the whole depth across was 18 feet in accordance with the specifications. The earth was taken from one side of the bottom of the tank and deposited on the other, to reduce the whole depth by 18 inches. "Great is Red Tape."

There was a change of management on Elderslie by the appointment of Mr. Alexander Gordon. He was a splendid specimen of a man, 6ft. 7in. in height, built in proportion, and most popular. I first met him between Evesham and East Darr Stations. I inquired the distance to the latter station, which he was then managing. He replied, "Oh! a couple of canters and a smoke." It is told of him that when he was travelling on the coach between Charters Towers and Hughenden, he stayed one night at a stage which was a lignum hut, rather small in size. The driver informed the other passengers that when he called Gordon at 4 a.m., he found that he had stretched himself during the night, and that his feet were through the lignum, and so far outside that fowls were roosting on his legs.

About this time many of the properties were changing hands. The Schollicks still retained Oondooroo; Elderslie was held by Sir Samuel Wilson; Dagworth, by Fairbairns, who shortly afterwards sold out to Macpherson and Co.; Bladensburg, by John Arthur Macartney; Sesbania, by Manifold, Bostock and Co.; Manuka, by Anderson and Nicol, who sold out to Baillie, Fraser and Donald; Ayrshire Downs and Cork, by McIlwraith and Smyth. The latter gentleman had camped with us when we were on the road to Winton in 1878. He was taking out a blacksmith named Morgan for Ayrshire Downs Station. Morgan afterwards started a blacksmith's shop in Winton.

Mr. Smyth was afterwards elevated to the Upper House, and although of a retiring nature, was of a friendly disposition.

All these investors were pouring money as if from a stream, and developing their properties.

The greater proportion of the capital so spent was from Victoria, and to this State Western Queensland must be grateful for its development.

Of all the then owners I have mentioned, and most of whom were resident on their properties, only one remains—John Bostock, of Sesbania. If those men did not win success they deserved it, and no one was more worthy (and there were many worthy men) than John Bostock. Schollick's spent over L100,000 on Oondooroo, and left it practically penniless. Macpherson drove from Dagworth with all his belongings on a buck-board, leaving unprofitable, and lost many thousands of pounds. Fraser, of Manuka, who came a little later, died of a broken heart. Western Queensland is greatly subject to mirages, and it is of the nature of these which deluded many men with bright hopes to spend great fortunes. These men battled on to the end, but being of fighting races, when they went down they were still fighting with never a word of despair or of defeat, and John Bostock alone remains.

In this year Sir Thomas and Lady McIlwraith passed through Winton on their way to Ayrshire Downs. The whole of the inhabitants turned out to meet them at the police water-hole (six miles from Winton) after dark. An address was read to Sir Thomas by the aid of a lamp on the road. I had the pleasure of having them as guests in my cottage.

This was my first meeting with McIlwraith, and I was greatly struck with his personality. He was a man, big and broad, both physically and mentally. Yet like most strong men, he was very head-strong and impatient of obstruction to or criticism of his proposals. Neither could he understand that it was not given to every man to see quickly and to act promptly, attributes he possessed in a remarkable degree.

At this time he had his Trans-continental Railway in mind, and he patiently tried to get me to realise how closer settlement of the western country by smaller areas would obtain under it more than it would, under the conditions by which it was then held, that is, in very large areas. The then short experience of residents of the western country were conditions of drought, and I must admit that I thought his ideas were visionary. I have, however, lived to see the success of the grazing farm system and the great improvements effected by underground water supplies. In 1881, these were practically undreamt of. It is likely that McIlwraith could see farther into the future and dream dreams unthought of by others.

The publication of McIlwraith's scheme without doubt gave the hint to Dutton, whose Land Act of 1884 was the inception of our present system of grazing farms. It was unfortunate that the most bitter opponents of McIlwraith's scheme were of the squatting class, who generally resented the cutting up of the vast areas held by them. Had the squatters of the day not defeated his proposals, the grazing-farm system would probably have come into existence some years earlier than it did, and long ago the Gulf country would have had an overland railway. That country would be maintaining a large and prosperous population instead of being, as it is now, almost deserted, and open to danger of occupation by coloured races, and a menace to the safety of Australia. McIlwraith was a far sighted statesman, having the interests of Queensland at heart, and not a politician ready and willing to secure votes.

In this year, Fitzmaurice's sight became affected, and he made a trip to Sydney for expert advice. The whole business of the store and hotel was now thrown on my hands. It was found on Fitzmaurice's return, after an absence of six months, that he was almost blind. By mutual arrangement, it was decided I should buy him out, and he left Winton one of the best-liked men connected with its foundation, and as I found him, a good friend and an honest partner. The life of a hotel-keeper did not appeal to me, so I found a purchaser for the hotel at a satisfactory figure, in Mr. W. B. Steele, of Aramac, who took delivery in April, 1882.

William Brown Steele was a strange character. I believe he had qualified as a chemist, but followed the different gold rushes from California to Victoria, New Zealand, and Peak Downs, thence to Aramac and Winton. His delight was to be accused of being an unscrupulous gambler—of the type described by Bret Harte. I know he was fairly successful at a game of cards, but this was due more to superior playing than to good luck or manipulation. Still, if one who thought he was Steele's equal, proposed a game, the latter would ask:—"Shall we play the game, or all we know?" If the former was agreed to, the game was strictly honest. If the latter was decided on, well, there was some wonderful playing on both sides. I never knew of Steele playing with one inexperienced, or of transgressing the rules of the game unless he was first challenged by his opponent. Then he did play all he knew, and that was something. For many years Steele ran a consultation on the Melbourne Cup which was well patronised, until the anti-gambling legislation, which drove Adams from Queensland, suppressed it, but did not stamp out gambling.

I arranged a partnership with Mr. W. M. Campbell, traveller for Stewart and Hemmant, of Brisbane. He and his wife and family were settled in Fitzmaurice's house by the end of this year.

The Bank of New South Wales had also opened a branch in a small building on the south side of Elderslie Street. Mr. Barnier was the first manager, succeeded afterwards by Mr. Alf. Thompson.

Major Lewis, a veteran of the Indian Mutiny and Papal war, and a fine old Irish gentleman, arrived to succeed Mr. Johnstone as police magistrate. One of the first cases brought before him was a claim for the return of money, under the following circumstances:—I had received a letter from a man on Hamilton Downs Station, stating he was coming in with the station dray for a load of rations, and was anxious to get married. He asked me to look for an eligible female who was willing to yoke up with him, and enclosed his photograph. Treating the matter as a joke, I read the letter to the girls employed at the hotel. The laundress, a big strapping woman, said she was willing to negotiate with him. On the man's arrival I took him round and introduced him. After a couple of days' courtship a date was fixed for the marriage. As an earnest of his good faith, the man gave the woman a cheque for L26 to buy her wedding trousseau. When the day arrived she refused to carry out the promise of marriage. The man came to me for advice, stating that she would not have him, neither would she return any of the money advanced.

I wrote Mr. Conran, the owner of Hamilton Downs Station, explaining the cause of the man's delay, and as the station was short of rations, Conran came in. He and I interviewed the woman, pointing out her dishonesty, but we were told to mind our own business. Mr. Conran then went to consult the P.M. The sergeant of police told Conran the P.M. was engaged, and asked could he do anything for him. Mr. Conran said he had come up about a girl appropriating a sum of money given as a condition of marriage. The sergeant said, "An' shure, an' won't she have yez now." Conran enjoyed the joke of being taken as the rejected lover.

Major Lewis and the police eventually recovered a portion of the money, and the man returned sadder but much wiser, and I renounced for the future any desire to act as matrimonial agent.

About October, 1882, we received a wire from Hughenden, advising that some teams which were carrying our loading had been caught in a flooded creek, and the goods damaged. I immediately started for Wongalee Creek, about 25 miles the other side of Hughenden, or 170 miles from Winton. I found on my arrival the ground in the vicinity covered with drapery, boots, ironmongery, besides nearly empty salt bags, etc., etc., put out to dry. It appeared these teams had crossed the creek and camped on the flat below the bank. A heavy thunderstorm had fallen up the creek during the night and brought the water down a banker, submerging the waggons, and destroying about L1,000 worth of goods. We had no redress against the carrier, the accident, or incident, being considered an act of Providence. The merchants assisted us by renewing our bills for four months longer.

In the same year, we ordered a large consignment of goods from Townsville. It was a dry year, and the teams carrying them were stuck at Hughenden.

In those days the Government had not made the water tanks on the road between Hughenden and Winton, and on the high, open downs country permanent natural water was not obtainable only at long distances. Hearing of the teams being stuck up, we immediately wired a duplicate order to Rockhampton. The latter goods were despatched by rail to Bogantungan (the then terminus of the central line), and loaded on teams. The drought conditions, although not so pronounced as in the Hughenden district, also existed in the Central. These teams were also blocked.

In about six months after the first order was given, the whole 14 teams with the Rockhampton and Townsville goods arrived on the same day at Winton, and I was called upon to pay L2,000 cash down for carriage alone; while our summer goods arrived in the middle of winter.

Fortunately we were able to meet our liabilities.

In 1882, we had a visit—and the first—from a clergyman of any denomination.

He asked me if there was a place in which he could hold service on Sunday. I told him that the only place was the billiard-room at the hotel. I prepared it for the ceremony by draping a blue blanket over the table, and I put a red one opposite over the cue rack, thinking it might help him to put a little fire into his discourse. When all was ready, I obtained the bullock bell from the kitchen. The Chinaman cook, who was a sporting character, said:—"Wha for, nother raffle, all ri, put me down one pund." He refused, however, to give the money when he learnt it was for a church.

When the clergyman was leaving, we decided to present him with a purse of sovereigns in Campbell's house, and I was deputed to hand it to him.

In making a short cut to the house I had to pass the hotel stables, into which a squatter in the orthodox breeches, boots and spurs, was riding. He called out:—"I say, Corfield, what are you wearing a coat for?" I replied, "There's a function on; I'm going to present these sovereigns to a parson." He asked, "Any champagne?" I replied, "Whips of it." He then said, "Hold on, till I put my horse in the yard, and I'll come with you." On reaching the house, I introduced him to the parson prior to the presentation, and we had some champagne. With a few words I presented the purse of sovereigns, when we naturally concluded we would be thanked, but instead the parson said, "Let us pray." We all then knelt to our chairs. Suddenly, as if from one in great pain, I heard the word "Ker-ist." Thinking the parson had been bitten by a snake or something, I looked round, but he appeared quite at ease. I then saw over in the corner the young squatter with blood oozing out of his pants. He had sat upon his long-necked spurs. The parson went on with the prayer, but those present were more occupied suppressing their laughter than in listening to the parson's prayers.



CHAPTER XI.

In 1883, Judge Miller, with the present Mr. Justice Real as Crown Prosecutor, opened the first District Court in Winton. Fred Riley and myself had been put on the "Commission of the Peace," and appeared before the Judge to be sworn in. We then decided that we should without delay show that we were magistrates, and prepared to carry out our duties. We found a good, hard-drinking man, and offered him ten shillings to spend in drink. He gladly accepted the offer, and shortly afterwards we were asked by the police to sit on a case of drunkenness and disorderly conduct. Our man had kept to his agreement, and was brought before us. We severely reprimanded him for his conduct and discharged him. Judge Miller hearing of it, frequently recalled the joke to my memory, and we had many a good laugh over it.

Early in this year, Mr. Griffith (afterwards Sir Samuel) and Mr. Dickson (afterwards Sir James) made a tour of the north-west, and travelled by coach from Hughenden to Winton. The party was detained a night at Stack's public house, about midway between the two towns, whilst the mailman rode over to Sesbania with the mail. Mr. Griffith here made the acquaintance of Schofield, who was managing a store near Stack's for Charlie Rowe. Stack's house was not an inviting place, so the two Ministers spent the evening in Schofield's quarters. The latter was shortly afterwards appointed as Government agent on board the "Hopeful." The history of this vessel is well-known in the Law Courts of Queensland. Messrs. Griffith and Dickson were treated to a wine party in Winton. There was but little enthusiasm shown at the meeting, the majority of those present being strong McIlwraithians.

Mr. Fraser, the managing partner of Messrs. Baillie, Fraser and Donald, of Manuka Station, had been in the army, and had served through the Indian Mutiny. He was highly respected by all, but was not popular excepting among those with whom he was intimate. They knew him to be very hospitable and kind, and a thorough gentleman. He came of a high Scottish family, and was proud that one of his ancestral relations had his head cut off for loyalty to his King. I remember being a silent listener to the relation of some happenings which at one time or other occurred in Ireland. The postmaster was a man who, rather young in years, appeared to have had some experiences. He was telling Fraser of the ill-feeling which was existent between two British regiments in a town somewhere in Ireland, while he was there. One was the 65th, an English, and the other the 89th, an Irish regiment. It seems that the latter had been formed from the North Cork militia, which, I understand, bore an unenviable reputation from their conduct during the rebellion in 1798. The townspeople had a long memory of this, and in the disturbance amongst the soldiers, supported the English regiment against their own countrymen. Fraser listened to it all, and then said, "By jove, wasn't it bitter; I was captain of a company of the 89th, and some of my men were badly knocked about." I thought it made the world very small to hear such incidents being related in the far west of Queensland.

Now that we had two banks, four hotels, a chemist, saddler, besides other branches of industry, we felt that we were being drawn perilously within the influences of civilisation and its drawbacks.



The manager of one of the banks, who was deservedly popular owing to his genial character, the kind way in which he could refuse one an overdraft, and then suggest quite friendly and cheerfully to the applicant: "What do you think; shall we put the gloves on?" This gentleman had a very peculiar hobby, to attend the sick and dying, and to bury the dead. Some incidents connected with his hobby, are as follows:—A tank sinker from Ayrshire Downs died in the hospital. That day a new warder and his wife, who came from beyond Boulia, were put on. The doctor's instructions were that any person dying of typhoid fever, as did the man in question, was to be taken out of the ward and buried as quickly as possible. Immediately the man died, the wardsman was taking the body straight into the morgue, after sending word to the blacksmith, who was also the undertaker, to come up, and remove the body straight away for burial. Some of the patients, seeing the body being carried out, verbally assisted the new wardsman with their suggestions. Thus, the dead man was to be washed, shaved, and have a clean shirt put on. It was late in the afternoon; the wardsman did not like handling the corpse, so the story goes, that he got a bucket of water and a mop, and mopped the body down. This he left on the table in the morgue, and forgot all about the clean shirt or the shaving. There was an understanding between the police sergeant and the bank manager that as there were no clergymen of any denomination in the town, the sergeant would read the services for the Roman Catholics, and the manager for all others. The undertaker-blacksmith would notify the reader required, and funerals were carried out at any hour, day or night. The tank sinker's funeral was timed to leave the hospital about 12.30 a.m. For some reason the bank manager attended this funeral. The body was then in the coffin, and a start made for the cemetery. There were some of the dead man's mates present, and the bank manager heard them complaining that it was a d——d shame to bury a man naked. When the funeral reached the graveside, the idea struck the manager that, as he was wearing a clean, white shirt, it would be the proper thing to open the coffin, put his shirt on the corpse, and this was done. The action gave great pleasure and satisfaction to the men present, who, as a mark of gratitude, on return to town, wished to knock up the public-house people and shout drinks for all hands.

One night there was a funeral at which the manager was to read prayers. The undertaker in this case had a small cart, used as a hearse, drawn by a mule recently broken in, and not too quiet. As the funeral party was walking to the cemetery in the dark, some one struck a match. This was too much for the mule, which bolted across the plain at the back of the cemetery. He reached the edge of a small gully and propped. The weight behind, however, forced him over the bank. The coffin fell out, and the top coming off, the body rolled out on the ground. After extricating the mule, the body was put into the coffin again, and the top put on, the nails driven home with stones. As the mourners objected to the further use of the mule, the party carried the body to the cemetery much to the disgust of the undertaker.

Going home from Winton one night after a spree, a boundary-rider from Ayrshire Downs got off his horse a few miles out, and fell asleep. He woke up some time in the night, fairly sober, and found his horse gone, so he started to walk, but having got off the road, perished midway between the 20-mile and the Cockatoo dam, well-known places on this road. The bank manager was assisting in the search for the lost man, and happened to be with the police when the body was found, which was buried on the spot. The dead man's wife lived in Toowoomba, and as the manager had been remitting money from her husband to her, he informed her of the latter's death. She acknowledged the letter, and expressed a wish that the body might be dug up and brought into Winton for decent burial. She asked how long the body would have to be buried before the flesh would be off the bones and the remains could be brought in. The doctor advised it would be fully six months. At the end of this time the widow arrived in Winton to carry out her desires. Early one Sunday morning the widow, accompanied by the bank manager and the undertaker, left town to exhume the remains. The party had a white table-cloth in a red gin case with the cover on to carry the bones. It was an extremely hot day as the party reached the grave, and hobbled the horses out. The manager related "that he and the undertaker soon had the bones upon the cloth in a nice little heap. The widow examined each bone as it was laid down, and she missed one of the knee-caps, so nothing would pacify her until it was found. This we did eventually by rubbing the soil between our hands and breaking the lumps. It was now near dark. We had arranged for the priest to be at the cemetery by sun-down, and that the grave would be ready. When we arrived about 10 o'clock at night the priest and the grave-digger had gone. I then suggested that we should take the bones in the box to Lynett's hotel, but the landlady wouldn't hear of the remains being left at the hotel. Eventually we left the box and the bones in the grave. The priest came out the next morning, and having read the service, the remains were buried decently, and the widow was happy."

The manager of one of the stations had died at the North Gregory hotel. The body was immediately carried into the manager's private quarters, at the rear of the business part of the bank. The accountant was seen shortly afterwards protesting against the room, which happened to be his, being used as a morgue. He is to this day certain that from the spot where the hand of the corpse struck the wall as it was being put down, knocking may still be heard on the anniversary of the incident. This bank manager was possessed of great energy and perseverance, and a business capacity seldom met with. He was highly respected and extremely popular with everybody high and low throughout the western country, but he is now the head of one of our principal industries. I often wonder if he still has the inclination to bury people.

Our firm had been supplying goods and spirits to a storekeeper at Boulia, whose P.N.'s for a considerable sum of money were not met. Early in 1884. I decided to go out to look into matters. I was accompanied by a Mr. Howard, who was on the look out for a hotel. On my arrival at Boulia I found that the storekeeper had erected a building as an hotel on a piece of land which he had made several promises to purchase. I found the owner, bought the land, and claimed the building erected upon it. This I considered as equal to the money owing to us. Thos. Lynett, of Winton, had started a branch store in Boulia, and had been supplying the same customer with goods on credit, having the building as security. When he heard that I had purchased the land and claimed the building, he wired to Brisbane to stop the sale. However, nothing came of it. I sold the property to Mr. Howard, and it was not long before he was able to wipe out his indebtedness.

Mr. Eglinton, late P.M. in Brisbane, then held a similar appointment at Boulia. A race meeting, which included a hurdle race, was being held. In this race all the horses baulked at the jumps and delayed the running. It was then decided to let the races wait while the visitors had lunch, etc. The judge joined our party. It was a hot day, even for Boulia; refreshments were generous, and in demand. The judge, in common with the visitors, was a thirsty soul. When we next turned our attention to the course, a race was being run, so the judge decided to get into the box. A grey and brown horse had negotiated the hurdles and were coming up the straight neck and neck. When they passed the post the Judge decided that the piebald horse had won. During my stay at Boulia I camped, by the invitation of Mr. Coghlan, the manager at Goodwood Station, just across the Burke River from the township. Mr. Eglinton, P.M., and Mr. Shaw, manager of Diamantina Lakes Station, were also guests, and we were glad to retire to this retreat after the uproarious happenings incidental to western towns during race time.

Before leaving, the P.M. asked Mr. Shaw and myself, who were both magistrates, if we would take a "didemus potastatum" to Monkira, about 100 miles down the river from Diamantina Lakes, and swear in Mr. Debney, the manager, as a Justice of the Peace. We consented; it was an excuse for seeing more of the country, and for a longer outing.

After a few days spent at the Lakes, we started with my team and buggy, accompanied by Mr. Shaw's little daughter. We reached Davonport Downs, then managed by Mr. McGuigan. He told us there were several very heavy sand hills to negotiate, and offered the loan of a pair of staunch heavy buggy horses. He suggested leaving my horses to spell. I accepted the offer. Shaw and myself took it in turns to drive. At one of these sand hills the horses stuck Shaw up, and refused, in spite of his persuasions, to budge. After giving them a spell, Shaw suggested I should take the reins. I had prepared my whip with a new cracker, but failed to start the horses. I then addressed the horses in the language of bullock-drivers, and stood up in the buggy to more effectually use the whip. The horses started, and I kept them going. Just then a small voice was heard from the back seat of the trap, "Mr. Corfield, will you please remember there's a lady in the buggy." Shaw and I immediately retired into our boots, but the horses gave no further trouble.

At that time I think Monkira was the farthest station down the river. Mr. Debney had come from Adelaide. He and Mrs. Debney gave us a splendid reception. The governess to the family afterwards became Mrs. R. K. Milson, of Springvale, and her eldest son lately was married to Miss Morgan-Reade, of Winton. On our return to Davonport Downs, we found Mr. McGuigan laid up with fever, so I took him into Winton.

In November, 1884, Sir Thos. McIlwraith, who had been inspecting his stations, passed through Winton, but while at Ayrshire Downs he received news of his father's death, and refused all demonstrations. I drove him to Vindex. On the road out I told him I contemplated leaving for England the following year. He gave me many hints for my guidance; also a letter of introduction to his brother, William McIlwraith, in London.

The western country was now suffering from a very severe and prolonged drought which brought ruin to many men, and heavy loss to those who pulled through. Taking advantage of the dry spell, I had a small tank excavated in my paddock. A heavy thunderstorm, averaging a little over two inches, fell over the town, and being anxious to learn if it had any water, I asked two friends to walk with me to the tank. We plodded about a mile in the heavy soil. I was satisfied with the result of my inspection; not so my companions, who lost their shoes in the boggy ground, and heaped anathemas on me and my dam.

Altogether their language on the return journey was of a very lurid nature.

This was the first rain for eleven months, and to celebrate it, Winton held carnival for three weeks, during which time no business of any sort was attempted. The time was devoted to sports and jollifications. About two miles east and west of the town ran wire fences, the road passing through gates. The peculiarity of this storm was that no rain fell beyond the fences. It was a strange sight to see green grass on one side of the wires and outside perfectly bare.

I have somewhere in this narrative alluded to lignum, and it may not be out of place at this juncture to describe what it is. Lignum is a small shrub which grows in the dry-water courses. It is much used as walls of houses—timber and iron being very expensive—roofing sheds, and such like. It does not keep out the rain, but is sun proof. With the thermometer running well past the 100 deg. in the shade, a roasting hot wind such as obtains in the western country, there are many worse pleasures to be enjoyed in the west than a lignum shed and a canvas bag of cool rain water. Had old Omar known of the canvas water bag, he would prefer to sing its praises rather than those of a jug of wine. Blessings on the man who first thought of it.



CHAPTER XII.

In April, 1885, I left Winton by coach on my way to England. Mr. J. D. Wienholt, of Warenda Station, and Mr. J. B. Henderson, late Hydraulic Engineer, were fellow passengers. About 10 miles from Muttaburra we were met by a cavalcade of people on horse back and in buggies to meet Mr. Henderson. The coach having stopped, some bottles of champagne were opened, and Wienholt and I were invited to join in. Mr. Henderson accompanied the procession to town. Later in the day we were invited to the dinner to him, to celebrate the completion of the town dam and tank, which were still quite dry. Muttaburra had not had rain for nearly a year. Mr. Henderson left us here to be conveyed by private buggy to Aramac, where we again met. I travelled down the coast from Rockhampton by the old "Keilawarra," afterwards sunk in a collision.

The Russian war scare was on, and passing Lytton we had to undergo a strict examination to prove that we were not spies. It can be imagined with what prayers a number of sunburnt, outback Queenslanders paraded to satisfy the defence authorities that they were peaceful and law-abiding citizens. I remained three days in Brisbane, the evenings of which I spent at the Exhibition, which was frequented by ladies and gentlemen indulging in the pleasure of roller-skating. I resumed my journey to Sydney, and left this city by train a few days later for Melbourne. This was my first visit to the latter city, and I enjoyed perambulating through its streets. I joined the s.s. "Sir John Elder" here, and sailed for England.

Passing through the Red Sea, we met the New South Wales contingent returning from Suakim, where they had joined the Imperial troops, just too late to take any active part in the Soudan campaign.

When we reached Lake Timsah, half-way through the Suez Canal, we were detained because of a dredge having sunk in the Canal and blocked the channel. A party from the ship, having its headquarters at Shepheard's Hotel, was formed to visit Cairo and the Pyramids.

The dinner at 9 p.m. was held in a quadrangle of the hotel.

The after-dinner scene was very charming. Chinese lanterns were hung in the trees, the ladies in evening dress, the officers of the Imperial Army in mess dress of different colours.

Among those present were Lord Wolseley and General Macpherson.

Coming down the Pyramid of Cheops, I had an Arab holding each hand, and a boy with a gourd of water behind. The boy had unwound his cummerbund to place under my arms by which to steady me in jumping down from one ledge to the other. Half-way down I suggested a halt, when one of the Arabs accosted me—"Which fella country you come from?" "America?"

"No!"

"England?"

"No!"

"Australia?"

"Yes!"

"Ah!" he said, "very good kangaroo, you!"

We visited all the places of interest, including the battlefield of Tel-eh-kebir.

We reached our ship, which was still blocked in the Lake. The French people in Ismailia sent their launches out to the ships, so we continued putting time in going ashore every day and riding on donkeys. These animals were generally called after beautiful women celebrities. Mine was called "Lillie Langtry." When we got clear, 40 steamers were blocked. Our ship led the procession through the Canal. There was only just room for us to pass where the accident had happened, and when we leached Suez 200 ships, including several men-of-war, were awaiting our arrival to pass south.

We spent a day at Naples, and in time I arrived in Plymouth Sound in mid-summer, having left it 23 years before in mid-winter. As I had accepted an invitation to visit my cousin, Mr. S. P. Newbery, who resided at Plympton St. Mary, six miles out from Plymouth, so I left the ship. This relative was land steward to Lord Morley. He had been selected to judge the cattle at the Royal Agricultural Show at Preston, Lancashire, and I accompanied him. The warm, genial weather added to my enjoyment. We took up our quarters at Blackpool, as there was no accommodation to be had in Preston. The Prince of Wales (late King Edward the VII.) attended the show, and Mr. Newbery was appointed to show him round. I followed as if in the Prince's retinue, and enjoyed the novelty of the situation. Returning to Devonshire I spent a glorious time keeping my cousin's horse in condition, and occasionally following the hounds. Whilst there I made a trip to the Isle of Wight, and was present in Fotheringham Church when Princess Beatrice was married to Prince Henry of Battenburg. I need hardly say I was not present by invitation.

During my stay at Plympton St. Mary, the 1886 elections were held, and my relative being in politics a conservative, took an active part in the return of Sir John Kennaway (who died a few years ago, father of the House of Commons). Mr. Newbery was chairman of many of his meetings at which I attended. A polling booth was at the school house at Plympton, and on the day of the poll, I was much amused to see gentlemen's carriages being driven to the poll with the coachmen and footmen in livery, and men in their working dress stepping out to vote. Presently a Devonshire farmer drove up in his donkey cart. I noticed the donkey was dressed in the Liberal colours. The farmer recorded his vote, and came out on the porch, when he was accosted by another farmer, thus:—

"Wull! Farmer Symes, you been an' voted?"

"Yus," he replied.

"Wull, but how's this, I allus thocht ye was a Conservative?"

"So I be."

"But look at yer dunkey ther' all dress'd up in the Liberal colours?"

"Ah!" he said, "I'm a man, but that's an ass."

On returning to London I delivered my letter of introduction to Mr. William McIlwraith, by whose kindness I met many leading business people, as well as Lord Randolph Churchill, who appeared to be built up of fine live wires.

I left England in May, 1886, taking my passage through Cook and Son, via America. From New York I made trips to Baltimore, Philadelphia, and Washington. After a week or so I joined the overland train for Albany, visiting Niagara Falls, and other interesting places in that locality. Going on to Chicago, I spent a few days visiting the meat works. Wonderful energy had been shown in re-building the city after the destructive fire which happened a short time previously. From Denver I travelled by the narrow gauge "Denver and Rio Grande" line to Utah. Here I spent a week amongst the Mormans, who are a remarkably industrious and energetic, as well as peculiar people. One of the elders introduced me to a daughter by his tenth wife. I had frequent dips in the Salt Lake, in company with the Mormans, their wives and families. The water of the lake is so buoyant that one might throw up one's hands and remain upright. The body would sink only to the chest.

The trains were crowded with men belonging to the grand army of the Republic who were going to San Francisco, where the 20th anniversary of peace, after the Civil War was to be held. The Americans were all very friendly to me. I was invited to join them, and as I was much sunburnt easily passed as one of the veterans.

I took up my quarters at the Palace Hotel, which occupied about four acres of ground. I believe it was at that time the largest hotel in the world. I managed to get a room at four and a-half dollars a day. When I entered it I could see nothing but "Corfield." There were mirrors all round excepting where the furniture stood. In the quadrangle, just below my balcony, a band played continuously.

'Frisco was en-fete. Arches were erected in Market Street, and bunting was flying everywhere. I spent a week in the city, having for a companion a young doctor, for whom I had brought a parcel from his parents in England. He obtained a locum tenens, and gave up the time to pilot me round. We visited every point of interest, including the Chinese gambling dens, in and around 'Frisco, which has a very interesting history dating from the time of the Spanish missions.

On the trip across the Pacific we had a nice complement of passengers. A day at Honolulu was spent enjoying the beauty spots. We tried to call on the "King," but as he was enjoying a carousal, he could not receive us. We called at Apia, in the Samoan Islands, and when crossing to New Zealand, we noticed that the sea was covered by what appeared to be pumice stone. On our arrival at Auckland we heard of the eruption of Mount Tarawera. Mr. Rutherford, a gentleman well-known throughout N.S.W. and West Queensland, the principal of Cobb and Co. in Australia, was a passenger with his daughter from 'Frisco. I accompanied them during the three days the boat remained in Auckland. Shortly after our arrival at the Star Hotel, Mr. Rutherford, who had picked up a "Queenslander," said to me, "Who is driving the coach from Muttaburra to Winton?" I said, "Macpherson." "Well," he said, "he won't drive it long when I get back." "Why?" I asked. "Well, here is a paragraph in this paper, which says he capsized the coach in Elderslie Street, opposite your office."

We duly reached Sydney in August, 1886, and after spending a week there, I sailed for Rockhampton, and proceeded to Peak Downs Station, which my brother-in-law, Edmund Casey, was then managing for the Messrs. Fairbairn. I found he had broken in to harness for me two Arab ponies which would trot their 12 miles an hour. I trucked these and a buggy I had purchased in Sydney to Alpha, the then terminus of the Central railway line, where my other horses—brought from Winton—met me. Good rains had fallen in July, thus breaking up the long drought which had commenced three years before. I had plenty of grass and water all the way to Winton. I camped a night at Mount Cornish, and met Mr. and Mrs. Edkins for the first time for 20 years, having last met them on the Flinders River when they were on their honeymoon trip, as I have already related. They now had quite a large family, and made me very welcome. I arrived at Winton driving four grey horses, the two Arabs Mr. Casey broke in for me being splendid leaders.

A few evenings after my arrival I was the guest at a smoke concert given by the Dramatic Club in Steele's hall in my honour. Mr. Dodd, postmaster, the president of the club, was in the chair. There was some fine speeches, and a splendid display of wit and repartee. On entering the room, my attention was attracted by the drop-scene on the stage representing the Catskill Mountains in America. The members had given a rendering of "Rip Van Winkle," previous to my leaving for England. The scene was a daub of colours with a hole cut in the sky, to which a piece of calico had been affixed at the back to represent either the sun or the moon, I forget which. On returning thanks to the toast of my health, I related many of my experiences since I left them in 1885, but apparently I made a hit when I described my sailing up the Hudson River from New York. Seeing a mountain in the distance, with numerous houses here and there, the afternoon sun shining and throwing different shades over mountain and river, I inquired from a fellow passenger if he could tell me the name of that beautiful mountain? He replied the "Catskill Mountains." I said, "Are you sure?" "Sure enough," he said. "Why?" "Well, because I have seen a painting of it in Steele's Hall at Winton, and it's not a bit like that." The laughter that followed easily made me feel at home with the company during the remainder of a very pleasant evening. Dr. Hawthorne made a great hit in his speech in explaining the anomaly of a bashful Irishman.

I found many changes had taken place during my seventeen months' absence. The Schollicks' had left Oondooroo, which had become the property of Messrs. Ramsay Brothers and Hodgson, with Mr. M. F. Ramsay as manager.

Winton also had grown quickly. The Winton Herald newspaper, with Mr. Maxwell as proprietor, was issued as a weekly.

Roller skating was the rage. I remember one afternoon when passing the Court House, I went over to see what was causing a noise there. Looking through the window I saw all the benches stacked on one side, and the police magistrate practising on skates. He had a pillow strapped at the back of his neck, and another on a lower portion of his body for buffers. He stumbled, and I saw the use for the pillows.

The growth of grass in 1886 occasioned extensive bush fires in the end of this and the beginning of the following year. A very large fire occurred at Vindex. I called for volunteers to join in putting it out. The call was readily responded to, and I headed a large party composed of all classes of men to assist the station hands. By our combined efforts we succeeded in putting the fire out, but not until it had burnt many miles of country. In those days there was no ill-feeling between labour and capital, or employers and employee. All united to work for the common good. Subsequently the same generous help was extended to Elderslie and Ayrshire Downs Stations.

In 1887, I can say the residents of Winton were as if all were of one family. They made their own pleasures, at which all classes were welcome, and invitations were unnecessary. This proved one of the happiest times of my life.

The new owners of Oondooroo were developing their property regardless of cost. Amongst the many innovations introduced by them, but which now have become necessaries, was the system of private telephone lines over the run. In connection with this system was an ingenious idea, something like a compass card, by means of which bush fires were located, and which saved a great deal of unnecessary work and riding. With the exception of Norman, the youngest, who went "west" in France during the late war, I believe the Ramsays are still in the land of the living. It is a pity that Queensland is the loser by not having more men of the same high character as the Ramsay's, of Oondooroo.

In November, 1887, John Bartholomew, who was travelling manager for Cobb and Co., asked me—as their Winton agent—to accompany him to Croydon, to which place he was bound in connection with some coach accident which had occurred in that district, and I accepted the invitation. We travelled by coach to Hughenden 150 miles, thence down the Flinders to Cloncurry, distant 265 miles, and on to Normanton, 240 miles.

This latter portion was completed under great difficulties, the early wet season necessitating our working day and night to keep contract time. On our way we saw where a bullock-dray loaded with explosives had been blown up. How the explosion happened was never known, but after it occurred nothing remained of the bullocks; some of the iron work of the dray was picked up a mile away.

Before we reached Normanton we were reduced to three horses, and the rains having been heavier, we were continually digging the coach out of bogs. At dark one evening I walked on to lessen the load, and on crossing a plain I saw a log on the side of the road on which I decided to have a rest. I sat on it in the dark, and feeling something move, I put my hand down on the cold, clammy tail of a snake. His lordship evidently had his head in a hole, or might have bitten me. The shock gave me increased energy, and I reached the groom's change at 10.30 p.m. The coach arrived an hour later. We were all thoroughly done up, and had a supper of stewed galahs. The stage-keeper was without flour.