The sketch (O) shows the same stick turned three times.
PART VI
THE JOURNEY HOME
CHAPTER I
RETURN JOURNEY BEGINS
We left Hall's Creek, on our return journey, on March 22, 1897. Taking
the road to Flora Valley we passed Brockman - where, by the way, lives a
famous person, known by the unique title of "Mother Deadfinish." This
good lady is the most curious of her sex that I have ever seen; now a
little dried-up, wizened old woman of Heaven knows what age, she was in
her younger days a lady of wonderful energy. She came overland from
Queensland, accompanying her husband who, in the early days of the rush,
sought to turn an honest penny by the sale of "sly grog." However, he
died on the road, so his mourning widow carried through the job without
him, and successfully withstood the trials of the journey, including
heat, fever, and blacks. The latter were very numerous, and gave great
trouble to the early diggers, spearing their horses and very often the
men themselves. Many skirmishes ensued, and, so it is said, "Mother
Deadfinish" handled her Winchester with the best of them! Eventually
she arrived at the diggings, and has been there ever since, making a
living by the sale of goat's milk, fowls, eggs, and a few vegetables. She
is quite a character and worth talking to, but not always worth listening
to; for her language is notorious; indeed, it is a recognised form of
amusement for the diggers to bring into their conversation certain
topics, such as the Warden, or the Police, who are so especially
distasteful to her that ordinary language cannot express her feelings. In
the same way that a boy delights to stir up a monkey and hear him
chatter, the fossicker bent on recreation rouses the old lady to feats of
swearing far beyond the scope of most people. No man has yet been found
who could withstand her onslaught. I saw her angry once! She positively
alarmed me; the three witches in Macbeth thrown into one would be of no
account in comparison. Had she lived a century or two ago she would
infallibly have been burnt.
A few miles past the Brockman the auriferous country is cut off by what
is locally known as the "Sandstone" - a sheer, wall-like range named the
Albert Edward.
Just below the gorge where the Elvire River (a tributary of the Ord
River) breaks through the range is situated Flora Valley Cattle Station,
the property of the brothers Gordon. A charming little place, after the
rains; the homestead stands on a high bank above the river, here fringed
with high, shady trees. Beyond the homestead and the yards, a fine plain
of grass stretches out, surrounded by rough and rocky hills. As charming
as their little place were the owners, the most kind-hearted and
hospitable folk it is possible to imagine. Here we stayed a few days to
get some meat salted for our journey; nothing would satisfy the two
brothers but that they must find the finest bullock on their run, kill
it, and give it to us. Flora Valley is a great place for the blacks, who
live there in scores, camped by the river, and fed by the kind-hearted
squatters. Leaving the station and travelling South-East, our route lay
through a few low hills, and then we came out upon the Denison Downs,
most magnificent plains of grass.
The first few days of a journey are most unsettled, saddles do not fit,
packs will not ride, the animals will not agree, and dozens of like
annoyances. Our three new camels, Bluey, Hughie, and Wattie, were almost
unmanageable; for not only had they been running loose for some time, but
had never been well behaved or well looked after. Bluey was a dreadfully
wild brute, and all but brought Warri, who was riding him, to grief;
after bucking and plunging and trying all manner of tricks, he stampeded
at his fullest speed, with his head towards some overhanging branches,
under which he might have passed with impunity, but they must have
crushed Warri EN ROUTE.
Luckily I was just in time to get Highlander between the tree and the
camel, and so saved a nasty accident. Besides these small troubles,
Breaden and Godfrey were suffering agonies from "sandy blight," a sort of
ophthalmia, which is made almost unbearable by the clouds of flies, the
heat, the glare, and the dust. Breaden luckily was able to rest in a dark
room at Flora Valley and recovered, or at least sufficiently so to be
able to travel; Godfrey was very bad indeed, quite blind and helpless. At
night we pitched his mosquito-net for him - for these insects are simply
ravenous, and would eat one alive or send one mad in this part of the
country - and made him as comfortable as possible; in the morning, until I
had bathed his eyes with warm water he was blinded by the matter running
from them: then during the day he sat blindfolded on The Monk, one of the
horses - a most unpleasant condition for travelling.
Fortunately it was not for long, for soon we cut the Sturt Creek, and,
following it, reached the Denison Downs Homestead - the last settlement to
the southward, and I should say the most out-of-the-way habitation in
Australia of to-day. The nearest neighbours are nearly one hundred miles
by road, at Flora Valley; in every other direction there is a blank,
hundreds of miles in extent. A solitary enough spot in all conscience!
Yet for the last ten years two men have lived here, taking their chances
of sickness, drought, floods, and natives; raising cattle in peace and
contentment. Terribly rough, uncouth chaps, of course? Not a bit of
it! - two men, gentlemen by birth and education, one the brother of a
bishop, the other a man who started life as an artist in Paris.
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