A Search for Gold
An Adventure with the Blacks
“Bumble Dick” and the Ducks
The Petrie’s Garden
Old Ned the Gardner
“Tom’s ” Attempt to Shoot Birds
Aboriginal Fights in the Vicinity of Brisbane
The White Boy a Witness
“Kippa “-making at Samford
Women Fighting Over a Young Man
“It Takes a Lot to Kill a Blackfellow “
A Big Fight at York’s Hollow
A Body Eaten
Because my father knew the blacks so well, he was often asked to accompany people on different expeditions into the bush. On his return from the Turon diggings in 1851, a merchant of Brisbane came to him, and said that gold had been found at Delaney’s Creek, or, as the blacks called it, “Nuram Nuram “-” wart” (spelt “Neurum Neurum” on the map), and would he go with him and have a look at the place, for though it had been left it might be some good. The boy agreed, so the merchant procured a pair of horses, a mule to carry the rations and blankets, and a gun and ammunition. When all was ready they started from the town, leading the pack mule, and the first night got as far as the Upper Caboolture, to the old deserted station where Mr. Gregor and Mrs. Shannon had been murdered, and camped in an old hut there. This hut was not far from the graves of the murdered. Next morning the merchant did not feel well, so they rested where they were for the day, Father strolling round and examining the graves.
The evening of the day following Durundur was reached, and after hobbling the horses Father went to a blacks’ camp near by in order to get a couple of natives to show them a short cut across the ranges to Neurum Neurum Creek. He succeeded in persuading two to accompany them-one an old fellow called “Dai-alin,” and the other a young man, and they were to meet next morning. “Dai-alin” was some- what lame–had one leg shorter than the other.
When morning came they started off, with the natives leading, and travelled several miles without interruption. Then climbing up the spur of a mountain, and going down the other side, they came into a very thick scrub, where about one hundred blacks were hunting for paddymelons, making a great row. The two blacks who were with the white men sang out to the others, who immediately clustered round and asked questions. Some of the young fellows grew very bold, and the merchant suggested to Father to get the gun ready, for by this time he was very much afraid; but the boy said to leave it to him, it would be all right, and he commenced to talk to and chaff them in their own tongue. Soon they were all laughing, and made no objection when the party started to push on, which they did with a will, reaching their destination that night, and camping there on the bank of a creek.
Next morning after breakfast Father started to prospect for gold. There was an old cradle or two there on the bank, and a couple of crowbars, which had been left by those working some time before, and the holes that had been sunk were all filled in by a flood. He tried several places in the creek and got the colour, but no more, so, as it was getting late in the afternoon, decided to wait till next day.
Hanging about over this sort of thing evidently did not suit the blacks’ taste, for next morning the young fellow bolted, and the old man wished to go too, and take the rations with him. The merchant at this, thinking there was mischief brewing, said, “We must get out of this,” and their horses being handy, they accordingly packed the mule, Father meanwhile making old “Dai-alin” hold the creature, telling him that if he offered to run away he would shoot him; but, on the other hand, if he piloted them safely over the mountain to Mount Brisbane Station, he would give him flour, tea, sugar, and other good things. So off they went again, but hadn’t gone far when natives appeared on every side, and as they didn’t look at all friendly Father called to them in their own tongue that he would fire if they came any nearer.
There were a lot of wild young fellows in the mob, and these set fire to the grass all round about, but did nothing else, so the party got through all right, losing sight of their black friends eventually, to the merchant’s great relief.
Keeping on till they got over the mountain with ” Dia-alin ” still in front, they at length came in sight of Mount Brisbane Station. Here Father told the black man he could go, and on receiving the tobacco and other promised things, the darkie did so, quite pleased with his possessions. His white companions went on to the station, where they stayed the night, and next day made through the bush in a direct line for Brisbane, where they arrived quite safe and sound, none the worse for their little adventure. In those days my father could find his way anywhere through the bush to where he wished to go, so long as the sun was shining, and he knew in what direction the place lay, or if he had been once before. One could never lose him in the bush, but, of course, over the mountains the blacks had tracks cut, and it saved time to be shown these.
Years before this, in fact, during the time of the convicts, there was a poor harmless half-cripple aboriginal, called “Bumble Dick,” who belonged to the Brisbane tribe, and who hung about the settlement. He’d had half his foot burnt off when a child. This “Bumble Dick” went once to some sawyers working at Petrie’s Bight, and told them that if they would lend him a gun, he would get them” plenty ducks.” So they lent an old musket and powder and shot, and off Dick started, quite pleased with himself, taking his wife with him. He went to the Serpentine Swamp near Nudgee, for in those days there were lots of ducks there, and was delighted when he saw some swimming out from among the reeds. He started to load his gun, putting in plenty of powder and shot. Then catching sight of more ducks, and thinking that the more he put in his gun the more ducks he would shoot, he used up nearly all the powder and shot, then he put the gun up to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.
The gun went off yes, but instead of killing a single bird it burst, and knocked poor Dick down with a cut on his forehead, also smashed up his left hand. The thumb and the last two fingers were blown right off, and the remaining ones came off at the second joint. It was lucky for “Bumble Dick” that his wife was with him, for he was stunned for some time. When he came to, his wife was crying over him, and she put dirt on his hand and tied it up; then they started back to the camp at Brisbane, taking with them the broken gun.
Next day Dick’s wife returned the gun to the owners, and told them of what had happened to poor Dick, saying “Bael gettem duck.” Two days after that, again, Father went out to see Bumble Dick.”
“I found poor Dick sitting in his hut in a fearful state, the cut in his forehead full of wood ashes, and ashes on his smashed-up hand,, which smelt unpleasantly. The poor fellow was in pain. I said to him, “What for you put so much powder and shot in gun?’ He replied that the more he put in the more ducks he expected to kill, and he did not think the gun would break. ‘How many ducks did you shoot?’ ‘Bael me know; me shot self, no go see how many ducks. Bael more me takem gun, that fellow very saucy.’
“Dick was a long time recovering, but eventually he got all right again. If you said to him,’ Dick, you takem gun, and shoot me some ducks,’ he would reply, ‘Bael; that fellow too much saucy.’ You could not get poor Dick to take hold of a gun ever again; indeed, he would hardly look at one. And ho wonder. Even now I can see the terrible state his hand was in, and just how his fingers were torn off.”
This misadventure of “Bumble Dick’s” reminds my father of one of his own, when he was a very small boy. When the Petries first came to Brisbane they lived, as I have said, in a building on the site of the present Post and Telegraph Office until their own house on Petrie’s Bight should be built. This building had formerly been used as a factory for the women prisoners, until they were moved to Eagle Farm. It was a large building, and was surrounded by a wall about sixteen or eighteen feet high, and some couple of feet thick. One large gate in this wall faced what is now Queen Street. Along the river bank, from Creek Street to past where Messrs.
Thomas Brown and Son’s warehouse is now, stretched the Petries’ garden, and here they had growing peach trees, figs, mulberries, and lots of different fruits and vegetables. The blacks used to come and steal the sweet potatoes, so my grandfather Petrie had a hole cut in this side of the wall so that a watch could be kept. The blacks used to swim from Kangaroo Point over to the gardens. In swimming, as before stated, a native used a small log as a help, and carried his dilly on his head.
It was generally on a Sunday, when no one was working in the garden, that the blacks came across for the potatoes. One Sunday six of them were busy at their little game when they were seen through the hole in the wall, and Grandfather and two of his sons-John and Walter-went quietly down to try and catch them red-handed. However, the blacks, seeing them approach, made off, and, taking to the water, started to swim to Kangaroo Point. In the meantime the pilot boat hove in sight, coming round Kangaroo Point on its way from Amity Point station, and she gave chase, sticking all the time to one blackfellow. The man in the bow of the boat stood up with the boat-hook in his hand, ready to hook the darkie. Whenever they got near him. the blackfellow dived down under the water like a duck, and then came up again in quite a different place to what was expected. The boat would have to be turned then, and a fresh start made; and so this went on till the swimmer was almost across the river and fairly beaten, when the man with the boat-hook succeeded in hooking him and then dragging the unfortunate wretch into the boat. He was tied with a rope and taken to the lockup. Next day he was tried and sentenced to a flogging.
My father used to get into scrapes in this garden as well as the blacks. His father’s gardener, old Ned, a one-time prisoner (the natives called him “Dikkalabin “), was “an awful man to swear, and a cross old man. Many a time he used to hunt me,” says Father,” and swear at me, when he would catch me taking fruit or watermelons. He always kept a horse-pistol loaded with slugs, with which to shoot the blacks when he caught them stealing.”