1901
1
When we reached Rannes, a sheep and cattle station belonging to the Messrs. Leith Ilay, who had been assisted in their large undertaking by Mr. Thomas Holt, of Sydney (who thereby earned the name of the “Haymaker”), shearing operations were in full swing, and there seemed to be a large number of highly-paid hands about. To protect this outside station there was a sub-inspector of Native Police, one white sergeant, and half a dozen black troopers, who camped at some little distance from the homestead, which consisted chiefly of a lot of rough bark buildings, whilst on the opposite side of the head station the native blacks were encamped to the number of several hundred, their fires extending over a mile. These blacks, we were told, were by no means civilized yet, and given to robbing the huts of the outlying shepherds. They were daily employed in stripping bark for the manager, who paid them by the occasional gift of a bullock . . .
2
August, 1861, was a glorious season for the country we came to explore; abundant and unusual rains had fallen early in the month, filling the many little creeks that headed from Peak Range. The country, which chiefly consisted of black and chocolate-coloured loam, had evidently been burnt before this late rain by the blacks, and the undulating plains that lay under the picturesque peaks that formed the so-called range were clothed with a carpet of burnt feed, forming a vivid green dotted with a variety of wild flowers, also many kinds of wild peas and vetches, wild cucumbers, and other trailing plants I did not then know. Never after, during my long experience of the district, did I see it in such splendid condition – I might, indeed, say glorious – as when our little party ascended this low range, and dropped on the rolling downs the other side . . .
3
As we descended from that preliminary survey of our realms to be, and followed the biggest watershed we could make out and trace with our glasses, our spirits rose, and mutual exclamations of interest were the order of the day. The spare horses could hardly be driven along, so anxious were they to crop the sweet burnt feed. Huge kangaroos lazily turned round to gaze at the new intruders before hopping majestically away; bronzed-wing pigeons sprang up on every side with the strong whirr of perfect condition; the grey-headed wild turkey or bustard stalked about in robust alarm; whilst occasional mobs of the statelier emu trotted round us with their usual curiosity. Nature, in fact, both as regards season and time, was at its fill, before the hand of the white man had been able to set its riches to good account. To my last day will I remember with gratification that first impression of the Peak Downs, with its many glories of anticipation . . .
4
We soon learnt that the eastern end of Peak Downs had suffered nearly as much as our end. Lilyvale had been cleared out, and at Capella two teams and teamsters had been swept away at their camp at dead of night. Our losses at Wolfang were found to be not far short of 5,000 sheep, and we heard of heavy losses at other stations, such as Gordon Downs and Yamala; whilst fencing, new fencing mostly, too, had suffered enormously.
We were also very anxious to learn the fate of Clermont, my electoral town, which lay at the junction of Wolfang with Sandy Creek, some eight miles below us, but it was some little time before news could get across. When our stockman came he brought news that carcases of our sheep were to be seen in the tree tops along the creek, and also caught on the roofs of such houses as were left standing in Clermont, the lower portion of which had been swept clean away, having been injudiciously built between Sandy Creek and the Clermont Lagoon. The houses on the Sandy ridge beyond the Lagoon had escaped. Four or five people were missing, and stories were told of a cottage, the corner posts of which had not been sunk in the ground, waltzing down the flood with lamps alight. The editor of the local paper had passed the night, with many others, in the forks of some neighbouring trees . . .
Pages from Journal of a Queensland Squatter,
Hurst and Blackett, London, 1901