CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
THE ANTIPODES.
A new scene breaks upon us now, patient reader. We are among theantipodes in that vast and wonderful region where the kangaroo reigns inthe wilderness, and gold is sown broadcast in the land. The men we seeare, to a large extent, the same men we saw before leaving the shores ofOld England, but they are wonderfully changed! Red flannel shirts, longboots, leathern belts, felt hats, and unshorn chins meet us at everyturn; so do barrows and pick-axes and shovels. It seems as if we hadgot into a region inhabited solely by navvies. Many of them, however,appear to be very gentlemanly navvies!
There are no ladies here; scarcely any females at all, for we have leftthe thriving settlements of Australia far behind us, and are nowwandering over the Daisy Hill gold-diggings. The particular section ofthat busy spot to which our attention is directed at this moment, isnamed the "Kangaroo Flats."
None but strong men can get on here. Let us go forward, and see howthey obtain this yellow metal that turns the world upside down!
Here is a man issuing from a hole in the earth close at our feet, like ahuge ground-squirrel. He is tall; stout, and fair, with broad shouldersand a fine manly countenance, which is ornamented by a thick beard andmoustache of glossy yellow hair. The silken curly hair of this man,contrasted with his great size and manliness, is very striking. Heseats himself on a mass of clay, wipes the perspiration from hisforehead, and shouts to some one down in the earth.
"Hallo! Jack, let's hoist out the stuff now."
"Ay, ay, Harry," replies a strong voice, with a sailor-like ring in it,from below, "I'll be on deck in a jiffy."
Let us descend and look at this miner. The hole is narrow and deep; atthe bottom of it is a dark tunnel two feet broad, between two and threefeet high, and twenty-five feet long. At the farther extremity of itcrouches a man with a pickaxe in his hands, and a candle beside him. Itis a very awkward position in which to work, and the result is that thisman pants and blows and sighs, and sometimes laughs quietly to himselfat the comicality of his attitudes, while the perspiration pours overhis face in large beads continuously. It seems very hard work, and so,indeed, it is, but the man is an unusually big and strong fellow, largereven than his fair companion above ground. His hair is short, black,and curly, as are his beard and whiskers, but at this moment his wholehead and face are so besmeared with clay that his aspect is piebald andnot more becoming than his attitude. Still, there is a massive grandeurin the outline of his features which cannot be destroyed byincrustations of clay, although his complexion is obscured by it.
Like his comrade above, his costume consists of flannel shirt, darktrousers, and big boots. His shirt sleeves being rolled up to theshoulders, display a pair of arms that a sculptor might gaze on withadmiration.
This strong man pants and gasps more than ever with the heat as hedrives the pick and tears up the earth for gold. Presently the candleburns dim; the air is getting foul.
"Hallo, the candle's going out!" cries the dark miner, scramblingtowards the bottom of the shaft on his hands and knees.
"Ha! time to take a mouthful o' fresh air, Jack," remarks the fairminer, looking into the hole.
In another moment a wild dishevelled clay-bespattered figure comes tothe surface, rises like a giant out of the earth, and the countenanceand proportions of our friend John Bax are revealed, in spite of thestrange costume and black moustache and beard and incrustations of claywhich more than half disguise him.
"Whew! how hot it is," said Bax, as he stepped out of the hole.
"You may say that," observed his friend, rising; "but come along, Jack,let's get up the stuff and wash out as much as we can before dinner.Mind, you've got to write home this afternoon, and won't be able to helpme much in the evening."
"Come along then," said Bax, going to work again with redoubled energy.
There was a windlass over the hole by which the clay was raised to thesurface. Bax wrought at this, and his mate went below to fill thebuckets. Then they washed it out, and flooded away cartloads ofworthless soil, until a small residue of clear shining particlesremained behind. This they gathered carefully together, added it to thebag that held their fortune, remarked that there were "no nuggets thistime," and that it was "hard work and little pay;" after which theyflung down their tools, washed their hands and faces, and went intotheir tent to dine.
Thus did Bax and his mate (an old acquaintance unexpectedly met withafter arrival in Australia) dig, and sweat, and toil for gold.
But Bax and his friend worked thus hard, only because it was theirnature so to work at whatever their hands found to do. They had not settheir hearts upon the gold.
After dinner Harry went out to drive his pick and shovel. Bax remainedin the tent to drive the quill.
That night the two friends lay chatting and smoking in their tent aftersupper, with a solitary candle between them, and the result of the day'swork--a small pile of shining dust--before them.
"We'll not make our fortunes at this rate," observed Harry, with a sigh.
"There's no saying what good fortune may be in store for us," observedBax; "but put away the gold, it will do us no good to gaze at it."
Harry rolled the little heap in a piece of paper, and tossed it into theleathern bag which contained their earnings.
"Come now," said he, replenishing his pipe, "let's hear the letter, Bax,who d'ye say's the friend you've written to?"
"He's a boy," said Bax, "Tommy Bogey by name, of which name, by the way,he has no reason to be proud--but he's a first-rate fellow, and I fearwill have set me down as a faithless friend, for I left him withoutsaying good-bye, and the letter I wrote to him on my arrival here wentto the bottom with the unfortunate ship that carried it. However, hereis the epistle. I'm open to correction, Harry, if you think any part ofit not ship-shape."
"All right," said Harry, "go ahead."
Bax read as follows:--
"Kangaroo Flats, Daisy Hill Diggings,
"Australia, _10th January_, 18--.
"MY DEAR TOMMY,--The mail is just about to leave us, so I write to let you know where I am and what doing--also to tell you that I have just heard of the wreck of the ship that conveyed my first letter to you, which will account for my _apparent_ neglect.
"Gold digging is anything but a paying affair, I find, and it's the hardest work I've ever had to do. I have only been able to pay my way up to this time. Everything is fearfully dear. After deducting the expenses of the last week for cartage, sharpening picks, etcetera, I and my mate have just realised 15 shillings each; and this is the first week we have made anything at all beyond what was required for our living. However, we live and work on in the hope of turning up a nugget, or finding a rich claim, singing--though we can't exactly believe--`There's a good time coming.'" Here Bax paused. "I won't read the next paragraph," said he, with a smile, "because it's about yourself, Harry, so I'll skip."
Nevertheless, reader, as we wish _you_ to hear that passage, we willmake Bax read on.
"My mate, Harry Benton, is an old schoolfellow, whom I met with accidentally in Melbourne. We joined at once, and have been together ever since. I hope that nothing may occur to part us. You would like him, Tommy. You've no idea what a fine, gentle, lion-like fellow he is, with a face like a true, bold man in expression, and like a beautiful woman in form. I'm not up to pen-and-ink description, Tommy, but I think you'll understand me when I say he's got a splendid figure-head, a strong frame, and a warm heart.
"Poor fellow, he has had much sorrow since he came out here. He is a widower, and brought out his little daughter with him, an only child, whose sweet face was once like sunshine in our tent. Not long ago this pretty flower of the desert sickened, drooped, and died, with her fair head on her father's bosom. For a long time afterwards Harry was inconsolable; but he took to reading the Bible, and the effect of that has been wonderful. We read it regularly every night together, and no one can tell w
hat comfort we have in it, for I too have had sorrow of a kind which you could not well understand, unless I were to go into an elaborate explanation. I believe that both of us can say, in the words of King David, `It was good for me that I was afflicted.'
"I should like _very_ much that you and he might meet. Perhaps you may one of these days! But, to go on with my account of our life and doings here."
(It was at this point that Bax continued to read the letter aloud.)
"The weather is tremendously warm. It is now (10th January) the height of summer, and the sun is unbearable; quite as hot as in India, I am told; especially when the hot winds blow. Among other evils, we are tormented with thousands of fleas. Harry stands them worse than I do," ("untrue!" interrupted Harry), "but their cousins the flies are, if possible, even more exasperating. They resemble our own house flies in appearance--would that they were equally harmless! Myriads of millions don't express their numbers more than ten expresses the number of the stars. They are the most persevering brutes you ever saw. They creep into your eyes, run up your nose, and plunge into your mouth. Nothing will shake them off, and the mean despicable creatures take special advantage of us when our hands are occupied in carrying buckets of gold-dust, or what, alas! ought to be gold-dust, but isn't! On such occasions we shake our heads, wink our eyes, and snort and blow at them, but all to no purpose--there they stick and creep, till we get our hands free to attack them.
"A change must be coming over the weather soon, for while I write, the wind is blowing like a gale out of a hot oven, and is shaking the tent, so that I fear it will come down about my ears. It is a curious fact that these hot winds always blow from the north, which inclines me to think there must be large sandy deserts in the interior of this vast continent. We don't feel the heat through the day, except when we are at the windlass drawing up the pipeclay, or while washing our `stuff,' for we are generally below ground `driving.' But, although not so hot as above, it is desperately warm there too, and the air is bad.
"Our drives are two and a half feet high by about two feet broad at the floor, from which they widen a little towards the top. As I am six feet three in my stockings, and Harry is six feet one, besides being, both of us, broader across the shoulders than most men, you may fancy that we get into all sorts of shapes while working. All the `stuff' that we drive out we throw away, except about six inches on the top where the gold lies, so that the quantity of mullock, as we call it, or useless material hoisted out is very great. There are immense heaps of it lying at the mouth of our hole. If we chose to liken ourselves to gigantic moles, we have reason to be proud of our mole-hills! All this `stuff' has to be got along the drives, some of which are twenty-five feet in length. One of us stands at the top, and hoists the stuff up the shaft in buckets. The other sits and fills them at the bottom.
"This week we have taken out three cart-loads of washing stuff, which we fear will produce very little gold. Of course it is quite dark in the drives, so we use composition candles. Harry drives in one direction, I in another, and we hammer away from morning till night. The air is often bad, but not explosive. When the candles burn low and go out, it is time for us to go out too and get fresh air, for it makes us blow terribly, and gives us sore eyes. Three-fourths of the people here are suffering from sore eyes; the disease is worse this season than it has been in the memory of the oldest diggers.
"We have killed six or seven snakes lately. They are very numerous, and the only things in the country we are absolutely _afraid_ of! You have no idea of the sort of dread one feels on coming slap upon one unexpectedly. Harry put his foot on one yesterday, but got no hurt. They are not easily seen, and their bite is always fatal.
"From all this you will see that a gold-digger's life is a hard one, and worse than that, it does not pay well. However, I like it in the meantime, and having taken it up, I shall certainly give it a fair trial.
"I wish you were here, Tommy; yet I am glad you are not. To have you and Guy in the tent would make our party perfect, but it would try your constitutions I fear, and do you no good mentally, for the society by which we are surrounded is anything but select.
"But enough of the gold-fields. I have a lot of questions to ask and messages to send to my old friends and mates at Deal."
At this point the reading of the letter was interrupted by an uproarnear the tent. High above the noise the voice of a boy was heard ingreat indignation.
For a few minutes Bax and his friend did not move; they were too muchaccustomed to scenes of violence among the miners to think ofinterfering, unless things became very serious.
"Come, Bill, let him alone," cried a stern voice, "the lad's no thief,as you may see if you look in his face."
"I don't give a straw for looks and faces," retorted Bill, who seemed tohave caused the uproar, "the young rascal came peeping into my tent, andthat's enough for me."
"What!" cried the boy, in an indignant shout, "may I not search throughthe tents to find a friend without being abused by every scoundrel wholoves his gold so much that he thinks every one who looks at him wantsto steal it? Let me go, I say!"
At the first words of this sentence Bax started up with a look ofintense surprise. Before it was finished he had seized a thick stick,and rushed from the tent, followed by his mate.
In two seconds they reached the centre of a ring of disputants, in themidst of which a big, coarse-looking miner held by the collar theindignant lad, who proved to be an old and truly unexpectedacquaintance.
"Bax!" shouted the boy.
"Tommy Bogey!" exclaimed Bax.
"Off your hands," cried Bax, striding forward.
The miner, who was a powerful man, hesitated. Bax seized him by theneck, and sent him head over heels into his own tent, which stood behindhim.
"Serves him right!" cried one of the crowd, who appeared to be delightedwith the prospect of a row.
"Hear, hear!" echoed the rest approvingly.
"Can it be _you_, Tommy?" cried Bax, grasping the boy by both arms, andstooping to gaze into his face.
"Found you at last!" shouted Tommy, with his eyes full and his faceflushed by conflicting emotions.
"Come into the tent," cried Bax, hastening away and dragging his friendafter him.
Tommy did not know whether to laugh or cry. His breast was stillheaving with recent indignation, and his heart was bursting with presentjoy; so he gave utterance to a wild hysterical cheer, and disappearedbehind the folds of his friend's tent, amid the cheers and laughter ofthe miners, who thereafter dispersed quietly to their several places ofabode.
"Tommy," said Bax, placing the boy directly in front of him, on a pileof rough coats and blankets, and staring earnestly into his face, "Idon't believe it's you! I'm dreaming, that's what I am, so the sooneryou pinch me out of this state the better."
It were vain to attempt to give the broken and disjointed converse thathere took place between the two friends. After a time they became morerational and less spasmodic in their talk, and Tommy at lastcondescended to explain the way in which he had managed to get there.
"But before I begin," said he, "tell me who's your friend?"
He turned as he spoke to Harry, who, seated on a provision cask, with apleasant smile on his handsome face and a black pipe in his mouth, hadbeen enjoying the scene immensely.
"Ah! true, I forgot; this is my mate, Harry Benton, an oldschool-fellow. You'll know more of him and like him better in course oftime."
"I hope he will," said Harry, extending his hand, which Tommy graspedand shook warmly, "and I hope to become better acquainted with you,Tommy, though in truth you are no stranger to me, for many a night hasBax entertained me in this tent with accounts of your doings and hisown, both by land and sea. Now go on, my boy, and explain the mysteryof your sudden appearance here."
"The prime cause of my appearance is the faithlessness of Bax," saidTommy. "Why did you
not write to me?"
When it was explained that Bax had written by a vessel which waswrecked, the boy was mollified; and when the letter which had just beenwritten was handed to him, he confessed that he had judged his oldfriend hastily. Thereafter he related succinctly his adventures in the"Butterfly" up to the point where we left him sound asleep in theskipper's berth.
"How long I slept," said Tommy, continuing the narrative, "I am notquite sure; but it must have been a longish time, for it was somewherein a Tuesday when I lay down, and it was well into a Thursday when I gotup, or rather was knocked up by the bow of a thousand-ton ship! It wasa calm evening, with just a gentle breeze blowin' at the time, and alittle hazy. The look out in the ship did not see the schooner until hewas close on her; then he yelled `hard-a-lee!' so I was told, for Ididn't hear it, bein', as I said, sound asleep. But I heard and feltwhat followed plain enough. There came a crash like thunder. I waspitched head-foremost out o' the berth, and would certainly have got myneck broken, but for the flimsy table in the cabin, which gave way andwent to pieces under me, and thus broke my fall. I got on my legs, andshot up the companion like a rocket. I was confused enough, as you maysuppose, but I must have guessed at once what was wrong--perhaps therush of water told it me--for I leaped instantly over the side into thesea to avoid being sucked down by the sinking vessel. Down it went sureenough, and I was so near it that in spite of my struggles I was carrieddown a long way, and all but choked. However, up I came again like acork. You always said I was light-headed, Bax, and I do believe thatwas the reason I came up so soon!
"Well, I swam about for ten minutes or so, when a boat rowed up to theplace. It had been lowered by the ship that ran me down. I was pickedup and taken aboard, and found that she was bound for Australia!
"Ha! that just suited you, I fancy," said Bax.
"Of course it did, but that's not all. Who d'ye think the ship belongedto? You'll never guess;--to your old employers, Denham, Crumps, andCompany! She is named the `Trident,' after the one that was lost, andold Denham insisted on her sailing on a Friday. The sailors said shewould be sure to go to the bottom, but they were wrong, for we all gotsafe to Melbourne, after a very good voyage.
"Well, I've little more to tell now. On reaching Melbourne I landed--"
"Without a sixpence in your pocket?" asked Bax.
"By no means," said Tommy, "I had five golden sovereigns sewed up in thewaist-band of my trousers, not to mention a silver watch like a saucepangiven to me by old Jeph at parting, and a brass ring that I got fromBluenose! But it's wonderful how fast this melted away in Melbourne.It was half gone before I succeeded in finding out what part of thecountry you had gone to. The rest of it I paid to a party of miners,who chanced to be coming here, for leave to travel and feed with them.They left me in the lurch, however, about two days' walk from thisplace; relieving me of the watch at parting, but permitting me to keepthe ring as a memorial of the pleasant journey we had had together!Then the rascals left me with provisions sufficient for one meal. So Icame on alone; and now present myself to you half-starved and a beggar!"
"Here is material to appease your hunger, lad," said Harry Benton, witha laugh, as he tossed a mass of flour cake, known among diggers as"damper," towards the boy.
"And here," added Bax, pitching a small bag of gold-dust into his lap,"is material to deliver you from beggary, at least for the present. Asfor the future, Tommy, your own stout arms must do the rest. You'lllive in our tent, and we'll make a gold-digger of you in a couple ofdays. I could have wished you better fortune, lad, but as you havemanaged to make your way to this out-o'-the-way place, I suppose you'llwant to remain."
"I believe you, my boy!" said Tommy, with his mouth full of damper.
So Tommy Bogey remained with his friends at the Kangaroo Flats, and dugfor gold.
For several years they stuck to the laborious work, during which timethey dug up just enough to keep themselves in food and clothing. Theywere unlucky diggers. Indeed, this might have been said of most of thediggers around them. Those who made fortunes, by happening to find richspots of ground, were very few compared with the host of those who camewith light hearts, hoping for heavy pockets, and went away with heavyhearts and light pockets.
We shall not follow the fortunes of those three during their long periodof exile. The curtain was lifted in order that the Reader might take aglance at them in the far-off land. They are a pleasant trio to lookupon. They do not thirst feverishly for the precious metal as many do.Their nightly reading of the Word saves them from that. Nevertheless,they work hard, earn little, and sleep soundly. As we drop the curtain,they are still toiling and moiling, patiently, heartily, and hopefully,for gold.