From time to time a pack horse would sink down behind, irretrievably bogged. In such a case he would wait patiently, knowing that struggling made matters worse, until the packer and his mate came to his assistance. They would lever him up with poles, and whenever they shouted, he would make his effort.
Sometimes they would unload, to give him a chance to extricate himself. Then the packs were put on again, and a general start made. Such men would probably have ten or twelve horses and mules walking loose—often with not even a bridle on.
The charge made was at the rate of threepence a pound—roughly twenty-five pounds a ton—from Strahan to the “field,” in those early days. The only variation from the dense forest was that of the “button grass” country. This was composed of open flats covered with a tufted plant, similar to the Xanthorrhea or grass tree—only wanting the elongated spear-like seed stalk. No animal eats the button grass; it is worthless for fodder alive or dead.
What sights on the road they saw! Men and boys, with an odd woman or two, struggling through the mud in the soaking, drizzling rain! Men wheeling barrows with their tools, swags and belongings generally. Men harnessed to small carts, tugging them along. Four Germans drew a small wheeled truck, which they had made themselves, and a staunch team they were. So practised had some of the early prospecting parties become that (Tregonwell said) they plied a paying trade of packing on their own backs to outside claims, where pack tracks for horses had not yet been cut. These men would carry from eighty to a hundred pounds, walking the journey of thirty miles in two days. The charge was a shilling a pound. They would walk back “empty” in one day. If it seemed high pay, it was hard work. Climbing hills of fifteen hundred feet and going down the other side with that crushing weight of bacon or flour taxed a man’s strength, condition and pluck. Tregonwell said you could always pick out the packers in a crowd after they had been a year or two at it. They invariably “stood over” at the knees, like old cab horses, from the strain of steadying themselves down hill with heavy weights up.
“Many a time, when the field first opened” (said Tregonwell), “have I walked beside one of these men the day through, carrying only my blankets and a change, not weighing more than fifteen pounds; my packer companion would carry his fifty to eighty pounds up the long hills with comparative ease, passing me, if I didn’t look out, pulling up, too, quite fresh at night, while I could scarcely stagger into camp; yet I could outdo, easily, any other amateur on the field.”
Some original inventions Blount noted outside of his gradually extending colonial experience. Each camp had a “fly” pitched permanently over the fire-place to keep the endless rain from putting it out. “Kindling” wood was kept under this fly, so that it was always in readiness. After the fire was well started, green or wet wood could be put on and would burn well.
Tregonwell, having once started, said that he soon got into form, improving in pace and condition daily. He expatiated on the keen enjoyment of the hot meal at the end of the day’s journey, rude as might be the appliances and primitive the cookery. The meal was chiefly composed of tinned meat, stewed or curried, with bacon added for flavour; and freshly-made damper, or “Johnny cakes,” to follow. The change of garments was to dry pyjamas, with a blanket wrapped round the wearer.
It was, he stated, a luxurious, half-tired, languorous but fully-satisfied feeling, the sensation of mind and body essential to the fullest enjoyment of tobacco. Then the yarns of the old prospectors, grizzled, sinewy, iron-nerved veterans! Where had they not been? California in ’49, Ballarat in ’51, pioneers of Lambing Flat, at the big rush, Omeo, Bendigo, New Zealand, West Coast, 25,000 men on the field in a week; those were the times to see life! Queensland, Charters Towers, Gympie, New Guinea, the Gulf, ah! “This Zeehan racket’s a bit of a spirt; but talk of mining! It’s dead now, dead, sir, and buried. Those were the days!” The dauntless pioneer fills another pipe and falls into a reverie of cheap-won gold, reckless revelry, wherein perils by land or sea, danger, ay, and death, would seem to have been inextricably mingled.
A strange race, the prospectors, sui generis. Hardly a spot on the globe was there which these men had not searched for the precious metals. Distance, climate, are nothing, less than nothing, in their calculations, once let the fact be established of a payable silver or gold “field.” Landing in Australia in the early fifties, they had worked on every field before mentioned, and are still ready to join the rush for any country under heaven should gold happen to “break out.” Klondyke, Argentina, South Africa, all equally eligible once the ancient lure is held out. They often put together a few thousand pounds in the early days of a rich goldfield, their wide experience and boundless energy making some measure of success certain. They may not drink, but all live luxuriously, even extravagantly, while the money lasts, possibly for a few years, then go back to their roving, laborious life. They generally make enough on each field to carry them to the ends of the earth, if necessary, and it is mostly so from their point of view. When funds are low, they can, and do, live cheaply; will work hard and do long journeys on the scantiest fare. Natural bushmen, often Australian-born; from this type of man, above all others, a regiment might be formed of “Guides” or “Scouts,” ready to fight stubbornly in any war of the future; would hunt, harry, and run to earth De Wet, or other slippery Boer, if given the contract and a “free hand.”
Harking back to his experiences—“That wild West Coast,” continued Tregonwell, “was a place to remember—the wooded ranges piled one upon another, as far as eye could reach, in shape, height, timber, or colouring hardly differing in any essential particular; yet the noted prospectors never lost themselves. Stopping for weeks at a likely ‘show,’ as long as the bacon and flour held out, they avoided all settlements or mining centres on the way. The first prospector, George Bell, carried a lump of galena of forty pounds’ weight in his swag right through from Zeehan to Mount Bischoff. For a distance of fifty miles he went straight between the two points without a road or track being cut for him.”