Hanger Gold Rush Otago 1861-64

1. Auflage 2012
ISBN: 978-1-62287-030-1
Verlag: First Edition Design Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Wasserzeichen (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 100 Seiten

Gold Rush Otago 1861-64 is about overcoming the dangers posed by the harsh mountainous landscape and furious elements of New Zealand’s Otago goldfields. The story, based on fact in terms of time, place and actual events, follows three Australian families who join forces in the search for both gold and a place they can call home.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Hanger, David

Leseproben

Chapter - One
At a time when 20,000-plus stateless miners roamed the remote desolate landscape of Otago’s goldfields, the spring floods of 1863 served notice yet again that nature would not easily yield up its golden treasure. It all started when a prolonged storm blanketed the area, with warm northerly winds causing a marked rise in temperature. This melted snow on the ranges, which together with the ceaseless deluge culminated in vast quantities of water cascading down off the mountain tops. In seemingly co-ordinated acts of violence, the water levels of Lake Wakatipu, in concert with the Shotover and Arrow Rivers, dramatically rose as one. Queenstown’s streets in turn became rivers as the lake relentlessly reclaimed land over which it had maintained sole domain for eons past. At the same time, the howling winds played havoc with all but the most solidly built constructions. On the south eastern edge of New Zealand’s Southern Alps where the Shotover River is born, a roiling mass of water raged through sheer-sided gorges, cascading out over the beaches downriver. At Maori Point, the river level rose an astonishing twenty feet, sweeping all before it. It was there Maori Jack, in the act of rescuing his dog a year earlier, had discovered one of the richest shingle beaches found anywhere in New Zealand’s Middle Island. As the waters roared further downriver, dams, abutments, diversions, water races and all types of mining equipment, including a large and painstakingly constructed waterwheel, disintegrated and vanished from sight. Similarly, in the gorges of the more eastern Arrow River, mining constructions from crudely fashioned cradles to major diversion works, including that of the Hit and Miss Mining Company’s huge dam and overflow channel, were no more. Ironically, immediately before the flood, these river diversion efforts had enraged hundreds of downstream miners as their water source and income dried up. The overflowing waters of the lake, bolstered by the flooding Shotover and Arrow rivers, engorged the Kawarau, destroying thousands of pounds worth of painfully acquired mining equipment. As the flood waters rampaged on into the Molyneux the devastation continued. The fledgling Otago Central township of Manuherikia took yet another pounding from wind and water. Nevertheless, the loss of life was minimal when compared with the hundreds killed during the floods of the previous winter. Wide publicity had followed those tragic events. Consequently, as the winter of sixty-three approached, both the Otago Witness and the Otago Daily Times repeatedly published warnings of the dangers ahead. Thus, when the rain set in, most of the three thousand or so miners working the high country waterways moved out of confined gorges or decamped to much higher levels. Some isolated newcomers, working tributaries away from the main body of miners and unaware of the previous winter’s tragedy, stayed put in their riverside tents and huts. Many of them paid the ultimate penalty for their ignorance and indifference. The Otago Witness of July thirty-first poignantly told the story of an eight-man, four-hut community working up the Moke Stream, a rich gold-bearing tributary of the Shotover. Its normally ankle-depth waterway rose a mere four or five feet, but coupled with the ceaseless rain, this was sufficient to trigger a landslip. The slip’s volume was not great, but it moved with considerable velocity and force down one side of the creek. Three of the huts on that side shattered under the onslaught, sending six of the party to their deaths. Their mates on the other side of the stream, the roar of the slip bringing them out of their hut, could do no more than watch in horror. Further up the Shotover from Maori Point, at a place called the Sandhills, a diversion embankment collapsed, the resulting flood of water and fill demolishing a campsite built below it. Twelve of the fifteen camped there drowned. The flood, the anguish, the frustration, plus the overblown stories of easy gold at Manuherikia Valley and in the vicinity of Mount Ida, were enough to spawn a flood of another kind as some two thousand miners headed in that direction, the vast majority on foot and carrying everything they owned on their backs. ***** THE coming together of three pioneering families destined to face Otago’s merciless challenges begins in the early summer of eighteen-sixty in Melbourne, Australia: Edward Fraser, recently of London, England, is taking a mid-morning walk towards the Hawthorne suburban shopping centre. Edward is above average height, athletic and walks tall with the pride and confidence of a twenty-one-year-old with the world at his feet. His thick, wavy hair is neatly trimmed. His handlebar moustache, twirled and fixed in precise points to either side, emphasises his clean-shaven visage. It is rather handsome in an angular fashion. A recently discharged captain of a British Army regiment and a gentleman to boot, Edward stands out in this young, rambunctious, colonial town. But at this hour of the day the louts that often prowl these streets are well abed, so he strides along in peace; merely noticed and sometimes admired by passing pedestrians. As he approaches the street-front entrance to the Sir Robt Nickle Hotel’s taproom, he makes a spur of the moment decision; he will indulge in a glass or two before pursuing his shopping mission. But just as he turns to enter, a powerful premonition overwhelms him. It has happened before. On each occasion, life-changing events have followed. He has never been sure whether these lightning bolts out of nowhere are his vivid imagination at work, or something else altogether. Whatever the cause, he is reasonably certain that entering this room will set in motion unplanned events dramatically affecting his future. He has no idea whether the insight, if it is such, indicates good or evil. He has never quite worked out what he is supposed to do about these strange tricks of the mind. Is this an invitation or a warning? As usual, he sticks to his instincts. He will follow this new course regardless of consequences. ***** AS he crossed the threshold, the heat of another Melbourne summer day melted away. The gloom of the interior immediately struck him for its stark contrast to the harsh, whitewashed walls of the tall hotel building’s weatherboarded façade. The inner walls and ceiling consisted of six-by-one, dark-grained hardwood. The dark-stained timber floor was tongue-and-grooved. Gauze-curtained sash windows overlooked the street; the top sash lowered six inches to encourage air circulation. Cool, comfortable and friendly. He saw two men seated at a table with tankards in hand, each with a handful of cards and a cribbage board between them. One wore his hair long, in keeping with a full, bushy beard, which complemented the muscular, barrel-chested physique of a man used to hard physical labour. A rather prominent crooked nose was the most notable aspect of facial features bearing scars and bumps, which to Edward looked suspiciously like the result of old-fashioned, illicit pugilism. In contrast, the other displayed carefully combed and trimmed dark brown hair, neatly clipped sideburns and moustache above a clean-shaven, smoothly rounded chin. Although seated, he seemed a good two inches taller than his companion, an impression emphasised by his trim and athletic figure. An unlikely pairing, he thought; but they were clearly relaxed and comfortable in each other’s company. They were the only other occupants of the room. The bearded fellow rose and walked towards the bar. Edward’s immediate reaction was one of respect, tinged with a degree of caution. However, his slight sense of intimidation eased when the man cheerfully introduced himself. “Good morning. Adam Spencer, licensee. What is it to be?” “A pint of Guinness should go down well, thank you, and some help, if you are able to give it. I’m a newcomer and on my way to the diggings. Could you direct me to a reliable supplier of mining gear?” “I could,” his host said as he poured a drink from a tapped cask atop the bar. “My friend over there owns and runs the best general store hereabouts. He will be returning there shortly. You could do worse than accompany him.” To Edward’s surprise and pleasure, his host then asked, “Would you care to join us? We’re having a quiet noggin before getting on with the day.” Edward followed him to the table, where Adam pulled over a nearby chair and introduced his companion. “This is my long-time friend, confidant and storekeeper supreme, Mr Will Bingham.” Edward shook hands, introduced himself and sat down. Will gathered and stacked the cards then moved aside the counting board, abandoning the game in favour of conversation. Which he started by saying: “Are you enjoying our warm weather?” “I most certainly am. Although I must admit I’ve just about had my fill of the sun for the past three months or so. By sailing from London in mid-summer, I find myself still in the heat of summer, having apparently missed winter altogether.” “Nothing too much to complain of, I’d say,” Will...