Burke Manuscript

Burke Manuscript: Page 240

Transcript

When Gabriel Read, a mettlesome descendant of a Scotty from the classical regions of Van Dieman’s Land, now more prettily called Tasmania, turned his attention to exploiting the gullies and creeks of Otago it was thought to be rather a far fetched idea. Although, be it remembered, gold had been found in Otago before the advent of Gabriel Read. But the man with the avenging angel’s name, ruminating and poring over his quiet thoughts, managed to hit the bulls eye, and unearth the well paying riches of what was then christened Gabriel’s Gully. Gabriel made no secret of his discovery – Otago authorities were told. The Macandrews – or let one see – was it the time of the Eclipse? – and the reign of that fine old military figure afterwards Sir John Richardson? Mac or Major, Gabriel got his rewards and now vegetates, so one is told, a philosopher in the home of his youth, the much vaunted Van Dieman’s Land, otherwise Tasmania and near his beloved Derwent.

When gold rumours got abroad – one will tell just a little story to show how the accidents of life make or mars men – as some old fellows will remember, there was a place called the Lindis many miles on this side of the Otago find, and there had been found traces of gold, giving a bare tucker, and nothing more. It was winter, July. In those districts winter means business.

Amongst the few who had found their way to this inhospitable diggings were two Tips – not thoroughly reprehensible Tips – but two fine stalwart fellows, farmers’ sons, descendants of good stock, who had made their entry to Canterbury, the bearers of letters of recommendation to so illustrious a countryman as the then Honor [sic] Justice Gresson. In this way – the two weighty boys had landed themselves in Victoria, the representative paradise only, like thousands more, to dissipate their dream. The stocking, well provided by good old parents was duly invested in a tempting and well salted reef in Inglewood, and the youths found their silver put through the well known Victorian process of milking a new chum. The blessed claim wouldn’t sell for road metal. Then their wayward thoughts reverted to their treasured letters from the dear ould sod, and they made their way with their last Fiver to New Zealand. Arrived here, and presenting their credentials, they were by their countryman passed on to a surveyors’ gang, and thus found themselves in the Lindis country. Abandoning chaining for digging they were at the starvation Lindis rush when Gabriel’s news broke out. Up anchor and off. Through rivers, over mountains, in snow and rain, half starved they got on the rush amongst the first lot and pegged out. There one met them and there also came on a pleasure tour a rattling boy from the County Down, the late Hon. Crosbie Ward, a nice, pleasant merry fellow, making himself quite at home with the miners, and everywhere met by them as men know to recognize a gentleman and snob a snob. It did one good to see Crosbie Ward, while gathering information from the rough men meet them sociably and jovially, no nose stuck up in the air asking people “don’t you know who I am?” He didn’t need that. The man carried Nature’s brand. Seated in the Tips shanty warming his toes by the Manuka stick fire, a bucket other end up his chair, he took the boys back to Old Ireland and the County Down. The Blue Ribbon was not agog then, hardly the Good Templar craze, and the old Teetotal business notwithstanding it may be said that justice was done. Pass on.

Well, the two Tips had struck oil. Their claim was