The World Well Lost for Love:

A PROSPECTOR’S SACRIFICE
By R. M. Cochrane

Every prospector knows the dreary tracts of the Mount Margaret goldfields of Western Australia, but few are acquainted with the unspeakable dreariness of the tracks beyond, leading to the McDonnell ranges. So far as the Erlistoun, and a few miles beyond, the track is passable enough, but, once past the Sutherland ranges, I know not if earth holds ought which is more like hell. Day by day the camels paced over the inhospitable desert, glaring like a furnace in the summer sun. The soaks often contained water that was almost putrid. Frequently, they had to bail out dead birds before they could drink themselves, or offer a drink to their thirsty beasts.

No need to dwell upon the hardships of that journey. Those who have traveled in the desert know them only too well; those who have not cannot even imagine them. and only those who have experienced it can know the sensation of joy when the goal is reached at last.

After a brief rest, commenced the work of prospecting. Day after day they traversed the ranges at right angles to their strike, and day after day they returned to the camp having found nothing of value. Eventually they struck camp and returned to more likely country which they had noticed en route. Here they commenced the work of systematic prospecting. Day after day they toiled and still, no result. It was in these days of unrewarded toil that Jack’s cheerful optimism proved invaluable. Ha chatted gaily and confidentially of the find they were certain to make. Again and again they shifted camp, but with no better result To add to their troubles one of the pack camels strayed and could nowhere be found.

Jack determined to trace it if possible, as its Ioss would prevent them from carrying an adequate supply of water on the return trip. The search led into country they had not previously explored. While searching for the camel he unexpectedly stumbled across an outcrop of quartz. His experienced eye was attracted by its kindly and highly mineralised appearance. Forgetting the camel, he commenced napping with the pick. The third stone he broke showed a goodly-sized piece of coarse gold snugly resting in a vugh in the iron-stained quartz where it had been left when the iron pyrites, which originally filled the cavity, had been oxidised away.

Gold ! Gold ! at last

Forgetting everything else in his excitement, he broke stone after stone and soon collected quite a little pile of specimens. Then he commenced a systematic examination, and, after napping the reef at frequent intervals for a distance of forty chains, he knew that he had indeed struck it rich. Night put an end to further search. He slept by the great find, dreaming of Sylvia and home and happiness. Early next morning he started for camp to pilot his mate to the wealth which surpassed their wildest dreams.

Ordinary prudence now dictated that they should return, but both were unwilling to leave the spot. Day after day was spent in napping the reef, collecting specimens and searching for parallel reefs, if any existed. At length they realised that any further delay was simply madness, so the water tanks were placed on the one remaining pack camel and the scanty remnant of provisions stowed away on their own. Compass bearings were taken to two great quartz blows in the vicinity, about a mile apart, which they named ‘The Pinnacles’ to locate the position of the reef. From the top of ‘The Pinnacles’ they took further bearings to other conspicuous landmarks. Then, after drawing a rough chart, they started on the return trip. Freshwater Soak lay several days steady journey to the west, and on it depended their min chance of regaining civilisation.

Their eagerness for gold had indeed led them far afield. Experienced bushmen as they were, neither cared to think of the soak being dry. Day after day they paced over the burning desert, skirting the vast patches of spinnifex, traversing the dry beds of the salt lakes. The glare from the salt encrusted bottoms of these seas of desolation was painful to the eyes. Before them danced the mirage which would have deceived less experienced traveller, decoying them with its false show of vast sheets of beautiful water. These never deviated from their path. On, on to the Freshwater Soak was the word.

Listlessly paced the camels, listlessly rode the men with aching eyes and burning throats, through the blinding glare and boiling heat, feeling that they were scarcely men of flesh and blood, but rather phantoms in an evil dream. Eagerly they looked for a gnamma hole, or Kurrajong tree, or any means of getting water, but without avail. Just before sunset one evening, Jack, who was in the lead, gave a yell of delight. He pointed to a number of birds overhead and shouted, “We must be near the soak, another hour and we shall be luxuriating in water without stint and our poor beasts also’ “Eh,’ replied Bob, ‘I wish I had a long neck, like a camel, so that I could feel it trickling all the way down.’ The camel* stretched out their necks and snuffed the air suspiciously. An hour’s steady march brought them in sight of the soak.

Jack ran to the soak whistling merrily. A few moment’s later, Bob, attracted by the cessation of the whistling, turned round to see him seated on the ground, his head in his hands, the picture of stoney-eyed despair. The soak was dry. “Is she quite dry” asked Bob, fearing the worst. ‘Maybe she may make a pannikin full if we wait long enough”,’ replied Jack, ‘Well, cheer up! where there is that much we may get more by cleaning her out.’ They soon cleaned out tho soak and waited with feverish impatience for the water to dribble in. ‘ Let’s turn in now,’ said Jack ‘ and see if she will make any by the morning. It’s no good brooding over trouble.’

Like the simple hearted, courageous pioneers of the desert, who fill so large a place in West Australian history, they fell asleep and slept the sleep of the weary, though both knew that only a miracle could save them from that most terrible of all deaths—death by thirst.

In the morning they found their worst fears realised — the soak had indeed gone dry, though it had been believed to be permanent. They debated anxiously what had better be done. ‘ There’s sufficient in the tanks for a bit of a drink for one camel with a mere trifle to spare for the rider. One may just be able to get through, but certainly not both so off you go Bob. In the last resort I can shoot the other camels to put them out of their misery.’ ‘Don’t waste precious time arguing.Jack. Take Jenny, she’s the staunchest of the two and off you get. Home, sweet home is over there and it will take you all your time to reach it.’

‘ Well,’ replied Jack, ‘ if you can be obstinate so can I. I wont budge an inch, that’s the straight tip.’ ‘ This is sheer madness,’ hotly retorted Bob. ‘ Let luck decide. I’ll pull two straws, one slightly shorter than the other. Whoever draws the long straw pledges himself to go, the other to remain. I’ll put them in the muzzle of the gun, each protruding an equal distance, then roll it to and fro to thoroughly mix them so that neither knows which is which — now here they are, shut your eyes and draw.’

Jack drew and hastily whisking it behind him, unseen by Bob, snicked off a piece between his thumb and finger. They then compared. Jack’s straw was the shorter, but for the piece he had purposely snicked off it had been the longer. ‘The luck’s with you, Bob, lose no time.’ ‘I wish the luck had been the other way, Jack.’ ‘One word before you go, Bob. Tell Sylvia I send her a wedding gift — the only man in the world who is fit for her love, home, and happiness — and also my half of the claim. God bless her and you — good-bye, old chum, good-bye.’

They wrung hands and parted. The one to ride for life across the water less desert, the other to await the inevitable. Jack watched the figure of the rider disappear in the distance, inwardly breathing many a prayer that man and beast, enfeebled by want of water and scanty food and arduous travelling, might cover the last cruel stretch of burning, blistering, water less desert that lay between them and the nearest outpost of civilisation. He has strength and the heart of a lion, I think he will do it, he murmured. Then, come what may, Sylvia will be happy. Knowing it would be useless to search for water in that inhospitable desert, he whiled away the time carving the name ‘Sylvia’ on the trunk of a dying gum tree. Then he sank down to wait patiently, hoping that relief might come before it was too late, but entertaining little hope of it. Higher and higher climbed the sun, glowing like a huge ball of fire in the iron sky. The earth seemed like a furnace shimmering red hot in the fiery glare. He looked around for shade, but there was none to be found. The perpendicular rays of the sun penetrated everywhere.

The hours seemed like centuries. Time flies, but now it crawled on leaden feet. Finally, the sun sank to rest, illuminating the portals of the west with an aureole of splendor. Floating in a sea of molten gold were numerous coral islands arrayed in all the colors of the rainbow. Then as the stars appeared in all their glory and the Milky Way stretched its sinuous course from pole to pole, a cool breeze blew over the sun-baked desert and the weary sufferer sank into an uneasy slumber. The third day found him delirious. He thought he saw Sylvia, looking so fresh and beautiful, bending him a tray on which stood tall glasses filled with drinks cooled with Iumps of ice. Icicles hung pendent from the brim. But when he tried to seize one and lift it to his parched tongue and aching throat his fingers closed on nothingness.

‘It is not Sylvia,’ he moaned’

but visions sent from hell to torment the dying. His clothes suffocated him and he threw them off. He ran round and round the tree, digging at the earth with frenzied fingers, as if he would claw water from the sunbaked ground. ‘But, hark! camel bells! camel bells, or more demons which?? He sank on the ground gazing with glaring blood-shot eyes. Then the sound of human voices fell faintly on his ear. ‘Help at last ! oh, God ! if I could but make myself heard,’ he moaned, but his swollen tongue would utter no sound. He tried to rise, but his strength was exhausted. The watchful eye of the leader had detected the figure of the dying man. One sharp pull at the nose string, accompanied by the peremptory command ‘ Hooshta,’ and the camel was brought to its knees.

Another minute and a few drops of water were poured down his throat. Then they constructed a rude litter, and readjusting the packs of the camels, placed him on one and started for civilisation, for they, too, were running short of water. They had headed for the soak in the vain hope of replenishing their tanks. On leaving Jack, Bob urged his camel forward all that day at the best pace the wearied beast could make. On removing the saddle at night he noticed with dismay its weak and emaciated condition. Taking but a small drink himself he poured the remainder into his hat and gave the camel the last of the precious fluid in the hope that even this small quantity might pull her through. On the following day as her rode wearily on, he thought of Jack and the message he had given him. Then, like a lightning flash, he divined its true meaning and the trick that Jack had played him. The momentary impulse came upon him to return and he pulled the nose ring sharply. ‘Had I but thought of it yesterday when I had water,’ he muttered to himself, ‘I would have gone back. Now. it is too late’. Tho one hope is to press on that I may meet someone to send to his relief.’ Again he urged the camel forward.

At noon on the third day the camel lay down to die. Bob felt that he had small hope of covering the remaining distance on foot but resolved to keep going while his strength remained. Late that night he saw the lights of a prospecting camp some distance east of the Erlistoun, where he obtained much needed succor. After dispatching a relief party to Jack’s assistance, he resumed his journey on a borrowed camel. In due course he reached ‘The Patch’ and told Sylvia of Jack’s message. He explained fully how he believed Jack had tricked him. ”I know dear,’ continued Bob, ‘ that he deliberately faced that awful death that you might be happy. He thought that you preferred me and so he sent me to you as a wedding gift. I feel sure that is the true meaning of his message, though I did not grip it at the time. Silence and deep grief prevailed at ‘ The Patch’ when the news was spread abroad. The men ceased work as of one accord and walked about discussing in despondent tones the possibility of the relief party being in time.

Correspondingly great was the joy when the camel train, which had rescued Jack at the soak, drew up at Mick’s door, and rough, but loving hands carried Jack inside. He lived — and that was all. For days Sylvia tended him with loving care. When she gazed at the thin wan face of the man, mutely eloquent with the tale of the awful sufferings he had undergone at the soak for her sake, a great pity stole into her heart. She doubted now no longer. With love had come the awakening. The thoughtless girl had blossomed into the loving woman. ‘Where am I’ queried Jack in a faint voice as he regained consciousness. ‘At home with Sylvia,’ replied she, as she smoothed back his rough unkempt locks, which his sufferings at the soak had tinged with grey, and gazed lovingly into his eyes.

‘At home, never to leave it again.’

‘Where’s Bob?’ ‘ He’s here.,he gave me your message. The wedding gift came home in a litter very ill and weak, but I want no other. I know all Jack, the whole tale of your heroic devotion to my poor unworthy self and to Bob. If a woman’s love can ever repay, you shall be repaid.’ She stooped and kissed him.’ And you have forgiven me my many follies?’ he inquired anxiously.

Oh. yes, long ago. You remember that more than once I quoted to you my favorite verse?

I hold it truth with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping stones
Of their dead selves to other things.’

‘And I knew that would be so with you, Jack.’ ‘ Don’t make me better than I am, Sylvia’ he added whimsically, in the old mirth-provoking way. No, better than that,’ replied she, ‘is the man who has fought and conquered, the man who will never go back, the man who is brave, unselfish and true, and whom I can love and honor always.’

Tears trickled down the pale wan face as he faintly murmured ‘ Oh, Sylvia, I am happy. I never deserved such luck, On the journey Bob told me about his proposal to you, and from what he said I thought there could be no doubt that you preferred him to me. That is why I sent him to you But how will the poor fellow take it, for I believe that he felt sure of winning you Sylvia, never let the boys know more about this than you can help. They’ll know that we drew lots at the soak and that I was the loser, and that is all they need ever know.’ Then they plighted their troth. Even in the moment of his supreme happiness he thought of his friend’s loss with compassion.

One fine morning in early autumn a motley procession set out for the scene of the wedding. It comprised a flying column of men on horses, camels and bikes, while a string of buggies and carts brought up the rear. Jack drove his bride in a buggy artistically decorated with flowers and evergreens. The wedding was followed by a sumptuous breakfast. The speech of the occasion was delivered by Irish Pat, who replied to the toast of the bridesmaid said he, with a majestic wave of his arm

‘Fur all the purty colleens, yez are more loik angels iviry wun’.  l’ll try the effect of a little blarney, an whisper in your ear this little pome—

Come under my halo, darling,
Come under its ample brim;
Like sunbeams in the sunlight sparkling,
Its glories will never dim.
Come under my halo, darling,
Come under its ample dome,
Come to my bosom, darling,
My queen, my love, my own.

The remainder of the tale is soon told. The claim proved to be merely a rich surface show, but, before it petered out it gave both Bob. and Jack a start in life. Bob then elected to go to South Africa, where ho prospected for a while in Zululand. On the outbreak of the war he joined the irregular forces.

The last news of Pat was that he was seen wheeling about his little Sylvia in her perambulator. When his mates laughed he caustically replied, ‘ Boys, its up to you to go and do likewise.’ Like many others I heard a brief outline of the story of Bob and Jack, but it was not till one night in South Africa,when Bob and I were on sentry duty together, momentarily expecting an attack from Beyers commando, that Bob told me the whole story- Later on, when patrolling the  frontiers of Zululand, I met one of Cetewayo’s famous indunas – Mawa. He told me of the Zulu war, then in return he asked me for a typical tale of my country. I told him the tale of Bob and Jack. He listened attentively, punctuating the narrative with many an expressive sigh. When I had finished he said, ‘Jack was a man indeed’ Then after a pause he asked ‘How many men are there like this in Australia?’

I thought for a moment of the hosts of prospectors in the early days and the hardships they so bravely endured. Then I answered with pride, ‘of such men there are a great number’.

by R M Cochrane