GABRIEL’S GULLY

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 76, Issue 303, 23 December 1933, Page 6 (Supplement)

GABRIEL’S GULLY

EARLY COLONIAL LIFE THE DAYS OF COACHES AND HORSES Specially Written for the ‘’ Chronicle. By “ Surveyor."

When Gabriel Reid, a shepherd on the rough Tuapeka ranges of Otago, made known in June, JB6l, the successful result of his search for gold in a barren, inhospitable looking stream, p.fterwards so well known by the name of Gabriel’s Gully, the tidings caused an. immediate revolution in the humdrum, monotonous life of the pioneer settlers in all parts of the East Coast of the South Island. A great deal of time had already been spent, and much hardship undergone in the quest for “payable gold,’-’ before this date. There was plently of likely-looking country, and also plenty of false alarms raised, * and artful dodges set afoot with a view’ of kidnapping, either by fair means or foul, the substantial reward offered by the Provincial Government for the discovery of a payable goldfield, worthy of the name. Now the news that Gabriel Reid had "struck it rich,” spread from the towns through the bush country, and over the far back sheep runs with a rapidity that, in the absence of mechanical means of communication, was simply marvellous. The tidings were carried by stock riders and swagmen (‘‘bush telegraphs’’); and, as many of those fellows were quite on par with the reporters of present-day newspapers, in “adding to facts from their imaginaticyr’ 1 to making them more interesting, we may feel satisfied that the news of the rich find did not diminish in importance as it was passed along. Perhaps still more surprising is the fact that diggers from Victoria, then not connected by cable, were appearing in hundreds in Otago within three months of the first news of the “rush.” Gabriel’s has often been called the best poor man’s diggings of all the colonial fields; and it has been said that a much greater per centage of the diggers there made “good wages” than was the case elsewhere. The gold was coarse, and was widely distributed among the intersecting gullies. It did not require deep sinking, as a rule, to bottom the claims; and the simple, necessary outfit to start out with was a tent and fly, blankets, pick and ‘shovel, frying pan, billy pannikin, tin plate, fork, knifo and spoon. Some hard tack to travel and start work on, a few pounds to purchase a license with, and make provision to tide over a. run of bad luck should it come. Coupled with these indispensable requisites the new chum digger needed a stout heart, and a sturdy body and limbs, to enable him to tackle with any chance of success the fifty or sixty miles of perfectly awful country that lay between Dunedin and this new El Dorado. Gold for the Picking Up. The rallying call: “Gold for the picking up,” sounding through the country in the month of June, meant that the first great rush of amateur diggers, badly equipped and ignorant of the severe ordeal that they were hurrying forth to face, would take place in the depth of winter in a latitude in which the mid-winter temperature, under the most favourable conditions, is hardly the sort of atmosphere one would choose to go picnicking in. A few years later I sat at night by a bushfeller’s oamp fire, listening to stories told by men who professed to have been there, and to have gone through many of the hardships and perils they spoke of. Their tales were of scenes of suffering and death from exposure which they had witnessed on that dreadful trail through low-lying swamp land, which the hurrying feet of hundreds of men. horses and bullocks, and the wheels of heavy laden waggons and bullock drays, assisted by the soaking winter rains, had churned into a more fearsome Slough of Despond than ever the fertile imagination of John Bunyan could have conjured up, unless he had been an eye-witness of its actual existence. Those bushmen also told of the occasional appearance on that road of evil-looking, skulking characters who were known to carry firearms, and mur-derous-looking knives, and the mysterious disappearance about the same time of certain solitary travellers (then known as “hatters”) when on their way to or from the goldfield; and the significant coincidence that these were always men carrying considerable sums of money, or parcels of gold dust. These tales were probably ninety per cent, imaginary, but their recital made me think anxiously of the long walk, in the dark, through the bush to my own comfortable bed, when the time came to turn in. > Those yarns may have been founded on a rather rickety foundation as a rule, but years afterwards we learned

from the evidence given at the trials of the Burgess ami Kelly Gang, and other criminals, that the Gabriel’s Gully route was infested by these, and others of the same type, who on such occasions, like the rats of the city sewers, put in an appearance to prey on the unwary; and had no more scruple in shedding innocent blood than would the filthy vermin they are likened to. A number of the men who started out full of vigour, and confident of success, certainly mysteriously disappeared. Some Interesting Characters. Gabriel's Gully was, moreover, the means of introducing to Otago many interesting, and a few very extraordinary characters. It was necessary to safeguard the gold in transit jrom the diggings, and protecting it on arrival at the post office; and, later on, when it was being placed on board ships. This need brought a number of experienced mounted troopers from the Victorrian diggings; and a draft of redcoated soldiers from the troops who were fighting the Maoris in the North Island. The soldiers were an interesting study to the small boys. I dimly remember viewing a soldier doing sentry go on the creaking floor of the old post office verandah in Jetty Street, Dunedin. At that early age I had a vague apprehension of being arrested as a sus-picious-looking character if I approached too close to the building in which the gold was stored; so I made a wary inspection of the “red coat” from a safe distance. The sentry was not disturbed. The Gold Escort. The weekly arrival of the gold escort from the diggings was a big spectacular treat for the small boys. If I remember aright, a couple of mounted troopers galloped ahead of the light waggon carrying the gold, and either two or four followed it. A trooper sat beside the driver, and all were armed’ with carbine and sword. They came into, and through the town at a great pace, also with a great noise. Every dog in the town apparently considered ’it his, or her, duty to turn out, bark its loudest from start to finish, and follow up to the post office door. Though the pace was hot they always found time to indulge in a number of those “all in,” bloodthirsty scraps so dear to the heart of every healthy dog. Added to the noise of the dogs, the ring of about three dozen iron-clad hoofs, the rumble of wheels, and the delighted whoops of the urchins, made it a free show of the best. It was impossible that the escort could have travelled far at such headlong speed. They probably took it easy until within a mile or so of the town, and then speeded up to the final groat spurt for the sake of effect; and they certainly scored a win. Great men some of those stylishly dressed mounted troopers wore. Two, Sergeants Bevan and Garvie, had been in the hi. torical charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava. Garvie, sad to say, lost his life in a severe storm in the back country voluntarily searching for a party of men who had wandered from the track in the heavy snow. A pathetic end to a brave soldier who had come unscathed through the horrors of the Crimean War. Both troopers and horses were alike well groomed, and glowed with health and constant exercise. They looked fit and ready for any task, however difficult or dangerous, they were asked to tackle. Coaches and Coachmen. The need of more rapid means of transport for mails and passengers brought from “the other side,” as Australia was called, a number of coaches of various builds, and shades of colour; and along with them came, quite naturally as it were, a number of skilful, experienced drivers, who exhibited as much variety in size, and dispasitions as did the coaches in shape and colour. My particular idol was Ned Devine, “Cabbage Tree Ned” as he had been rechristened from the stylo of summer hat he wore. On the front of Cobb and Co.’s coach, clad in his fawn-coloured overcoat, Edward looked all right. Remarkably broad shouldered and deepchested, with great muscles bulging out his sleeves at the shoulders; a big head, surmounted by a steeple-crowned, wideawake hat; a light-coloured moustache, showing almost white in contrast with • his weatherbeaten face; and. always, I the further ornamentation of a frag- j rant cigar. On the box seat Nod j looked what he undoubtedly was, the I champion whip of colonial coach-

I<l rivers. When he climbed down from *his perch it could be seen that his legs land feet were just a shade too small |to comfortably support his huge body. ’He had passed practically the whole, of this life on the driver’s seat., and his ’lower limbs had not developed through Hack of exercise. They were just a i irifle too light. When starting to travel on the roads, at the age? of eighteen, I always endeavoured to get On to the coach driven by Devine. In tho front beside Ned were • oveted seats, and the privilege of occupying them was hard to .secure. On the first occasion, having booked the seat a day ahead, I was looking forward to an enjoyable trip; but. while waiting near the coach, Ned strolled casually up to chat for a couple of minutes, and was turning away again when he. accidentally, as it were, remembered: “Oh, by the by,” he said, “there’s a couple oi ladies going through to-day very anxious to have a look at the scenery. They are very disappointed at missing a box-seat ride, but I says to them, ‘Oh! it’ll be all right I think. A. young surveyor’s booked the seat beside me, but he’s a nice obliging young fellow; I’m quite sure he’ll only be too pleased to let a Wily old humbug! 1 knew quite well who had made the suggestion to view the scenery from the box seat. Nothing pleased him better than to have a lady beside him, and nothing pleased the ladies better than to drive through a town perched up beside “Cabbage Tree Ned.” A few of the station womenfolk could handle the ribbons nearly as well as the champion himself. How could a boy of 18 refuse an invitation, so artfully worded, to retire in favour of a lady? Of course the seat was surrendered. Before shelving this subject it will be interesting to recall a two-act drama in which Ned played the leading part. It was then an “oft told talc,’’ and caused much merriment at the time, but that was 60 years ago. and the incident is sufficiently amusing to justify its repetition here. There was then in Dunedin an undertaker named M , who was doing a good trade in the city, and neighbouring districts. In his frequent trips into the country M ha(l struck up a warm friendship with a hotelkeeper. J B- , in a small town about twenty miles from his own headquarters. Those two cronies, when they met, greatly relished a yarn, with 1 tobacco ami a “wee drappie ot.” in the landlord's cosy snuggery, while, each told what happened to him since , they had last met. At one of those enjoyable reunions the idea of playing a practical joke on Ned Devine occurred to those worthies, and was immediately acted on. At the midnight hour, when all wise men slept, those two well- j primed larrikins came stealthily from j

the hotel, opened gates and doors, and set all Cobb and Co.'s horses at liberty. The Last Laugh. It was a one-sided joke. When Ned dtove in there was no change of horses; the stable hands were all away searching for the missing steeds; the mails were delayed, and the company was fined. No one knew how it had happened; and Nd. sparing of words at any time, chewed at his cigar and made no comment. Of course it got wind; the culprits were too proud of their J own cleverness to keep it altogether dark. A few weeks, perhaps months, 'passed, but Devine treated the subject with indifference, and most folk forgot’it had over occurred. Then one day Ned sauntered into M ’s estab-

lisbinent and said “How do,” in hi: usual lazy drawl. After a few minutes conversation he said as lie drew i length of string from his pocket, “Oh by the way, there’s .1 B ’s tnea surement. They want; you to make the box for him ami take it up right M staggered. “.I B- —,’ he said. “Is he dead? Why he was looking fresh as paint when I left him this morning. I can’t believe it.” Ned lit up a fresh cigar as he drawled “Wai! he’s not the first, man that’s looked all right, and Leon dead an hour after. The cord is his length, and lhe knot is his width from this end. Better look slippery ami not lose time.’ M knew that the measurements were about right. There wore no telephones in those days, if he had wished to make further enquiry; and the tele graph office was closed. His hands had all gone home, but he could not neglect, the order; so he hammered away at it, and got his pony yolked up, and eventually got to his destination about midnight, tired and miserable with overwork and the thoughts of the loss of his friend. .1 —— B . Being out of temper, he used the butt of his driving whip, ami smote the dor a tremendous crack. Immediately an overhead window was slammed open, a rough looking head thrust out, and a tremendous voice roared angrily: “What in you trying to break my door down for. you drunken loafer? It I come down I’ll make you so as your mother won’t, know you in ten seconds. Now clear out!’’ This spirited address, embellished with all sorts of profane words from a wellstocked repertory, was shocking to the last degree, but it was the familiar sound of the voice that caused M to stagger for the second time that night. At last, when the other voice halted for lack of wind, he gasped huskily. “Joe. is that you? Don't you know mo, Joe? It’s M . Come down and open the door. I’m frozen right through. That confounded Ned Devine has got level with us all right.” J B opened the door, the pony was stabled, and the undertaker ■ and the alleged corpse sat in the snuggery far in to the morning, trying to devise some means of turning the tables on Ned. After much deliberation they came to the conclusion that it would be the wisest plan to leave Ned alone, and keep quiet. But the story leaked out, and they got well roasted by the very sort of people they loathed stable boys and hotel loafers. Coach. Horses. The coaching teams were not made up of ancient, wooden-legged nags. The squatters bred a great number of blood horses, high spirited and fl Jet. footed; and it was considered a valu-

table schooling for them to be driven |for a few months in those six-horse teams, hitched up with well-behaved steady-going horses, which could be depended on if the youngsters attempted to bolt, or play up. They were well fed, and groomed till their coats reflected the sun’s rays like mirrors. The stages wore usually from ten to twelve miles; the horses know that comfort able boxes and good attention awaited them just that distance away, and consequently the pace was a merry one from start to finish, except whore steep grades necessitated taking it easy for There were many other celebrated drivers; Barry Y’cend, slender ami light, the antipodes of burly Ned Devine in physique, who turned out—self and team —in picturesque style. His idothes, from the wide-brimmed hat 1o tho small, well-polished boots, left noth ing to be desired in style or spotless neatness. The team of six light-col-oured greys, with their shining harness and rod facings, was a picture. The turn ; out was Yeend’s own property, F was informed, and he showed his wisdom by travelling at a steady pace on his “beat.” the .South Road from Dunedin to Lawrence. At lhe start of my first trip with Yeend I made an impatient remark when other coaches ami buggies rattled past going rhe same way. An old traveller overheard me: “Oh, don’t worry, Harry ’ll pass ’em all before the journey ends,” ho said. It was quite true. We passed them later on, the, horses looking very tired and hot; while our team I rotted gaily along, going as freely as at the start. Harry had a high reputation among the horsey contingent, who seemed as widely distributed and as talkative on the one. everlasting subject, as they are at the present day. He was reputed to have been tho jockey of the first Melbourne Cup winner; therefore the loafers who gathered round to see the coach off were eager to show that they were on familiar terms with the great man. and sought to impress this on the coach passengers by calling from a Jit He distance off such greetings as: “ ’Gw do, ’Arry. ’Ot, ain’t it?” All tho same Harry was a first-class whip, and a jolly good fellow. Tom Sayers. ‘I hen there was on the North Road William Sayers, re<dt riste ned “Tom keep green (he memory of the English

champion boxer. Also a good driver who, I remember, was jealous of Ned Devine’s reputation. And a tall, quiet, long-bearded Scot called Mclntosh, on the Southern route. He was a verv popular driver, and, in lhe struggle between trains and motor vehicles and the stage coatches, ‘‘Mac" battled on to tlie bitter end. He looked a man of -111 "r 50 to me in those days, but the heavy beard probably tpade him look older than ho really was. for about twenty years ago 1 read of him still driving I’he trains ami motors forced him back to the regions of frost ami snow ami dangerous roads, and. at last, incren.ing years made it impossible for him Io hang it out longer. He was fated to die in harness. “This is mv last trip, boys, ’ Mac cried, as he drove off; ami it was. Tn all his fifty odd years of driving ho had never met with a real' iccidoiit, but on this last trip a bolt >r trace gave way on a steep hillside (when they- are reckoned “steep” there I hey are real daisies) end poor old Mac was killed. There wore plenty of other old time •each drivers on that coast, but it is mpossibiie to mention all here. They , iave long since passed across the world’s stage info thy, “undiscovered •oiiptrv.” leaving behind them a nemorv of graceful, swift-footed team-, umbling wheel", and Interesting scenes « hat caii never be reproduced.