This roused
my bile - I threw it up altogether - and off to Adelaide again.
Soon spent all my cash, and went into a ship-chandler's office till
they failed; then was clerk to a butcher, and lost my situation for
throwing a quarter of his own mutton at him in a rage; and then I again
turned brewer's man. Whilst there I heard of the diggings - left the
brewer and his casks to look after themselves, and off on foot to
Ballarat.
"Here I found the holes averaging some thirty feet - which was a style of
hard work I didn't quite admire; so hearing of the greater facility of
the Alexander diggings, I went through Bully Rook Forest, and tried my
luck in the Jim Crow Ranges. This paid well; and I bought a dray, and
bring up goods to the stores, which I find easier work, and twice as
profitable as digging. There's my story; and little I thought when I
went into Gregory's store to-day, that I should find my curly-pated
nephew ready to hear it."
Next day we travelled on, and halted near Saw-pit Gully; it was early
in the afternoon, and we took a walk about this most interesting
locality. The earth was torn up everywhere - a few lucky hits
had sufficed to re-collect a good many diggers there, and they were
working vigorously. At dusk the labour ceased - the men returned to
their tents, and for the last time our ears were assailed by the
diggers' usual serenade. Imagine some hundreds of revolvers almost
instantaneously fired - the sound reverberating through the mighty
forests, and echoed far and near - again and again till the last faint
echo died away in the distance. Then a hundred blazing fires burst upon
the sight - around them gathered the rough miners themselves - their
sun-burnt, hair-covered faces illumined by the ruddy glare. Wild songs,
and still wilder bursts of laughter are heard; gradually the flames
sink and disappear, and an oppressive stillness follows (sleep rarely
refuses to visit the diggers' lowly couch), broken only by some
midnight carouser, as he vainly endeavours to find his tent. No fear of
a "peeler" taking him off to a police-station, or of being brought
before a magistrate next morning, and "fined five shillings for being
drunk."
Early on Tuesday morning I gave a parting look to the diggings - our dray
went slowly onwards - a slight turn in the road, and the last
tent has vanished from my sight. "Never," thought I, "shall I look on
such a scene again!"
Chapter XII.
RETURN TO MELBOURNE
Before the evening of Wednesday the 20th, we passed through Kyneton,
and found ourselves in the little village of Carlshrue, where we passed
the night. Here is a police-station, a blacksmith's, a few stores and
some cottages, in one of which we obtained a comfortable supper and
beds.
