"The Adventures of a Rolling Stone" (continued 7)

While both were lamenting their mishap, Bat made his appearance from the bush; and began finding fault with his mate, for not having breakfast ready, and the horse harnessed for a start. The effects of the bottle of brandy had only increased the disagreeable peculiarities of Bat’s character; and given him a good appetite.

He was now told what had happened, which made him a little more amiable. But his amiableness could be traced to the fact of his being conceited of the swinish selfishness of which he had been guilty. He seemed highly delighted to think he had had the good fortune to escape the mischance that had befallen his companions; and, instead of sympathising with them, he actually boasted of his luck, putting it forward as a proof of his possessing more than ordinary sagacity.

“Will you have a little brandy?” asked his mate, in a tone of voice that told me the offer was not made in a friendly spirit. “There’s a drop left in my bottle, which, luckily, the bush-rangers did not get hold of.”

“Of course I will,” answered Bat. “Brandy is a thing I never refuse, especially when on the road, and after camping out all night. Let’s have it.”

The drayman produced his bottle, along with his tin pannikin. The former was about half full, and its contents were poured into the cup.

When Bat reached forth his hand to take hold of the vessel, the brandy was thrown into his face; and the next instant he himself fell heavily to the earth—from the effects of a blow administered by the clenched fist of the drayman!

Bat rose to his feet, and tried to show fight; but no efforts he could make, either offensive or defensive, hindered him from getting his deserts. It was the first time I had ever been pleased at the sight of one man punishing another.

After getting a thorough thrashing from his irate partner, Bat took up his blankets, and then started back along the road towards Ballarat—having, for some reason or other, changed his mind about going to Avoca.

I paid the drayman what I had agreed to give him for taking my “swag;” and, accompanied by the digger, who had been robbed along with him, I continued my journey afoot—each of us carrying his own blankets and tent. We left the poor drayman alone with his dray, in what the Yankees call a “fix,” for he dare not leave the vehicle, and the goods it contained, to go in search of a horse, and without one it would be impossible for him to transport his property from the place.

I would have stopped along with him for a day or two, and lent him some assistance, had it not been, that he was one of those unfortunate creatures so often met in the Australian colonies, who seldom speak without using some of the filthy language imported there from the slums of London. For this reason I left him to get out of his difficulty the best way he could; and, for all I know to the contrary, he is still keeping guard over his dray, and the miscellaneous lading it contained.

Volume Three—Chapter Four.

The “Sweet Vale of Avoca.”

We arrived near the Avoca diggings late in the afternoon. Seeing a good spot for pitching a tent, my companion stopped, and proposed that we should go no further: as that place was exactly suited to his mind.

“All right,” said I. “If it suits you—you had better stay there.”

While the digger was disencumbering himself of his load, I walked on. I did so, because my travelling companion was a man whose acquaintance I did not care to cultivate any further. I did not take the trouble to satisfy myself of any reason for leaving him in this unceremonious manner. I only knew that I did not like his society; and, therefore, did not desire to pitch my tent near him—lest I might have more of it.

My principle objection to remaining with the man was this. I had formed an idea, that nothing was to be gained from him—neither knowledge, amusement, friendship, money, nor anything else—unless, perhaps, it might have been, a worse opinion of mankind; and this of itself, was just ground for my giving him the good-bye.

After going a little farther on, I pitched my tent in a place I made choice for myself.

Next morning I walked forth, to have a look at the new gold-field.

There are not many spectacles more interesting to the miner, than that termed a “rush” to a gold-field newly discovered, and reported to be “rich.”

The scene is one of the greatest excitement. On the ground to which the “rush” is directed, all the vices and amusements to be met with in large cities, soon make their appearance. Where, perhaps, a month before, not a human being could have been seen, taverns, with magnificent interior decorations, billiard-rooms, bowling-alleys, rifle-galleries, theatres, and dancing-saloons, will be erected; in short, a city, where, but a few weeks ago, there was nothing but the “howling” wilderness!

On my arrival at the Avoca diggings, I marked out a “claim,” and for several days my occupation was that of “shepherding” it.

To “shepherd a claim,” is to keep possession of, and merely retain it—until, by the working of other claims near, a tolerably correct opinion may be formed: as to whether yours will be worth digging or not.

The system of shepherding claims, is only practised where the gold lies some distance below the surface; and where the claim can only be prospected at the expense of some money and trouble.

The claim I had marked out, was a large one—larger in extent than one person was entitled to hold. For this reason, on the third day, after I had taken possession of it, another man bespoke a share in it along with me.

I did not like the look of this man; and would have objected to working with him; but he would not consent to divide the ground; and the only way I could get clear of him was, to yield up the claim altogether. This I did not wish to do: for it stood, or rather “lay,” in a good position for being “on the lead.”

I have said that I did not like the look of the intruder. This dislike to him arose, from the circumstance of his having a strong “Vandemonian expression” of countenance; and I had a great prejudice against those who, in the colonies, are called “old lags.”

We “shepherded” the claim together for a few days, when the prospect of its being on the lead, became so fair, that we at length commenced sinking a shaft.

The more I saw of my companion, while we were toiling together, the weaker grew my aversion to him; until, at length, I began to entertain for him a certain feeling of respect. This increased, as we became better acquainted.

I learnt that he was not from Tasmania, but from New South Wales; and my prejudice against the “Sydneyites” was even stronger (having been formed in California,) than against the “old hands” from Van Dieman’s Land.

The “Vandemonians,” generally speaking, have some good traits about them, that are seldom met amongst those from the “Sydney side.” The convicts from the former place, have more generosity in their wickedness, less disposition to turn approvers on their companions in crime, while at the same time, they display more manliness and daring in their misdeeds, than do the “Sydney birds.”

One would think, there could not be much difference between the criminals of the two colonies: since both originally come from the same school; but the characteristics distinguishing classes of transportees, change with the circumstances into which they may be thrown.

My new partner proved to be like few of the “downey coves” I had encountered in the diggings: for I found in him, a man possessing many good principles, from which he could not be easily tempted to depart.

He did not deny having been a convict, though, on the other hand—unlike most of his class—he never boasted of it.

“Drinks all round,” can usually be won from an old convict in the following manner:—

Offer to lay a wager, that you can tell for what crime he had been transported; and as his own word is generally the only evidence to be obtained for deciding the wager, ten to one it will be accepted. Tell him then: that he was “lagged for poaching,” and he will immediately acknowledge that he has lost, and cheerfully pay for the “drinks all round.”

This game could not have been played with the subject of my sketch: since he freely acknowledged the crime for which he had been transported: it was for killing a policeman.

One evening, as we sate in our tent, he related to me the story of his life; but, before giving it to my readers, I must treat them to a little explanation.

This narrative is entitled the “Adventures of a Rolling Stone,” and such being its title, there may be a complaint of its inappropriateness: because it also details the adventures of others. But part of the occupation of the hero, has been to observe what was going on around him; and, therefore, a faithful account, not only of what he did, but what he saw and heard—or in any way learnt—should be included in a true narrative of his adventures. Hearing a man relate the particulars of his past life, was to the “Rolling Stone,” an event in his own history; and, therefore, has he recorded it.

The reality of what is here written may be doubted; and the question will be asked:—how it was, that nearly every man who came in contact with the “Rolling Stone,” had a history to relate, and also related it?

The answer may be found in the following explanation:—

A majority of the men met with on the gold-fields of California and Australia, are universally, or at least generally, unlike those they have left behind them in the lands of their birth. Most gold-diggers are men of character, of some kind or other; and have, through their follies or misfortunes, made for themselves a history. There will almost always be found some passage of interest in the story of their lives—often in the event itself, which has forced them into exile, and caused them to wander thousands of miles away from their homes and their friends.

When it is further remembered: that the principle amusement of the most respectable of the gold-diggers, is that of holding social converse in their tents, or around their evening camp-fires, it will appear less strange, that amongst so many “men of character” one should become acquainted with not a few “romances of real life”—such as that of the “Vandemonian” who became my associate in the “sweet vale of Avoca,” and which is here recorded, as one of many a “convict’s story,” of which I have been the confidant.

Volume Three—Chapter Five.

A Convict’s Story.

“You have expressed a desire to hear the story of my life,” said my mining partner. “I make you welcome to it. There is not much of my history that I should be ashamed to tell you of; but with that little I shall not trouble you. I have never done anything very bad,—that is, I have never robbed anybody, nor stolen anything that I did not really want.

“I am a native of Birmingham, in which town I resided until I was about twenty years of age.

“My father was a confirmed drunkard; and the little money he used to earn by working as a journeyman cutler, was pretty certain to be spent in gin.

“The support of himself, and four young children fell upon my mother, myself, and a brother—who was one year younger than I. In all Birmingham, there were not two boys more dutiful to their parents, more kind to their younger brothers and sisters, more industrious, and less selfish, than my brother and myself—at the time I am speaking of.

“Our hours were wholly occupied in doing all we could, to supply the wants of my father’s family.

“We sometimes attended an evening school. There we learnt to read and write; but even the time devoted to this, we would have considered as squandered, if we could have been doing anything else—to benefit the unfortunate family to which we belonged.

“One evening, after we had got to be grown up to manhood, my younger brother and I were returning from our work, when we saw our father at some distance off, in the middle of the street. We saw that he was intoxicated. Three policemen were around him—two of them with hands upon him.

“As usual with my father on such occasions, he was refractory; and the policemen were handling him in a very rough manner. One of them had struck him on the head with his baton, and my father’s face was covered with blood.

“My brother and I ran up, and offered to take him quietly home—if the policemen would allow us to do so; but as he had assaulted them, and torn their clothes, they refused to let us have him, and insisted in locking him up. My brother and I, then offered to take him to the lock-up ourselves; and, taking him by the hand, I entreated him to go quietly along with us.

“The policeman rudely pushed me aside, again collared my father, and commenced dragging him onward. Once more we interfered—though this time, only to entice our father to go with the policemen, without making any resistance.

“At that moment, one of the constables shouted ‘a rescue;’ and the three, without further provocation, commenced an assault upon my brother and myself.

“One of them seized me by the throat; and struck me several times on the head with his baton. We struggled awhile, and then both fell to the ground. I turned my head, while trying to get up again, and saw my brother lying on the pavement, with his face covered all over with blood. The policeman, who had fallen with me, still retained his clutch upon my throat; and again commenced beating me as soon as we had both recovered our feet. A loose stone, weighing about ten pounds, was lying upon the pavement. I seized hold of it, and struck my antagonist on the forehead. He fell like a bullock. When I looked around, I saw that my father—who was a very powerful man—had conquered the other two policemen. He seemed suddenly to have recovered from his intoxication; and now helped me to carry the constable I had felled, to the nearest public-house—where the man died a few hours after the affray.

“I was tried for manslaughter; and sentenced to ten years transportation.

“Not until then, did evil thoughts ever make their home in my mind.

“Up till the time I was torn from my relatives—for whom I had a great affection—and from the girl whom I fondly loved, I am willing to be responsible to God and man, for every thought I had, or every act I did. Ever since, having been deprived of liberty—dragged from all near and dear—with every social tie broken—and robbed of everything for which I cared to live—I do not think myself to blame for anything I may have done. I have been only a link in a chain of circumstances—a victim of the transportation system of England, that transforms incipient crime into hardened villainy.

“On arriving in New South Wales, I was placed in a gang with other convicts; and put to the business of pushing a wheel-barrow. We were employed in removing a hill, from the place where nature had set it: for no other reason, I believe, than for the purpose of keeping us from being idle! The labour was not severe; but the life was a very weary one. It was not the work that made it so to me. I was used to work, and did not dislike it, if there had been any sense in the task we had to perform. But I had no more idea of what my labour was for, than the wheel-barrow with which I performed it; and therefore I could feel no more interest in the work, than did the barrow itself.

“My toil was not sweetened with the reflection that it was in behalf of those I loved. On the contrary, I knew that the best years of my life were being uselessly squandered, while my mother and her children were perhaps suffering for food!

“I often asked myself the question: why I had been sent from home? It could not have been to reform me, and make me lead a better life, after the expiration of the term for which I had been sentenced. It could not have been for that: for no youth could have been more innocent of all evil intentions than I was, up to the time of my unfortunate affair with the policeman. All the philosophers of earth could not devise a scheme better adapted to corrupt the morals of a young man—make him forget all the good he had ever learnt—harden his soul against all the better feelings of human nature—and transform him from a weak frail mortal, with good intentions, into a very demon—than the transportation system of England.

“From the age of twenty years, until that of thirty, I consider the most valuable part of a man’s existence; and as this whole period was taken from me, I naturally regarded the future of my life, as scarce worth possessing. I became recklessly indifferent as to what my actions might be; and from that time they were wholly guided by the circumstances of the hour.

“Each month, I either heard, or saw, something calculated to conduct me still further along the path of crime. I do not say that all my companions were bad men; but most of them were: since my daily associates were thieves, and men guilty of crimes even worse than theft I am willing to acknowledge—which is more than some of them would do—that the fact of their being convicts was strong evidence of their being wicked men.

“After having spent nearly a year, between the trams of the wheel-barrow in the neighbourhood of Sydney, I was despatched with a gang to do some labourer’s work up the country.

“Most of the men in this gang, were wickeder than those, with whom I had previously been associated. This was perhaps owing to the fact that my new companions had been longer abroad, and were of course better trained to the transportation system.

“Some of them were suffering great agony through the want of tobacco and strong drink, in both of which—being many of them ‘ticket-of-leave’ holders—they had lately had a chance of freely indulging. That you may know something of the character of these men, and of the craving they had for tobacco, I shall tell you what I saw some of them do.

“Many of the wardens—as is usually the case—were greatly disliked by the convicts; and the latter, of course, took every opportunity of showing their hatred towards them.

“One morning, the gang refused to go to work—owing to a part of the usual allowance of food having been stopped from one of them, as they said, for no good reason. The overseer, in place of sending for the superintendent, attempted to force them to their tasks; and the result was a ‘row.’

“In the skrimmage that followed, one of the wardens—a man especially disliked by the convicts—was killed, while the overseer himself was carried senseless from the ground.

“The dead warden had been a sailor, and liked his ‘quid.’ He was generally to be seen with his mouth full of tobacco, and this was the case at the time he was killed. I saw the quid taken from his mouth, scarce ten minutes after he had become a corpse, by one of the convicts, who the instant after transferred it to his own!

“The overseer, at the time he got knocked down, was smoking a pipe. Scarce three minutes after, I saw the same pipe in the mouth of one of the men; and from its head was rolling a thick cloud of smoke!

“The fire in the pipe had not been allowed to expire; and the man who was smoking it was one of those afterwards hung for the murder of the warden!”

Volume Three—Chapter Six.

Squatters’ Justice.

The old convict, as if reminded by the queer incidents he had related: that he himself stood in need of a smoke, here took out his pipe. After filling and lighting it, he resumed his narrative.

“Owing to refractory conduct on my part, and a dislike to crawling for the purpose of currying favour with overseers, I did not get a ‘ticket-of-leave’ until five years after landing in the colony.

“I then received one—with permission to go as shepherd to a ‘squatter’s station’ up the country. For acting in this capacity, I was to receive ten pounds a year of wages.

“I found the shepherd’s life a very weary one. The labour was not sufficient to keep me from thinking. During the whole day I had but little to do—except to indulge in regrets for the past, and despair of the future. Each day was so much like the one preceding it, that the time was not only monotonous, but terribly tiresome.

“Had I deserted my employment, I knew that I should be re-captured; and a new sentence passed upon me. My only hope of obtaining full freedom—at the end of my ten years’ term—was by doing my duty as well as I could.

“One morning, after I had been about ten months in my shepherd’s berth, as I was letting the sheep out of the enclosure, the squatter who owned the station, his overseer, and another man, came riding up.

“The sun was more than half an hour above the horizon; and as I ought to have had the sheep out upon the grass by sunrise, I was afraid the squatter would blame me for neglecting my duty. I was agreeably surprised at his not doing so.

“He bade me ‘good morning,’ lit his pipe, took a look at the sheep; and then rode away along with the others.

“This treatment, instead of making me more neglectful, only rendered me more attentive to my duty; and every morning for three weeks after, the sheep were out of the yard by the first appearance of day-break.

“It was summer time, and the nights being very short, I could not always wake myself at such an early hour. The consequence was, that about three weeks before the expiration of the year, for which I was bound, my employer again caught me napping—nearly an hour after sun-up—with the sheep still in the penn.

“The squatter would listen to no excuse. I was taken direct before a magistrate—who was also a ‘squatter’—and charged with neglect of duty.

“The charge was of course proved; and I was dismissed from my employment.

“You may think that this was no punishment; but you will have a different opinion when you hear more. My year of apprenticeship not being quite up, my wages were forfeited; and I was told, that I ought to be thankful for the mercy shown me: in my not getting severely flogged, and sent back to the authorities, with a black mark against my name!

“I probably did my duty, as well as any man the squatter expected to get; and I had good reason to know, that I had been dismissed only to give my rascally employer the opportunity of withholding the balance of my wages, that would soon have been due to me!

“The only magistrates in the grazing country, were the squatters themselves; and they used to play into each other’s hands in that fashion. There was no justice for convicts, who were treated but little better than slaves.

“Three months after leaving my situation, I came across an ‘old hand,’ who had been cheated out of his wages, by the very same squatter who had robbed me, and in precisely the same manner.

“This man proposed to me that we should take revenge—by burning down the squatter’s wool-sheds.

“I refused to have anything to do with the undertaking; and from what the man then said, I supposed that he had relinquished the idea. That night, however, altogether unknown to me, he set fire to the sheds—causing the squatter a loss of about three thousand pounds worth of property. The next day I was arrested and committed for trial—along with the old hand, who had urged me to aid him in obtaining his revenge.

“On the trial, circumstantial evidence was so strong against the incendiary, that he was found guilty. But as he continued to assert his innocence, of course he could say nothing that would clear me; and I was also found guilty—though the only evidence against me was, that I had been seen in his company eight hours before the crime was committed, and that I had been dismissed from service by the proprietor of the sheds!

“This was thought sufficient evidence upon which to sentence me to five years hard labour on the roads—the first two years of the term to be passed in irons!

“I now despaired of ever seeing home again; and became, like many other convicts, so reckless as to have no thought for the future, and not to care whether my deeds were right or wrong.

“Had I acted as many of the very worst convicts are in the habit of doing—that is, fawning upon the overseers—I might have regained my liberty in two years and a half; but I never could crawl, or play the hypocrite; and all the less so, that I knew my sentence was unjust. Neither could I allow the ill-usage of others to pass without complaint; and frequently did I complain. For doing this, I had to serve the full term of my sentence, while others, much worse than myself, by using a little deception, obtained their liberty on ‘tickets-of-leave.’

“After the term of my transportation had expired, I was no better than most of the ‘old hands.’ If I have not committed all the crimes of which many of them are guilty, the reason is, that I had not the temptation: for, I acknowledge, that I have now completely lost the moral power to restrain me from crime.

“I happened to be free when gold was discovered in New South Wales; and, of course. I hastened to the place. After the discovery of the richer diggings here, I came overland to try them.

“In my gold seeking, I cannot complain of want of success; and I have not spent all that I have made.

“I am thinking of going back to England—although my visit to my native country cannot be a very pleasant one. I have, probably, some brothers and sisters still living; but, notwithstanding the strong affection I once had for them, they are nothing to me now. All human feeling has been flogged, starved, and tortured out of me.

“Sometimes, when I reflect on the degradations I have endured, I am ashamed to think of myself as a human being.

“When I look back to the innocent and happy days of my boyhood—of what I aspired to be—only an honest, respectable, hard-working man, when I contrast those days, and those humble hopes, with the scenes I have since passed through, and my present condition—my back scarred with repeated floggings, and my limbs marked by the wear of iron fetters—I am not unwilling to die.

“I am glad to learn that a change has been made in the mode of punishing crime in the mother country. It has not been done too soon: for, bad as many of the convicts are—who are transported from the large cities of the United Kingdom—they cannot be otherwise than made worse, by the system followed here. A convict coming to this country meets with no associations, precepts, or examples, that tend to reform him; but, on the contrary, every evil passion and propensity is strengthened, if it has existed before; and imbibed, if it has not.

“Having told you a good deal of my past, I should like to be able to add something of my future; but cannot. Some men are very ingenious in inventing food for hope: I am not. I don’t know for what I am living: for every good and earnest motive seems to have been stifled within me. Hope, love, despair, revenge, and all the other mental powers that move man to action, are dead within my heart. I having nothing more to tell you of myself; and probably never shall have.”

So ended the sad story of the convict.

Volume Three—Chapter Seven.

Raffling Away a Wife.

Our claim on the Avoca “lead” turned out to be worth working; and we had five or six weeks of hard toil before us. My mate continued temperate and industrious; and we got along together without any misunderstanding.

One day we were informed by a man passing our tent, that a very interesting affair was to come off that evening—at a certain grog-shop not far from where we lived.

My partner was strongly advised to be there: as there would be a spectacle worth witnessing.

“Shall you go?” I asked, after the man had gone.

“No—not alone,” replied he, “the place has a bad name; and I know that one of the parties concerned in what is to take place is a bad bird. You go along with me, and you’ll see some amusement.”

“Have you any idea what it’s to be?” I inquired.

“Yes. I think they are going to have a raffle.”

“A raffle! There’s nothing very interesting about that!”

“That depends,” significantly rejoined my partner. “Supposing it is a woman that’s to be raffled for?”

“A woman to be raffled for!”

“So I believe. There is a Hobart Town man here, who has a young wife, with whom he has been quarrelling for the last month. He has found out that it is impossible to live with her any longer; and is going to put her up to be raffled for.”

I had seen a negro slave disposed of in this fashion in the city of New Orleans; but had never heard of a man raffling away his wife; and the oddness of the thing determined me to go. Having signified my intention to my mate, he promised to take me to the place, and also take care of me while there.

The reader may think his promised protection unnecessary—after my having managed for so many years to take care of myself. But I knew that amongst “old hands,” the protection or friendship, of one of their own “kidney” was worth having; and I certainly would not have gone, without some one to introduce, and look after me—one such as my mining partner, who knew their ways, and would give them to understand, that I was not to be molested.

At that time on the gold-field of Avoca, there were probably about ten men to one woman; and a man, who was so fortunate as to possess a wife, was thought to be a very lucky individual indeed. Any woman, however ugly she might have appeared in other lands, would there have passed for a Venus. Knowing this to be the state of things, I was not surprised, when, on reaching the grog-shop with my companion, we found a large crowd of between thirty and forty men assembled around it. In one way only was I astonished; and that was, that the majority of those present were not “old hands,” but rather the contrary.

This observation was also made by my companion, who shook his head significantly, but said nothing.

I did not understand what meaning he intended to convey by this gesture—at least not at the time.

From the appearance of the crowd collected round the grog-shop, I had no doubt but that I should be well rewarded for my trouble in walking to the place. I could see that some pains had been taken in selecting the company: for it appeared to be composed of that class of young miners—known as “fast,” and “flush”—that is with money to spend, and the disposition to spend it.

The woman who was to be disposed of was in the room, seated on the edge of a table, and swinging her legs about with perfect nonchalance. One of her eyes bore, in distinct characters of a purplish hue, some evidence of a very late disagreement with her husband, or some one else. She seemed much pleased at the commotion she was causing; and quite indifferent as to its results. She was about twenty-three years of age; and rather good-looking.

The husband was about forty years old; and was a vulgar looking wretch—even for a “Vandemonian.” His features were twisted into a disgusting leer, from which I could well fancy they were but seldom relieved.

I was not surprised at the woman seeming pleased at the idea of parting with him. My wonder was, how he had ever been allowed to obtain the power of disposing of her.

There was not a man in the room, or perhaps on the diggings, that any creature entitled to the name of woman, should not have preferred, to the ugly animal who claimed to be her husband.

I could perceive from the woman’s behaviour, that she possessed a violent temper, which to an ignorant brute of a man, would no doubt render her difficult of being managed. But there appeared to be nothing more against her—at least, nothing to prevent a man of common sense from living with her, and having no more serious misunderstandings, than such as are usually required to vary the monotony of connubial life.

The business of getting up the raffle, and carrying it through, was managed by a young man, who played the part of mutual friend—the proprietor of the article at stake, being to all appearance too drunk, or too ignorant, to act as master of the ceremonies.

After a sufficient number of persons was thought to have arrived upon the ground, it was decided to go on with the business of discovering: to whom fate should decree the future ownership of the woman.

“Gentlemen!” said the mutual friend, rising up, and placing himself upon a chair, “I suppose you all know the game that’s up here to-night? I believe that most of you be aware, that my friend ‘Brumming’ here, can’t agree with his old woman, nor she with him; and he have come to the resolution of getting rid of her. He thinks he’d be better off without a woman, than with one, ’specially with one as he can’t agree with. And she thinks any other man be better than Ned ‘Brumming.’ Such being the case, they think they had better part. Now, ‘Brumming’ wants a little money to take him over to the other side; and to rise it for him, his friends have been called together, and his woman is going to be put up at a raffle for fifty pounds—twenty-five chances at two pounds a chance. Mrs Brumming is willing to live with any man, as will support her, and use her kindly. Who is going to help poor Ned Brumming? What name shall I first put down on this ’ere paper?”

“Dirty Dick,” “Jack Rag,” “Hell Fryer,” “Shiny Bright,” and several other names were called out—to the number of twenty.

It was then announced that five names were still wanted to complete the list.

“I’ll take a chance,” said a man stepping forward to the table, where the names were being written out.

The individual thus presenting himself, bore every evidence of having obtained a passage to the colonies at the expense of his native country—about twenty-five years before.

“What name shall I put down?” asked the youthful master of the ceremonies.

“Jimmy from Town.”

“Jimmy from hell!” screamed the woman. “You had better save your money Jimmy from Town. I wouldn’t live with an old beast like you, if you were to win me ten times over.”

The prospect of losing his two pounds, and gaining nothing, caused the old convict to retire, which he did, apparently with no very good grace.

“We must pay something for this entertainment,” whispered my mate; “I will go halves with you in a chance.”

As he said this, he slipped a sovereign into my hand.

I did not fully understand what my partner meant. He surely could not be thinking of our winning the woman, and owning her in partnership, as we did our mining claim?

But as he had said something about our paying for the entertainment—and having trusted myself to him before I came away from my tent—I gave the name of “Rolly,” to the manager of the raffle, and put down the two pounds.

Two others then came forward, took a chance each, and paid their stakes. There were now only two more “tickets” to dispose of.

Amongst the first who had entered their name upon the list, was a young miner, who to all appearance, took a greater interest in the proceedings than any person present.

I saw the woman give him a glance, that might be interpreted into the words, “I wish you would win me.” He appeared to notice it, and take the hint: for he immediately entered himself for another chance.

The remaining share was then taken by somebody else; and the ceremony of throwing the dice was commenced.

Each was to have three throws, taking three dice at each throw; and the man who should score the highest number, was to win the woman.

A name would be called out, as it stood on the list; the owner of it would then come forward, and throw the dice—when the number he should score would be recorded against his name.

All the numbers made, chanced to be very low, none of them reaching over thirty-eight—until I had finished “tossing the bones,” when I was told that the aggregate recorded in my favour was forty-seven.

I felt as good as certain that the woman was mine: for the chances were more than a hundred to one against any of the five others who were to throw after me.

The young fellow who had paid for two shares, looked very blank: his remaining chance was now scarce worth a shilling.

“I will give you fifteen pounds for your throw,” said he, addressing himself to me.

I glanced at my mate, and saw him give his head a slight inclination: as a sign for me to accept the offer—which I did.

The money was paid down; and after all had finished tossing, number forty-seven was declared the winner. This had been my score. The woman, therefore, belonged to the young man, who had bought it from me. She was at once handed over to him; and inaugurated the “nuptials” by flinging her arms around his neck, and giving him a sonorous “buss” upon the cheek!

After we came away from the place, I learnt from my mate, that the affair was what he called “a sell.”

“Then why did you propose that we should take a chance?” I asked.

“Why,” he replied, with a significant shrug, “well, I’ll tell you. I was told to come to the raffle, because I was working with you—who they thought would be likely to take a share. Had you not taken one, they would have supposed that I had cautioned you not to do so; and I should have made enemies amongst some of the old hands—who look upon me as, being in all things, one of themselves.”

“And you think that the woman will not live with the young man who won her?”

“I’m sure of it. She’ll go along with him for awhile; but she won’t stay with him. She’ll run away from him—join, Brumming, again—and the two will repeat the same dodge at some other diggings.”

I divided the fifteen pounds with my partner; and retired to my tent—well pleased that I had so disposed of my chance, and no little amused at the grotesque chapter of “life on the Avoca,” it had been my fortune to be witness to.

A few weeks after the occurrence, I read in a newspaper: that the police on the Bendigo diggings had arrested a man for trying to dispose of his wife by a raffle; and I have no doubt that the man was “poor old Ned Brumming!”

Volume Three—Chapter Eight.

Caught in his Own Trap.

A “claim,” adjoining the one in which my partner and I were working, was much richer than ours. The primitive rock lay farther below the surface—showing that there had been a basin in the creek, or river, that hundreds of years before had flowed over the “vale of Avoca.”

In this basin had been deposited a great quantity of earth containing gold: for the soil was thickly impregnated with the precious metal.

This claim was owned by three men. Two of them appeared to be respectable young fellows; and I incidentally learnt from them, that they had been playmates in boyhood, shipmates on their voyage to the colony, and had worked together ever since their arrival at the diggings. An old convict was the third partner of these two young men. He had first marked out the claim, and for a while kept sole possession of it; but, seeing that he would be unable to manage it by himself, he had allowed the other two to take shares in it.

They had joined the convict only for that one job; and had done so, because they could not find any other favourable opportunity for “getting on the line.”

One day, when I was standing by at the windlass of our own shaft, I saw the old convict come towards his claim—apparently after having been to his dinner.

I had observed one of the young men let himself down the shaft, but a few minutes before. Soon after, I heard his voice from below calling to the convict—who had placed himself by the windlass, after his arrival. I then saw the latter lower the rope, and hoist the young man to the surface. The old convict was then lowered down; and, as soon as he had detached himself from the rope below, I noticed that the young man hastily drew it up and in a manner that betrayed some extraordinary excitement.

“Hoist up your mate, and bring him here,” he called to me. “Quick! I’ve something terrible to tell you of.”

I called to my partner to get on the tackle; and, as soon as he had done so, I drew him up out of the shaft.

While I was doing this, the young man who had called to me, summoned some others in the same manner; and five or six men who chanced to be near, hastened up to the spot.

As soon as we were assembled around him, the young fellow began:

“I have a strange story to tell you all,” said he. “My friend has been murdered; and the man who has committed the crime is below. We have him sure. Will some one go to the ‘camp’ for the police? I shall not leave this spot, till I see the murderer in their custody, or see him dead.”

The commotion, caused by this startling announcement, brought several others to the place; and a crowd was soon collected around the claim. Two or three started off for the police encampment.

While waiting for their return, the young man, who had called us around him, gave an explanation of his conduct in having summoned us thus strangely.

“I came up out of the shaft,” said he, “about half-past eleven o’clock; and went home to cook dinner for myself and my friend. I left him along with our other mate—the murderer—who is now below, at work, stowing away some of the pipe-clay that we had finished working with. I expected him to follow me to his dinner in about half-an-hour after. I waited for him till nearly one; and as he did not come, I ate my dinner alone, and then returned here to go on with the work.

“When I came back, I could see no one. I called down the shaft, thinking both were below.

“As there was no answer, I let myself down by the rope, intending to go to work by myself. I supposed that my mates had strayed off to some grog-shop—where they might spend a good part of the afternoon. They had done this once before; and I thought they might do it again.

“After getting below, I lit the candle; and looked about to see what they had been doing, since I left them at eleven o’clock.

“The first thing that met my eyes, was the toe of a boot sticking out of the pipe-clay—where we had been stowing it away, in the worked-out part of the shaft. What, thought I, is their object in burying the boot there?

“I took hold of it—there was just enough of it protruding out of the pipe-clay to enable me to get a grasp of it. I felt that there was a foot in it. It was a boot belonging to my friend. I knew it—notwithstanding its being plastered over with the clay. I drew out the boot; and along with it the body of the man to whom it belonged. He was dead! I think it is probable he was not quite dead, when covered up; and that in his death-spasm he had somehow moved his foot, causing it to protrude a little out of the clay.

“I have no doubt,” continued the young miner, “that my seeing that boot has saved my own life: for the man who has murdered my friend, would have served me in the same way, had we both been down below, and I ignorant of what he had already done.

“Just as I was about climbing up the rope to get out, I saw the man who is now below here, preparing to let himself down. I called to him, in my natural tone of voice; and told him that I wanted to go above for a minute—to get a drink. This, no doubt, put him off his guard; and he helped me up.

“I then asked him what had become of Bill—that was my friend’s name.

“‘He did not come home to dinner,’ said I, ‘and he is not below.’

“‘When we came up to go to dinner,’ said he, ‘and were about starting away from here, I saw Bill meet a stranger, and shake hands with him. They went off together.’

“I suggested that he might probably have strayed off upon a spree; and that we were not likely to get any more work out of him that day. I added, that, after I had had my drink, we could both go below, and work without him. This seemed to please my other partner—who at once desired to be let down into the shaft.

“I lowered him at his request—telling him I should follow soon after.

“He and his victim are now in the shaft. Had he succeeded in killing both of us, he would not only have got all the gold we had obtained in the claim, but some more besides.” This story excited in the minds of all present, a feeling of horror, joined to a keen desire for retribution. Several shouted out to the old convict—commanding him to come up; that his crime was known, and escape would be impossible.

The murderer must have heard every word; but no answer was returned either to the threats or commands of those above. There was no occasion for the latter, either to be in haste, or in any way uneasy about the man making his escape. He could not possibly get clear from the trap, into which his partner had so adroitly cajoled him. He must either come out of the shaft, or starve at the bottom of it.

The policemen, soon after, arrived upon the ground; and were made acquainted with all the circumstances.

One of them hailed the convict—commanding him “in the Queen’s name” to come up.

“You are our prisoner,” said the policeman, “you cannot escape; and you may as well surrender at once.”

There was no answer.

One of the policemen then placed himself in a bowline knot at the end of the rope; and was gently lowered down into the shaft—several men standing by at the windlass.

“Hold there!” cried the convict from below. “The instant you reach the bottom, I’ll drive my pick-axe through you.”

The men at the windlass ceased turning—leaving the policeman suspended half way down the shaft.

He was a man of superior courage; and, cocking his revolver, he called to the convict: that he was going down anyhow—adding, that the first move made to molest him in the execution of his duty, would be a signal for him to blow out the brains of the man who should make it.

He then called to the miners at the windlass to “lower away.”

“Drop your pick!” shouted the policeman, as he came near the bottom of the shaft—at the same time covering the convict with his revolver.

The murderer saw the folly of resisting. It was impossible for him to escape—even could he have killed the officer, and a dozen more besides.

Some of the “Queen’s Jewellery” was soon adjusted upon his wrists; and the rope, having been fastened around his body, he was hoisted up into the light of heaven.

The policemen were going to stop, until they could examine the body of the murdered man; but they perceived that the indignation of the crowd was fast rising to such a pitch, that it was necessary for the prisoner to be carried to some place of security—else he might be taken out of their hands.

None of the spectators seemed anxious either to rescue, or kill the man. Each one appeared to be satisfied by getting a kick or blow at him. The mind of every honest miner on the ground had been shocked by the cruel crime that had been committed; and each appeared to think he had himself a score of revenge to wipe off against the perpetrator.

Each wished to calm his outraged feelings, by inflicting some chastisement upon the criminal; and still leave to the justice of God and the law, the task of punishing him for the murder.

The police did their best to protect their prisoner; but on their way to their station, they were followed by an indignant crowd of miners, who kicked and scratched the old convict, till he was nearly lifeless in their hands.

When the body of the murdered man had been brought out of the shaft, it was found that the sharp point of a pick-axe had been driven through his skull. The wound was in the back part of the head—proving that the victim had received the blow from behind, and most probably without any warning. A similar fate would undoubtedly have befallen his friend, had he not made the discovery which enabled him to avert it.

The murderer was sent down to Melbourne to be locked up, till the sitting of the Criminal Court.

The day after the funeral of the murdered man, the only one of the three partners left to work out the claim, made his appearance upon the spot.

Before commencing work, he came over to me; and we had a long conversation together.

“If I had only myself to think of,” said he, “I would have nothing farther to do with this claim. It cannot be very pleasant to me to work in it, after what has occurred. The young man who has been killed, was my playmate in boyhood, and my constant companion ever since we left home together. I shall have to carry back to his father, mother, and sisters, the news of his sad fate. His relatives are very poor people; and it took every penny they could scrape together to furnish him with the means for coming out here. My duty to them, and to his memory, is the sole cause of my continuing any longer to work the claim. However painful the task may be, I must perform it. I shall obtain all the gold it may yield; and every speck to which my murdered friend should have been entitled, shall be paid over to his relatives. I know that they had rather see himself return penniless to them, than to have all the gold of Australia; but for all that he shall not be robbed, as well as murdered.

“I have often heard him speak of the pleasure it would give him to return to his relations with his gold. I can only show my respect for his wishes, by taking them the money to which he would have been entitled, had he lived, to work out his claim. It shall be done without his aid; but his relations shall have the yield of it, all the same as if he had lived.”

Whenever the windlass was to be used in bringing up the “wash dirt” from below—or the surviving partner wanted assistance in any way—it was cheerfully rendered by the miners at work in the adjoining claims.

By the time he had completed his task, he was summoned to Melbourne, as a witness on the trial of the murderer; and, after his leaving the Avoca diggings, I saw him no more.

I afterwards learnt from the Melbourne Argus: that the old convict was found guilty of the murder, and ended his earthly existence on the gallows.

Volume Three—Chapter Nine.

A Lark with the “Licence-Hunters.”

After we had completed the working of our claim in the Avoca lead, my partner—who had told me that his name was Brown—signified his intention of returning home to England.

“I have saved between three and four hundred pounds,” said he, “and shouldn’t know what to do with it here. I’ve been thinking of going home for several years past; and now’s the time to do it.”

Instead of attempting to dissuade him, I rather encouraged him in his design, telling him that, if dissatisfied with his visit to his native country, he could return to the diggings—before they should get worked-out—and try his fortune once more.

He had heard me speak of going myself back to England some time or other; and he urged me to make the voyage along with him.

I should probably have acceded to his request,—had he not pressed me so strongly; but I have a great aversion to doing anything, that I am vehemently solicited to do.

If there is anything which will make me do the very thing I know to be wrong, it is when some one counsels me too pressingly against doing it. I have a great penchant for being guided by my own judgment; and I believe that very little good is done by giving advice, to those who are old enough to think and act for themselves.

In answer to my partner’s request, I told him that I should probably return to England in about a year; but was not then ready to go.

Though a little disappointed at my not accompanying him, Brown and I parted on good terms. He left full directions with me for finding him in Birmingham—should I ever go to that city; and warmly urged upon me to call and see him. I gave him a promise to do so.

“I believe you are a respectable, right-thinking man,” said he, as we shook hands at parting; “you have treated me, as though I was the same; and that’s more than I have been accustomed to for the last score of years.”

On leaving me, Brown proceeded direct to Melbourne, where he took ship for England.

For two or three days after he had left me, I looked about the diggings—undecided what I should next do.

One afternoon, while sauntering at a little distance, from my tent, I saw some policemen, with a squad of mounted troopers, out on the patrol. A “licensing commissioner” at their head, proved that they were looking for “unlicenced” miners.

I never went abroad without a miner’s licence in my pocket; but I felt a strong dislike to showing it—solely on account of the manner, in which the demand to do so was usually made.

I shall have something to say about “licence-hunting” in another chapter—where the subject will be introduced, and more fully discussed. My present purpose is to relate a little adventure which occurred to me at Avoca—of which the licence-hunters were the heroes. It was this episode, that first awakened within my mind some thoughts about the infamous system of drawing a revenue, from the most honest and industrious portion of the population.

It is usual for diggers—who are not provided with a licence—on seeing the police out upon their scouting excursions, either to take to the bush, or hide themselves in the shaft, or tunnel, of some mining claim. This is done to avoid being searched; and, as a matter of course, carried before a magistrate, and fined five pounds for—trespassing on the Crown lands!

On the occasion in question, when I saw the licence-hunters out on their usual errand, it came into my head to have a little amusement with them. I had been going idle for two or three days, and wanted something to amuse me—as well as give exercise to my limbs.

When the policemen had got within about a hundred yards of where I was standing, I pretended to see them for the first time; and started off at a run. They saw me, as I intended they should; and two or three of them gave chase—under the full belief that I was an unlicenced digger. They that first followed me were afoot; and they soon learnt that the farther they pursued, the greater became the distance between them and me. Two of the mounted troopers now left the side of the Commissioner; and joined in the chase—spurring their horses into a gallop.

I was running in the direction of my own tent; and contrived to reach it, before the troopers overtook me.

By the time they had got up to the tent, I was standing in the opening of the canvass; and received them by demanding their business.

“We wish to see your licence,” said one.

I took from my pocket the piece of paper, legally authorising me to “search for, dig, and remove gold from the crown lands of the colony.” I handed it to the trooper.

He appeared much disappointed, at finding it was “all right.”

“What made you run away from us?” he demanded angrily.

“What made you think I was running away from you?” I inquired in turn.

“What made you run at all?” put in the second trooper.

“Because I was in haste to reach home,” I answered.

The two then talked together in a low voice, after which one of them told me that I must go along with them.

“For what reason?” I asked; but received no answer. They were either unwilling, or unable, to give me a reason.

The two policemen, who had pursued me on foot, now came up; and all four insisted on my being taken along with them, a prisoner, to the police camp!

I refused to come out of the tent; and cautioned them not to enter it—without showing me their warrant, or some authority for the intrusion.

They paid no attention to what I said; but stepping inside the tent, rudely conducted me out of it.

I accompanied them without making resistance—thinking that when brought before a magistrate, I should get them reprimanded for what they had done.

In the afternoon, I was arraigned before, the “bench,” and charged with molesting and interfering with the police in the execution of their duty! My accusers told their story; and I was called upon for my defence.

I informed the magistrate, that I had never been an unlicenced miner for a single day, since I had been on the diggings; and I entered upon a long speech—to prove, that in moving about the gold-fields, I had the right to travel at any rate of speed I might choose; and that I had unlawfully been dragged out of my tent—which being my “castle,” should not have been invaded in the manner it had been.

This was what I intended to have said; but I did not get the opportunity of making my forensic display: for the magistrate cut me short, by stating, that I had been playing what the diggers call a “lark,” and by doing so, had drawn the police from their duty. They had been seeking for those who really had not licences; and who, through my misbehaviour, might have been able to make their escape!

In conclusion, this sapient justice fined me forty shillings!

There was an injustice about this decision—as well as the manner in which I had been treated—that aroused my indignation. I had broken no law, I had done nothing but what any free subject had a right to do, yet I had been treated as a criminal, and mulcted of my money—in fact, robbed of two pounds sterling!

After this affair, I was disgusted with Avoca; and, in less than an hour after, I rolled up my blankets, and took the road for Ballarat—this being the place to which I always turned, when not knowing where else to go.

Everyone must have some place that they look upon as a home—a point from which to start or take departure. Mine was Ballarat: for the reason that I liked that place better than any other in the colony.

I had made more money on the Ballarat diggings than elsewhere in Australia; and I had never left the place to go to any other, without having cause to regret the change. This time, I determined, on my return to Ballarat, to stay there—until I should be ready to bid a final adieu to Australia.

Volume Three—Chapter Ten.

Digger-Hunting.

Soon after my arrival at Ballarat, the mining population of the place was roused to a state of great excitement—by being constantly worried about their gold licences.

All engaged in the occupation of mining, were required to take out a monthly licence, for which one pound ten shillings had to be paid. Each miner was required to carry this licence upon his person; and produce it whenever desired to do so, by the commissioner, or any official acting under his authority.

It was not to the tax of eighteen pounds per annum that the miners objected; but to the manner in which it was levied and enforced.

The diggers did not like to be so often accosted by a body of armed men, and compelled to show a piece of paper—in the event of them not having it about them, to be dragged off to the court, and fined five pounds.

After some show of opposition to this tax—or rather to the way of enforcing it—had begun to exhibit itself, the government officials became more industrious than ever at their occupation of “digger-hunting.” A commissioner, with a band of mounted troopers, might have been seen out every day—scouring the country far and near, and commanding every man they met to produce his licence. Not unfrequently an honest miner would be required to exhibit the disagreeable document as often as four or five times a day!

The diggers soon got tired of this sort of thing, which was enough to have exasperated men of a more tranquil tone of mind, than gold-diggers usually are.

Meetings were called and attended by many hundreds of miners, at which strong resolutions were passed; to resist the arrest of any man, who should be taken up for not having a gold licence.

These resolutions could not be effectually carried into effect, without some organisation amongst those who had passed them.

This was to a certain extent accomplished; by about four hundred diggers forming themselves into an organised band, and commencing to drill and discipline in a sort of military fashion.

Thinking the wrongs of the diggers a sufficient justification for this action on their part, I joined one of the companies thus formed—with the full determination to assist, as far as lay in my power, in the removal of the injustice complained of.

I did not think there was anything in English law—properly understood and administered—that would allow thousands of men to be constantly hunted, harassed and insulted by bands of armed police, demanding to see a piece of paper; but perhaps my experience of the way “justice” was administered at Avoca, had something to do in guiding my resolution to resist it at Ballarat.

At our meetings, the diggers indignantly declared their determination to overthrow the system that made them game for the minions of the Government; and to prove that they were in earnest in what they said, many of them were seen to tear up their licences upon the spot, and light their pipes with the torn fragments of the paper!

From that time, whenever an attempt was made by the police to arrest a man without a licence, it was resisted by large mobs of diggers; and on two or three occasions both police and troopers were compelled to retreat to their encampment.

The police force on Ballarat was soon increased in number; and a large body of regular troops was sent up from Melbourne.

The diggers saw that they could no longer oppose this force, without maintaining a body of their own men in arms; and for this purpose a select number was chosen, who, having been regularly organised into companies, formed a camp on the Eureka lead.

Some of the lying officials of the government have represented this camp to have been strongly fortified—the lie being propagated to secure them greater credit, for their bravery in capturing it!

The statement was altogether untrue. The Eureka stockade was nothing more than an inclosure formed with slabs of timber—such as were used to wall in the shafts sunk on wet leads—and could no more be called a fortification, than the hurdles used by farmers for penning up a flock of sheep.

The importance attached to the movement, on the part of the government officials, was ludicrous in the extreme.

Martial law was proclaimed in Ballarat; and several hundred pounds were expended in filling bags of sand, and fortifying the Treasury at Melbourne—about one hundred miles from the scene of the emeute!

The idea of the diggers marching to Melbourne, and molesting the Government property there, was simply ridiculous. The authorities must have held an opinion of the men they governed, not very complimentary to the liege subjects of Her Majesty.

Because the miners objected to being hunted and worried for a piece of paper—proving that they had paid eighteen pounds per annum of tax, more than any other class of the population—the Government officials seemed to think that a causeless rebellion had broken out, which threatened to overthrow the whole British Empire; and which nothing but low scheming and barbarous action could quell.

Thousands of ounces of gold were lying on deposit in the Escort Office at Ballarat; yet had the mutineers taken the place, I am confident this treasure would have been protected, and restored to its rightful owners.

But there was no intention on the part of the diggers, either to touch Ballarat, or its gold. They only maintained an armed body at the Eureka Stockade, because they could in no other way resist the raids of the troopers who were sent out licence-hunting. They were as innocent of all intention to overthrow the Government; “loot” the Escort Office at Ballarat; or march upon Melbourne, as babes unborn.

Their only object was to have English law properly administered to them; or rather, to resist the violation of it by the minions who had been appointed to its execution.

This the Government might have learnt—and probably did learn—from the policemen disguised as diggers, who took part in the proceedings at the Eureka Stockade, for these communicated all they learnt, and no doubt a good deal more, to the officials in the Government camp.

Volume Three—Chapter Eleven.

A Genius in the Diggings.

When I went to join the insurgents at the Stockade, I was accompanied by a man, who had been living in a tent near my own—a German, whom I only knew by the name of “Karl.” He was as singular a man, as was to be met amongst the many incomprehensible characters found on a gold-field. He was only twenty-five years of age, though he had already travelled over much of the world, and spoke several languages fluently. He knew something of the literature, science, arts, and customs of almost every nation, ancient or modern; and having a wonderful memory, as well as a great command of language, he could be very entertaining in conversation. My attention was first called to the extraordinary power of his memory, by hearing him once talking on the relative merits of the poets.

He appeared to know all the poetical writings of the English, German, and Italian authors by heart: as he could repeat long passages from any of them, when called upon.

I remember, amongst many severe criticisms which he gave us on the poetry of Byron, his quoting the phrases of “sad knee,” “melodious tears,” “cloudy groan,” “poetic marble,” “loud hill,” “foolish flower,” “learned fingers,” and “silly sword,” all of which he mentioned were absurd expressions.

The reader may think my sketch of this individual overdrawn, when I add, that in addition to his other accomplishments, he was not only a musician of great skill, but, in my opinion, a musical prodigy; and excited more astonishment and admiration by his musical talents, than by any other of the many accomplishments he possessed.

Often would he wander alone, where nature was most lovely; and from her surrounding beauties, add inspiration to the melody that filled his soul.

The notes of birds, the whispering of the winds, and the murmuring of the streams, were all caught and combined, or harmoniously arranged in enchanting melodies, which he would reproduce on his violin, after returning to his tent, in strains that seemed enraptured.

Never did I listen to the music made by him, without thinking myself a better man: for all the gentler sentiments of my soul would be awakened, and expanded into action under its influence. For hours would the sounds echo in my memory—making me forget the sorrows of the past, as well as the cares of the future; and turning my thoughts to an ideal world, where material ugliness is unknown.

I defy any man with a soul superior to that of a monkey, to have been guilty of a mean or dishonest action, after listening to a tune composed and played by Karl the German.

I do not call myself a judge of music, or of the relative merits of different musicians, and only form this opinion from the effect produced on my mind by his performance.

I am not easily excited by musical, or dramatic representations; but Mario’s magnificent rendering of the death scene in “Lucrezia Borgia,” or the astounding recklessness Alboni is accustomed to throw into the “Brindisi,” could never awaken within my soul such deep thoughts, as those often stirred by the simple strains of Karl’s violin.

Though possessing all these great natural abilities—strengthened by travel, and experience in both men and books—Karl was a slave to one habit, that rendered all his talents unavailing, and hindered him from ever rising to the station, he might otherwise have held among men.

He was a confirmed drunkard; and could never be kept sober, so long as there was a shilling in his pocket!

Pride had hitherto restrained him from seeking professional engagement, and exhibiting his musical talents to the world, although, according to his own story, he had been brought up to the profession of a musician. He was even becoming celebrated in it, when the demon of intemperance made his acquaintance, and dragged him down to the lowest depths of poverty and despair.

Once, when in Melbourne, starvation drove him to seek an interview with the manager of a theatre, who listened with wonder and admiration to the soul-entrancing melody he produced.

A sum far beyond his expectations was offered; and money advanced to enable him to make a respectable appearance; but on the night in which his début was to have been made, he was not forthcoming! He had been found in the street, drunk and disorderly, and was carried to the lock-up—where he passed the evening among policemen, instead of exhibiting himself before a delighted audience on the stage of a theatre!

I know that he used every effort to subdue this passion for strong drink. But all proved unavailing. Notwithstanding the strength of his mind in other respects, he could not resist the fatal fascination.

Small minds may be subdued and controlled by worldly interests; but the power to curb the action of a large and active intellect may not always lie within itself.

Karl wished to join the insurgents—as they were called—at the Eureka Stockade; and although myself anxious that their number should be augmented as much as possible, I endeavoured to persuade him against having anything to do with the disturbance.

The truth was, that I thought foreigners had at that time too much to say about the manner in which the colony was governed.

Although I could not deny that the faults of which they complained, in reality existed, yet I believed that they were not the persons who had the right to correct them. Many of the foreign diggers had a deal more to say, about the misgovernment of the colony, than any of Her Majesty’s subjects; and I did not like to hear them talk treason. They had come to the colony for the purpose of making money—because Australia offered superior advantages for that purpose—and I thought that they should have been satisfied with the government found there, without taking upon themselves to reform its abuses.

I explained all this to Karl; but, while admitting the truth of what I said, he still adhered to his determination to take a part in the revolution of Eureka.

“Several times,” said he, “have I had armed men command me to show a licence, and I have also been imprisoned, because I did not have that piece of paper in my pocket. I have several times been insulted in the colony, because I am not an Englishman. I care but little which gets the worst of this struggle—the minions of the government or its subjects. Where the blood of either, or both, is to flow, there I wish to be.”

I said nothing more to dissuade Karl from following this singular wish; but permitted him to accompany me to the stockade—where he was enrolled in one of the companies.

Volume Three—Chapter Twelve.

The Eureka Rout.

I have stated that about four hundred men were kept under arms at Ballarat, to oppose the amusement of digger-hunting, so much indulged in by the government officials. The former had now made their rendezvous at the stockade on the Eureka.

They were accustomed to meet in the day, and get drilled by officers, whom they had appointed for this duty. During the night, most of them, who were residents of Ballarat, returned thither, and slept in their tents, while others, who had come from Creswick’s Creek and the more distant gold-fields—to take part in the affair—remained at the boarding houses of the township.

On the night of the 2nd of December, 1854, there were about one hundred and seventy men in the stockade.

Having entered into the cause, I determined to devote my whole time to it; and on that night I was there among the rest.

The diggers, who were present, supposed they had as much right to stay in the stockade as elsewhere.

They certainly were not interfering with the officials in the execution of their duty; nor, in any way, making a disturbance.

There was no just cause why they should have been attacked on that particular night. It is true, that during the previous week, the troopers had been opposed by the diggers they were hunting; and had in some cases been prevented from making arrests. But the authorities need not have supposed, that the men in the Eureka Stockade were the same who had offered this resistance. They could only have thought so, and acted on the belief, by a singular stretch of imagination.

About half-past eleven o’clock, an alarm was given, that the soldiers were approaching the stockade. All turned out, and were prepared to defend themselves; but the alarm proved a false one.

At one o’clock in the morning there was another alarm, which also proved to be without any just cause.

At half-past two, there was still another false report, to which only a very few paid any attention: as the men had got tired of being so often roused from their slumbers without any cause. Only about half of their number turned out at this time; and these were laughed at by the others—for allowing themselves to be unnecessarily frightened.

About half-past four in the morning—just as the first faint light of day was seen on the eastern horizon—the camp was again set in commotion by the fourth alarm.

This time there was a real cause: since soldiers and troopers could be seen through the twilight, riding towards the stockade.

On the 3rd day of December, 1854, at half-past four o’clock on that holy Sabbath morning, the people in the Eureka Stockade were attacked by English soldiers, and troopers in the pay of the Victorian Government. As the attack was altogether unexpected, they were of course unprepared to repel or resist it.

It would have been little less than folly to have attempted resistance: for the assailants numbered three hundred and ninety men, all well armed and mounted, while the diggers, were less than half that number, and most of us only provided with fowling pieces.

When the signal of attack was given, it was done in a manner that started the sleeping diggers to their legs; and these soon proved to be the most useful members of their bodies. The majority refused to obey the orders of their officers—which was to reserve their fire, until our assailants should come near.

Most discharged their guns at the enemy, while still only dimly seen through the mist of the morning. After firing once, they fled. In an instant, the troopers were upon us.

A few of the diggers upon this occasion proved themselves men of heroic courage. I saw young Ross, who commanded a company, shot dead at the head of his men—while vainly trying to induce them to stand firm.

It seemed but a minute after the signal had been sounded, before the troopers broke down the palisades; and began shooting and hacking at us with their swords.

“I’m a Rolling Stone,” thought I, “and do not like staying too long in one spot. The Eureka Stockade is not the place for me.”

After making this reflection, I sprang over the palisades; and went off at a speed, that enabled me soon to distance many of my comrades who had started in advance of me.

Amongst others passed in my flight, was Karl, the German, who still persevered in his determination not to desert his digger associates: since he was accompanying them in their retreat.

He had not fled, however, until assured that our defeat was certain: for I saw him inside the stockade, firing his revolver, shortly before I came away myself.

I did not stay to speak to him: for the troopers were closely pursuing us; and cutting down with their swords any man they could overtake.

A majority of the routed diggers fled towards a tract of ground, that had been what the miners call, “worked-out.”

This ground was so perforated with holes, that the troopers were unable to gallop their horses over it. Fortunate for the fugitives that these abandoned diggings lay so near the stockade—otherwise the slaughter would have been much greater than it was—in all probability amounting to half the number of the men who had been gathered there.

The pursuit was not continued very far. The troopers soon lost all traces of those they were galloping after. Some of the diggers succeeded in reaching the bush, while others concealed themselves in the shafts of the worked-out claims; and, after a time, the soldiers were recalled to exult over their easy victory.

The regular soldiers of Her Majesty’s army took some prisoners in the stockade; but so far as I saw, or could afterwards ascertain, the mounted policemen of the Colonial Government, made no attempt to capture a single digger. They showed no quarter; but cut down, and in some instances horribly mutilated, all with whom they came in contact.

Many of the routed diggers remained concealed in the bush, and other places of refuge, all that day; but, perceiving no necessity for this, as soon as the pursuit was over, I returned to my tent. In the afternoon, when quiet had to a certain extent been restored, I walked over to view the scene of strife, and take a look at the unclaimed corpses. Twenty-eight miners had been shot dead upon the spot; but many more were missing—of whose fate nothing was ever afterwards known. A few probably fell, or were thrown, into some of the deep holes, through which the pursuit had been carried.

Some of the dead had acquaintances and friends about Ballarat, who afterwards removed their bodies, for the purpose of burial.

I saw several corpses that had been collected in one place, and were waiting for recognition. Amongst them was that of a young Austrian, whom I had known. His body had been pierced with five gun shot wounds—any one of which would have proved fatal.

There was one corpse so mutilated and disfigured with sabre cuts, that the features could not be recognised by any with whom, when alive, the man had been acquainted. It was that of a miner who had a family in Ballarat. His body was afterwards identified by his wife, but only through some articles that were found in the pockets of his coat.

I never saw, or heard of Karl after that fatal morning. Several days elapsed; and his tent, that stood near my own, remained unclaimed by its owner. It was still guarded by his dog, which I fed on its chain—as some of my neighbours jocularly remarked—to keep it alive, for the pleasure of hearing it howl. Karl had probably fallen down one of the deep holes, on the abandoned diggings, over which we had been pursued.

At length, becoming weary of listening to the piteous howling of the dog, I set the animal at liberty, and on doing so, gave it a kick—this being the only means I could think of, to let it know that I wished to cut its further acquaintance. It was an ugly, mangy creature; and all the respect I felt for the memory of its lost master, could not induce me to be troubled with it any longer.

Four men were arrested, and tried as ringleaders in the “Ballarat rebellion.” They were charged with treason—with an intent to overthrow her Majesty’s Government, and take from Queen Victoria the Crown of England! The Governor and his ministers wished the world to be informed, that they had succeeded in quelling a revolution, that threatened destruction to the whole British empire!

They thirsted for more blood; but they did not get it. The jury, before whom the prisoners were tried, acquitted them; and they were once more set at liberty.

Not long after, the licensing system was abolished; and in its stead an export duty of two shillings and sixpence per ounce, was levied upon the gold. This was certainly a more natural method of collecting the revenue; and in every way more satisfactory. By it, the unsuccessful miner was not called upon to pay as much as one who had been fortunate; and the diggers were no longer annoyed and insulted by the minions of the Licensing Commission.

Volume Three—Chapter Thirteen.

Buried Alive.

From Ballarat, I went to the great rush at Mount Blackwood; and pitched my tent on a part of that gold-field, known as the “Red Hill.”

Mount Blackwood was more heavily and thickly timbered, than any other of the Victorian gold-fields. The surface of the ground was very uneven; and the soil on the rocks of but little depth. It was difficult to find a horizontal space, of sufficient size, for the pitching of an ordinary miner’s tent; and to see such stupendous trees growing on the steep hill-sides, with scarce soil enough to cover their roots, was matter of surprise to everybody who came to Mount Blackwood.

About three weeks after the rush had commenced—and after several thousand people had gathered there—we were visited one night by a terrific gale, or more properly speaking, a “hurricane.”

Hundreds of large trees—which owing to the shallow soil, could not take deep root in the rock underneath—were blown down.

The night was very dark; and no one could see from what side a tree might at any moment come crashing. A space of ground, out of reach of the fallen trunks, was not to be found on the gold-field. The consequence was, that thirteen people were killed for certain; and many more severely injured, all through the falling of the trees.

But the number of fatal accidents, caused by the hurricane of that night, was probably never known.

The night was one of horror and fear to more than eight thousand people—each of whom knew not the minute that death might be his portion. A miner and his wife, while endeavouring to escape to a place of safety, were crushed under the same tree. Had they remained in their tent, they would have escaped uninjured! But what was still more singular in this unfortunate incident; the woman, when struck by the tree, was carrying a child, which received not the slightest injury, while both the parents were killed on the spot!

The day after the storm, Mount Blackwood presented a very forlorn appearance. Hundreds of trees had been prostrated by the wind; and nearly every tent had been thrown down.

Ever since that night, I can understand the fear, that some sailors entertain, of a storm upon land.

I had very little success in gold digging at Mount Blackwood; but while there, an incident occurred that was interesting to me; so much so, as to be deserving of a place among these my adventures.

I expect to die some time; but fervently hope and pray, that my existence may not be terminated by suffocation—either by means of a rope, or otherwise. I profess to have a horror of that mode of death: for the simple reason that I have made trial of it, and found the sensation anything but pleasant.

While at Mount Blackwood, I worked a claim in company with three others.

I was taken into this partnership, by a man I had known at Ballarat. He went by the name of “Yorkey”—from his being a Yorkshireman—and was the only one of the “firm” with whom I formed much acquaintance.

I was at work in a tunnel of the claim, where we had not used sufficient caution in supporting the top of the tunnel with timber.

Although the shaft was not a wide one, the earth being a little damp, and composed of loose shingle, required propping up. As I had neglected this, about a cart load of the shingle fell down, burying me completely under it.

The weight upon my limbs was so great, that I could not move them; and I lay as if I had been chained to the spot.

At the time, two of my mining partners were also below, working in another part of the tunnel. Of course they heard the little earthquake, and came to my assistance.

The task of digging me out, proved more difficult than they expected: for there was not room for both my mates to work at the same time—besides, they could not handle either pick or shovel to any great effect, lest they might injure my limbs.

We had been called up for dinner; and I was on the point of climbing out of the tunnel, just at the moment the earth fell in.

Our mates above, had grown impatient at our delay; and commenced shouting for us to come up. I heard one of those below responding to them. I could not understand what he said; but afterwards learnt, that he was merely telling them what had happened.

Never shall I forget the strange sound of that man’s voice. I suppose, for the reason that I was buried in the earth, it seemed unearthly. I could form no idea of the distance the speaker was from me. His voice seemed to come from some place thousands of miles away—in fact from another world. I was sensible that some mischance had occurred—that I was buried alive, and in great agony; but the voice I heard seemed to proceed from the remotest part of an immense cavern in some planet, far down in the depths of space. It commanded me to come thither: and I thought I was preparing to obey that command, by ceasing to live; but the necessary preparation for another existence appeared to require a long time in being completed.

In my struggles for respiration, I fancied that stones and earth were passing through my lungs; and hours, days and weeks seemed to be spent in this sort of agony. It was real agony—so real as not to beget insensibility. On the contrary, my consciousness of existence remained both clear and active.

I wondered why I did not die of starvation; and tried to discover if there was any principle in nature that would enable a person, when buried alive, to resist the demands of hunger and live for ever without food. It seemed impossible for me to die. One vast world appeared to be compressing me against another; but they could not both crush out the agony of my existence.

At length the thought occurred to me that I was dead; and that in another world I was undergoing punishment for crimes committed in that I had left.

“What have I ever done,” thought I, “that this horrible torture should be inflicted on me?”

Every link in memory’s chain was presented to my mental examination, and minutely examined.

They were all perfect to my view; but none of them seemed connected with any act in the past, that should have consigned me to the torture I was suffering.

My agony at last produced its effect; and I was released from it. I gradually became unconscious, or nearly so. There was still a sensation of pain—of something indescribably wrong; but the keen sensibility of it, both mental and bodily, had now passed away. This semi-unconscious state did not seem the result of the accident that had befallen me. I thought it had arisen from long years of mental care and bodily suffering; and was the involuntary repose of a spirit exhausted by sheer contention, with all the ills that men may endure upon earth. Then I felt myself transferred from this state to another quite different—one of true physical pain, intense and excruciating, though it no longer resembled the indescribable horror I had experienced, while trying to inhale the rocks that were crushing the life out of me.

My head was now uncovered; and I was breathing fast and freely.

Though in great pain, I was now conscious of all that was transpiring.

I could hear the voice of ‘Yorkey,’ speaking in his native Yorkshire dialect, and encouraging me with the statement that I would soon be out of danger.

Notwithstanding the pain I still suffered, I was happy—I believe never more so in my life. The horrible agony I had been enduring for the want of breath had passed away; and, as I recognised the voice of the kind-hearted Yorkshireman, I knew that everything would be done for me that man could do.

I was not mistaken: for ‘Yorkey’ soon after succeeded in getting my arms and legs extracted from the shingle; and I was hoisted up to the surface of the earth.

Previous to this accident, I had but a faint idea of how much I valued life, or rather how much I had hitherto undervalued the endurance of death.

My sufferings, whilst buried in the tunnel, were almost as great as those I had felt on first learning the loss of Lenore!

This accident had the effect of sadly disgusting me with the romantic occupation of gold digging—at all events it made me weary of a digger’s life on Mount Blackwood—where the best claim I could discover, paid but very little more than the expenses incurred in working it.

I thought Mount Blackwood, for several reasons, the most disagreeable part of Victoria I had ever visited, excepting Geelong. I had a bad impression of the place on first reaching it; and working hard for several weeks, without making anything, did not do much towards removing that impression. I determined, therefore, to go back to Ballarat—not a little dissatisfied with myself for having left it. After my experience of the Avoca diggings, I had resolved to remain permanently at Ballarat—believing it to be the best gold-field in the Colony—but I had allowed false reports of the richness of Mount Blackwood to affect this resolution; and I was not without the consolation of knowing, that the misfortunes that befel me at the latter place were attributable to my own folly; in lending a too ready ear to idle exaggerations.

Volume Three—Chapter Fourteen.

The “Elephant” and His Mate.

For several days after my “exhumation,” I was compelled to remain in my tent, an invalid.

When at length I became able to take the road, I started back for Ballarat, where I arrived after an arduous journey on foot, that lasted nearly three days.

On again becoming fairly settled on this far-famed gold-field, I purchased a share in a claim on the “Gravel-pits” lead.

This speculation proved fortunate: for the prospect turned out a good one. The gold I expected to obtain from my claim—added to what I had previously accumulated—promised to amount to a considerable sum. With this, I should have been willing to relinquish the hardships of a miner’s life, and follow some less laborious occupation.

When I thought of doing so, however, certain difficulties always presented themselves.

What should I do? What other profession could I follow? These were interrogatories, not easily answered.

Where I should go, after leaving the diggings, was a subject for profound consideration. For what reason should I go anywhere? What purpose had I to accomplish by going anywhere, or doing anything? While asking myself these questions, I thought of Jessie, though not with pleasure, for then within my mind would arise a temptation hard to resist.