‘What’s been bothering you, my dear?’ queried the partner of his joys
and sorrows—of which, indeed, she had borne more than her share during
the latter years of their married life. ‘Those Antimony Lead people
been having a deputation again? Or the “Western Watchdog” been barking
at you? Never mind them, now. Come and look at Baby—she’s fast asleep,
and looks so sweet and good—you can tackle those dreadful people after
breakfast to-morrow—the proper time, as you always say.’
‘The Antimony Lead has relieved me, by “duffering out,” at No. 14—“No
gold, no litigation,” is a safe rule in mining—and the “Watchdog’s”
bark is stilled for a time. But you are right. I have something on my
mind, connected with mining’—and here he seated himself in an
arm-chair, and with his wife’s hand in his, opened his heart, by a
full disclosure of facts, to that faithful helpmate and capable
adviser.
Mrs. Banneret was a woman of exceptional courage, and capacity in
business matters—such as few men are privileged to win and wear in
the alliance matrimonial. Without binding himself to be guided by her
advice in the battles of life, her husband made a point of hearing her
views—if time permitted—before engaging in action. Cool, sensible,
and, withal, courageous to dare, as well as to suffer, his plans were
often modified, if not changed, after hearing her opinion.
In this particular skirmish with fortune, he had, however, been
compelled to act promptly on his own responsibility. He knew mines and
miners,—that strange earth table, where lay such wondrous prizes; the
game on which the cards meant want or wealth, and of which the
counters were men’s lives. The opportunity—one of those which come
rarely, if more than once in life—was too precious to let slip. Weak
and low, after his hardships—if he had refused to accede to the old
man’s proposals—he might, in despair, have adopted the fatal remedy,
lost his gold, or transferred the greater part of his interest to one
of the astute speculators always so numerous upon goldfields.
He had made the plunge. He had put fame and fortune on the cards—more
or less—and must stand the hazard of the dip. Not, of course, that an
officer of his character and experience would have lost his position
by being sold up, and rendered temporarily homeless, as long as
nothing worse could be laid to his charge than imprudence in
speculation.
There were very few residents in any class, caste, or occupation in
Barrawong who had not had a throw for a prize in the game of ‘golden
hazard.’ But none the less, if it came out a blank, it would involve
serious loss, bitter mortification, and more or less privation to be
shared by every member of the household.
Mrs. Banneret listened gravely to the narrative, after the first few
sentences, which contained the key to the situation. She said nothing
until the story was ended, and then proceeded to a cross-examination
very much to the point, as her husband had had previous occasion to
note. She commenced cheerfully. So does the _rusé_ barrister,
affecting an air of light raillery, as he reassures the witness, out
of whose heart he resolves to tear the truth before he has
done—regardless of laceration, how cruel soever, to that organ, in the
process.
But this advocate had no such feeling. She was not an advanced woman.
Gifted with intelligence sufficiently clear to perceive the differing
treatment of the sexes at the hands of society, she was yet fixed in
the opinion that, by marriage and motherhood, a woman’s individuality
has deeply, irrevocably merged in the welfare of the household.
Thenceforth, her sphere was circumscribed. It was her duty, her
privilege, to administer the limited monarchy of that small but
vitally important kingdom. If for insufficient cause she wandered from
it—if for vain pleasures, or intellectual pride, she neglected her
realm—she deserved reprobation as an enemy of the State—deserved to
forfeit the crown of her womanhood. So it was with a heart touched
with wifely sympathy, as well as anxiety for the safety of the family
ark, that she began her inquiry.
‘Well, my dear, you seem to have “put on the pot,” as your friend
Captain Maurice says—I daresay you have good reason—but we must look
out to have something left _pour tout potage_ besides. You put full
faith in old Jack Waters; I have heard you speak of him.’
‘With hardly an exception—gentle or simple—I do not know a man whose
word I would more absolutely trust, and I have known him for ten years
or more.’
‘You think the specimens beyond all doubt the richest you have ever
seen? Remember those in the “Coming Event.”’
‘Yes, they were good—though nothing to these. I’m almost sorry I
didn’t bring them home with me. I left them in the office safe, to be
quite sure.’
‘You are to have a half share also, and the old man wills the whole to
you, in case of accidents? That looks well.’
‘I’m sure if you saw him, and them, you would think more of the
affair.’
‘Very likely—(thoughtfully). Now, suppose you drive in to-morrow,
instead of riding, and take me to lunch with Mrs. Herbert? I can see
old Waters and drop into the Bank besides. Then I’ll say what I
propose. I’d like to think it over—and now, it’s nearly bedtime—I
suppose you want to smoke?’
Mr. Banneret was a reasonable, though not an inveterate smoker. He
told himself that if ever a man needed the great sedative and composer
of thought, this was one of the periods specially suggested by Fate.
So he sat for nearly an hour before the fire in the dining-room, and
meditatively smoked a couple of pipes of ‘rough cut,’ after which, his
habitation being within a few miles of a populous goldfield, and not
in a highly civilised and police-guarded city, he went to bed without
locking a door or securing a window.
‘They know there’s nothing worth taking in the house of a Police
Magistrate—why should they run the risk of a bullet or a gaol?’ he was
wont to reply, when taxed by his wife with leaving the front door or
the dining-room window open; and as no one ever essayed to break
through and steal during their ten years’ sojourn in Barrawong, his
argument apparently had force.
Since dawn he had been in Court or office for eight or nine hours—had
ridden ten miles and walked five, so that when eleven o’clock came, he
had done a fair day’s work. As a consequence, he slept soundly until
cockcrow, when he arose with a clear head and renewed faculties, ready
for whatever duties might be cast upon him.
The family breakfast concluded, the boys had been despatched to
school, the girls to the daily ministrations of the governess, and the
infantry division duly provided for, when Mr. and Mrs. Banneret
departed for Barrawong, in the buggy of the period, behind a pair of
extremely useful nags, moderate as to condition, to which the grass of
the field had chiefly contributed, but exceptional as to pace and
courage. They were equally good in single or double harness, in saddle
also, the near-side horse carrying Mrs. Banneret, who was a daring
rider, with ease and distinction, while no pair within a hundred miles
could, as to road action, ‘see the way they went.’ So the groom
phrased it. They were, in fact, the Commissioner’s chief treasures and
possessions. It was idle to lock up the house while these invaluable
animals were left in an open paddock. Years since, when robbed by
bushrangers, he had shivered in his shoes, _not_ from personal
apprehension, but for fear that the marauders should take a fancy to
Hector, or Paris, and felt quite grateful when they only relieved him
of a couple of gold watches, which he happened to have about him.
When, therefore, as the clock struck nine, Mr. and Mrs. Banneret
rattled out of the front gate, at the rate of twelve miles an hour,
old Hector holding up his head, and sending out his forelegs, as if he
wanted to do the two hundred miles to the metropolis in forty-eight
hours—the spirits of the ‘leading lady’ and the hero, in what might be
a successful melodrama or a tragedy, as the Fates should decree,
visibly rose.
‘Feels like old times, doesn’t it? This turnout was new when we were
married. How we used to rattle about! Now we’re a dozen years older,
and still “going strong,” thank God! Steady, Hector! what an old Turk
you are to pull!’
‘Yes, my dear,’ said the lady, looking softly in his face, with an
added lustre in her dark eyes—‘we have not done so badly, considering
we lost every penny in the world not long after that interesting
event. We have known hard times, but as long as you and the children
are well, and we can give them a decent education, I care for nothing.
But we are going to risk nearly everything _again_, it seems to
me—poor Hector and Paris too! It’s a plunge, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, I can get a friend to buy them in, and we must live on bread and
cheese, till times improve, if the shot misses. But you come in, and
see Waters and his quartz before you form an opinion. Then we’ll talk
it out.’
It was a quarter to ten o’clock when they entered the yard of the inn,
where the horses and trap were put up. Throwing the reins to the
groom, and telling him to give the horses no water for half an hour,
Mr. Banneret and his wife entered the hotel—in the parlour of which,
reading the _Western Watchman_, that morning issued, sat Jack Waters
with a serene and satisfied air. Refreshed by sleep it was wonderful
what rest and refreshment had done for him. Though painfully
emaciated, his eye was brighter, his colour improved—his very voice
altered, as he respectfully saluted Mrs. Banneret.
‘I’m afraid you’ve had a hard time of it, Jack, since you left last
year?’ she said; ‘you’re terribly fallen away, I can see.’
‘It was “a close call,” as the Yankee diggers say, ma’am! I thought I
was goin’ under, many a mile from here—but I never gave in, and what
with the water getting better, and the weather cooler, I pulled
through. Yes, Mrs. Banneret! and it was a good day for you and the
children, and the Commissioner here, as I did. If poor old Jack had
dropped, in that fifty-mile dry stage—I won’t say where—it mightn’t
have mattered much to him. It was all in the day’s work—one more fool
of a digger rubbed out. But to _you_, ma’am, that has always had a
kind word and a bit of help for every one, and your boys and girls
that’s been brought up to do the same—it _will_ matter to the last day
of your lives. You believe me, it’s God’s truth, as I’m a living man
this day.’
And here the miner stood up and gazed with a far-off, dreamy look, as
if beyond the place in which he stood—beyond other lands and seas—as
he named a desert region as yet scarce heard of, from which even the
reckless prospector often turned away, the haunt of the thirst demon
and the fever fiend.
‘Westhampton!’ said the pair simultaneously. ‘Why, you don’t mean to
say you’ve been _there_! Whatever made you think of it? Why, it’s
thousands of miles from here.’
‘I _was_ there, anyhow—and now I’m back here. There was a voyage to
take—I had money enough for that, and I saved as much as would take me
back. I had to walk over a hundred mile to get there, and double as
much to come back. What I went through, no one will ever know. But I
got back to the ship. Then I started to walk from the coast, and here
I am; but there wasn’t much to spare, was there, Commissioner?’
‘My time’s up,’ he replied, looking at his watch. ‘Court morning, and
there’s always some one waiting to see me. I must go now, but you tell
Mrs. Banneret all about it. She’ll be in the claim too, you know’; and
the man of many duties and responsibilities walked forth to receive a
report from the police of a mining accident, with loss of life; to fix
the date for hearing an exhaustive action for trespass; to issue
warrants—sign summonses and Miners’ Rights; to report upon complaints
made against himself to the Secretary for Mines; to sit in a
bankruptcy meeting—as also to act as general adviser, father
confessor, and guardian of minors in pressing cases of the most
delicate social and financial nature.
The lady’s colloquy with the miner was short, but material to the
issue. ‘I have come in to-day,’ she said, ‘on purpose to see you about
this speculation. Mr. Banneret believes in you, as a straight,
reliable man! So do I, from what I have seen and heard. But this is a
neck or nothing venture. We have little to spare as it is, and if we
lose this five hundred pounds we shall be ruined—and you know that the
oldest miners are deceived sometimes. It is a long way off, too.’
‘If it wasn’t a long way off, it wouldn’t be what it is, ma’am. I’ve
been mining these thirty year, and never see a reef like it afore. Of
course it’s not too late to go back on it, though I’d rather you had
it than any one else I know—you helped me afore, you see, when I had
my tent burnt, and I’d like to do you good.’
‘How did you come to know of it?’
‘Well, it was this way. You know, ma’am, us diggers often write and
lay one another on to good things. An old mate of mine had been
campin’ out and prospectin’ round there, for more’n a year, livin’
hard, eatin’ lizards, pigface, what not—nigh perished for want of
water, until he come across this here reef. Well, he goes back to
Southern Cross, where he gets laid up with rheumatic fever, and close
up dies—ain’t right yet. Well, he wires and lays me on, and I’m to
give him an eighth share, when it’s floated—as floated it will be—and
for a price that’ll astonish some people. I can’t say more, ma’am,
now, and every word of it’s God’s truth.’
‘I think you’ve said enough,’ said the lady, bending her gaze upon him
with a searching glance, which he returned steadfastly and half
wistfully. ‘Whatever Mr. Banneret has promised, of course he will
perform. You may trust my husband to carry it out, and I feel more
satisfied now I have heard you explain matters.’
‘If we can’t trust the Commissioner, ma’am, we can’t trust
nobody—that’s what all of us miners says; there’s not a man on the
field that don’t say the same. So I’ll wish you good-bye, ma’am, and
my sarvice to you.’
‘Good-bye, and I hope it will bring good fortune to all of us.’
That afternoon, about half-past four o’clock, the Commissioner closed
his office earlier than usual. As they were speeding along the
homeward road, winding between yawning shafts and over the insecure
bridges spanning the water-races, which gurgled and bubbled beneath
the horses’ feet, Mrs. Banneret thus addressed her husband:
‘Had a good day, my dear?’
‘Very fair, all things considered. Long Small Debts Court. Big police
case. Inquest on poor fellow killed in Happy Valley. Deputation from
the “Great Intended”—want the base line swung. Report urgently
required in the last jumping case. Got through them all except the
last—they can wait a week. I must go on the ground.’
‘Not a bad day’s work either, for an overpaid, under-worked Civil
servant, as the Radical papers call you; and now I’ll bring in _my_
report, which is urgent—immediate, and can’t “wait a week,” whatever
else can.’
‘Go ahead, my dear!’ said her husband, lighting his pipe, and
steadying the impatient horses to a ten-mile trot. ‘I’m all
attention.’
‘In the first place, I had a short talk with old Waters which
impressed me. He thoroughly believes in the find, and I believe in
_him_. So do you. If his tale is true, our fortune is made; and though
the risk is great, the speculation is no more imprudent than some we
know of that ended triumphantly.’
‘Of course, there was Lindsay, district Surveyor, just as hard worked
and no better paid than I am, took early shares in Rocky Hill, went
home with £200,000 or more! Desmond went in with the “first robbers”
in Valley Gorge—came out with over £100,000. Very cautious men both of
them, too. Nearly not going in. Higgleson declined—swears now, when he
thinks of it.’
‘Well, my dear, these are truths—stranger than fiction, as the eminent
person says. Shows that all mining ventures are not swindles; and now
for my proposal. You haven’t had leave of absence lately?’
‘Not for four years. Leave obtainable, but no visible means, if I had
gone.’
‘Quite so—couldn’t be better put. But now the case is different. You
have the five hundred pounds to come and go on—Oh! I may say here that
I called at the Bank and asked Mr. Bright to show me the specimens.
They made my mouth water. What necklaces and rings—pearls and diamonds
I saw in the future—_if_ the reef “went down,” as old Waters said. How
the shares would go up! That wasn’t the only thing I saw. I saw
schools and colleges—travel, society for the children, a house in
town—a carriage (which my soul loveth),—all these I saw in those
pretty white and fawn-coloured stones with their threads and veins of
gold—pure gold running through and through them. Mr. Bright thinks
well of the affair too, I can see.’
‘Yes, he does—and he ought to be a judge. How many a ton of that same
quartz, more or less auriferous, has he handled in his time! Many a
pound has he lost over it too.’
‘Well, we can’t all win, of course; but I’m with you in this, my dear,
heart and soul—and if it breaks down, and we have to live on dry bread
for a couple of years, you shall never hear a whimper from me.’
‘I know that, my dear. Pluck enough for half-a-dozen men—let alone
women. What about this leave? Do you mean——?’
‘Of course I do; apply _at once_ for three months’ leave. Pressure of
work, and so on. I’ve noticed you _do_ look rather fagged now and
then—though I never said so. Urgent private affairs also. Then _go
with him_. You’ll have the spending of the cash. He can’t object to
that. I’m surprised you didn’t see it yourself. He might drink, or be
drugged, and lose it all. Where should we be then? Depend upon it,
that’s the thing to do. It makes all safe, once for all.’
‘I see your point. I might have thought of it, as you say; but they’ll
have to send a man in my place. Every one wouldn’t do. However,
there’s sure to be some goldfields official knocking about who’d like
the change. In for a penny, etc. I’ll write to-night. But how will
_you_ get on?’
‘Have your pay put into my private account while you’re away. I’ll
manage somehow. The five hundred pounds ought to frank you there, and
do all the taking up and so on—with care.’
‘Yes, and careful enough we shall have to be; there’ll be no more when
that’s gone. It’s the “last chance” in every sense of the word.’
‘I shall be lonely enough while you’re away, my dear; but we have had
to do without each other before—and must again. You’ll write
regularly—a letter will always cheer me up. I shan’t suffer for want
of employment, that’s one thing.’
The Commissioner got his leave of absence on the ground of ‘urgent
private affairs’—which was only just, as he had been hard at it for
several years, without change or respite, in one of the most
difficult, anxious, wearing occupations in the Civil Service: that of
Warden, and Police Magistrate, on a large alluvial goldfield. To rule
over an excitable population, varying from ten to twenty thousand; to
hear and decide the interminable mining lawsuits arising from the
production of tons of gold—literally _tons_, won, held, and
distributed under a code of mining laws, of a sufficiently complicated
nature, and appearing to the unlearned a mass of confused,
contradictory regulations, was no sinecure. The amounts, too, in
question were often incredibly large, so that a mistake in law, or an
error in judgment, magnified by the local press, assumed gigantic
proportions in the eye of the public. In the police department of
jurisdiction, murders and robberies, though not alarmingly frequent,
were occasionally matters of by no means a _quantité négligeable_.
Excitable public meetings were common, and, as an outlet for
smouldering popular feeling, answered a good purpose.
But, on the whole, Barrawong was an appointment which a gentleman with
prejudices in favour of a quiet life would have found singularly
unsuitable.
As for Jack, he fell in with the proposition warmly and loyally from
its first mention. Distrustful, from past experience, of his
will-power in the way of resistance in the grip of terrible drink
temptation, to which, in the past, he had succumbed full many a time
and oft, he was not sorry to have the custody of the joint capital
placed in safe hands. And yet nothing is a more astonishing psychical
phenomenon than the unbroken abstention from alcohol which the
intermittent drunkard will and can practise. Having so resolved, the
whilom victim will sit with roystering comrades, whose full glasses
pass before his face—lodge in hotels, where he sees (and smells) the
soul-destroying liquid from morning to night, and under the fire of
this temptation—over the grave of so many broken vows and tearful
resolutions—he will remain as unshaken as a teetotaller in a
coffee-house.
What a miracle it seems! What a superhuman effort must the first days
of sobriety require! How does it put to shame the better born, the
better instructed, whose every-day resolutions they are often so
powerless to abide by!
But it is a time-bargain with the fiend, alas! in so many—in by far
the majority of instances. In ‘an hour that he knoweth not,’ the Enemy
of man asserts his power, and the victim falls—to be cast into the
outer darkness of despair—of hopeless surrender—to a ruined life, an
unhonoured death.
A fortnight’s rest and good living set up the returned prospector to
such an extent that his former comrades hardly recognised him in the
neatly dressed, alert personage, who gave out that he was open to
invest in a ‘show,’ but wasn’t up to any more prospecting for a while.
‘Not good enough,’ and so on. Thought he’d take a trip to Melbourne to
see a friend. This resolve he carried out rather suddenly, it having
been so arranged, the partners not holding it expedient that they
should leave in company, or that it should be matter for general
information that they were bound upon a joint mining speculation. As
to the tempting local ventures, then common among all classes on a
large goldfield, Mr. Banneret had always studiously abstained from the
slightest connection with them.
‘No!’ was his uniform answer to applications of a persuasive nature—‘I
am here to decide upon questions of immense importance to these people
over whom I am placed as a judge and a ruler. To inspire confidence in
the impartiality of my decisions, I cannot be financially associated
with any mining property on _this_ goldfield. Say that my partner, or
partners, do not come before me in any judicial matter. Such are the
ramifications of mining association, that the partners, and friends of
_their_ partners, are certain at some time or other to be suitors in
my Court. I should not then stand in the same relation to them as to
perfectly unknown or detached parties to a suit. Thus I fully
resolved, from my first acceptance of this office, to hold myself free
from the slightest ground of suspicion.’
‘As for this affair,’ he told his wife, talking over the matter before
his departure, ‘it is entirely different; the locality is in another
colony, under different laws and another government. If it comes off,
I shall be indifferent to all mining law, except as it affects our
particular lease—which I shall take up directly I get there.’
The last farewell was said, the last embrace given. With a brave and
tearless face, but an aching heart, the loyal wife bade adieu to the
one man that the world held for her—stood looking after the
fast-receding vehicle which was to meet the coach at the country
town—waving her handkerchief till the turning-point of the road was
reached, then, with falling tears, walked slowly back to the cottage,
and busied herself with the never-ending needlework—over which the
tears flowed so fast at times that a pause in the stitching was
necessary. In her chamber she poured out her heart in fervent
supplication, that he whom she loved and trusted above all other
created beings might return to her, safe as to health and successful
in his enterprise, if so God willed, but if otherwise, in His good
Providence, let him only be spared to return in health to glad his
wife’s and children’s eyes, and her soul would be satisfied—‘Thy will,
not mine be done, O Lord!’ were the closing words of the heartfelt,
simple petition. Rising with an expression of renewed confidence and
trusting faith, she smoothed her hair, bathed her face, and with a
composed and steadfast countenance betook herself to the
ever-recurring duties of the household.
* * * * *
The wrench of parting with wife and children was over. Mr. Banneret,
like most strong men of an observant turn of mind, enjoyed change. A
born traveller, he was equally at home on sea and land, hill or dale,
plain or forest—hot or cold, wet or dry—it made no difference to him.
There was always some one, or something, to see and be interested in.
His was a chiefly sympathetic constitution of mind, which could, in
all literal truth, be described as irrepressible and universal.
Such being the case, he had no sooner looked up Waters, whom he found
well and hearty, at the hostelry agreed upon, in Melbourne, and taken
passage in the first steamer bound for far Westralia, than Hope, the
day star, which had illumined so many darksome passages of his life,
arose, and amid the twilight of the uncertain adventure, commenced to
glow with a mild but steady irradiation. The next afternoon found them
on the wave, units of a crowd, bound for the newest Eldorado.
Under instructions, an agent had arranged for the purchase of a
strong, but light-running waggonette, and three horses, together with
the ordinary necessaries for an overland journey through new, untried
country. Reduced to their smallest weight and compass, there was still
a sufficient load for the team, probably condemned to indifferent fare
on the road. The selection had been careful—no one is a better judge
of travel requisites than that man of many makeshifts and dire
experiences, the mining prospector. The outfit needed but to be paid
for, and shipped, and the first act of the melodrama began.
Voyages are much alike. They differ occasionally in length, safety,
comfort, and convenience. But these are details. The chief matters are
departure, and arrival in port. When the second part of the contract
is unfulfilled, the performance borders on a tragedy. In this case the
contract was carried out—after a week’s voyage, they duly arrived at
their distant stage.
‘So this is another colony,’ said Mr. Banneret, looking around on the
small old-fashioned town—so long settled—so sparsely populated—so
meagre in tokens of civilisation, in contrast with the coast cities of
the East. They were not, of course, over-fastidious. There were decent
hotels—even a Club for people with introductions. To the Commissioner
unstinted hospitality was tendered. He considered it, however,
expedient to pitch the tent and pack their movables in the waggon: to
begin to camp in earnest, as indeed they would be compelled to do
during the remainder of the journey. This would be the more economical
method of travelling, and the safety of their property, including the
horses, would be assured.
On the morrow Waters proceeded to explain his plan of action.
They had, first of all, to travel for a week in a nor’-westerly
direction, at the end of which they would reach a mining camp or
township.
The track after that was fairly well marked; but the feed was bad, or
none at all—water scarce and precarious. There were all sorts of
disadvantages. ‘It was the worst country in Australia,’ Jack said,
averring that he had seen everything bad in his time. It would take
them more than a month, even if they had luck. They would have to
carry everything with them; even forage for the horses. But at the
end, however long and wearisome, there was a claim—a reef, the like of
which he, John Waters, had never seen before. ‘Then the sooner we’re
off the better,’ said Mr. Banneret. ‘We can get everything ready
to-morrow, and make a short journey at any rate. The great thing is
the _start_. It’s mostly plain sailing afterwards.’
So the next day everything was done, fitted, and made ready for a
three months’ journey, as indeed it needed to be. Waiting and working
at the claim would not be very dissimilar from the wayfaring—except
that they would be stationary. As for the hard work, with fare to
match, Mr. Banneret had had similar experiences in his youth, and
believed that he could do what any other man could do, of whatever
age, class, or condition.
By this time his ‘mate’—a ‘dividing mate,’ in the eye of the law,
socially and otherwise—had, as he himself expressed it, ‘picked up
surprisin’’—after the first week or two on the road, he would be (he
stated) in hard condition again, fit to go for a man’s life.
Originally of the flawless constitution peculiarly the heritage of the
Anglo-Saxon, and, as such, contemptuous of hardship by land or sea,
nothing but his own folly had power to harm it. The wonderful
recuperative power common to the race had reasserted itself—conjointly
with a regular system of food and rest. The typical miner’s boundless
optimism and sanguine expectation bore him up as upon wings—and, as
they drove along in the clear atmosphere, under a cloudless sky, the
Commissioner’s face lost its troubled expression.
The ‘township,’ when they got there, was such a one as the
Commissioner had never before seen in all his varied experiences;
never in his dreams had he imagined such a mining camp. A person of
restricted imagination, or feeble sympathies, might even have
described the landscape as ‘unspeakably desolate, and ghastly.’ A
certain appearance of grass, even if trodden down, and fed off by
horses and bullocks, had always been visible on goldfields where he
had borne rule formerly.
Here there was none, absolutely _none_. Dust of a red hue, subtly
pervading all nature, was the chief elemental feature. Water was more
or less available for sluicing, puddling, cradling, or other purposes
connected with mining operations,—here there was _none_ to be seen
except in the small quantities required for partial lavation and for
engine work. This last was of course procurable, but being generally
salt or brackish, required to be subjected to the condenser, lest
damage to the engine should ensue. In the hotels it was dearer than
wine or beer in the coast cities—was always, indeed, _charged for
separately_ in the bars when supplied with alcohol!
‘What a desert!’ thought the Commissioner. ‘Have we reached Arabia by
any magical process? And here come the camels proper to the scene.’ As
he spoke, a long string of those Eastern-seeming animals came nearer,
and the Afghan drivers, turbaned and with flowing garb, heightened the
resemblance.
‘This is a queer shop, sir,’ said Waters, as he observed his
companion’s looks of amazement and curiosity. ‘Barrawong wasn’t
over-pleasant, as you might say, on a hot day, with the north wind
blowin’ the dust in your eyes—but it was a king to this; and then the
river—you could allers have a swim; and nothing freshens a man up like
a good header into cool, deep water after his day’s work.’
‘It certainly is not a place a man would pick to spend his
honeymoon—though I suppose some adventurous couples have done that;
but, of course, the main thing is the gold. Men didn’t come out here
to hunt for scenery, or farm-lands. Are they on good gold? If they
are, all the rest will follow.’
‘Well, sir, this is the richest goldfield in Australia, just now, and
likely to be the biggest. _You_ know, if that keeps on, they’ll get
everything else they want, and more too, directly; but we shan’t stop
here long enough to think about it, hot or cold,’ said Waters. ‘I’ll
watch the horses to-night, for there’s a lot of cross coves about,
who’d steal the teeth out of your head if you slept sound enough. We’d
better load up all we’ll want for a month or two, and get away afore
sundown to-morrer. You might write out a list of things we’ll want.
I’ll mind the camp till you come back.’ This being arranged, Banneret
went into town after a frugal lunch, and walked down the main street,
which, with a few others crossing it at right angles, constituted the
nucleus of the infant city. A few large and fairly well kept hotels,
with ornamental bars and spacious billiard and dining rooms,
accommodated the floating population, of whom the greater number took
their meals there, in preference to undergoing the doubtful
experiment of housekeeping. The expense was considerable; but those
who had shares in dividend-paying mines could well afford war prices,
while to those making short visits to this and other ‘fields’—partly
on business, and partly for curiosity—a few pounds could make but
slight difference. Of course, the township bore a family likeness to
all other mining centres,—one long main street, with others branching
off at right angles, the frontage to which was filled with cabins,
huts, cottages, tents, of every size, shape, and colour. The roofs
were chiefly of corrugated iron, which, unsightly as a building
material, yet enabled the possessor to collect rain-water. When the
walls, or rather sides, were not of the same material they were of
hessian—of slabs, or weatherboard. Some indeed were of bark—the
climate being consistently hot and dry. The nights, however, were
cool, as the goldfield stood fairly high above sea-level. When it did
rain, it came down with tropical force and volume, as was seen by the
depth of the ravines. But this state of matters occurred too rarely to
occasion serious thought. Here and there tiny gardens, wherein grew a
few carefully tended vegetables and flowers, showed that the soil was
not wholly barren. The pepper tree (_Schinus molle_), friend of the
pioneer horticulturist, had already made a lodgment, as well as the
Kurrajong or Cooramin (_Sterculia_), the slow growth of which,
however, few of the present population would remain to witness.
All purchases made, the team fed and rested, the loading arranged as
only the experienced overlander knows how, and supper over, a start
was made by the light of a rising moon.
‘We take this track, sir,’ said Waters. ‘It’s the main road to the
“twenty-mile soak,” and give out as we’re goin’ to Kurnalpi. There’s
whips o’ tracks for ten or twelve mile; and then we strike due west.
If any of ’em follers us up, we can say we’re makin’ for
Kimberley—that’ll choke ’em off, if anything will.’
‘I suppose there are men on these fields that will track up
prospectors if they believe they’ve made a find?’
‘In course there are, sir. Chaps as like pickin’ up the fruits of
other men’s work, and ain’t game to tackle the hardships theirselves.’
So the strangely constituted companions journeyed on, by the faint
wavering light of the struggling moon, sometimes obscured, but
generally available, as the track, so far, was across open plains or
downs, sandy, gravelly, or rock-strewn by turns, but offering no
serious obstacle to the passage of horse or man. What timber there was
consisted chiefly of scrub and brushwood, mulga or mallee. Some of it
was available for camel food; but, in a general way, it appeared to
the Commissioner as a land accursed of God and man—unfitted for
providing sustenance for man or beast.
As the night dragged through, he could not but consider the contrast
between his present position and that which he had abandoned in order
to follow what might be a delusive phantom, a ‘Will-o’-the-wisp’—an
‘ignis fatuus,’ specially provided for leading astray wayfarers,
blinded by the ‘auri sacra fames.’ Suppose he lost his way, broke down
in health or eyesight—the most vulnerable point in the explorer’s
armoury? Waters was old, and though apparently strong, and inured to
hardship, could not go on for ever, or if he missed his way to the
Waterloo Spring?—they were far apart and the aboriginal natives were
indifferent or hostile—in any case, averse, from their standpoint, to
point out or conduct the party to the inestimable water-store. What
might be his fate? And what—still more harrowing thought—the condition
of his wife and family, deprived of his protecting care, and having
exhausted his slender store of earnings—the fruit of many an hour of
toil and self-denial? He had reached the point of almost intolerable
doubt and distress of mind when a cheery shout from his companion, who
held the reins, dislodged the nightmare which he had conjured up.
‘Yes, Captain, yonder’s the Black Peak! I was pretty near told out
when I struck it, and that done when I got there that I never expected
to see home again. I’d been walking half the night, and all day—my
water-bag was empty—I’d had nothing to eat to speak of for a week
past, just a morsel of biscuit now and then. My boots was wore
through, my feet bleedin’, and that sore I could hardly drag myself
along. By George! if a digger wants to have the heart of a lion, as
people say, what must a prospector? Heat and cold, hunger and
thirst—blacks to fight, off and on—whites if he’s got a bit of gold,
nigh hand as bad, perhaps worse, as they’re more cunning. How many a
heap of bones lies bleaching in the sun, between here and Kurnalpi!
Sometimes they’re found, and there’s papers on ’em that tells where
the only son, or the favourite youngest one, laid down to die, and
never come home, all the years they was expecting of him to open the
door of the old place and say, “Here I am, with a brown face and a bag
of nuggets”—as the story-writers tell us. Well, well! I’m ramblin’
away, just like a chap I _did_ hear once, as I come on just in time to
give him a bite and a sup, and save his precious life. How he was
a-talkin’ and goin’ on! I heard him a matter of half a mile afore I
got to him. He talked and talked—thought he saw his people again, and
they wouldn’t let him in. Then he’d scream and yell, and curse
frightful, and say the devil was coming for him—just for all the world
like a man with the jim-jams—the D.T.s, or whatever doctors call it.
There ain’t so much difference between what men and women say when
once they’re off their head. We’re all queer animals—larned or
unlarned—and that’s a fact.
‘And now, sir, as I’ve talked enough rot for a while, only I thought
you was lookin’ rather down on it, and it might liven you up a bit, I
see we’re on a bit of good saltbush where we can stop and give the
horses a feed. I’ll fry a bit of the mutton for a relish, and make a
pot of tea. There’s a plenty of the damper left as I baked a while
back. We can take it easy while you have a “bange.” I’ll watch the
nags, in case any one comes along. We can push on afterwards. Anyhow
the horses will be all the better for a spell.’
Waters bustled about, unharnessing and hobbling the horses, which
immediately began to nibble the saline bushes that seemed to have
found a patch of congenial soil. Walking down a small gully or shallow
ravine, he was fortunate enough to discover a tiny ‘soak’ under a
rock, being directed thereto by a brace of the beautiful bronzewing
pigeons. These birds will fly great distances to a spring or
water-hole of any sort, but are difficult to shoot, as their habit is
to drink rapidly, and fly back to their haunts so suddenly that it is
a case of snap-shot, or too late.
The soak proved sufficient to give the team a drink, and also to fill
up the ten-gallon keg, which was kept as a reserve in case of need.
After this halt Mr. Banneret felt easier in his mind, and more
sanguine as to the results of the expedition.
The sky was cloudless, of course. The desert sun had shone its
fiercest for the last two hours. The pocket thermometer and aneroid
registered 90 degrees. Before the close of day it would probably reach
105 or 110.
‘We’ll not start till after sundown, sir,’ said the practical partner.
‘I want to blind our trail a bit, so as we shan’t be follered up just
yet. By gum! if this ain’t the very identical mob o’ horses come a
purpose, like as if it was ordered. See them camels?’
‘Yes! what a string of them, with Afghan drivers. What have they to do
with us?’
‘You’ll find out, sir, soon’s they come a bit closer.’
It may not be generally known that horses have an insuperable dread of
camels when first seen. It is on record that, on the first progress of
an explorer’s expedition down the Darling River, the station horses
with one accord fled from the river frontage, stampeding towards the
‘back blocks,’ and were recovered with difficulty days and weeks
afterwards.
On this occasion, there happened to be an overland mob (drove) of
horses on their way to the Southern Cross goldfield—coming in a
different direction from that of the travellers. Directly they caught
sight of the camel train, they swung across the road, and headed
apparently for Coongarrie, in spite of the utmost efforts of the
drivers, who by cries, yells, and stockwhip cracks, strove to stop or
wheel them. ‘That’s all right for us, sir,’ said Waters, who, after
several perfunctory efforts to assist the men in charge, was content
to let them go their own way. ‘We’ll be off as soon as we can harness
up, sir, and drive along the way they’ve gone. They’ve made tracks
enough to cover ours ten times over. Next day we’ll hit out due north,
where the ground’s that bloomin’ hard and rocky as it won’t hold a
track—unless they had a nigger with them, which it’s not likely—not
hereabouts, anyway.’
As they drove quietly along in the line of the flying squadron, it
really appeared as if circumstance had aided them in an unforeseen but
perfectly effectual manner. Some miles farther on they met the runaway
mob, considerably steadied by their escapade, being driven quietly
back, with a man in front of them, who was keeping closely to their
track, as in the outward run.
‘That makes it just right for us, sir,’ said the old man; ‘they’ll
knock out the track of our wheels, for good and all, so that no man
can tell where we left the main trail—and they’ve twisted, and twisted
so, as any feller that’s trackin’ us up won’t have any show of hittin’
our dart, any more’n a mob of kangaroos.’
Both partners knew enough of the working of claims on new goldfields
to judge how essential it was to their success that they should be
able to take possession, undisturbed by the tumult and confusion of a
rush on new ground, known or reported to be rich. Wild exaggerations,
and rumours of Aladdin’s caves, would pass from camp to camp, with
every fresh arrival of miners. The Commissioner had seen before the
lonely creek flat, or fern-fringed gully, converted within forty-eight
hours into a populous township, with main street, shops, hotels,
billiard-rooms, more or less effective for their needs; while every
acre for miles around the reef or alluvial deposit was pegged out and
jealously guarded by armed men, whom it needed but little imagination
to believe capable of shedding blood in defence of their legal or
fancied rights.
He now began to comprehend that their present action was decided by an
experienced and capable coadjutor, and resolved to continue in the
position of sleeping partner until circumstances demanded a change.
Many days and nights were passed in desert travelling, in more or less
monotonous fashion. The days were hot—almost intolerably so; the sand
and gravel of the soil, unrelieved by pasture, even of the humblest
description, seemed to burn the very soles of their boots. What then
would happen if they were attacked by the dreaded ophthalmia, the
‘sandy blight’ of the colonists, he shuddered to think of. He had
known of terrible experiences when the sufferers were far from medical
aid, so of course had brought the accepted tinctures with them, had
invested in ‘solar topees’ and sunshades—that is to say, _he_ had; but
his companion, with the reckless indifference of the average miner to
every kind of danger, trusted to chance and a hitherto unbroken
constitution. ‘That fever pretty nigh knocked me out, sir—I _was_ bad
when you seen me in Barrawong. But it was the starvation and it
together that near settled me. I won’t cut it so fine again, believe
me.’ This statement was made at the close of the day—when the final
journey was commenced. The nights, Banneret was glad to remark, were
fairly cool, and free from the mosquito pest, the elevation above the
sea being greater than would be at first conjectured.
‘We strike an old camel track,’ said his companion, after they were
fairly started; ‘it was made just after the Kurnalpi field broke out.
They don’t take that line now, and just as well. It’s wonderful how
they missed our “bonanza,” but that’s what you’ll notice on every
field—they’ll go washin’ and cradlin’ in every gully _but_ the right
’un, and almost break their shins over the real thing without ever
knowin’ it.’
The dawn was painting the pale east with gold streaks and crimson
patches as they broke camp and headed for a peak, of which the
irregular outline stood in sharp relief against the glowing sky. They
had quitted the camel-track, obscured in places by the blown sand and
occasional storm showers, and now struck boldly across the limitless
plain. Their landmark was distinct, and encouraging, as relieving them
from anxiety about the route. As the Commissioner gazed upon the bold
outline of the fantastic peak, one thought possessed his mind,
dominating all others. Here was the goal of his ambition: the secret
hope which had during long years of struggle and self-denial kept
alive the prospect of eventual prosperity, such as should comprehend
peace of mind, in a well-ordered country home near the metropolis,
education of the children, social privileges, with a modest allowance
of travel and art culture, and generally unrestricted rational
enjoyment. Would this mysterious mountain lead them to a veritable
Sinbad’s valley of diamonds, or would the fairy gold, by virtue of the
magical transmutation which seems connected with rich deposits of the
precious metals, be for them rendered illusionary and disappointing?
Would they find the sacred spot already captured and despoiled;
desecrated by alien pegs, and filled with defiant claimants? He knew
the keenness with which a prospector’s track could be followed up—by
men versed in the lore of the wilderness—the outcome of those who,
like his guide and partner, ‘had done a perish,’ in goldfields argot,
not less hazardous than he; their safety, their very existence,
dependent upon such a hazard—a mere cast of the die, as might be this.
It grew, this dark surmise, raged and traversed his brain, increasing
in force and virulence, until he almost imagined that he saw in the
dim distance the outline of a tent, the form of a man, the thin thread
of smoke which goes up from a tiny desert fire, such as, God in
Heaven! he remembered noting so well of old. It was a trick of the
imagination doubtless. Was he indeed becoming lightheaded? Was
distemper of the brain setting in? He was wont to regard himself as a
level-headed person, cool in emergency, steadfast to bear untoward
circumstance. He would wait, and divert his thoughts for a while. He
would drive out one frame of mind by compelling another—several other
imagined states of mind to take its place. He thought then, at first
resolutely—then as the picture became more clear and vivid, of the
happy day of his arrival—by coach, of course: they had quitted the
train at midnight, and taken their seats, secured by telegram, in the
well-horsed, well-lighted, punctual conveyance of Cobb and Co., which
has earned so many a blessing from home-returning travellers. The long
night was past; the dawn discovered the well-known goldfields road,
from which in half an hour—ye gods! but half an hour!—the main street
of the old familiar township, with its improvised banks, stores,
shops, and hotels, would burst upon the view. Ha! well—I have
been dreaming to some purpose. The vision fades. Let us hope that
the hill will not suffer the fate of ‘Poor Susan’s,’ in those
exquisite lines of the poet. Yes! it stands there, clear,
neutral-tinted—nude—frowning, as doubtless it has done for centuries,
æons, if you will—since the central fires lifted it from the womb of
Dame Hertha. The day is older, but the unclouded sky and the
atmosphere are of such clearness that distant objects can be discerned
with almost perfect certainty; he is awake and alert now, if ever—his
senses have _not_ played him false—there _is_ a tent, at no very great
distance, and sitting by it, on a box, is a man smoking, while another
appears to be putting together articles of camp furniture.