The new comer may wish to know how we diggers spend our time at home. We
boast no courtly halls, nor woodbine bowers. We glory not in rosewood
cheffoniers nor Turkey carpets. Our festal board is not decorated with
embroidered cloth, nor laden with viands and tasteful vases. We live in
canvas homes, or huts of bark and logs. Free ventilation is universally
adopted on Hygean principles. Our furniture is of a simple character. A
box, a block of wood, or a bit of paling across a pail, serves as a
table; though a few among us scorn such indulgence. Some luxurious ones
positively have rough stools as seats; the majority recline upon their
beds, or make use of a log, the ground, or a pail turned upside down.
Our dinner service comprises not many pieces. We have those who indulge
in plates, knives and forks; but it must not be supposed that all are so
fastidious. The washing of the plates, and cleaning of knives and forks,
require an appreciation of cleanliness most foreign to the lofty genius
of the diggings. Besides, the chops can be picked out of the frying pan,
placed on a lump of bread, and cut with a clasp knife that has done good
service in fossicking during the day.
In the rooming the diggers rise from their hard beds and prepare for
breakfast. Happy are they on a wet day who have a sheltered fire place.
Fortunately wood is cheap enough, though the havock made in the Bendigo
forests will certainly _clear the land_. The eternal chops are cooked,
the pannicans of scalding tea are filled, and the first meal passes
over. Active preparations are now made for work. The several dinners are
tied up, the travelling pot of tea got ready, the tools gathered
together, and with the never to be forgotten pipe, forth they sally into
the world of adventure. At twelve or one, a hasty repast is taken, and
the pannican and pipe again called in requisition. Before sundown
parties are observed branching off from the gully homeward. After a hard
day’s work one is not disposed to be too particular about the evening
meal, and the mode in which it is prepared. Something has yet to be
done. The morrow has claims. The damper is eaten. Taking a washing tin
dish, and clearing off the dirt a little, six or eight pannicans of
flour are thrown in; a half table spoonful of carbonate of soda, the
like quantity of tartaric acid, and a spoonful of salt are mixed
together in a pannican, and then well mingled with dry flour. Water is
then poured in, the whole thoroughly knuckled, rolled into a good shaped
loaf, and tumbled at once into the warmed camp oven. Fire is applied
beneath and above the oven in a way to insure uniform heat, and a couple
of hours or less will turn out a loaf fit to set before the queen.
Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning are especially consecrated to
cookery. The same camp oven has, perhaps, to turn out two loaves, a
baked joint for dinner, and, mystery of mysteries, a boiled plum pudding
in the bargain. Add to all this, potatoes when you can afford to pay for
them, not forgetting a few boiled onions, should you chance to boil in
your oven a leg of mutton. A good cook is recognized at the diggings as
well as at a club-house. Some men will not take time to make a wholesome
loaf, but content themselves with dry or fat Johnny cakes, which are
simply of flour and water, or with the addition of greasy accumulation
of cookery, hastily prepared in the frying pan. Many lose health by
inattention to meals. By a little forethought and prudent management
much waste could be prevented, excellent dishes be obtained, and an
increase of comfort be produced, which would make the probation at the
mines much more endurable. It is here that the skill and economy of a
woman are seen to advantage in a tent. The cost of provisions varies
greatly. I knew two men at the Loddon, who lived for seven shillings a
week each. Afterwards, when flour at the Bendigo rose to two shillings a
pound, the board was rather more expensive. Meat is seldom more than
fourpence a pound. Cheese, butter, pickles, ham, bacon, sardines, and
eau de Cologne, are enjoyed only by successful miners.
Amusements are not in harmony with the diggings. Men come there usually
to work in earnest, and they have no time for play. Yet now and then a
song is heard, with the notes of a flute or violin. At Bullock Creek a
sick friend was charmed on the one side by Kate Kearney, and on the
other by the whole range of Wesley’s hymns proceeding from a most
indefatigable Burra songstress. In one tent near me there was an
occasional concert of a fife, a dish-bottom drum, and a primitive sort
of triangles. As a sample of a diggings song, a selection may be given.
It is said to be set to the air of “Coronation.”
In bush attire let each aspire
By noble emulation,
To gain a digger’s chief desire
Gold, by wise regulation.
With spades and picks we work like bricks
And dig in gold formation;
And stir our cradles with short sticks
To break conglomeration.
This golden trade doth not degrade
The man of information,
Who shovels nuggets with the spade
Of beauteous conformation.
What mother can her infant stock
View with more satisfaction,
Than we our golden cradles rock,
Which most love to distraction.
Let those who dare try thwart our care
At our gold occupation;
They with bewilderment will stare
At golden incubation.
We dig and delve from six to twelve,
And then for relaxation,
We wash our pans and cradles’ shelves,
And turn to mastication.
It is common in some places for a fellow who first rises to come out and
crow like a cock; this is taken up by others, and the diggings are soon
wide awake. Some amuse themselves with going out 'possuming. The shrill
scream of the marsupial, flying squirrel, and the plaintive howl of the
wild dog, follow the last note of the incomparable laughing jackass.
There used to be fish in the creeks, but our washings must have choked
them all with gold dust. A stray kangaroo once got chased through Iron
Bark Gully. The poor creature took refuge in one of the holes, but was
soon converted into some exquisite soup for mutton and damper diggers. A
sailor lad at Golden Gully was accustomed to give us the eight bells on
the frying pan. It is not usual for visits to be made after dark, as a
fall down a twenty feet hole is unpleasant. The stupid custom of firing
off guns, pistols, and revolvers night and morning is fast going out of
fashion. A good fire, a short pipe, and a long story are the usual
evening accompaniments.
The diggings would be more tolerable if there could be cleanliness. But
with water sometimes at a shilling a bucket, and that not easily
obtained, the incrustation has to remain longer than agreeable. Coloured
shirts last a good while without shewing decided blackness. The bed
clothes will sometimes catch the dust, and a puff does not certainly
improve the appearance and taste of our uncupboarded eatables. There is,
also, a peculiar unctuous touch about the interior of most tenements.
But then what matters? no visitors but diggers are expected, and
neighbours are no better off. In the wet season it is only a change from
dust to mud. But _the_ nuisance is the flies, the little fly and the
stinging monster March fly. O! the tortures these wretches give! In the
hole, out of the hole, at meals or walking, it is all the same with
these winged plagues. When washing at a waterhole, the March flies will
settle upon the arms and face, and worry to that degree, that I have
known men pitch down their dishes, and stamp and growl with agony. The
fleas, too, are not of the Tom Thumb order of creation, and they begin
their blood-thirsty work, when the flies are tired of their recreation.
The first good fall of winter rain seems to lay not only the dust, but
the destructive powers of the insects.
* * * * *
And yet, in spite of weather, exposure, dust, mud, filth, flies and
fleas, the diggings have such attractions, that even the unlucky must
come back for another trial. The wild, free and independent life appears
the great charm. They have no masters. They go where they please and
work when they will. Healthy exercise, delightful scenery, and clear and
buoyant atmosphere, maintain an excitement of the spirits, and a glow of
animal enjoyment peculiar to bush life. Married men, particularly young
married men, are too much bothered with thoughts of an absent home, to
realize the pleasures of the mines, which their mates of the bachelor
order possess. To them the Post Office is the most sacred spot on the
diggings.
* * * * *
There is a clannish spirit abroad. The Irish mostly dwell at one
encampment. We had Tipperary Gully at the Bendigo; an Irish row near our
tent consisted entirely of families, conspicuous for their order,
cleanliness, kindheartedness and happiness. The Adelaide men hang
together, and the Derwenters of Tasmania are strongly influenced by
party feeling. I was much amused one time by a stentorian voice that
rang through the forest, near Friar’s Creek. It proceeded from a man in
a cart passing by. The burden of the cry was this: “Ere’s your Van
Demonian Happles, and them as don’t like the country needn’t buy ’em.”
As a sincere admirer of the “Isle of Beauty” I had a hearty feast on the
pippins.