Pioneering Days: Thrilling Incidents

Lambing finished, sheep shorn, and supplies to hand, the next move was a "move on." The sheep were in good order, bullocks and horses mud fat; we were quite prepared to make long stages and make for the Flinders, as no good country for sheep, well-watered, was likely to be found anywhere nearer. Sutherland (of Kirk and Sutherland, Suttor Creek), just came in from the Flinders and told us the track out was drying up fast in places, and along stage or two without water between the Cape and Flinders. This hurried matters more, and, worse still, the Earls of Yacannunda (lower down the Suttor) were almost ready to start some 700 cattle out the same track; so if they got ahead of us, probably the small waterholes en route would be destroyed by their stock. Mr. Earl, Senr., came to our camp and mentioned they were starting the cattle in a few days, and would pass the sheep quickly. However, the jumbucks beat them easily. The Messrs. Earl took up and stocked Iffley on the Lower Saxby.

All ready, a start was made. There were two strong teams, a two-horse dray the cook had charge of, which always followed the sheep, and, all told twelve men. From our camp on Suttor Creek we crossed over by the head of Suttor River, a place afterwards taken up and stocked by the Messrs. Murray Bros., near Rockhampton. They called it Point Lookout. We camped on the banks of the river, a narrow, sandy watercourse, at a large waterhole, and very deep. Passing by there many years after, I was surprised to see the hole had disappeared, and from bank to bank leveled with sand. The next place we struck was Conway, very recently stocked. The tableland between Suttor and Conway was very hard country to ride over being full of holes. Sometimes several sheep would be fast in these holes, and had to be lifted out. Conway was on Rosella Creek, but I forgot who owned it then. The teams camped here a night, the sheep being a day ahead, the two drivers and myself with them. After dark, one of the drivers, a big, fat fellow, not long out from London, went across to the hole for water. Hearing a fearful yell from him, we rushed to our firearms, and ran in his direction, thinking the blacks were murdering him. To our surprise, we found him heels up in one of the big water-worn holes. The two of us got him out, and, finding he wasn't hurt, couldn't help laughing at such a predicament. Passing on towards Mount McConnell, we crossed country where a lot of gold, silver and asbestos was afterwards found, but all very barren country for stock. On a little creek near Mount McConnell, I saw the first wild black. He was busy, several feet up a big box tree, hanging on by his big toes and the point of fingers, chopping a hole in the tree with his stone tomahawk. His back towards me, he did not notice me, so I stood some distance away watching him. Presently he finished the hole, put his hand into it, after dropping the tomahawk, and pulled out a opossum, knocked him against the tree, threw him down, and then came down himself. As he landed on terra firma, I gave a big yell, and pretended I was rush to him on horseback. He turned round and then rushed off like lightning, leaving 'possum and weapon behind. How he could cut a neat hole, inches deep in a hard tree standing up in his own notches with a stone tomahawk was beyond belief till I saw the operation.