all, slight and wiry, he could
sit a horse as well as the best of riders and hold his own with men of
all sorts. Endowed with quick insight into the character of men who were
in many instances indifferent to law, he exercised a restraining
influence without in any way neglecting his duty as a police officer.
His presence and word alone frequently calmed excited diggers in a way
that commanded their respect and admiration. When the diggers broke into
rioting at Charters Towers, the tact, patience and courage of Clohesy
was of more use and value than a posse of police. Many a time I have
heard a witty remark, or a pithy Irish phrase from him, turn a likely
disturbance into a pleasant laughing meeting. Wherever he controlled, he
kept things in order without his hand being felt. When he died about
1879, Queensland lost a good officer, and many a northern pioneer a true
friend.

When I reached Townsville I procured a load for Ravenswood diggings,
which had just been opened. I went to load my new waggon at Clifton and
Aplin's store, accompanied by a man named Tom Hobbs, who was also
loading at the same place, and for the same destination. When I drove my
team and new waggon from Sydney through the streets toward the German
Gardens--since the war, Belgium Gardens--where we were camped, I noticed
every one laughing as I went by. After crossing the ridge where the
Anglican Cathedral now stands, I went around to the off side, and there
saw that some wag, while I was loading, had obliterated a letter on the
name of my waggon, which Fitzmaurice had christened the "Townsville
Lass." Striking the "L" out gave it a different name. I quickly procured
a paint brush and renewed the name as it should be.

At that time the road to Ravenswood was lined with vehicles and
pedestrians, making their way to the new field. Cobb and Co. were
running a coach for mails and passengers, driven by Mick Brady, who
afterwards was well and favourably known on the very bad road from
Cooktown to Maytown. After making a quick trip we returned, and loaded
again for the Gilbert diggings.

In going up Thornton's Gap, on the coast range, I had the misfortune to
lose the top of my third finger on my right hand. We had 36 bullocks on
the waggon, and a faulty chain breaking, only six bullocks were left to
hold the waggon. The near side ones being lazy, allowed the waggon to
drift down towards the steep descent of 500 feet to the bottom. I ran
with a piece of hea