vy log to prevent a smash, but the wheels caught the
log before I could release my hand, and completely crushed the top of
my finger until the bone protruded. That night I had to lay with my
finger in hot water to relieve the pain. The next day I started at
daylight for Townsville, had the finger dressed by the doctor, and
returned to the teams the same day, having ridden a distance of 60
miles. I was unable to yoke my team, but this my mate, Tom Hobbs, kindly
did for me. I was, however, able to drive the team the 350 miles to the
Gilbert. On returning from there, I had a bad attack of fever and ague,
which compelled me to ride on to Townsville for medical advice, having
various difficulties on the way down. I left my black boy to assist my
mate to bring down the two teams, by hitching my waggon behind his, and
yoking up sufficient bullocks drafted from each team to draw them.

My mate, Tom Hobbs, was a "white man," which means a lot, but rather
backward as regards education. In leisure moments I would assist him in
reading, writing, etc. Before he left the Bay on this trip, he had
become engaged to a young lady in the town, and enlisted my services to
write his letters for him. I remember the last I wrote before leaving
him contained the following:--

But if all goes well on my return,
We'll give the Parson some trouble,
To write the license for friends to learn
We're converted from single to double.

In a few weeks after reaching Townsville, under the doctor's care, I
regained my usual good health, and found Tom's fiancee and delivered the
messages which he had entrusted me with. The wet season of 1871 had set
in, and Tom was stuck at the Burdekin River with the teams, so I
concocted the following rhyme to send him as if they came from his
lady-love:--

Oh! Tom Hobbs, dear Tom, why don't you come back
To redeem the dear promise you gave unto me,
When you started with loading on the Gilberton track
To hail your return as my husband to be.

Oh! the days and the hours how slowly they pass,
And for me, I fear, there are plenty in store,
Since now there's abundance of water and grass,
To tempt you to spell your poor bullocks the more.

But, dear Tom, do write me a line to say
That your love is as fervent as ever it's been.
If so, on your return we'll both name the day
Which kind friends will finish with tins kerosene.

I pray my