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 XIV.