In search of Thunderbolt’s caves

By TP

My interest in Captain Thunderbolt (Frederick Ward) started back in 1973 when I was looking for an area where I could combine some fishing, exploring, fossicking and swimming. I’d been told of the Pretty Gully Goldfield, in northern NSW, by my late fossicking mate, Mark Davidson. The area had been a regular haunt of Thunderbolt in the late 1860s. The area can be reached from Brisbane by either going through Woodenbong, Toolom or Tabulam. The property owner of the area kindly allowed me to camp at the junction of the Cataract and Clarence Rivers, which was an ideal spot nestled in undulating hills, and typical bushranging country. It was only a 15-minute drive from the campsite to the Pretty Gully Goldfield. Mark Davidson had told me of an old hermit/prospector who lived on the goldfield so I decided to pay the chap a courtesy visit. The track down to Vic McGlashan’s shack passed very close to the tombstones in the small cemetery that had nearly been taken over by the bush. It was a rather dull afternoon and the trees grew very close to the track. Up ahead lay Vic’s old tin abode with smoke lazily rising into the sky. A pile of empty beer and wine bottles lay at the right-hand corner of the old dwelling. An open, rusty 44-gallon drum was located at the left-hand side of the door.

VIC LETS HIS GUARD DOWN

The rainwater was fed into the drum by guttering secured at various intervals by pieces of fencing wire. As I approached, two cats raced out of the only door and headed for the nearby scrub. The table was cluttered up with books, magazines, items of various foods, and a kerosene hurricane lantern. Vic’s ancient metal and wire bed was on the other side of the table. The old wood stove was to the right as you walked through the door, and there was a sort of attic accessed by a rickety ladder made from saplings. This was where Vic stored his other meagre possessions. Vic was in his late 60s and was rather reticent at first, but when I told him I was a friend of Mark Davidson, he let his guard down. He offered me a cup of tea and then walked outside with a large old blackened kettle to the 44-gallon drum and filled the kettle by using an empty jam tin nailed to a stick. Vic then put the kettle on the stove, stuck some kindling on the fire and blew like mad for a short time to get the fire going again. All of Vic’s enamel cups were chipped and, as he gave them a quick wipe, I couldn’t help but wonder what else he wiped with the cloth. Vic first came to the area during the 1930s, the Depression years, and had prospected and explored the surrounding district until he was too weak to climb and prospect the hills and gullies. He was content to just walk the 30 metres from his shack to the nearest gully after heavy rains and pan a dish or two. On a later visit to the Pretty Gully area, I met a ‘tickie’ who was employed by the government to ride horseback in the district and check the fences that prevented tick cattle from entering tick-free areas.

HE FOUND THE BUSHRANGER’S CAVE

Vic described to me an area where he had discovered one of Thunderbolt’s caves at the dead-end head of a steep-sided gully. The cave still had the remains of a saddle, a frying pan and some empty food tins. It was about 10 years earlier that Vic had found the cave and had left everything as it was, which I thought was great. A couple of days later I decided to search for Thunderbolt’s cave and made my way up the steep-sided gully Vic had mentioned but halfway up, the thick lantana growth prevented me getting any further. I had to make a detour climb up along the edge of the gully but access down to the cave’s entrance was then only by rope, something I didn’t have, and I left disappointed.

A SKULL WITH A BULLET HOLE

The following year, old Vic told me some very interesting news which might have involved Thunderbolt. When he and I were enjoying a few glasses of wine and feeling a bit mellow, I mentioned that I’d been searching for one of Thunderbolt’s caves. Vic asked me where I’d been looking and when I told him he replied, “Good, it’s not the one I found fifteen years ago when I was taking a short cut to another gold area. I was checking out some porphyry rock and then went for a splash and when I happened to look up, I saw the narrow entrance to a cave above me. There was a good-sized sapling growing up past the entrance so I climbed up and squeezed through the small opening. What I saw with my little torch really scared the crap out of me. “I found a skeleton with a neat bullet hole in the forehead of the skull. “I almost panicked but when I saw all the ‘boodle’ I got over my initial shock. The skeleton was that of a small person, a man most likely as what was left of the clothes belonged to a man.” I told Vic that I’d love to see the cave sometime but he said, “No way! You might pinch the boodle!” I didn’t even know what boodle was, so he explained that it meant a hoard of stolen loot. Vic went on to say that there were a couple of gold watches, sovereigns, a wad of old banknotes from the last century, rings, bangles, brooches and some very rich gold-bearing quartz. There was another entrance to the cave but Vic didn’t elaborate.

WAS IT A LONELY MAN’S DAYDREAM

He then said to me, “You can’t find the cave as you haven’t any idea of how far to go or what direction it is from here. I didn’t tell the police about the skeleton in the cave. I was afraid I might become involved in some murder ‘cause I didn’t find a gun in the cave. Anyway, the cops would probably keep the boodle for themselves. I thought about going back to the cave many times but now I get the pension and it’s plenty for what I need.” I wondered if his story was true, and thought it might have been just another daydream story that had become real in the mind of an old man who had spent most of his life alone, searching for a fortune in gold that forever eluded him. My wife reckoned old Vic told me about the treasure in the cave to keep me interested in coming back as I always brought him some food supplies and a plug of dark tobacco on my visits to the area. I told Vic I knew of a bushranger named Wilson who was shot in the nearby ranges, so the north of NSW had its fair share of bushrangers. A couple of years later on another visit to Vic, while yarning and drinking wine together, I casually mentioned his secret cave once more. He said he might take me one day but, as it was a fair walk and with his heart not the best, it might not be possible. Instead, he pointed in the direction of the cave and explained how long it would take to walk there.

SEARCH FOR THE CAVES

I have since wondered about his story and find it odd that the guy in the cave was murdered yet all the loot remained in the cave. I have heard from another source that a coach in the area during the late 1800s was bailed up by a bushranger. The chap sitting next to the driver of the coach got a shot off first. The bushranger slumped forward in his saddle, turned his horse and rode off. Even so, one would imagine anyone being hit in the forehead would have certainly died before getting back to the cave hideout. Was the chap in the cave murdered by another bushranger who might have intended to come back later but never did. As I said earlier this was all told to me in the 1970s and old Vic passed away in March, 1989, taking the secret location of the skeleton in the cave with him. Some years later a mate and I went searching for Vic’s cave with the aid of topographical maps and a compass. We spent two whole days tramping and climbing the hills, exploring gullies and small creeks, but failed to find any cave.

Vic outside his old tin shed

PROSPECTOR’S SHACK VANDALISED

We called in to have a look at old Vic’s shack and found a note on the door requesting visitors to leave the shack in its original state as a monument and reminder of an interesting old hermit/prospector. It was rather disappointing to see that this notice had been ignored. Some people had been digging inside looking for any coins that they thought Vic might have hidden. Quite a few items had been removed from inside and the shack was starting to fall into disrepair. It was sad for me when I checked out the area where I used to camp and swim at the junction of the Cataract and Clarence Rivers. The area was full of houses. If you want to have a stab at finding Vic’s boodle cave, be warned that the ranges and valleys in the area are very rugged. Whoever discovers the cave will certainly have earned whatever reward lies within. But perhaps the cave only ever existed in the mind of a lonely old prospector in need of something interesting to tell a stranger. As for Frederick Ward, aka Captain Thunderbolt, his success as a bushranger can be largely attributed to his horsemanship and splendid mounts, to popular sympathy inspired by his agreeable appearance and conversation, and to his gentlemanly behaviour and avoidance of violence; he also showed prudence in not robbing armed coaches, or towns where a policeman was stationed. The last of the professional bushrangers in New South Wales, Ward was the most successful. However, on the 25th of May, 1870, he was surprised while testing an inferior horse and was chased and shot dead by Constable Alexander Binney Walker at Kentucky Creek near Uralla. He was 35 years old.