BAD LUCK.
"It is of no use, Tom; luck is dead against us."
"It almost looks like it, Dick; but never mind, old boy. Faint heart
you know."
Although Welsh Tom said this in a tone of cheerfulness, there was a
serious expression on his face. The difference between Welsh Tom and
Richard Handfield was, that one was always trying to make the best of
things, and the other the worst. Just now they were standing by the
side of a muddy creek; along the banks of the creek were two or three
score of gold-diggers, puddling the auriferous soil in wooden tubs, or
washing it in tin dishes, or rocking it in "cradles," as tenderly as
if those strangely-named implements for the extraction of gold
contained their own precious flesh and blood. Black-bearded and
brown-bearded men, these! A gold-digger's occupation is favourable to
the growth of hair. Here were men with beards hanging upon their
breasts, godlike; here were men whose great curling mustachios gave to
their faces a leonine appearance; here were men whose strong whiskers
kissed their shoulders, and gave to their wearers a noble grace,
albeit they were not perfumed or bandolined. The open-air life, the
freedom of action, the absence of that mental contraction which seems
to grow upon one in crowded cities, causing the mind to brood upon
subjects confined in narrow circles, tend to make the gold-digger
handsome, and brave, and strong. Yet his aim and the aim of the city
man are the same; both work for gold. But in the search for it, on new
gold-fields, there is more generosity and less meanness than in the
cities.
Our two mates, Richard Handfield and Welsh Tom, had come upon the gold
strata in the hole they had been sinking for the past three weeks. The
gold-diggers on both sides of them were getting at the rate of an
ounce of gold a-day per man, and they had every reason to justify them
in the hope that they also were in possession of a golden claim. But
when they reached the strata of earth in which the gold, from all
surrounding indications, ought to have been imbedded, they were
dismayed at finding only the merest speck of the metal here and there.
And this morning they had washed a tubful of the soil which should
have been auriferous, and were rewarded by not quite two grains of
fine gold. It was at these two disappointing grains they were looking,
very despondently, when they made the above remarks.
Throwing the tin dish containing the "prospect" to the ground in
disgust, Richard asked, petulantly, "What is to be done now?"
"Look out for some fresh ground," answered the Welshman, applying
himself to the gold-digger's consolation, a pipe.
"And work for three weeks more, and get nothing at the end of it!"
"Perhaps; and perhaps not." Welsh Tom said this laconically. He was
more accustomed than Richard to such-like rebuffs, and was ready to go
to work again with a very perfect faith.
"You take it coolly enough," Richard said, digging at the earth
viciously with the heel of his boot.
"It's of no use growling," replied the Welshman, with a quiet shrug.
"If it was, I'd growl."
Richard looked enviously at the party next to them, who had washed
more than half-an-ounce of gold from a tin dishful of earth.
"Just see that," he said, jerking his head spitefully in the direction
of the lucky gold digger.
Welsh Tom nodded. He saw nothing to envy in the other man's good
fortune.
"Half-an-ounce to a tin dish," grumbled Richard, "and we got two
grains to a tub!"
"Come, come, Dick," said the Welshman, "it can't be helped. Let us go
back to the claim. We may find a bit of gold in it yet."
They returned to their ground, and Richard worked at the windlass,
while his mate burrowed at the bottom of the hole. But though Tom
drove in his pick here, and drove it in there, and although he worked
until the perspiration soaked his shirt through and through, Dame
Fortune did not smile upon his efforts.
"We will abandon the claim, Dick," he said in the evening, as he
stood, hot and tired, at his mate's side, by the windlass. "I don't
think we should get a pennyweight of gold out of it if we worked for a
month. We will start in the morning for Deadman's Flat. They are
getting plenty of gold there, and we may hit upon a good piece of
ground. It is only five miles off."
Richard gave a sullen assent, and commenced to dig np the slabs which
supported their windlass. Early the next morning they started off for
the new locality.
At the very commencement of the gold-rush a hole had been sunk in
Deadman's Flat, and soon afterwards deserted. Most of the adventurers
who came on to the field saw this deserted hole, and inferring that
the ground had been tested for gold-digging purposes and found
worthless, passed on to other spots. But one day, two mates who had
been everywhere unfortunate, descended this hole in search of gold,
and found the body of a dead man. In the side of the hole was a rusted
pick, and as they pulled the pick out of the earth, which was composed
of blue clay and cement, they pulled out also some pieces of the
conglomerate, which to their infinite delight they discovered to be
richly studded with gold. Examining the pick they found upon its point
human hair and stains of blood, and they knew that a murder had been
committed. A. struggle had evidently taken place at the bottom of the
hole, and the man had been murdered with the pick. Then the pick had
been driven into the side of the hole, and the murderer had climbed to
earth's surface and fled. All this was inference, but it was clear as
truth, which spoke at the bottom of the pit, where lay the murdered
man. The two hitherto unfortunate mates were made rich by a murder!
they dug their wealth out of a grave, for the hole had an amazing
quantity of gold in it, which was theirs by right of conquest. The
murderer was never discovered, and in honour to his victim the
gold-miners christened the place Deadman's Flat.
Richard and his mate chanced to light upon a vacant piece of ground,
of which they entertained great anticipations. All around them the
diggers were getting gold--not a mere hand-to-mouth living, but gold
to spend, to squander. They had to sink nearly forty feet to get to
the gold strata, and part of the sinking was through a toughish kind
of rock. The day following that on which they commenced to work, the
men in the claim next but one to theirs found a nugget of gold
weighing ninety ounces, and hey, presto! no sooner was a nugget found
in one claim than nuggets began to be found in many of the others. Not
large ones certainly, but nice pieces of gold to handle and look at.
The miners on Deadman's Flat were jubilant, not to say uproarious. In
the very next claim to theirs the men one day obtained more than a
hundred ounces of gold. "All right, this time, Dick!" said the
Welshman with a knowing wink; and Dick at once began to reckon up how
many thousands of pounds they would make out of the claim. It was
jolly working the sinking of that hole, and they indulged in fond
anticipations of the nuggets of gold waiting for them at the bottom.
They ate their meals with a relish. Better than all, the heavy gold
seemed to be trending in their direction. "We shall find some big bits
in the wash-dirt," said Tom. "The gold gets heavier and heavier as it
comes down to us; it is more water-worn too. What if we should drop
down upon a big nugget!" Ah, what indeed! A big nugget! The dream of a
gold-digger's life. When the Welshman indulged in the speculation, he
half smiled. Yet why should it not occur to them? It had occurred to
scores of other men.
Then Richard began to build all his hopes upon the finding of a nugget
larger than any that had been found before, and asked sly questions of
his mate as to the biggest nuggets he had ever seen or heard of. He
led up to the engrossing subject as if he were putting questions out
of a book of catechisms. As thus:--
"Where was gold first discovered, Tom?"
"In New South Wales." (It will be observed that they both ignored
ancient history, and that to them the story of Solomon's Temple was a
fable.)
"When Tom?"
"In 1851."
"Where was it found next?"
"In Victoria."
"When Tom?"
"In 1852."
(Please to understand that these questions were not asked straight
off, but at intervals, and artfully, as if the questioner did not wish
to be suspected of having any interest in the subject.)
"Were there any large nuggets found in New South Wales, Tom?"
"Yes, lots of 'em. But none came up to the first specimen, which was
got near the surface at Bathurst, and which was sold for heaps of
money."
"Who found it?"
"An aboriginal shepherd."
"How much did it weigh?"
"Over a hundred pounds--nearly a hundred-weight, I think I heard.
There are all sorts of stories told about the first piece of gold,
Dick. They say that the shepherd, an Australian Native, you know, had
been sitting on it or lying on it for years, while he was watching his
sheep, until at last he had worn the earth away from the stone which
peeped up at him, all yellow and brown. Being an uncivilized savage,
he did not know anything about gold, and did not imagine there was
anything strange in the appearance of the stone. But one day he
happened to mention to his master that he was in the habit of resting
upon a large yellow stone. That led to the discovery; the master took
the gold-stone and sold it, and gave the Native ten pounds, who spent
it in rum and tobacco, I dare say. I don't know whether this is the
true account, Dick: I have heard the story told all sorts of ways."
Richard listened somewhat impatiently, for he was burning to hear of
the largest nugget, so that he might estimate the size of the one
waiting for them at the bottom of their claim.
"That was only a hundredweight," he said.
"Yes, only a hundredweight," said Welsh Tom, drily.
"There have been plenty of heavier ones, haven't there, Tom?" Richard
asked, anxiously.
"There was the Sarah Sands nugget," replied the Welshman, plunging
into the subject to please his mate; "found at Ballarat; weighed more
than a hundred and thirty pounds."
Richard calculated rapidly; one hundred and thirty pounds, troy,
fifteen hundred and sixty ounces, at four pounds an ounce, six
thousand two hundred and forty pounds. That was better.
"Then there was the Blanche Barkly nugget, dug up at Kingower,"
proceeded Welsh Tom, "weighed a hundred and forty-five pounds, that
did."
Better and better. Richard was immediately engrossed in his process of
mental calculation, and achieved a result of six thousand nine hundred
and sixty pounds. What a fine sight it would be, all in sovereigns!
But it was a pity it was not an even seven thousand pounds, he
thought.
"Then there was the Welcome nugget--the biggest lump of gold found
yet--found at Ballarat, nearly two hundred feet down. Weighed a
hundred and eighty-four pounds."
A hundred and eighty-four pounds! Something like a nugget that!
Richard quickly multiplied it by twelve; two thousand two hundred and
eight ounces, at four pounds an ounce, eight thousand eight hundred
and thirty-two pounds.
He said this aloud, "Eight thousand eight hundred and thirty-two
pounds."
"They sold the nugget for ten thousand pounds," said the Welshman.
"Did they? That was glorious. And that was the largest nugget?"
"The largest nugget ever found."
He had obtained the information at last. The largest nugget! Ten
thousand sovereigns for one piece of gold, discovered merely by a blow
from a pick. The largest nugget ever found! Why they might find a
larger! Three hundredweight, four hundredweight, a quarter of a ton,
perhaps!
"Do you think that bigger nuggets will be discovered than those you
speak of, Tom?"
"To be sure. There are some places where gold will be found in great
lumps."
This was once a favourite fancy with gold-miners, and some theorists
to this day persist that by-and-by men will be cutting solid gold out
of the rock with a cold chisel. When that time comes we must have our
sovereigns made of iron.
"If we find a big nugget in the claim," said Richard, "and make our
fortunes, I shall bid good-bye to the colony, Tom."
"Where will you go?"
"Home!"
It is a simple word and was spoken without much feeling, but the
strong Welshman's heart beat more swiftly than usual at the sound of
it, and there was a momentary dimness in his eyes.
"I have suffered enough in this colony," Richard continued, "and shall
be glad to turn my back upon it. So will Alice. Perhaps you will come
with us, Tom. We'll all go home together in the same ship."
"You forget I am a ticket-of-leave-man," said Tom. "My ticket-of-leave
only extends to Victoria. If I cross the boundary, the police will
soon be on my track."
He spoke a little bitterly. Home! Yes: he would like to see the Welsh
mountains once more. But it was not to be.
"I beg your pardon, Welshman," Richard said, carelessly. "It was
forgetfulness on my part."
They worked cheerfully, day after day, digging out the bowels of their
gold-pit. The miners in the locality would cluster round the hole,
which they prophesied would be the richest on Deadman's Flat. One day,
a smooth-faced man with a scar beneath his eye, as if it had been
burnt, came and looked down the shaft. Richard was working at the
windlass, and as the stranger came up a chill crept over him.
"When do you expect to come on the 'gutter,' mate?" the stranger
asked.
"In two or three days," replied Richard, his uneasy feeling
increasing. But the man was a perfect stranger to him. He had never
seen him before.
"Do you want to sell a share in the claim?" the new-comer asked,
presently.
"No."
"I will give you twenty ounces for a third share."
"Don't want to sell, mate."
Richard spoke very shortly, and showed so evident a disinclination to
talk with the stranger that the man walked away. That night Richard
dreamt that they found a tremendous lump of gold, and that the man
with the burnt scar under his eye stole it.
The following day the stranger came again. This time the Welshman was
at the windlass, and the stranger found him more sociable than
Richard. He lingered for half-an-hour or so, chatting with Welsh Tom.
"He wants to buy into the claim very bad," said the Welshman to
Richard, afterwards. "But we won't sell a share in our big nugget,
Dick." (He spoke this in a sly tone, for he did not share his mate's
dreams of the lump of gold waiting for them at the bottom of the
hole.) "His name is Honest Steve, he says."
As they approached nearer and nearer to the gutter of gold, Richard
became more and more excited. His brain was busy with schemes for
laying out his money to advantage. He had delayed writing to Alice
until he could write to her the good news of their wonderful fortune.
So unfortunate had he been in his gold-digging career, that he had
been unable to send Alice a shilling since he bade her good-bye; and
the last letter he had written to her was full of complaining and
repining. But the next should not be. No; he would be able to tell her
that all their sufferings were ended at last. His heart felt so glad
that he spoke to the Welshman about her; and his mate encouraged him,
and drew him on to talk of Alice. Welsh Tom, in his simple way, was a
true friend to Richard's wife.
At length the indications in their shaft told them that they were very
near the golden gutter. Richard examined every bucketful of earth as
he pulled it np. Then he received the signal that his mate wished to
ascend, and the next time he pulled up the bucket, it had Welsh Tom in
it instead of dull clay.
"Now, Dick," said Tom, with a pale face, "we are on the gutter. All
the stuff that comes out of the hole must be put aside by itself.
Before we commence, let us go and have a nobbler."[5]
--------------------
[Footnote 5: Nobbler--the Australian term for a glass of wine or
spirits.]
--------------------
They went to a shanty where grog was sold on the sly--that is to say,
where grog was sold without a licence--and spent their last two
shillings in two nobblers of whisky, which they drank with the usual
salutation of "Here's luck, mate!" They drank it hurriedly, for they
were dreadfully anxious to get back to their shaft. It had got wind
that Welsh Tom and his mate were on the gutter, and a little knot of
diggers was assembled to see the gold out of the first tubful of
stuff. Half-a-dozen buckets of earth, taken from the gutter, were soon
on the surface, and Welsh Tom ascended the shaft, looking very much
disturbed. The earth was carried to a neighbouring creek, and put into
a tub, and then the process of gold-washing commenced. Richard poured
water into the tub with a ladle, and Tom puddled the stuff with a
short-handled shovel, and let the overflow of muddied water run into
the creek. All heavy metal, of course, sank to the bottom of the tub,
and only the refuse earth which contained no gold, or out of which the
gold had been puddled, floated to the top, and was allowed to escape.
Soon, the contents of the tub were reduced by one-half, and then the
stuff was manipulated more carefully. Every now and then the Welshman
lifted a shovelful of the muddy mixture from the bottom of the tub,
and poured clear water over it, and examined it. Richard noticed with
uneasiness that every time he did this, his face grew paler.
After about an hour's tub-work, the stuff was passed through a riddled
dish, and the large stones thrown aside. By this time, the tub was
only one-fifth full. When the riddling process was completed, what
remained was put into a "cradle," and submitted to a gentle rocking,
Richard continuing to pour water over it. There then remained not
quite a tin-dishful of stuff. Taking the dish in his two hands, the
Welshman bent over the creek, and scooped up a little water with the
dish, which he rotated deftly and delicately. Either the stooping or
some inward excitement brought the blood to his head, but when he
stood upright to rest, his face grew quite white.
The diggers pressed anxiously round as the Welshman continued to work,
and as they followed with watchful eyes the progress of the operation,
a grave expression stole into their countenances. The stuff grew less
and less. The tin dish was only half-full now. Another five minutes,
and half of this was gone; a few minutes more, and nine-tenths of the
contents of the dish had floated off. The on-lookers shook their
heads, and crept slowly away, one by one.
Biting his lips, Richard watched the earth melt in the water, and
grudged every speck of it that floated out of the dish. Now came the
trying moment. The stuff was reduced to about sufficient to fill a
large tablespoon. This lay at the side of the dish, and beneath it all
the gold which the tubful of auriferous soil had contained must of
necessity have been collected. Taking some clear water in the dish,
the Welshman rotated it gently, delicately. Little by little, the
pasty remnant melted off; then, with one skilful swing, the promised
treasures of their golden claim were laid bare, and Richard saw--
Two minute specks of gold mocking him from the bottom of the dish!
The claim was worthless.