OVER THE PLATES.
The Roaring Gimblet.

Just a chapter or two out of my own life story on the goldfields in 1894, when everything was new! by Su Hug, at Bardoc.

In June, or July, ’94, my mate, Cumbrae-Stewart (Charles Robert Ogilvie), myself, and two others went from Coolgardie to what today is known as Goongarrie, but then was known as the 90-Mile, or the Roaring Gimblet, to man some leases for a Groper syndicate, Alex Forrest, Neil McNeil, and W Marmion being members of it. We went by spring cart, pulled by a couple of horses. When we arrived at the 90 Mile, we found it a busy little centre, with various business places, trading being carried on in big tents or hessian shacks. They included a chemist, baker, butcher, chaff merchant, tinsmith and several stores, not forgetting the usual and most important hop-beer bar.

One of the stores was a branch of a Coolgardie firm, Askin and Nicholson. Nicholson had two brothers, Bob and Hope, who in later years were mine managers on the Golden Mile. The manager for this firm in the 90’s was Harry Gregory, who later became Mayor of Menzies and the first M.L.A. for the district. Harry had to put up some big election fights to hold the seat but always won by a nose. Once he was counted out, but won on an appeal. For close to ten years he was Minister for Mines. He is stilldoing his bit as one of our representatives in Canberra.

I was but a mere youth when in 1890 I was standing outside Harry’s store looking at a bag of sprouting onions. He must have been eyeing me off, for he came forward and said, “Eat plenty of onion sprouts, and you will never get the fever, lad.” At no time did I fancy onion sprouts, and I did not take his advice, and so far I have dodged eating them, and dodged the fever, too. It’s a long time since I was offered the above advice, but every time I see sprouting onions, I somehow associate Harry with them.

Unusually, there was no hotel there in those days. Later two sprang up, the first licensee being Arthur Williams, the first man to be married in Coolgardie. He ran the hotel with his wife Clara nee Saunders. Our little party soon got to work on the leases. They were close to a big, dry salt lake, which is not far from the townsite and close to a big blow, still called Mullagong Blow. The syndicate did not keep us employed for many months, and we never saw a single colour of gold on the job.

My mate and the boss went back to Coolgardie per buckboard mail coach. We followed on per team. On our return journey, when we reached Canegrass Swamp (12 miles), we saw someone had erected a condensing plant on the edge of the swamp (which was then dry). As we were passing, a man approached us and said:

“Any of you fellows want a job?” I was the only willing one,

as I was anxious to make a cheque and go home east. I did not reckon what I was falling into. My new boss was a big German, named Troutman (Adolph Peter Trautman). I had to do a 12-hour shift, 12 midnight to 12 noon. For months after I finished with the job I could hear the midnight call of the boss, “Tim, it’s twelve o’clock.”
My new job was hard, cutting and carting wood for the boiler on my shoulders, attending fires, selling water, etc. A few weeks later the boss went to Coolgardie to buy a horse and cart, and obtain stores, not forgetting a few cases of Usher’s whisky (all the go then), which he retailed at 1 shilling per nip. Sly-grog selling was quite common on the fields in those roaring days. I have heard some roaring, but it was “Usher’s” that did the roaring.

During the boss’s absence in Coolgardie, 15 miles away, I was standing by the condenser and saw two men approaching on riding camels, followed by an Afghan leading some pack camels. One of the men asked me the price of water. I told him, and he said he thought it would be cheaper to water at the 90 mile. He informed me they were going prospecting and asked me if I knew of any auriferous country close and handy. I mentioned the 90 further on. Some days later I saw the same man speeding past. I cried out: “Did you find anything?” “Yes,” he said, “I’m off to take it up.” (meaning register it).

This man was Menzies who had discovered the Lady Shenton goldmine.

A few days later the rush set in to the new find, Menzies. In my mind’s eye, I can again see him riding by, wearing a straw hat with a striped band. A tragedy occurred on the job a few days later. A poor saddle marked brumby blew in famished for water. The well where we got our saltwater was only ten feet deep, and beside the boilers and tanks, the horse smelt the fresh water and made for the well. Try as I would, I could not keep the suffering creature back. The poor beggar was welcome to a drink, but I was unable to reach the bucket and water in time. He made a rush and fell into the well, nearly taking me with him.

My boss was back in a day or so. Meanwhile, the body swelled in the well. By this time it looked as big as an elephant. When the boss saw it, he became the colour of a saveloy and saw red. A rush on and no water, plant hung up and poor me was the cause of it all by letting a horse fall down an enclosed well, etc. ect. The next day I put my swag on a team that was Coolgardie bound, but unfortunately, I made a mistake. I should have gone instead to the new find. Sometime later, Trautman sold this plant to Bob Howe, who later got a wayside licence which existed at the swamp long after the Menzies railroad was built.

The early months of ’95 were about as busy a time as Coolgardie, 25 mile, 45 mile, 90 mile, Cangrass and Menzies ever had. A thriving township had started at Menzies, and teams were arriving daily. I did two trips with mining material to the Lady Shenton, and I have no recollection of being unduly pushed for water.

Yours faithfully – SU-HUG

If you are interested, these two volumes are full of Dolly Pot stories, photographs, and poetry that will delight any reader. Both books are available through Hesperian Press and the Eastern Goldfields Historical Society and will be enjoyed by all who love a good story.

Hesperian Press – https://www.hesperianpress.com/
Eastern Goldfields Historical Soc – https://www.kalgoorliehistory.org.au/

DINNER AT DALTONS
by Pharisee.

In the boom days of Coolgardie an enterprising individual named Dalton ran a hash and doss house in Ford Street. The building was made of bush timber covered in with hessian, and was divided into three compartments -a dining room, a kitchen, and a sleeping kennel, which contained about a dozen bag stretchers. Nothing gave the proprietor greater pleasure than to drag newcomers throughout his premises and dilate upon the luxurious make-up of the establishment.

“Them beds you see there can’t be beat in the town,”

He explained to a now well-known M.L C., who took his provender at Dalton’s, “I’m thinkin of go in for a cheaper line, These are too comfortable, and I can’t get the blokes out early enough in the morning.” The prospective legislator looked at them doubtfully and asked what reforms were meditated, ” Well, you see,” replied Dalton, “I’ve a good mind to copy old Moran’s idea up the road and construct a long bench, and put no ticking on it. Then it’ll make’em take their half-a-crown’s worth out quick and lively,”

He was a very sanguine person was Dalton, and took the money of his victims with a calmness quite prostrating to behold. He in conjunction with his cook, ran the whole affair. Between them there existed a mutual agreement, that for a consideration of an extra few bob a week the hash and burgoo manufacturer was to bear all the growling and abuse of Dalton’s customers. The complaints about the tucker were loud and frequent. If a man pointed out that the meat was raw or the plum duff was simply dosed with a currant here and there, the boss would immediately rush around the hessian division which separated the dining-room from the pot and kettle department, and call the red-nosed cook all the names he could think of.

“You infernal scoundrel, what do I pay you for?” he would yell out so as everyone could hear him. “Do yer think I give yer four blanky quid a week to wreck the digestive organs of the patrons?” The man of  ‘Grills and Grease’ would simply wink at his employer, and take it all in like a philosopher. The outraged devourers of Dalton’s tucker invariably professed themselves satisfied after these demonstrations, and got their feed down without further murmuring. It was just about Christmas time, and Dalton watched the cook closely so as he wouldn’t get drunk and be unfit to prepare the big spread with which the customers were to be regaled on the Natal Day. We all shuffled into the festive chamber, and spread ourselves around the table on beer cases and three-legged stools. The proprietor looked over the partition into the chef’s den and asked, ” All ready, Billy?” ” All correct”, was the reply in suspiciously unsteady tones. “Well, serve the soup,” said Dalton, in pompous tones. He took the liquid from his servitor through the door and deposited it in tin plates on the table.

All went well until “Pigweed Jimmy” startled everyone by exclaiming, “Gorblime, if there ain’t a cockroach in mine.” In his usual solicitous manner, the hash house owner immediately seized the plate, and its dubious compound (barley broth it was  supposed to be) and took it back behind the hessian, yanked the black object out of it, and planked it once more before the disgusted “Pigweed.” He then proceeded to deal out the usual dose of scathing denunciation, but the long-suffering cook at last revolted and promptly hit his boss on the nose. This unexpected display paralysed the hash man for a moment, but when he recovered a furious scrap eventuated which distributed itself all over the building. creating havoc amongst the cooking utensils and crockery, while the boarders tumbled out in all directions more or less covered with soup and debris.

Dalton and Billy went to it with hammer and tongs and finally got into Ford Street. Here a ring was made, Pigweed Jimmy picked up the chef and Paddy the Slab did likewise for his opponent. Six lurid and willing rounds brought the conflict to a close, and we carried the vanquished boarding house proprietor into his shattered premises and left him to ruminate over things in general.

Dalton’s house is gone, but the memory of his Christmas dinner still remains.

An Aboriginal Doctor

Bobby Budgeree was the medicine man of the tribe, and thus one of the great men. To attain that position, he was tutored by the old men in the trying days of his initiation or man-making ceremonies and had to pass his medical examination according to Aboriginal tests before being accepted as a qualified practitioner. Being a magician and a learned man, he enjoyed a good time. The ordinary tribesmen never wittingly incurred his animosity, but rather aimed to please him, not because they loved him, but because the genius was regarded, more with awe than with reverence.  They had great faith in his skill and powers, but they feared him also when his services were needed. Their fate was in his hands. If the patient did not speedily improve with treatment, but got worse or merely lingered on, and so became a nuisance, he knew that the doctor’s pronouncement would give him quick despatch to the happy hunting grounds.

In such a case the doctor’s failure was attributed to the machinations of an enemy medicine man of another tribe. Once the patient got the idea that he would die, he simply gave up and died. White bushmen called that curious condition fatalism, and science termed it thanatomania.  Always when the treatment failed, and when a death occurred, the cause was laid against the hostile rivals, whose bewitching of the patient prevented the medicine man from curing him. His reputation as a learned physician, therefore, did not suffer.

He practised some unusual methods when a complaint had got him in a corner. If a mysterious internal pain was not relieved by clay pills, infusions, or massaging, he resorted to the faith cure. He sucked the painful part, pretending to extract a stone, which he had previously placed in his mouth. The tribesmen believed in sorcery and magic; and, convinced that the cause of the pain had been removed, the sufferer’s simple faith was often effective. The marvellous thing was that he never questioned how the stone came out without leaving a hole.

Bobbie Budgeree, M.D., was a good bush herbalist. He had. a wonderful knowledge of native plants and herbal remedies, many of which were used by white settlers. In his wanderings, he was always searching for herbs, some of which were dried for gums, roots, stones, and pieces of quartz. From the quartz, he made his surgical instruments. His dispensary contained an unusual collection of vessels, tools, plants, seeds, bark, oils, drugs, and clay pills.

The pills were carefully compounded of soft clay and crude extract of herbs. The doctor’s laboratory was the fireside, where some essential ingredients were boiled or roasted, and some were chewed or crushed with stones, for there were pills of various sorts. The basic clay was kneaded on a sheet of bark, and the learned apothecary rolled the little pellets with his fingers. Soft clay or stiff mud was used for many purposes with evident satisfaction. It was applied to bites and stings of insects, and as a plaster over cuts and spear wounds. The clay or mud was carefully chosen for the purpose, generally at the water’s edge of a creek, gully, or lagoon. In places, this natural plaster was impregnated with eucalyptus or other properties, according to the local vegetation, or there might be some mineral agency.
I have known bushmen who swore by it as the dinkum sting cure. When the proper mud was unobtainable, a compress of earth and crushed gum leaves or gum bark was applied to flesh wounds. The Aboriginals were the first users of eucalyptus in the bush. They made poultices of the leaves, which in some cases were bruised and in others boiled. White men also used the leaves long before the commercial oils were known to them.

Particularly for complaints and rheumatism, many made their own ointment with boiled gum leaves and lard. A bed of green gum leaves was always prescribed as the most beneficial for anyone with back trouble. In serious cases, a shallow pit was dug, and the bottom was covered with hot coals. It was then filled up with green gum leaves, and the patient reclined with his bareback over the steaming heap. The heat sweated the cold out of him, and the body absorbed the eucalyptus at the same time. Many a lame back was cured by that treatment, but care had to be taken to avoid chills. The steam was also inhaled for headaches. For poultices, the leaves were partly boiled and put on as hot as the patient could bear them. Green gum leaves, bruised with stones or pulped by chewing, were bound over wounds to heal them. For colds and other sicknesses, the leaves again came into use, a tea being brewed from a few of them and drunk in small doses. Places where gum trees grew in profusion were generally regarded as healthy, yet most new settlers were in a hurry to ringbark and burn off all the trees around them.

I saw Dr Budgeree applying the steam cure to little Tommy Tarbot, who had a severe attack of influenza. A pit, five feet in length and 18 inches deep, was dug near the patient’s gunyah and a fire kept burning in it till the excavation was sufficiently hot. It was then cleaned out. Next, a bed of pine leaves, a foot deep, was trampled in, and covered with a possum rug. On that the sufferer was placed full length; covered with another rug, and finally buried under the sand. Only his frightened face was visible. Beads of perspiration were soon oozing from it, and Tommy’s saucer-like eyes rolled from side to side, more from fear of the specialist than from anything else.

Bobby sat beside him, wiping the sweat off his face till he was steamed enough.

Then he was disinterred, well dried, and tucked in bed away from draughts. He. soon recovered. Sometimes the pit was used as a dentist’s chair. The victim was buried to the chin, and the tooth was knocked out by placing a pointed stone instrument against and striking smartly with a mallet. Teeth were not extracted painlessly, but there was never any bother in that dental chair.

The steaming process was also adopted for rheumatic ailments. Goanna oil was another specific for rheumatism, colds on the chest, stiffness, and body soreness, but for these, too, gum leaves and gum-leaf beds were ordered. Other remedies for rheumatism and for swellings were lotions made by boiling wild clematis leaves for two or three hours. This was also used with satisfactory results by settlers.

The white men got relief in many ways, from Bobby Budgeree’s prescription. Powdered charcoal of the silky oak was requisitioned as a styptic, and young tea-tree shoots were first applied to cuts and spear wounds to relieve the pain. The ashes of certain weeds were employed both to stop bleeding and for healing. Alkaline wood ash was generally sprinkled on an ulcer. When Bobby burnt it at his camp, the fire served a double purpose, but roasting meats on it was barred.

The Cunjevoi lily, which grew abundantly along the river banks, was excellent for cuts and boils. Many white bushmen declared that there was nothing better for a boil than Cunjevoi. The Aborigines further used it as food, to poison their spearheads, and for treating muscular rheumatism. The leaf, warmed over a fire, was reckoned a magic pain banisher and healer when applied to scalds and burns. The lily’s beautiful flower was a trap for the inexperienced. If an unwashed hand came into contact with lips after touching a flower, then the result was an agonising, burning pain that lasted for a considerable time. The beauty of the plant once led me to grow a bunch in the garden, but I got into so much trouble through children fingering the bloom that I had to cut it down.

Wild strawberry vines (a prickly creeper, which some called red currant were boiled for dysentery, and bloodwood gum and the wine coloured water from a wild apple tree. (Angophora) Never failed as a laxative. A decoction of wild mint was recommended as a cough cure, and the addition of wild lavender was used as an aperient. Water in which the reddish leaves of young gums were steeped combined the qualities of a mouthwash and hair tonic. It cleaned the scalp and made the hair delightfully soft and glossy. Bobby Budgeree was always studying plants. Whenever he came upon anything special in his company, he would mention what it was good for or warn us of some harmful property. The sap of the bracken fern was excellent for stings, but the best antidote for the blistering sting of the stinging tree was the juice of that same tree. The common thistle was used as a vegetable to keep children free of skin eruptions, pimples, and blood disorders. It was also alleged to be a cure for growths and cancer. Pennyroyal leaves, placed in the bunk, got rid of fleas, and fennel, a common coastal weed, distributed about the bush hut kept away mosquitoes, flies, fleas, and ants.

Bobby understood the curative properties of dozens of plants and seeds, some of which were baked, some boiled, and others chewed. He had other remedies. An aching head was tightly bandaged with a fresh, warm opossum skin. If that was not available, or if it failed, a piece of charcoal was chewed and swallowed. The charcoal, it was said, acted by absorbing gases in the stomach. For nerves, a tonic I made of crushed green ants and water was prescribed. It was used too, as a pick-me-up when regaling with intoxicants.

Bobby was once called upon to render first-aid to a teamster whose leg was broken. He set the limb and bound it up in bark splints cut from a branch the same size as the leg. Before he strapped them on, he held them over a fire, which made them curl together neatly around the injured limb. Tommy Tarbot’s s pet calamity was snakebite. Some natives were fishing in the river, and Tommy was hunting the crickets and grasshoppers when he was bitten on the leg by a black snake. He rushed down to Bobby Budgeree, calling out his trouble as he ran. Bobby promptly dumped him in a running stream and quickly washed the surface of the wound. He said a portion of the venom always lodged upon the surface round the punctures, and if that were washed off quickly there was much less risk of serious results. When he had a case to treat away from water, he got his dog to lick the bitten part.

After washing Tommy’s leg, he made a deep incision and then pinched and sucked the wound. While he was thus engaged, a woman procured some liquid bloodwood gum. With that, Bobby dressed the wound and tied it up with a rag. No ligatures were used. About an hour after he was bitten, Tommy was hunting unconcernedly for more grasshoppers. Though Bobby was the specially authorised practitioner in the group that he belonged to, the properties of plants and seeds, oils and berries, and the common herbal remedies in use, were known to all. But they knew nothing of the sorcery and magic by which Bobby Budgeree performed miracles. That bit was Bobby’s method of faith healing when the case perplexed him or defied his simple means of treating it, and faith at times worked wonders.

E. S. Sorenson in The Australasian.

A Dead Man In A Mine Shaft
Believed to be a Kanowna Resident

A gruesome discovery was made at about 2 o’clock yesterday afternoon by Mr H Colin. That gentleman was walking over the ground about three-quarters of a mile to the southwest of the southern end of Cassidy Street, Kalgoorlie, where there are several now unworked mine shafts. He went on the dump of one of the shafts, which was about 80 feet deep, and encountered a highly unpleasant odour. Looking down, he saw a dark object at the bottom and concluded that it could be the body of a man.

Word was directly sent to the Police Station, and constables at once proceeded to the scene with a stretcher. It being agreed that a human body did lie at the bottom of the shaft. Mr J. O’Donnell volunteered for the odious task of going below and attaching the body to a line so that it could be drawn to the surface. Mr O’Donnell could by no means be envied his work. The remains, which were those of a well-dressed man, were then taken to the Government Morgue. From appearances, it seemed that death had taken place about three or four days previously. On the right hand was a lady’s five-stone diamond ring and on the left hand a gold signet ring. In one of the vest pockets was a silver watch having a gold chain attached. There was also on the body a gold tie pin, with a star and crescent design. Half a crown was discovered in the pockets. Several papers were also found.

Some papers found on the body bore the name Edward Francis Coffey, a letter from T. A. Owens, of Mount Margaret, who had been a policeman in Coolgardie until recently. Other papers disclosed that the deceased received a discharge on January 30, 1896, from the Victorian Permanent Artillery. The body was 6ft in height and was smartly dressed in a blue suit, with black leather shoes.

Mr Coffey would appear to have reached the age of 31 years. Identification by features would not be an easy matter on account of the bad condition of the remains, a dark brown moustache being the particular best-identifying feature. Several persons who saw the body at the morgue believed it to be that of a Mr Coffey, from Victoria, who they had met here and in Perth.  A coroner’s inquest is to be opened this morning.

The twice adjourned inquest in relation to the death of Edward Francis Coffey, whose remains were found in an abandoned shaft on the Omega lease three weeks ago, was concluded yesterday afternoon. John Morrisey deposed that he was a miner living at Kanowna. He had known the deceased for about a year, having first met him in Perth, where he boarded with him at the same house for some time. He met Coffey on the afternoon of August 27th at the Boulder races and came into Kalgoorlie with him afterwards. He accompanied Coffey to the place in Hannan Street where Police Constable Fahey was staying and the deceased made inquiries of the constable as to prospects of getting employment.

The Dynamite Outrage at Boulder.
Arrest of Mrs Elizabeth Charnley

A sensational development took place at noon on Thursday in connection with the dynamite explosion at the residence of Mr James Ferguson, telegraph operator, of Boulder, when Detective Walsh, of Kalgoorlie, with Detective McLernon and plainclothes constable Culpitt, of Boulder, effected the arrest of Mrs. Elizabeth Charnley, a married woman, 60 years of age, who resided with her husband and grown-up family in a cottage in Davis-street. Certain matters that had come to the knowledge of the official investigators had led them to the conclusion that evidence might be found at the cottage in question to point in the direction of the person or persons who committed the crime. Accordingly, they went to the place at half-past 1 o’clock yesterday morning and made a diligent search of the premises and inquiries from the occupants. Their labours were rewarded by the discovery of seven or eight dynamite cartridges, several caps or detonators, and a long piece of fuse in the bedroom of a son of the woman who was subsequently arrested by them for alleged participation in the outrage.

Mrs Ferguson, wife of James Ferguson, was in her house with a visitor named Mrs Vallance, when suddenly a piece of wood exploded, and parts of it struck Mrs Ferguson and entered the flesh. Both women were severely shaken, and the room and chimney were wrecked.

When Detective Walsh and his companions had completed their investigations, Mrs Charnley, who seemed to be in a terribly distressed state of mind, was taken into custody. She walked quietly to the Boulder lockup, where a charge of a grave nature was entered against her. Mrs Charnley was charged that she did, at Boulder, on the 27th day of May, 1903, wilfully and unlawfully cause, by an explosive substance, an explosion likely to injure the life of Jessie Ferguson. The information was laid under section 296 of the Criminal Code Act, which was brought into operation within the State last year.

The section reads – Any person who wilfully and unlawfully causes by any explosive substance an explosion likely to injure the life of any person, whether any injury to any person is actually caused or not, is guilty of a crime, and is liable to imprisonment with hard labour for life.

Mr O. E. Norris, solicitor (Jones, Smith and Norris), who was retained by the friends of Mrs Charnley to take action on her behalf, busied himself in making an application that his client should be given bail, to which the detectives had apparently no objection. Consequently, Mr J. A. Hopkins, J.P., was summoned to the police station, where he allowed Mrs Charnley to go free conditionally upon her appearance at the Boulder Police Court at 10 o’clock the next morning to answer the charge preferred against her. Her own recognisance of £200 was taken, and two sureties of £100 each were accepted for her appearance. Mrs Charnley then left for home in company with friends.

Mrs Charnley resides with her husband and two grown-up sons and a daughter at the house on Davis Street, Boulder. From their place, a clear view can be obtained of Mr Ferguson’s house. The husband is an old man, no longer able to do active work for a livelihood. The daughter is a young woman who follows the occupation of a dressmaker. It is alleged that she kept company with Ferguson for over twelve months till a short while before his marriage to his present wife, an event that took place in Perth several weeks ago. Mrs Ferguson had just come over from Melbourne. It is questionable whether Mrs Ferguson will be in a fit condition to appear to give testimony for several days to come.

Upon enquiry last night, our representative was informed that she was confined to her bed. She suffered from shock as well as the injuries caused by the effects of the explosion, though all the splinters had been removed. Her left eye was badly injured and is closed. Foreign substances are thought to be under the eyelid, but Dr Irwin cannot tell as yet whether permanent injury is likely to result or not. Taking all the horror of the circumstances into consideration, Mrs Ferguson is doing as well as can be expected. Mrs Vallence, who stood further away from the fire at the time of the explosion, has suffered from severe headaches ever since the occurrence. Long before the time appointed for the appearance of Mrs Elizabeth Charnley at the Boulder Police Court, Friday morning, to answer the charge preferred against her in connection with the explosion at the residence of James Ferguson, the public commenced to gather in Burt Street, opposite the court. They gazed with curiosity at Mrs Charnley and her friends, who formed a small group in the near vicinity, for a good while before the proceedings were opened.

Directly the door was opened, the people began to crowd in, until presently all the available room in the space reserved for the accommodation of the public was filled to overflowing. Directly the magistrates (Messrs. W. T. Rabbish, Mayor of Boulder, and A. J. Evans, J.P.) had taken their seats upon the bench, Sergeant Moore called the name of Elizabeth Charnley. Mrs Charnley surrendered to her bail and was ushered into the dock. The Mayor said: Elizabeth Charnley — You are charged that you did, at Boulder, on the 27th day of May, 1903, wilfully and unlawfully cause by an explosive substance an explosion likely to injure the life of Jessie Ferguson. How do you plead—guilty or not guilty? Mrs Charnley entered a plea of ‘Not guilty’.

Detective Walsh said, “As the chief witness in this case cannot appear, as she is at home in bed, I would ask your Worships to grant a remand for eight days. Mr Norris (Messrs. Jones, Smith and Norris), who appeared for the defence, said that he had no objection to the remand, provided that the accused was admitted to bail in her own recognisance and two sureties in the same amounts that permitted her liberation on the previous evening. Detective Walsh said that he had no wish to oppose the granting of bail. The accused was consequently let out on her own recognisance of £200 and two sureties of £100 each to appear on Saturday, June 6, for the further hearing of her case. The sureties, who were present, immediately signed the necessary papers, and Mrs Charnley left the court with her friends.

Malcolm Chronicle and Leonora Advertiser – 29 May 1903, page 3

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OUTBACK TRAGEDY
TWO SKELETONS FOUND

What is believed to be a tragedy, involving the deaths of two prospectors, was revealed in a discovery made by Hughie King near Cue on November 26. According to a report received from that centre late yesterday, Hughie King, who is employed on Austin Downs Station, near Day Dawn, was out fox hunting, and when on the Wandarrie run, about 10 miles east of the Mainland, came upon two skeletons, which, upon a subsequent examination by Dr Cashmore, were stated to be the remains of two big-bodied men. When found, one skeleton had a magnifying glass, a penny dated 1877, a threepenny piece dated 1890, and the remains of a water bag alongside it, while alongside the second skeleton was a pipe, a Waterbury watch, and a magnifying glass with initials C.D.H. scratched on the cover. It is surmised that the men died from thirst while out prospecting.

 

In a newspaper article in March 1900, Christian appeared as a witness in the Supreme Court in Perth concerning a civil case, Monte Christo GM v Commissioner of Railways. In this article, he is described as an Alluvial Miner of Norwood, South Australia, formerly of Kalgoorlie. It said he was working with his brother at the time, which could be either Carl, Johann, or Henry Heitmann.

So even with advantages such as the internet, TROVE, and Ancestry.com in the intervening 33 years since first receiving this inquiry, I have still not been able to add very much to Daniel’s story. I would think it quite possible he was one of the remains found of the two men near Cue, but it looks like we may never know. I doubt that Bertha ever saw her wayward husband again after he left for Western Australia with her mother’s money.

Three Pioneers of the Goldfields Arrived in Perth Yesterday
Ages Total 237 Years
One is a survivor of  ‘The Ragged Thirteen’

Three goldfields pioneers, whose combined ages total 237 years, arrived in Perth together yesterday morning by the Westland express for treatment at the Perth Hospital. They are: William (Camel Billy) Kirkwood (81), Andy Chanley (81) and Andy Currey (75), and they came from Leonora. “Camel Billy” Kirkwood is the last surviving member of the famous

“Ragged Thirteen,” wild blades of the roaring 90’s on the goldfields, and in the Kimberleys.

“They were great days, but they didn’t last long enough,” he said, with a hint of regret, yesterday as he sat in the casualty ward of the Perth Hospital, waiting for the doctor’s decision on the state of his eyes, which have been causing him trouble. He has lost sight of one and is frightened for the other. Until he came down to Perth yesterday, he was working on the Sturt Meadows station. “Camel Billy’ they call me,” he said proudly when asked his name. “They called me that at Kanowna years ago when I caught a bad-tempered camel for Paddy Whelan, you know him, who built the Shamrock Hotel in Perth.

Last Survivor – “Yes, I’m the last surviving member of the ‘Ragged Thirteen,” he said. “If I’d stayed with them, I would have been dead, too. They used to drink a bottle of whisky a day. “Let me see-there was Bill Cross, Tom McClay, Jim Jones, MacDonald, C. Burbride and some others. “Jones used to ride into a hotel bar on a colt and smash all the bottles on the shelves. “On one occasion, we got the Coolgardie express driver and guard drunk and drove the train to Perth ourselves. “We tried the same thing on a ship, but the captain put us in irons.” Chuckling reminiscently under his bandages, “Camel Billy” went off with firm step into the doctor’s office. He will remain in Perth for further treatment.

A. Chanley has been prospecting in the Leonora district for the past 15 years and has spent the past 40 years on the WA goldfields and in the North West of this State. He has come to Perth for treatment of his left eye, which was injured while helping a plumber at his show, where he works with two mates near Leonora. “I was cutting a pipe, and a bit flew up and hit me in the eye. It was such a blow that I thought I was knocked out,” he said. “The doctor told me to come to Perth and have it treated, so here I am.”

Andy Currey was the shakiest of the trio when they arrived by train yesterday morning, and he had to be helped to the ambulance, which took them to the hospital, whereas the other two were quite able to look after themselves. He was taken straight to the doctor when he arrived at the hospital.

The Murchison
(From the London Financial Times)
Author unknown

The Murchison was the earliest explored field in Western Australia, not the first goldfield—that was the Yilgarn, discovered by my friend Anstey—but the first upon which development work was undertaken. It went with a boom and has, for some time, been suffering the usual reaction. Miners imagined that they were going to make fortunes and didn’t. But today I like the prospects of the Murchison better than those of any other field except Hannan’s. They have got water all through this country, and indeed, the prospectors can seldom sink below 70 feet anywhere.

What water means, only those who haven’t got it know. I do not so much care for washing. Cleanliness, maybe, is next to godliness, but I have met some of the most admirable specimens of humanity who never washed in their lives. We never washed at Menzies, Hannan’s, White Feather, or Broad Arrow, and we were picturesque and healthy. But whilst I stayed in Yalgoo, I washed my hands often twice a day and could never keep clean.

Begin to wash dogs or cats, and they are always dirty. It’s just the same with miners.

The desire to be clean is a sign of degeneracy. I will give you an instance of how dangerous it is to indulge in a bath in the fields. We get what are called ” willie willies.’ They are water-spouts made of sand instead of water, and they are most entertaining. They usually begin upon a very small scale, and the idle miners sit on their haunches and watch them circle down the street—a dancing column of dust, dung, dead flies, and old paper. Give them time, and they will show sport. But the ” willie willie ” has no perseverance; he lacks continued effort, and the slightest opposition in the shape of a tin hut or telegraph line so destroys his symmetry that he dies of disgust in a small heap of refuse. But with plenty of room, he becomes rampant. When he gets over fifty feet high, his power is vast.

One of the boys was much in love with a beautiful barmaid, and, failing to win her by fair means, he determined to wash. Having spent his week’s earnings upon a tub of water, he borrowed the hospital bath and retired to his tent. A ” willie willie ” had its eye upon him, and, coming across the plain with a rush, lifted the tent clean into the air and discovered the rash boy. His legs were a beautiful ivory white, but the rest of his body was a deep copper colour. There he stood, a bronze and ivory Adonis for men and barmaids to jeer at.

He never washed again, but he won the love of the lady.

Yalgoo is not a beautiful spot; it was discovered by Charles Campbell Macklin—at least that is the impression I received after a week’s sojourn in the city.  The townspeople are going to erect a statue to Macklin. The statue will be placed opposite the principal hotel, in which Macklin is largely interested. One of the features of Yalgoo is a noble lord, who runs a store and sells potatoes, dynamite, and flour at cost price. I had a happy time at Yalgoo, “batching” with the son of a millionaire brewer and M.P. We did our own cooking, and our dinner parties were the sensation of the season. Tinned apple pudding boiled in a billy of tea was our piece de resistance. As we were short of water, we washed our dishes on the tailings dump, and the acid gave a fine flavour to the tinned herrings and sheep’s tongues. One of our guests was a teamster who had been to Rugby (The School). He always grumbled at the sand on the enamelled plates. I don’t think Rugby can be a good school. The boys must be reared in the lap of luxury, and they acquire a most expensive taste for sardines. This teamster would eat six tins. They were indeed the smallest tins I have ever seen, but also they were the most expensive. He could not return our hospitality because he slept under his wagon each night, and the other teamsters working with him had not been educated either at Rugby or anywhere else, so we never went to see him.

We were not proud, but we lived in a real house made of mud bricks, with a somewhat damaged tin roof. We represented the aristocracy of Yalgoo and were on the Warden’s drinking list. The reflected glory of the far-off millionaire M.P. Papa oppressed even the exuberant spirits of Yalgoo. There are only two topics of conversation on the goldfields— mines and barmaids. Our scorn for the mines of Cue and Mount Magnet was Titanic. Hardly a man had been to Hannan’s or Coolgardie, for the Murchison is perhaps a thousand miles away, but all knew Cue and despised its ridiculous efforts towards civilisation. Cue had a clubhouse, Mount Magnet had two well-appointed hotels, which stamped the towns as mere “boom” cities doomed to failure. We were miners pure and simple at Yalgoo; the outside world rather sneered at us, but we always replied that whatever our minds might be, no one could deny our dust storms. We had been one whole day in total darkness. This usually shuts up any Cue man who called in on his way down to Geraldton.

And we had the most exquisite barmaid. Her cheeks were like damask roses, her lips the ruddiest of cherries. Her eyebrows were so perfect in contour that if there had been another woman in Yalgoo (which there wasn’t), she would certainly have said they were made up. And how we believed in that barmaid, I was introduced to her the night I arrived. The beardless boy who initiated me whispered that she had passed all the examinations in Melbourne and Sydney, and had left a palace at Toorak to perfect her knowledge of life in Yalgoo. I privately thought that what the lady didn’t know was not worth knowing, but I openly declared that I had never seen a more beautiful woman or one more divinely innocent. She told me late one night in a burst of confidence, after seventeen glasses of Benedictine, that no man had kissed those very ruby lips. When I am away and safe in civilisation, I am apt to sneer at the absurd innocence and childish ignorance of the world all miners display. But what a boaster am I, for there is not one of those girls who does not face death bravely a dozen times a year. They will go and nurse the worst cases of that most loathsome typhoid, and sit up night after night with men raving in delirium, in a stifling tent, with nothing to help them but their womanly courage.

Reader, have you ever nursed a typhoid patient? No?

Please God, you never may. But the barmaid of Western Australia is, after all, a true woman—when the autumn brings its death-roll she never flinches.