Spinifex and Sand | Page 4

had already been cleared to admit of "dry-blowing" operations--a
process adopted for the separation of gold from alluvial soil in the
waterless parts of Australia.
Desperate hard work this, with the thermometer at 100 degrees in the
shade, with the "dishes" so hot that they had often to be put aside to
cool, with clouds of choking dust, a burning throat, and water at a
shilling to half a crown a gallon! Right enough for the lucky ones "on
gold," and for them not a life of ease! The poor devil with neither
money nor luck, who looked into each dishful of dirt for the
wherewithal to live, and found it not, was indeed scarcely to be envied.
Water at this time was carted by horse-teams in waggons with large
tanks on board, or by camel caravans, from a distance of thirty-six
miles, drawn from a well near a large granite rock. The supply was
daily failing, and washing was out of the question; enough to drink was
all one thought of; two lines of eager men on either side of the track
could daily be seen waiting for these water-carts. What a wild rush
ensued when they were sighted! In a moment they were surrounded and
taken by storm, men swarming on to them like an army of ants. As a
rule, eager as we were for water, a sort of order prevailed, and every
man got his gallon water-bag filled until the supply was exhausted. And
generally the owner of the water received due payment.

About Christmas-time the water-famine was at its height. Notices were
posted by order of the Warden, proclaiming that the road to or from
Coolgardie would soon be closed, as all wells were failing, and
advising men to go down in small parties, and not to rush the waters in
a great crowd. This advice was not taken, and daily scores of men left
the "field," and many were hard put to it to reach Southern Cross. It
was a cruel sight in those thirsty days to see the poor horses wandering
about, mere walking skeletons, deserted by their owners, for strangers
were both unable to give them water, and afraid to put them out of their
misery lest damages should be claimed against them. How long our
own supplies would last was eagerly discussed, as we gathered round
the butcher's shop, the great meeting-place, to which, in the evenings,
most of the camp would come to talk over the affairs of the day.
Postmaster, as well as butcher and storekeeper, was Mr. Benstead, a
kind-hearted, hard-working man, and a good friend to us in our early
struggles. What a wonderful post-office it was too! A proper match for
the so-called coach that brought the mails. A very dilapidated
buckboard-buggy drawn by equally dilapidated horses, used to do the
journey from the Southern Cross to the new fields very nearly as
quickly as a loaded waggon with eight or ten horses! The mail-coach
used to carry not only letters, papers, and gold on the return journey,
but passengers, who served the useful purposes of dragging the carriage
through the sand and dust when the horses collapsed, of hunting up the
team in the mornings, and of lightening the load by walking. For this
exceedingly comfortable journey they had the pleasure of paying at
least five pounds. It was no uncommon sight at some tank or rock on
the road, to see the mail-coach standing alone in its glory, deserted by
driver and passengers alike. Of these some would be horse-hunting, and
the rest tramping ahead in hope of being caught up by the coach. There
would often be on board many hundred pounds' worth of gold, sent
down by the diggers to be banked, or forwarded to their families; yet no
instance of robbing the mail occurred. The sort of gentry from whom
bushrangers and thieves are made, had not yet found their way to the
rush.
Many banks were failing at that time, and men anxiously awaited the
arrival of news. The teamsters, with their heavy drays, would be
eagerly questioned as to where they had passed Her Majesty's mail, and

as to the probability of its arrival within the next week or so! The
distribution of letters did not follow this happy event with great rapidity.
Volunteers had to be called in to sort the delivery, the papers were
thrown into a heap in the road, and all anxious for news were politely
requested to help themselves. Several illustrated periodicals were
regularly sent me from home, as I learnt afterwards, but I never had the
luck to drop across my own paper!
On mail day, the date of which was most uncertain as the coach
journeys soon overlapped, there was always a lengthy, well-attended