Published: 20 May 2021
The arrival of rail service soon became common place with the folk of Ballarat, making it possible to enjoy fresh produce, even fish and oysters brought up to country markets in a matter of hours from being caught and milk back to the city while still relatively fresh. It was also more secure to transport gold than by coach on rough roads frequented by bushrangers. Now it was planned to extend the line further west towards Ararat, into the heart of sheep and wheat country, even in time all the way to Adelaide but for the moment that was but kite flying. As for a northern connection through New South Wales to Sydney, that was considered to be almost impossible.
Towards the end of the month it was Logan’s turn to receive mail and it was from his brother Ned describing an incident with the natives a little west along the river on a cattle property owned by the Stanley brothers and as he remembered it wasn’t the first time there had been altercation between the brothers and the local natives. His information was sketchy but didn’t appear to involve Elsie Downs, although by the tone of Ned’s letter it was concerning, as there had been a number of natives killed.
“I hope they weren’t our local lot,” Chance comment on the killing.
“He doesn’t say, only they were to the west along the river but our lot do go walkabout and have western connections. He also said those who did the killing were charged with murder but got off on a technicality.”
“What was the technicality?” Chance asked.
“Again he doesn’t say, I guess it was because they were white and those killed were black.”
“Typical.”
“Not always so, there was Myall Creek near Inverell in thirty-eight. After the massacre seven white colonists were tried and hanged for murdering blacks,” Logan reminded.
“Yes I remember reading about Myall Creek but it was a rare judgement, most get off with a warning, you can get a longer sentence for killing someone’s horse.”
“I do worry about our lot,” Logan admitted.
“There isn’t much we can do except hope.”
“True, I will ask Ned for more information, he also writes they got a good price for the wool clip and Hamish is going to deposit my share when he is next in Sydney.”
“What will you do with your savings?” Chance asked realising even their joint account for the hotel was also growing.
“Don’t rightly know but they are building but who knows what the future will bring. Is they anything you would like?”
“Can’t think of anything and besides it’s your money.”
“Ours Chance, I consider it to be ours.”
There was a second reason for Ned’s letter, to include information for Chance from Sam, suggesting he was needed back home as although their father was improving he could no longer do the heavy work. Logan passed the letter to Chance. “What do you think?”
“I think it is Sam’s problem, besides Sam and I could never work together.”
“He may have mellowed with the responsibility,” Logan suggested but doubted his own conclusion.
“We have a cousin who lives close by; he knows hotel work and could be called on and with a large family would be glad of the extra money.”
“Who Colin Fry?”
“That’s him,”
“I’m sorry I realise he is your family but I would never hire him, not even to wash dishes and put out the scraps,” Logan portrayed his memory of Chance’s cousin.
“Regardless it’s Sam’s problem. Why do you want to go home?” Chance asked.
“We have the hotel here to think of.”
“That isn’t what I asked; again would you want to go home?” Chance persisted.
“I want what is best for you, I am happy anywhere,” he ruffled Chance’s hair, “as long as you’re there.”
“I don’t know what I want,” Chance admitted, “at first it was to find gold, then it was the hotel and now everything is becoming sedentary here in Ballarat. I’m stating to feel like a portly old business man, sitting about waiting for something to happen, watching the world past by the door at a hefty pace and I’m not with it and unsure if I wish to be.”
“Old, you are not yet twenty-two and you are definitely not portly.”
“You don’t have to have years to be old, look at Paul Robson down at the ironmongery, not yet twenty-one, married with two kids and another arriving in the spring and what does he do.”
“Mostly makes horseshoes and garden gates,” Logan replied with an attempt at humour.
“That isn’t what I was referring. He goes to work at sunup, home as sundown, has a meal and goes to bed. Where is the spark of life?”
“He appears happy enough.”
“True but it does prove my point in being sedentary.”
“I’m beginning to think you want to go home and don’t know how to say so.” Logan became serious.
“I don’t know,” Chance gazed vacantly through the grimy window. Outside the Eureka had gone from scrub to treeless tent city to suburb in a matter of half a dozen years. There was still gold and plenty but deep, needing money to extract. Ballarat was now a quaint Victorian town by name as well as by nature, a simple copy of what was found back in England.
“Am I loosing you Chance?” Logan’s voice quivered.
“Never, come here,” Chance released a long sigh as he dragged Logan close, “it is always you Logan; always has been always will be.”
The quit lasted for some time then Logan moved away, “work to do,” he laughed and continued; “mustn’t get sedentary,” but it was a nervous laugh as his thought remained on Chance’s emotional stress. What if he lost Chance, what would he do? It would be like loosing the better half of self. A moment of panic then Chance quietened his fear.
“Maybe sedentary isn’t the right word, more like stale but it will pass, I promise.”
“Would you like to put in a manager and we could go bush, do some exploring, there is a mighty big country out there and most of it has never been seen by a white man?”
“You are correct in thinking a part of me does want to go home. At night when I close my eyes I see the brewery hole in the river; I hear the whisper of the silky oaks and the laughter of the native kids at play.” Chance admitted.
“I’ll do whatever you decide,” Logan quietly answered.
“As I said it will pass but for once I would like you to decide.”
“Then let time work it out but if wanting is overpowering you must say so.”
Chance appeared to lift with Logan’s words but the seed of change had been planted and it would only be a matter of time before it again became apparent, if not with Chance it would be with Logan.
During the morning Logan set his thoughts free and they also digressed back to that brewery hole at the bend in the river, to his dog Scatter who if still alive would be almost ten and far too old for sheep work. A worrying thought, as knowing Hamish’s character, if Scatter could not work, he would be of no use and it wouldn’t be the first time a dog had been put down for that very reason. Logan was now missing home.
A week of work and activity can soon remove remorse and noting more was spoken by either of the boys on the matter of moving on. There was an accident at the Glory mine when the powder set off before the men had cleared, taking five with it. On a lighter note a young lad was walking home after delivering lunch to his father when he found a nugget as big as a man’s fist and as simple as kicking the ground as he went.
The nugget was close to the tailings of a German miner, Fritz Koch who kicked up a mighty fury but the magistrate allowed ownership to the lad, his ruling being, if it was found in the tailings than it was discarded waste and no longer property of Mr. Koch. As for the lad not having a miner’s right as argued by Koch, it was decided as he wasn’t looking for gold at the time then he wasn’t expected to have one.
The excitement of the lad’s find soon faded into memory as the news of a greater find filtered down from the north and Alexander. It appeared that two inexperienced miners were set to work in Golden Gully on a duffer claim, being one that had already been worked out. On their second day of digging they found a huge nugget of over a thousand ounces, which they named the Heron in honour of the popular Gold Commissioner in that district.
Finds such as the Heron nugget set miners in frenzy as fossickers flocked towards the latest field only to discover much the same as they had abandoned. Sometimes there would be colour but more often there would be nothing but hard work, hardship and despair, the easy gold had all but gone and now Ballarat was becoming a town riding on the sheep’s back and wheat farms; it had become gentrified.
Chance returned from the fowl house with an empty canister, he placed it on the bottom step as he cast a troubled eye over the back yard.
“What seems to be the problem?” Logan called from the top step from where he had been watching Chance’s quandary.
“No eggs,”
“There wasn’t yesterday either, possibly they have gone of laying.”
“I don’t think so, not in two days, even then there is always a few.”
“We will need eggs for the kitchen; I’ll get some with the shopping.”
“Alright but it appears someone is stealing them,” Chance suggested.
“What makes you say that?” Logan asked.
“Firstly, as I said they don’t all go off laying at the same time, also the latch on the gate was closed differently.” Chance returned to the pen and appeared to be searching about the fence line.
“What are you looking for?”
“I’ve found it, there are bare footprints in the muddy area along the side where the water dish overflowed and they are leading from and back towards that bit of scrub up behind Docker’s place.”
“In general miners don’t usually go around bare footed,” Logan acknowledged.
“But kids do, this one appears to be no more then twelve or so and he’s got flat feet.”
Logan came down to examine the prints, “I agree he is most definitely flat footed. We’ll have to do something about it or we won’t have enough eggs for the kitchen.”
Chance finished feeding the fowls then allowed them free range. “I was thinking, I heard them going off around five this morning.”
“Now that you say it, so did I,” Logan agreed; “we could set a trap for our little thief for tomorrow morning.”
As Chance returned to collect the empty container Betty came to the rear door, “best you hurry with the eggs, China is carrying on a right treat and I can’t understand a word he’s saying.”
“Someone has stolen the eggs,” Chance explained.
“Well there are at least seven for breakfast and it’s almost that time.”
“I’ll go wake up Morris at the store, I’m sure he’ll be obliging.” Logan offered.
By the time Logan reached the store Morris Kent was on the verandah with his broom sweeping up a storm of dust and gagging from it. “Do you want a job lad?” he asked and offered Logan the broom.
“What do you pay?”
“Christ, money is all you young fellers think of these days.”
“I’m sure other things as well,” Logan suggestively disagreed.
“Yea money and sex – anyway what can I do for you young fella’ on such a fine sunny morning?”
“Eggs Morris, a couple of dozen if you have them.”
“What’s the matter with your chooks, you have enough of them and that flaming rooster of yours is worse that an alarm clock.”
“There lies our problem; someone is stealing the eggs and it is the second day now.”
“Apples too,” Morris agreed, “the barrel out on the landing is quarter gone – kids I reckon.”
“Could be Morris, we are going to set a trap for tomorrow morning.”
Morris returned with the eggs, “two dozen you said?”
“Yes, put them on the slate would you.”
“For you Logan but I’m having a right bother with some around here of late, they seem to think I’m a church charity. Only yesterday that Polish family from over near the Catholic Church cleared out without paying their account. Nineteen shillings it was – and sixpence, disregarding the pennies.”
“I know what you mean, only last week we had a couple book in for three days and sneak out early without paying. We may have to collect payment upfront like they do in the city.”
Logan took a glance at the container of eggs, “nice big brown ones, where do you get them?”
“What and have you cut me out and go right to my supplier.”
“You know I wouldn’t do that.”
“You’re alright; let me know how you go with your egg thief. Oh on your way back, could you drop a package at the door for Mrs. Gibson.” Morris quickly retrieved the package and passed it to Logan who gave it a measure of scrutiny.
“It’s some material the wife had left over from doing new curtains. Leave it at her front door she is expecting it.”
“Like your sweeping, do I get paid for becoming a mailman?”
“Bugger off you cheeky pup.”
Logan slept through their early morning alarm but awoke to a commotion coming from the fowl house. He rolled over, “hey Chance you awake?” but Chance had gone. Quickly Logan pulled on his pants and hurried to the back stairs to the sound of much carrying on from the chooks. There in the pen he saw the culprit with Chance challenging him with a hoe.
“Got the little bugger,” Chance called back as the lad attempted to escape through the gate but it was well guarded by Chance and the wire around the pen too high to climb.
“Please sir, please sir the lad pleaded as Logan joined in with his capture.
“Steeling our eggs are you?” Chance demanded.
“I was hungry,”
“You open the door and I’ll grab him.” Logan suggested as the lad coiled down to the dirt and buried his head at his knees while loudly sobbing in fear.
“Wait,” Chance quietly said.
“Hey kid stand up,” Chance requested.
The lad slowly obeyed, his head remained lowered as he continued to sob. His torn clothing suggested he was a vagabond and had been living rough for some time, his slender frame almost emaciate, while his red hair had become matted and full of dust and leaf litter. There was also a gash on his leg that needed attention.
“What’s your name?” Chance asked while thinking the lad would be no older than fourteen, if that.
“Gilbert,”
“Gilbert what?”
“Gilbert Rogers,”
“Where are your parents Gilbert,” Chance asked.
“Me dad died at the Glory when the mine exploded,” the kid approached closer to the gate but kept his head bowed away from the accusing eyes of the boys. He carefully placed his stolen clutch of eggs to the ground being cautious not to break any.
“That was some time back, where is your mother?”
“I don’t have a ma’,”
“Everyone has a mother.” Logan roughly corrected while receiving a disapproving glance from Chance towards his abrasive approach.
“Dad said she died giving me birth.”
“Where have you been living?” Chance asked.
“We had a tent down at the quarter mile but some men came by after dad died and took everything, said me da’ owed them money.”
“What about your clothes?”
“They took everything when I was away from our camp. I came back and there wasn’t anything, only the poles that once supported the tent.
Chance opened the gate, “If I let you out you promise not to run off?”
“Yes sir,” The lad quietly agreed as there was nowhere left for him to run.
Chance opened the gate, “come out and we’ll have cook get you some grub. What happened to your leg?”
“I fell over when Mr. Docker’s dog chased me.”
“What were you doing in the Docker’s yard?” Chance asked.
“Carrots,” the lad simply answered.
“You must be starving to pinch Docker’s miserly carrots; they are all tops and nothing below, even the bandicoots won’t touch them.” Chance proposed.
As the lad passed Logan made comment, “you smell like a wet dog, where have you been sleeping?”
“In the scrub a little ways beyond the Docker house,” He pointed to where the footprints previously lead.
“You will need a bath before you eat, or you will have Betty complaining up a storm,” Logan insisted.
“I’ll attend to it,” Chance agreed.
“Mother Wilcox to the rescue once again.” Logan mumbled.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all Chance; can’t leave the little feller to starve and something should be done with that leg before it becomes infected.”
While Chance arranged a bath and breakfast Logan visited a neighbour who had children of the lad’s age and size where he managed to obtain an old set of clothing. On his return Gilbert was seated and eating as if there was no tomorrow. “There you go when you’re finished your meal slip into these. They are a little shabby but at least clean.” Logan passed the clothing to Chance, “I’ve work to do so you look after our little bandit.
It was late morning before Logan again looked in on their egg thief and found him comfortable and well fed while talking with Chance.
“I’ve seen that look before,” Logan commented.
“What look?”
“You, it’s the same expression one would display while finding a stray puppy – can I keep it.”
“Funny feller’.”
Logan turned to the lad, “what are your intentions?”
“Dunno,” the lad softly answered.
“Have you other family?”
“Dunno,”
“You don’t know much.”
The lad took a sharp breath and turned from the abrasive characteristic of Logan.
“How old are you Gilbert?” Chance asked believing the lad was only reaching his teenage years.
“I turned sixteen the day da’ was killed, he was to come home after his shift with a present but I didn’t see either.”
“No one should receive such a present on their birthday. What about your schooling?”
“I had a little when we lived in Melbourne but naught since, da’ said it wasn’t necessary.”
“Can you read and write?” Chance asked.
“Yes but I have trouble with the big words also my times tables.”
Chance glanced across to Logan who immediately recognised his friend’s expression.
“Before you ask,” Logan said.
“I haven’t asked anything as yet,”
“There isn’t any necessity for words I can read you like a book.”
“Well?”
“It’s alright by me.”
Chance gave an acknowledging grin and turned to the lad, “would you like to stay here with us until you make a decision on your future?” Chance offered.
“Yes sir I would like that very much.”
“Have you been stealing Morris Kent’s apples at the store?” Logan remembered his earlier conversation with the store keeper.
“Only some,”
“Righto, then once you have settled in, I want you to come down to the store with me.”
The lad remained silent but relieved that for at least the near future he was safe from hardship.
During the afternoon Logan marched Gilbert down to Morris’ store, finding Morris seated on the verandah. “Nothing to do Morris?” Logan asked.
“I’m having a short rest before unpacking.”
“Counting carts as they pass are we?”
“Not counting customers that is a certainty. Who have you there?”
“Gilbert Rogers,”
“I’ve seen him about, what’s his problem?”
“How many apples did you lose?” Logan asked.
“A couple of dozen or so I should think.”
Logan extracted some coins from his pocket and passed them to the storekeeper, “that should pay for the apples.”
“I didn’t take that many,” Gilbert protested.
“Quiet lad; as for the incontinence, Gilbert will work that off if you agree.”
“I could do with a hand around the shop now that our William has gone to Melbourne. Can the little tyke be trusted?”
“I think so,” turning to Gilbert, “can you be trusted lad?” Logan asked. Gilbert gave a promising nod, “righto you go back to the hotel while I talk with Morris.”
“I could use your help for a minute,” Morris asked as the lad departed.
“Sure, what help count the carts?”
“As you know I’ve taken over the post office from Henry at the drapery and need someone to hold the sign as I do the nailing.”
“So you said, what’s Henry up to?”
“He said he has had enough of people knocking him up at all hours demanding to know if there is mail.”
A few hammer strikes and the sign was up, “now what is it with young Gilbert?”
“He’s been living rough since his father died in that mining accident some time back and it was he who was stealing the eggs.”
“Suppose like the apples, you can’t blame him if he’s hungry. What’s his future?”
“That’s up to Chance he is the collector of strays.”
“Yes I remember young Tom and there was a tragedy. You both are good hearted. I think Gilbert will do fine and he appears to have manners.”
“I must agree Tom is well missed.”
“He was sweet on Henry’s Gladys you know.” Morris shared.
“He was but Henry wasn’t sweet on him, told him to bugger off in no uncertain terms but they still meet in secrete. She helped him with his reading.”
“Henry can be somewhat highbrowed at times. Gladys is to marry you know?” Morris offered.
“No, I hadn’t heard.”
“Yes to a young man going places in a hurry his father has deep pockets and connections; you know tea parties with the governor and premier.”
“He must be so to rub shoulders with William Haines.”
“The doctor,” Morris laughed.
“I thought the premier was a farmer?”
“Yes but first he was a surgeon and by all accounts a most amiable fellow.”
On returning home after arranging with Morris, Logan half expected to find the kid had bolted but there he was, well settled and talking with Chance. Logan entered the room, “Gilbert for the near future you will be helping at Mr. Kent’s store and you can live here. Is that acceptable with you?”
“Yes I would like that very much.”
Logan approached Chance and gave an ironic huff. “It’s Tom all over again.”
“Do you mind?” Chance asked.
“No not really it will be a distraction,”
“From what? Chance asked.
“From you thinking of the Brewery Hole back home,” Logan turned to Gilbert, “so young fellow where was home for you?”
“Once it was Sydney but I don’t remember it.”
“Well for the time being it will be here at the hotel. Do you agree?”
“Yes Mr. McGregor.”
“Just Logan will do fine.”
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