GOLD-SEEKERS OF THE FIFTIES. ROMANCE OF DIGGINGS' LIFE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2362, 1 June 1899, Page 45

GOLD-SEEKERS OF THE FIFTIES. ROMANCE OF DIGGINGS' LIFE.

FINDING OF FIERY CREEK.

(Melbourne Argus.)

When old-time miners talk of rushes and reminiscences there is invariably mention of Fiery Creek. Yet Fiery Creek is not really Fiery Creek at all. The real creek of that name is some miles away from the scene of the celebrated rush, though it is now quite too late to remedy the error. The Golden Fiery Creek is a part of history ; the other babbles over its pebbles forgotten or re-named. It was Mr Andrew Thunder, late of Bendigo, and now on his way to England, who found Fiery Creek, and he tells the story of the discovery with remarkable detail after so many years.

" I had been working at the Yam Holes," Mr Thunder said, " now the town of Beaufort. We had just finished washing up a swamp there, which gave us good gold from about 700 loads, and as there was little else doing I harnessed up my horse and made a bee-line through the bush for Mount Cole, where I heard men were prospecting and getting good gold. I was driving slowly up a gully near the Dividing Range, when my ear caught the unmistakable sound of a miner's cradle well up on the spur to one side. It was only a few miles from Yam Holes, and we had never heard of diggers being out there. Everything with the least air of mystery about it was a matter to be investigated. I fastened the horse and went up the spur, guided by the ' dumpedy dump ' of the cradle. An old man was cradling the surface stuff, while three lads — his sons evidently — carried water up in buckets from the creek. 'Hello, mate! what luck? ' He looked at me, made no answer, but went on with his cradling. I offered a few observations upon nothing in particular, but the cradle kept on rocking. He was not one of the silent solitaries, who were common enough on the old diggings in after years. I saw that he had made up his mind not to say a Avord, and I was glad of it. Had he been making tucker only he would have talked volubly, cursed his luck, and probably other people's fortune.

"I was digger enough to know that if this old man away upon the range was getting gold enough to make him keep his lips closed tight, there must be better gold still down below in the gully. I gave up Mount Cole on the instant, and picked a glade on ths other side of the gully as a camping place. I was putting up the teDt, when I saw a man going down the range towards Yam Holes, who, from his walk, I recognised as one of a party of Yorkshiremen — all decent fellows. I cooed, and he came down. He had been over at Mount Cole prospecting, but had abandoned it. I told him of the old man and his cradle, and advised him to bring out his mates. There was lots of room. For some four miles along one spot was as likely as another. Early next morning I sunk a hole in the gully, and as soon as I bottomed on the wash at about Bft I could see the gold sticking in it. I bad got 6oz to the ton before, but this looked much better. As I went up to the tact that night I heard a cart going down the spur. It was the Yam Holes baker, who had been out to the original Fiery Creek. ' Tell every man in the Yam Holes," I said, ' that Thunder has found good gold on the creek. Tell them to hurry out. Tell everyone.' They sent the bellman round with the glad tidings, and early next morning came the first of the rush — the hundred men from Yam Holes. In a few weeks there were 60,000 miners on the creek. It was as though a fiery cross from Fiery Creek had been sent through every diggings in Australia. The wondering old prospector up the ridge left his cradle and his scratching and came down to delve for the rich alluvial in the gullies.

" Amongst the first rush that came was a young Cornishman, Charlie Thomas, a splendidly-built fellow, and a good man to have alongside one I knew in the fight for claims that would assuredly follow. 'Go down and look at the wash,' I said ; 'then tell the others what you see.' When he came up his shining eyes told their own story. ' There's a grand show,' he said excitedly; 'you've hit it.' There was an instant rush for claims. I took Charlie Thomas for a mate, and though ours was far from being the richest ground, we did well. Within a week or so the struggle for claims on Fiery Creek was so great that I have seen as many as 15 fights in a day. It was the universal way of settling disputes, and a most unfair one, since might became right, and justice was for the pugilist first. The fights rarely lasted for more than a few rounds, and scores stood about to see fair play. When the fight was over the dispute was over — and there was seldom bad blood afterwards. The beaten man, however good his case in

equity, just went away to try his luck elsewhere. It often happened, indeed, that the hiding he got was the best bit of luck that ever happened him.

"The uncertainty of mining is its 1 charm, sometimes its mortification. Let me give you an instance. Charlie and I had worked 16 hours a day at our claim, until we had the boundaries ditched so that no one outside could drive into our ground. We moved our tents from the glade I have mentioned to the other side of the gully, and had barely done so when a party of seven Italians came down the range and wanted to pitch alongside me. I had to warn them off, as they were on my ground. I moved them out, therefore, to one of the richest patches on Fiery Creek. Although it was Sunday, they had barely got 'their tent pitched when they set to work sinking a hole on a little hillock, the most unlikelylooking spot, perhaps, on all Fiery Creek. There, a few feet down, they got pockets of coarse, lumpy gold, in slugs of 2oz and 3oz. They had a five-gallon keg sunk in tfcua

ground, and into this they put the gold as they got it, one of them with a loaded musket marching up and down to keep guard over it. They tried the experiment of escorting their own gold, going away quietly in the night, otherwise they would never have got off with it, for many gold-seekers in those days preferred to let others do the digging, and get the gold themselves at pistol's point afterwards. There was a prejudice against these Italians from the first, solely because they began work on a Sunday. There was a curious mixture of morality and lawlessness on a new rush in those days. Men who would not hesitate about robbing a digger more lucky than themselves would never dream of working their claims on a Sunday. It was not hypocrisy either — just sheer force of public opinion in an unwritten law. One might wash his clothes, cook, and do tent work of any kind on a Sunday, but he must not dig. That was Sabbath desecration, and made any miner who tried it an outcast. There was only one more detestable thing, and that was theft, but it was a very rare crime on Fiery Creek. One night a big nigger was caught robbing the tents. A court was constituted, and the judges ordered him to have 12 lashes with the cat-o'-nine-tails. A runaway sailor, who was, perhaps, intimate with the cat himself, made one specially for the punishment ; the nigger was triced up naked to a tree, and given his sentence. A remarkable incident followed. The thief, as soon as he was released, fell upon his knees and thanked the assembled diggers for being so merciful to him. He had expected nothing less than death.

"There is lots of gold still left round about Fiery Creek, as well as on other oldtime rushes. Irf those days men had the gold fever too badly to exercise cold common sense. They just scratched a bit, giving the place iRa look of having been prospected, and hurried away, ever chasing some tantalising rumour that, like a will-o'-the-wisp, lured them always on. Twelve years ago, as I was thinking over the old days at Fiery Creek, it struck me that the lay of the reef was diagonally across the gully, and I had never heard of anyone following it over the divide. So I got a mate and went back to old scenes. Across the divide I found hillocks and holes. Someone had been over the ground, but on looking I saw grit in the pipeclay, and knew they had never bottomed. We went down to the true bottom, found a narrow golden gutter with beautiful wash, the quartz in little round water-worn pebbles. Yet, through 311 unfortunate mischance, we lost a claim there that has since turned out well.

" It was while we were on the Yam Holes that the Eureka riot was fomenting in Ballarat. Delegates came across, and a big florid Yankee mounted a stump and talked sedition and the glories of independence. Amongst^ the listeners was a bluff, big-hearted, big-limbed, illiterate man called Jim the Russian, from his tendency to start away for every new rush. As soon as the Yankee had finished he jumped on the stump and cried out, 'Listen to me. I'm a runaway sailor, and if the Queen wanted men to-morrow I'm there. English, Irish, and Scotch are all the same — but no foreigners. I challenge you to taks a man from the Yam Holes. I'll fight the lot o' you first.' It was a bluff, manly speech, and took the fancy of the diggers. Not a man went to Ballarat, though there was cause enough for grumbling. One night the Russian was taunting the Italians, and they mobbed him. Charlie Thomas and I went to his rescue. There were 15 of them round kicking at him, but when he got on his feet again he bowled over seven of them like lightning. It was the grandest fight I ever saw on Fiery Creek. He was in upon them like a tornado, smashing right and left, and I realised then that sailors are great fighters.

STANDING OFF BUSHRANGERS

" It is an American phrase, that ' standing off,' but I know no better way of describing the tactics of diggers in holding their own against the lawless gangs that were scattered over the country, preying an the gold-seekers. It was in 1852 that I was one of a party of 20 diggers, passing through the Black Forest, always a favourite haunt of these ruffians, on the wwar3 r to the Ovens. Before we started the police warned us that we were being watched. 'Look out in the Black Forest,' they said, f and don't let any men come near you. Challenge them at 50 yards, and warn them to stand off.' 'And if they still come on?' I said. ' Then fire upon them ! ' It w*s Young Bendigo's gang of about 15, and we were pretty sure that they were dogging us through the forest, but our disposition gave them no chance. We had three men out ahead, three in the rear, and three on each side, and the rest with the horses— their own plan of action. We came upon them suddenly, but each stood off and watched the other. The chance was not good enough for the bushrangers. They liked something with less risk. We saw nothing of them again until or.c night we were camped upon the Goulburn. We had pitched our camp amongst the lagoons, in such a way that it could only be approached on one side. I was on sentry at the neck during the night, when I saw the bush--rangers, with their led horses, coming down quietly through the trees. Passing the word to the men to be ready, I challenged, and told them to keep off ; this was our camp, they must come no closer. The leader, Young Bendigo, with many cho>de epithets on new chums, said he wouta go where he pleased. ' Anywhere you please but into this camp,' I said ; ' if you come a yard nearer I'll fire.' Then my mates quietly stepped out of their tents into the moonlight, with their weapons ready, and formed up in two lines, in open order. Again it was too much for Young Bendigo, and, leaving a track of lurid blasphemy behind them, they went their way. " Next day they crossed the river, and, getting drunk at the wayside shanty, sent a vainglorious challenge to the police to come out and fight them. The challenge was accepted with much more promptitude than they had expected. A posse of troopeis rushed them suddenly with batons, smashed them up badly, and three of the gang then captured were afterwards hanged,'*