Day 39 | Southern Cross: the whole road show hobbles into town, back wheel wobbly

69 km | zzOz total: 1,927 km

I’d read about the town Southern Cross in its early days in a book Sand and Spinifex. Written by David Carnegie it takes some beating for interest and turn of phrase as he recounted his adventures when joining the gold rush crowds from 1893 – 96.

“Southern Cross, which came into existence about the year ’90, was a pretty busy place, being the last outpost of civilisation at the time of our first acquaintance with it. The now familiar corrugated-iron-built town, with its streets inches deep in dust under a blazing sun, its incessant swarms of flies, the clashing of the ‘stamps’ on the mines, and the general ‘never-never’ appearance of the place, impressed us with feelings the reverse of pleasant. The building that struck me most was the bank – a small iron shanty with a hession partition dividing it into office and living room, the latter a hopeless chaos of cards, candle ends, whiskey bottles, blankets, safe keys, gold specimens, and cooking utensils. The bank manager had evidently been entertaining a little party of friends the previous night, and though its hours had passed, and a new day had dawned, the party still continued. Since that time it has been my lot to witness more than one such evening of festivity!”

Transportation was primitive:

“A very dilapidated buckboard-buggy drawn by equally dilapidated horses, used to do the journey from the Southern Cross to the new fields very nearly as quickly as a loaded waggon with eight or ten horses! The mail-coach used to carry not only letters, papers, and gold on the return journey, but passengers, who served the useful purposes of dragging the carriage through the sand and dust when the horses collapsed, of hunting up the team in the mornings, and of lightening the load by walking. For this exceedingly comfortable journey they had the pleasure of paying at least £5. It was no uncommon sight at some tank or rock on the road, to see the mail-coach standing alone in its glory, deserted by driver and passengers alike. Of these some would be horse-hunting, and the rest tramping ahead in hope of being caught up by the coach. There would often be on board many hundred pounds’ worth of gold, sent down by the diggers to be banked, or forwarded to their families; yet no instance of robbing the mail occurred. The sort of gentry from whom bushrangers and thieves are made, had not yet found their way to the rush.”

His prospecting efforts were not initially successful:

“During that drought-stricken Christmas-time my mate was down at the ‘Cross’, trying to carry through some business by which our coffers might be replenished; for work how we would on alluvial or quartz reefs, no gold could we find. That we worked with a will, the remark made to me by an old fossicker will go to show. After watching me ‘belting away’ at a solid mass of quartz for some time without speaking, ‘Which,’ said he, ‘is the hammer-headed end of your pick?’ Then shaking his head, ‘Ah! I could guess you were a Scotchman – brute force and blind ignorance!’ He then proceeded to show me how to do twice the amount of work at half the expenditure of labour.”

Food was in short supply and Christmas dinner required innovation:

“Having spread the table – that is, swept the floor clear of ants and other homely insects – and laid out the feast, I rose to my knees and proposed the health of my old friend and comrade Mr. Davies, wished him the compliments of the season, and expressed a hope that we should never spend a worse Christmas. The toast was received with cheers and honoured in weak tea, brewed from the re-dried leaves of our last night’s meal. He suitably replied, and cordially endorsed my last sentiment. After duly honouring the toasts of ‘The Ladies’, ‘Absent Friends’, and others befitting the occasion, we fell to on the frugal feast.

“For the benefit of thrifty housewives, as well as those whom poverty has stricken, I respectfully recommend the following recipe. For dried apples: Take a handful, chew slightly, swallow, fill up with warm water and wait. Before long a feeling both grateful and comforting, as having dined not wisely but too heavily, will steal over you. Repeat the dose for luncheon and tea.”

Eventually supplies came in:

“Our discomforts were soon over, however, for Lord Douglas hearing that I was in a starving condition, hastened from the ‘Cross’, not heeding the terrible accounts of the track, bringing with him a supply of the staple food of the country, ‘Tinned Dog’ – as canned provisions are designated.”

Every now and again rumours of new, rich, fields swept through:

“The rumours of a new find so long bandied about at length came true. Billy Frost had found a thousand! two thousand!! three thousand ounces!!! – who knew or cared? – on the margin of a large salt lake some ninety miles north of Coolgardie. Frost has since told me that about twelve ounces of gold was all he found, And, after all, there is not much difference between twelve and three thousand – that is on a mining field.”

Unfortunately the fortunes were all being made by others:

“Dame Fortune was good to some, but to us, like many others, she turned a deaf ear, and after many weeks’ toil we had to give up the battle, for neither food, money, nor gold had we. All I possessed was the pony, and from that old friend I could not part. The fruits of our labours, or I should say my share in them, I sent home in a letter, and the few pin’s-heads of gold so sent did not necessitate any extra postage.”

Later David Carnegie stumbled upon the Lake Darlot gold field when returning from an exploring venture. He made a small fortune from selling his claim and used the proceeds to equip one of the last great Australian explorations: hacking a diagonal across the biggest blank remaining on the Australian map, through the Great Sandy and Gibson Deserts from Kalgoorlie to Halls Creek and back, a 4830 kilometre, (3000 mile), journey that took 13 months. Not a bad effort for a 25 year old.

I’m having a journey of a different kind tomorrow: without the bike and off to Perth for a new wheel. It’s a bit remarkable I staggered in here, the wobble is about an inch either way, but at least it was still going round even if I needed headphones to block out the grinding noise.