Parramatta.
by Peter Clarke
Joe sat on his horse on a ridge overlooking the diggins at Ophir, several hundred feet above a creek. It was mid-afternoon and still too cold to be comfortable. He’d lost track of time since leaving Sydney and thought it nothing short of a miracle that he’d reached Ophir at all. Pulling his horse to one side to allow others to pass, he surveyed the scene below. It was nothing like he’d expected. For a start, there weren’t many diggers. He’d been led to believe there would be thousands, but he reckoned on there being no more than a few hundred. The sound of digging came to him clearly, mostly metal against stone. He could see men swinging picks in holes beside the water and moving dirt with shovels. The ground was all torn up, both beside the water and in the ridges overlooking it.
“C’mon mate, get that bloody thing outa the road,” shouted a voice. He looked to see a man driving a heavily laden cart with four large horses. The track was narrow at this point where it turned on itself to leave the top of the ridge and descend to the creek below. Others were on the road as well and all seemed in a hurry to continue their journey now that the prize was in sight. There was nowhere to go to be out of everyone’s way, so Joe had no other choice than to tap his horse lightly in the sides with his heels and move on down the hill. He tried to peer through the gums that grew thickly to assess the diggins. His horse was steady and picked its way along carefully. The track bent and twisted like a snake as it wound its way down. The man with the cart took things even more carefully and it wasn’t long before he was left behind. Once Joe reached the bottom, he saw a ford and what must be Ophir on the other side. The ford was about twenty yards wide, looked about knee deep and the water flowed swiftly. He’d heard that gold was to be found at the junction of two creeks and could only guess the ford crossed one of them. He could only see one and wondered if he had the right place at all. Still, the people digging probably knew more about it than him and they couldn’t all be wrong.
The horse didn’t hesitate, stepping into the water and heading for the other side. Others who were walking also entered the water and their loud gasps signalled that the creek water was cold. Once he had crossed the ford, there was more room between the creek and the hill, and he was able to stop and take in his surroundings.
Joe moved his horse towards the township where only a few buildings and many tents were standing. He’d try to find a place to buy a drink and ask what to do next.
When he’d pulled up at the Australian Arms saddle-sore and weary late in the afternoon four days ago, it had been easy to get a room to stay and to find someone in the bar to join him for a whisky. The problem had been finding someone who knew about the gold fields. People told him they knew a little about the gold rush, but mostly could only talk about the excitement, or repeat what Joe judged to be exaggerated tales of success. Of course, he didn’t really know other than what he’d read in the paper, but stories about people finding gold lying on the ground didn’t make sense. Nevertheless, he couldn’t suppress excitement at the very prospect of looking for and hopefully finding gold.
After an hour or so he tired of making small talk and sat on his own at a table in the corner. His failure to find out what he’d need, how to get there and what he would find was dispiriting and he thought a few moments alone might revive his enthusiasm. He stared at the remnants of his whisky. There wasn’t much left, and it might be time to take supper. He was conscious of someone standing near to him. He looked up and nearly fell from his chair.
A very good-looking, well dressed young woman was standing there, smiling at him.
“Hello,” she said with a distinctly Scottish accent. “My name’s Margaret McKay. They tell me you’re on your way to the gold fields.”
Joe stood rapidly, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste.
“That’s right,” he said, unsure of the source of his embarrassment. He wasn’t sure if it was that a good-looking young woman would approach him, or that she was aware that he’d been trying to find out about gold.
“Please sit,” she said. “I’ll join you for a few moments if you like. Perhaps I can help you.”
“I’m Joe. Can I buy you a drink?” asked Joe, more interested in the woman than in gold.
“No. I don’t drink.”
Joe must have looked perplexed, as she added, “I’m the innkeeper.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
She laughed. “Don’t be. I’m not.”
After studying Joe for a few moments, she asked, “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. What do I need to take? How long to get there? How do I look for gold?”
“I know a little. People talk. If you want to talk to someone that’s been there, your best chance is tomorrow morning when the coach arrives from Bathurst.”
“They go at night?” asked Joe, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice. He knew his statement showed he knew little about the ways of the Western Road.
“They do, both ways. The one to Bathurst left on Monday evening. It leaves here around six at night.”
“It must be a good road.”
“It’s a terrible road. Everyone complains about it, but it’s the only road for coaches. Riders and walkers can also go through Windsor.”
“Do you expect there’ll be someone on the coach that knows about digging?”
“Yes, there will be tomorrow.”
“What time does it arrive?”
“Early in the morning. Depends on all going well.”
She looked at Joe, perhaps wondering if she should continue.
“We got off the topic,” she said. “You’ll need a tarpaulin, a cooking pot, a pick, shovel and wash pan, some supplies and endless patience. It’s cold out there too, so you’ll need a coat and blankets. There’s talk too that you’ll need a gun.”
“A gun? Why a gun?”
“There’s bushrangers about.”
“I have nothing they’d want.”
“You could try holding up a sign to tell them, but they might still want to find out what you have. Going out, you’ll have money and coming back, you might have gold.”
“I was told I can buy what I need here in Parramatta.”
“You can get the supplies as you leave. There’s a good grocer in Church Street. I doubt you’ll be able to buy the digging equipment. I expect you’ll have to get that in Bathurst.”
“It might be expensive.”
“If you find gold, then that won’t matter.”
Joe laughed. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed a woman’s company.
“What else do you need to know,” she asked.
“Has anyone talked about how you find the gold?”
“One man said they were digging for it along the creeks. Some men use what they call a cradle, and others a wash pan.”
“What’s a cradle?”
“I don’t know. That’s just what he said.”
“I thought the wash pan was for me.”
“Maybe, but they say you use it to separate the gold and the dirt.”
“I’ll feel silly if I go all the way out there and find there was something I should have taken with me.”
Margaret bristled a little and said, “I’m telling you what I know. I can’t tell you more.”
“I’m sorry,” said Joe quickly. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
She stood up. “Look for me when you come for supper. I’ll see if I can put you with someone who knows more.”
“Thank you,” said Joe, standing as she left. He was disappointed the conversation had finished on a poor note. He liked her, regretted his clumsy statement and wished the conversation hadn’t ended. Joe took his time with the remaining few sips of whisky. He hoped she might come back, but decided after some time that she was busy elsewhere, and it was time to go for supper. Margaret spotted Joe as he walked into the dining room and put him with a couple who not only knew nothing about gold, but they also weren’t the least bit interested in it. He decided he was being punished for his rudeness, so he finished his supper quickly and went to his room, hoping to get a good night’s sleep and be ready for the coach from Bathurst when it arrived in the morning.
After a restless night, Joe went down for breakfast and found he was too early. There were a couple of people pottering in the kitchen, but they told him to come back in an hour. He went out onto the street and wondered how to fill in the time. The air was fresh, and a slight breeze blew from the south. There was no point in trying to find a shop to buy what he needed, none of them would be open yet. He wandered around, never going far from the hotel and was again amazed at the number of hotels in Parramatta. There seemed to be one on every available corner, the number causing him difficulty finding the Australian Arms the day before.
The sound of a shrill steam whistle disturbed his peace. He looked in the direction where he thought it came from and saw people hurrying along the road. Following them, he came upon a solid stone bridge across the river and to its right, a wharf with a steamer that looked ready for a trip he supposed to Sydney. It didn’t look like it could go further up the river as the low bridge would doubtless prevent it from doing so. Some of the passengers seemed panicked and he could hear barked instructions to them and between them. No doubt the departure of the steamer was imminent. As if to confirm his thought, he watched it pull away from the wharf, its smoke drifting off to the north on the wind as it headed down river. It might have been a better way to come. Steamer to Parramatta and coach to Bathurst. Too late now.
It was probably time to head back. He hadn’t gone far when he saw a coach pull up outside the hotel with a rattle of harness and a clatter of hooves.
The coach was a sight to behold. Passengers were both inside and outside, those on the outside looking cold, dishevelled and far from comfortable. The four horses were lathered and panting as though they’d been pushed hard. The coach itself looked too flimsy for the purpose, the wheels, spokes and coach probably made for easier roads and loads. Goods were stacked wherever possible and the whole image was one of a group of refugees fleeing a battle.
Quickening his pace, he arrived back to help the passengers unload from the coach. There was a couple who refused his help, two young men that did the same and one older man who expressed his gratitude. The coachman just looked at him and shook his head.
“Have you been at Ophir?” asked Joe of the only man that wanted help.
“Yes,” nodded the man, wearily.
“Digging?”
“No. Newspaper reporter. Are you wondering why I’m grateful for help?” he asked, smiling.
“Perhaps,” agreed Joe.
“It’s a long trip. There’s no sleep on the coach. I don’t know that I do it again. You’re bounced about. The road’s not worth a damn.”
The man stuck out his hand and shook Joe’s furiously.
“Name’s Jacob,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind taking that bag.”
Joe picked up the bag and followed a limping Jacob who to Joe’s surprise, carried nothing. Once through the doors they met Margaret.
“Jacob,” she said, handing him a key. “Welcome back. Your room is ready. Will you have breakfast now?”
“Yes. I’d like to.”
“Perhaps Joe here could join you?”
“If he’d like to.”
Margaret looked at Joe who nodded.
Over breakfast Jacob told Joe that he’d spent three miserable days at Ophir camping by the creek.
“There’s been rumours for some time that gold had been found in the area. I went to a lecture by Hargreaves in Bathurst in early May. He showed us pieces of gold that he said had been found in Ophir. I decided to go and look for myself.”
“Who’s Hargreaves?”
“You know. The feller they say found the first payable gold in Australia.”
“Of course, of course. I’d forgotten. Please go on.”
Joe listened eagerly, still wondering why the man had agreed to breakfast.
“I borrowed a horse and rode out to where Hargreaves said I’d find gold.”
“How long did it take?”
“Two days, but part of that was because I kept getting lost. You can do it in one if you set out early enough and you know where you’re going.”
“What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“The journey.”
“Easy at first. Then, when you get near to Ophir, the hills are steeper and the gullies deeper and rougher. Once you reach Lewis Ponds creek you follow the creek most of the time, but where it’s rocky or heavily timbered, you have to climb the ridges. Of course, when you do it’s easy to lose your way. I had to double back sometimes and make sure I was still following the creek. It’s easier now, I think. There’s a track because people are going there every day.”
“Did you look for gold yourself?”
“No, just talked to people. Most of them were looking.”
“How many people?”
“Couple of hundred. Might be thousands there now.”
“Are they finding gold?”
“Most of them.”
“Much?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Luck.”
“Why luck?”
“There’s a lot more dirt than gold.”
“Where are the lucky ones looking?”
The man sat back and studied Joe.
“That’s the funny thing,” he said. “There’s no rhyme or reason. Well, that I can see anyway. They’re finding it along the creeks and along the hills. Hargreaves said it looks like gold country because it looks like California, so I suppose there’s such a thing as a place to find gold. It’d be better if there was a sign saying ‘dig here’. The people at Ophir are only guessing and even when they dig within a few feet of each other, one group would find a lot of gold and the other very little.”
“Where did you stay?”
“I took a tarpaulin and blanket and slept under the stars. There’s nothing there. There’s a shepherd’s hut, but Hargreaves’s men are using that.”
“Hargreaves’s men?”
“He’s hired some fellers to dig for him. I tried to talk to them, but they weren’t very friendly.”
“I thought he’d do the work himself.”
“He’s more interested in the reward for discovering the gold field.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I told Mrs McKay that I’d speak tonight at a meeting she’s arranged.”
“Mrs McKay?”
“Yes, Margaret.”
“I didn’t know she was a Mrs.”
“Disappointed, eh?”
“No. Not at all. I just didn’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter. Her husband is dead. Died about a year ago. She’s kept going with the inn.”
“She talked to me last night about Ophir. Told me as much as she knew. I liked her.”
“Everyone does. She’s very popular.”
“So, you’re practising on me before you talk to the meeting tonight?”
“Bit of that. I got sick of talking to grumpy people at Ophir. Besides, I slipped and hurt my leg while I was there, and I was grateful for your help this morning.”
“I didn’t do much.”
“You didn’t need to do much. They don’t let you take a big bag on the coach, so there wasn’t much to carry.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“Are you serious about looking for gold?”
“I think so.”
“That’s not a good start. You have to be very serious and very committed. Don’t worry that you don’t know what you’re doing. Most don’t know what they’re doing. They set out with great hope and finish with great disappointment. Having said that, some do find gold, and some get rich. It’s all about luck, so if you’re lucky then give it a go.”
“Should I go on the coach?”
“Have you got a horse?”
Joe nodded.
“Use your horse. You’ll need it once you get to Bathurst.”
“How long will it take to get to Ophir?”
“Three or four days to Bathurst, depending on how hard you ride. I’d take it easy if I were you. The road over the Blue Mountains is difficult and dangerous in parts.”
“Are there places to stay?”
“There are, but it will cost you money. Besides, you’ll need to practise with your tarpaulin and see if you’re ready to endure the rigours of life outdoors.”
“How long should I go for?”
“Take supplies for a month. There’s talk of them setting up stores at Ophir, but go prepared. You should be able to take enough to last a month.”
“Where should I get them?”
“What do you mean?”
“Margaret said to buy what I need here in Parramatta.”
“It’ll be cheaper here, but you’ve got to get it to Bathurst. Your horse will struggle to carry everything, so you’re better to get what you can in Bathurst, so you won’t have to carry it so far. Buy clothes, blankets and supplies to get to Bathurst here, but buy whatever else you need once you get there.”
“Won’t it be more expensive?”
“Yes, but that can’t be helped, unless you join some others with a cart. I’d go on my own if I were you. Get enough to get you to Bathurst then get what you’ll need for the rest.”
“What about my horse?”
“Good question. You’ll need to take some oats, but you won’t carry enough to feed him. You’ll need to find somewhere there you can let him graze.”
“What did you do?”
“Took enough oats.”
“What did the diggers do?”
“There’s a feller there looking after their horses. Maybe you could use him.”
“Where should I dig?”
“Fellers that are there are digging where they like and hoping for the best. There’s talk you’ll need a licence. If that happens, you’ll need to stake a claim and you won’t be able to dig wherever takes your fancy.”
“I don’t know anything about it, so fancy doesn’t come into it.”
“That’s not the point. You tell the Commissioner where you want to dig, he’ll mark the area for you and that’s the only place you can dig.”
“I wouldn’t know where to tell him!”
Jacob leant back and laughed.
Joe was embarrassed. He didn’t think what he’d said that was funny.
“That’s right,” said Jacob. “Like I said, there’s no signs ‘dig here’. Everyone’s the same. It’s all about luck.”
“Where did you see people finding gold?” asked Joe after a few moments.
Jacob was suddenly serious.
“All right. Listen carefully. I’ll tell you what I think, but I might be wrong. I decided the gold starts on the tops of the hills. Might have been left there millions of years ago. From there, it’s washed down to the creeks. It’s heavier than anything else, so it falls through and gets left on mud or rock. So, you either look on the top of a hill that hasn’t been weathered yet, or down by the creek where you dig through the sand and gravel until you get to clay or mud.”
“Is it mostly in Ophir?”
“Ophir’s just the name of a place near the junction of Summerhill and Lewis Ponds creeks. I think there’s gold in the hills and creeks all around there, but like I said, you’ve mostly got to do a lot of digging to find it.”
Joe was about to ask another question, but Jacob stood up.
“I’m tired,” he said, standing and smiling broadly, “no sleep at all last night, so I’m off to bed. I hope I’ve helped. Good luck and remember me if you become rich.”
“I will,” said Joe. “Let me pay for breakfast. Least I can do.”
“As you wish,” said Jacob and limped out of the room.
Joe finished his tea slowly, thinking about all he had learned. None of it sounded easy and all of it unlike anything he’d ever done. He had no experience at living outdoors, certainly not on the ground under a tarpaulin. For a moment, he thought about going back to Sydney, re-joining the police and hope there was no repercussion from the incident in Kent Street.
He sensed a presence and looked up to see Margaret standing nearby.
“Do you mind if I sit?”
“I’d be delighted if you did. I came looking for you last night to apologise for my thoughtless comment.”
Margaret sat.
“Don’t worry about it. What do you think now you’ve spoken to Jacob?”
Joe laughed.
“You’re right to ask. Nervous, excited and a little afraid. I’ve never done anything like it.”
“Like what?” she asked, smiling.
“Ridden a horse for over a hundred miles, lived in the open under a tarpaulin and tried to find a fortune by digging a hole in the ground.”
“What have you got to lose by trying?”
“Nothing,” he said shaking his head. “It’s not what I’ve got to lose, it’s what I’ve got to gain.”
“Are people finding gold?”
“Jacob said some are.”
“I heard that too. No one really knows if they’ll find a lot of gold, but if they do and you had a chance and didn’t take it, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Maybe, but I see a lot of people. I think you have more than one reason to go west, and I think if the price of an opportunity to become rich is some nights outdoors, then it’s worth it.”
“If I’m not gone too long, will you be here when I get back?”
“I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
Margaret got up and left without another word. Joe finished his tea, went to his room and fetched his bag. He settled his account for the room and lodging but didn’t see any more of Margaret.
Joe went and got his horse from the paddock nearby and visited three stores on the way out of town to buy a tarpaulin, a coat, some blankets and some supplies. By the time he arranged it all on his horse, he thought he looked like a gypsy.