Pioneering Days: Thrilling Incidents

On reaching Mount McConnell we heard the blacks were in large mobs ahead and very aggressive, killing stock and attacking the men on Natal Downs. Mr. Kellell, manager and part-owner of Natal, was at the Mount trying to get help from there to disperse the black assailants, and told us to be very watchful traveling up the Cape, especially at night, when the niggers were more likely to make a raid. Leaving Mount McConnell we got to the Cape River at its junction with the Belyando, and we followed it up to the junction of Amelia Creek. The Cape at that time held splendid waterholes right along, but, like Suttor many years after I could hardly find a hole: all sand, but plenty of water a short distance underneath. Natal Downs being off the river, we did not see it. Neither did we see any blacks, but plenty of tracks. Coming in Amelia Creek we followed it up for some distance, and then on to Billy Webb's Lake--only a fair sized waterhole. Within a mile or so beyond the lake was a belt of poison bush. The stock had to be carefully and hurriedly driven through this belt. Camping at the lake, next morning we rushed the sheep through in a canter, lock after flock, and did not lose a sheep. The track was white, however with the skeletons of a former lot, where some thousands succumbed to eating this bush. These sheep belonged to Alexander a Burnett squatter and were in the charge of Reginald Halloran, who took the remainder of the mob down below Donor's Hills, and settled on country there. Leaving Webb's Lake, our trouble commenced for want of water till we got to Flinders. The longest dry stage was, however, 35 miles, and the weather being cool, we negotiated the distance fairly easy. The last water before reaching the Flinders was in a creek called Skeleton which I suppose ran into the Landsborough. On this creek I spent a peculiar night. The teams came on and camped were the track crossed the creek. It was near dark when the teams were unyoked, and the water was some three or four miles below us. The fat driver and myself started down for the water with the bullocks and horses. The creek was as crocked as a ram's horn, and very scrubby in places. The night was dark and cloudy, so we hardly knew where we were going. However the animals were perishing for water, and apparently knew by instinct that water was ahead of them. On they went, clinging closely to the creek, while we simply followed the bells. All at once we came on the water, and a big mob of blacks with no end of fires camped on the banks. The bullocks and horses marched unconcernedly right through their camps, and rushed in to the hole. The niggers made tracks at full speed, knocking against the scrubby bushes in their flight, and sending showers of sparks flying from their fire sticks. Now the question arose, "What were we two to do?" My companion, who was the most frightened man of blacks I had ever met, wanted to start back to the camp at once. That was easier said than done on such a dark night, for if we got off the crooked creek we might never get on it again, and if we went to strike cross for the creek, we might pass it without seeing it, being almost invisible at times with daylight. Although quite secure from an attack there, Denis began weeping, wailing and raving all night, getting madder and more mad, wanting my revolver to shoot himself before the blacks would kill and eat him, as he was sure they would, and so on. How glad I was when daylight appeared, and this madman was again sensible.

We struck the Flinders somewhere about opposite where Prairie is now. I know there were some open downs and plains about it, for the next morning after we reached the river, I went out at daylight with one of the drivers to muster up the bullocks and horses. The morning was mild, and I was only rigged in thin moleskin pants and a Scotch twill shirt. I suppose through sheer cussedness, the animals scattered themselves as much as possible, for long before we got to camp with them, a cold westerly win blew up--my first experience of the downs' chilly breezes, which nearly perished me, although not so very long away from "Caledonia's stormy breezes."