The Palmer Goldfield Early Day's.

THE PALMER GOLDFIELD

EARLY DAY EXPERIENCES

By William Hill



I must recall the fact that the famous Palmer Goldfield was opened up in November 1873 when Howard St. George and A. C. Macmillan arrived from the South, by way of the Endeavour River, with a party of diggers and Government officials. Then the big rush set in, which continued for about two years. I relieved Warden Coward in April 1876, and my camp was at Byerstown, halfway between Cooktown and Maytown. My staff included a C.P.S., three orderlies, and three black trackers, with a liberal supply of horses.

The wily Chinese tried every dodge to evade payment of mining fees, and would cheat you, if possible, with spurious gold. I had on several occasions to round up and arrest mobs of from one hundred to one hundred and fifty, escort them miles to my camp, and then draft them out like sheep, retaining their swags until they found ten shillings. Sometimes we were kept up all night by small mobs coming to the camp to redeem their property, which the C.P.S. had duly docketed, giving the owner a duplicate ticket. I carried a long, light chain on a pack horse, with seventy-five pairs of hand-cuffs attached, so I had accommodation for one hundred and fifty, and on camping, we opened one part of the chain and secured the lot round a tree.

We were often on duty away among the ranges, for two or three weeks at a stretch, rounding up the outside camps and scooping in revenue. This was most distressing work for men and beasts for we had to travel for miles up the bed of the Palmer River, in a gorge between ranges, struggling over boulders, in terrific heat. We were rarely free from fever, and I had sometimes to lie down in the dust on the main road, shivering like an aspen leaf for an hour or two, and after this came a raging fever which often made a man delirious. We were in frequent peril from the blacks, who were constantly on the watch, ever on the alert, and a very strange cannibal lot they were. We had invariably to keep a strict watch all night, when camping out.

A clever swindle was perpetrated while I was on the Palmer by a very old offender, who was very smart, but not smart enough for old Constable Clohesy. This man procured an unused one-hundred cheque book, and having provided himself with red braid, a pen and a bottle of ink, he rigged himself up as a Warden’s Orderly, stuck up Chinese on the road, and issued to them what they took to be genuine Miners’ Rights, receiving ten shillings each. He victimised over sixty unsuspecting Chinese, and then rode to Cooktown, timing himself to catch the steamer going South. But Clohesy was one too many for him, and nabbed him just as the gangway was being pulled in.

As Wardens, we were often wrongfully accused of cutting off the Chinamen’s tails; but I remember when the then Premier was visiting Cooktown, he had to cross a hand bridge, and was amazed to see three genuine pig tails; recently cut off, hanging on each side of the handrail. But this was the work of some of the anti-Chinese Cooktown larrikins.

My billet was a good one, but my salary was well earned, when I tell you that during the nineteen months I worked on the Palmer, my collections for Miners’ Rights and business licenses amounted to the sum of £5,707. I was the first Warden to visit Thornborough on the new Hodgkinson Goldfield. My chief Orderly was Bill Norris, who was afterwards at Charters Towers. He and I swam the Mitchell River in high flood. Previously we stopped a mob of two thousand men at Byerstown, who were waiting for the river to go down before continuing their march. In three days I returned with the opinion that the new field was a rank duffer, as far as alluvial was concerned. This report saved a lot of hardships and misery.

Gambling was an awful curse on the Palmer. Chinamen were fleeced of their money and were then compelled to resort to crime in order to get an existence. We did our best to improve matters, and made several exciting raids on the gambling houses. The black troopers took infinite delight in this sort of work; and it was very funny after a big haul to see the troopers lugging six or eight Chinese in each hand, and holding them by the pigtails.

One night I reserved for myself the duty of tackling the Boss, a man I wanted badly. When we made our rush, I vaulted over the heads of the crowd around the table and gripped the man. All the lights went out, but I stuck to the Boss and got a hitch on him. Someone kicked me on the ankle, and I was crippled for nearly a month. On the night in question, nineteen of us captured over sixty. When we escorted the lot over to the camp, I had to be carried on the back of a big black trooper. Next morning I fined the lot ten pounds each, giving my kicking Boss the extra privilege of contributing fifty pounds. All the fines were paid.

One night, during the time a large number of people were camped at Byerstown, waiting for the Mitchell to go down, I was in a sound sleep in my tent, and awakened by an awful scream. Norris heard it too. So we aroused the camp and some of the Police, and after a time, an unfortunate woman was found lying on the ground in a small tent, with her arm completely chopped off below the shoulder. The wretch who did this was never found; but I believe that the woman eventually recovered.

On another occasion a man was stabbed through the heart by his mate, and no motive could be discovered. Then a store was ransacked by the blacks and the storekeeper was butchered. Scores of other exciting incidents made life on the Palmer active enough, and one had always to be prepared for emergencies.

I often met Jack Hamilton, who was practising as a medico. He had a private hospital at Maytown, and a story is told that a bully came a long way to punch Jack. But he caught a Tartar and got an awful thrashing. Then he had to go to Hamilton’s Hospital to be cured and pay up for all expenses.

Early in 1877 I visited Warden Sellheim at Maytown. His camp was a mile from the township, and the first morning there I rode with him to his office, and on the road we met a constable who was riding out with the sad news that Sub-Inspector F… had just shot himself. We went at once and broke open the door of the poor fellow’s office, to find he had discharged a rifle into his mouth, his head being blown to pieces. I noticed two holes in the iron roof, one of which was made by the bullet, and the other we found out afterwards was made by a piece of the skull being blown clean through the iron, as I found the piece on the roof.

Another sad scene I witnessed when about to camp at the bottom of the hill. Our horses were all unsaddled when we heard terrible cries, and saw a man staggering down the hill, several blacks chasing him, but Norris, Vick and I were soon in full cry, and a few of the myalls lost the number of their mess. The man had a spear through him, and though we managed to extract it, he died shortly afterwards.

Passing from grave to gay, let me here relate a laughable fish yarn that actually happened to W. O. Hodgkinson, the late lamented Crown Minister, explorer, politician, editor, and versatile writer. My Camp at Byerstown was situated on the top of a steep bank overhanging a small creek, which after heavy rain was full of large bream. Hodgkinson, who had tried his luck in this hole before, arrived at my camp late one night, when we were all away on patrol. After having tea, he threw his fishing line over the bank, and was soon rewarded with some palpable bites, but not being able to hook anything, he gave it up after a time, rebaited his hook and left the line set.

Early next morning, on going to secure a prize, he found the creek was dry! The bites had come from small sand goannas!

Regarding Hodgkinson’s exploring, I was at Georgetown when he made his famous start to explore the north-west country, from Cloncurry to the South Australian boundary in 1876. Tremendous preparations were made, and excitement and whisky ran high when we were wishing the party bon voyage. After a month or so of privations, the party reached what they had hoped to find a magnificent stretch of splendid country, which they decided to christen the “Oswald,” but instead of finding new country, the poor travel-worn party arrived at a well-appointed station, with a comfortable house, piano, tennis court, and plenty of bottled beer! We did not hear much about this particular trip afterwards, but they traced the Diamantina to the border, and went from the Cloncurry mine to Lake Coongi in South Australia, the whole journey lasting from 13 April 1876 to 27 September 1876. The party included W. Carr-Boyd (“Potjostler”), Kayser, Norman Macleod, and a black trooper named “Larry.” Hodgkinson wrote a very interesting report of the expedition.

Townsend, the officer in charge of the Native Police camp at the Laura, was a character, a good-hearted “fool-to-himself” sort of fellow, and many a long, rough ride we have had together, as I was authorised to requisition his detachment when on any special or urgent duty. We frequently passed hordes of Chinamen heavily loaded, in single file, carrying goods to the Chinese merchants at Maytown, and I have seen them carry over two hundredweight on a bamboo across their shoulders, under a blazing Palmer sun, twenty miles a day. They often collapsed and died on the road, and we had to gallop on to find their mates whom we had actually to force them off the road!

Townsend had three fine dogs in his camp, christened J.C., H.G., and V.M., and when these animals died he had good fences erected round their graves, with headstones inscribed “Sacred to the memory of…” on the lot! Probably these extraordinary graves are still in existence.

Only for the influx of Chinamen the Palmer would have given profitable employment to thousands of Europeans for many years. The hordes of Chinese, at one time about twenty thousand, absolutely worked out the bed of the river. The amount of gold obtained by them was enormous, and thousands of ounces of gold were taken back to China privately, as one of the Boss Chinamen told me he sent home at least one thousand ounces a month for some considerable time, and I believe him.

Just to show how easily gold was got on the Palmer, I was in my office one morning when a European miner came in for a Miner’s Right. He told me he was going prospecting, and next morning the same man came to me and asked if I would put a bag into my safe for a time. He said, “It’s a few specimens I got yesterday in about three hours.” He said he was up a gully looking for his horses and found that one of them had kicked a large stone over, disclosing a nest of nuggets. I asked him how much he got, and he replied, “Weigh the lot, sir, please.” And I did, and found the lot weighed one hundred and seventy-nine (179) ounces three (3) pennyweights, the smallest piece weighing seventeen (17) pennyweights. The nuggets were lovely to look at, all water worn and of the most fantastic shapes. One “beauty” was exactly thirteen and a half ounces.

When the banks decided to open branches at Maytown, I had the whole staff of four banks camped with me for two or three days. The managers were Alfred Halloran, Cecil Becke, Paddy Shields, and McClardy, all old friends. Each brought three or four assistants, so the party of fifteen made things hum, also a considerable hole in my larder and store of medical comforts. It paid me well though, for not only had I a very good time, but it seems one of their pack horses, loaded with tinned meats and other luxuries, knocked up about ten miles from my camp, so they left the load a bit off the road for anyone to appropriate. Needless to say, Norris and a tracker were soon away and secured the lot.

My work having been so severe, and the continual attacks of fever telling at last on my constitution, I hailed with delight my transfer back to my old home at Ravenswood, as Police Magistrate and Warden. Before leaving the Palmer the Chinese gave me a tremendous send-off, letting off a cart load of crackers, but whether for joy or sorrow at my departure is still an unsolved problem.

great read quiet bloke, wouldnt ya just love to go back to experience it stu

Mate thats great writing really bro, your input is well good mate.

Keep up the great posts mate

Pete

I wish I could take the credit, but the writing is from William Hill.

Read Hector Holthouse's book "River of Gold"
It's a good read about the history of the Palmer

Robert

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Thanks goldnomad I will chase a copy down today, I have Gympie Gold and enjoyed that.


Checkout the link below, it was put on finders by David De Havilland ( patches1 ) and it might interest a few blokes who travell up that way.


http://www.thunting.com/smf/legendary_treasures/lost_gold_mines_of_the_palmer_river-t11350.0.html

Ebay is handy sometimes, after goldnomads suggestion on River of Gold, went over to ebay and bought a near new copy from a powerseller, looking forward to reading it.



HECTOR HOLTHOUSE River of Gold The Wild Days of the Palmer River Gold Rush P/B


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