I was now over 600 miles from Perth, the capital, and had reached the very last township in the Mount Margaret district.
Erlistoun is another rising mining place, where there have recently been some rich finds. It is 60 miles from Laverton. Several old prospectors have been there for years, and have quite lost the customs of civilisation, so much so, that one old man called Jack, on hearing that one of the miners had brought his wife to the Erlistoun, and that she, having a goat, had brought it up with her (at a terrible inconvenience, as you may imagine), in order to have fresh milk in her tea, remarked: “I shall pack my swag and go farther back, now that women and goats are arriving here; this is no place for me.”
I saw some marvellous specimens, more gold than quartz, from the Erlistoun, and should not be surprised to hear any day of a tremendous rush there. Consignments of plump wildfowl from beyond Mount Black and the Erlistoun are frequently sent to Perth, and the country about is said to be very fine.
The Craig-i-more was the scene of my next mining visit. This mine belongs to Sir Donald Currie, and, like most in this district, is worked at the expense of the owners without the aid of the outside public as shareholders. The machinery is very fine. I found the people most hospitable; they made tea for me, and one of the managers presented me with several valuable native weapons and curiosities, which I was proud to add to the already fine collection in my pretty home at Claremont.
Next day I set out to drive myself to the Euro Mine, about 12 miles from Laverton, and refused all offers of escort, wishing to explore the country myself. All went well for about seven miles, then I came to two roads, did not know which to take, and of course took the wrong one. After going on for about a mile the track grew very indistinct; I found I was on the wrong one, and presently lost it altogether. However, knowing by the sun that I was now going quite in the opposite direction, I turned round, found the track, and determined to trust to luck and keep to the left. When I had gone on for about a mile the track began to get very indistinct, again being woven into others in a most confusing way. The wind having risen made it also very dusty and disagreeable. I now felt completely lost, but drove on hoping to strike a road once more. Presently, a few yards to my right, there appeared a huge “willy willy.” It interested and amused me at first, but presently it whirled nearer, too near for my fancy and also to suit my horse, who needed no urging on. Surely I heard a shriek. No! it was only the horrid “willy willy”; then began a race, and “willy willy” was edging nearer. I turned my horse’s head and let him gallop in the opposite direction; “willy willy” had turned too and was following us. Half mad with fright I gave my horse his head, who, by-the-by, took a small rut as if he were out with hounds, the buggy and poor I taking it also. But where was “willy willy?” Right away back, slowly dying (perhaps of laughter at giving us such a fright). I slackened speed, and, looking around, was surprised to find that we were nearly back at the Junction. We had struck the road again somehow, the horse, perhaps, knowing his way better than I did. After all, “willy willy” had done us a good turn. “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” I said to myself as I straightened my hat and drove sedately down the road.
MINERS’ CAMP, LAVERTON