Before the evening of Wednesday the 20th, we passed through Kyneton, and found ourselves in the little village of Carlshrue, where we passed the night. Here is a police-station, a blacksmith's, a few stores and some cottages, in one of which we obtained a comfortable supper and beds. A lovely view greeted us at sunrise. Behind us were still towering the lofty ranges of Mount Alexander, before us was Mount Macedon and the Black Forest. This mountain, which forms one of what is called the Macedon range, is to be seen many miles distant, and on a clear, sunny day, the purple sides of Mount Macedon, which stands aloof as it were, from the range itself, are distinctly visible from the flag-staff at Melbourne.
We had intended to have stopped for the night in Kyneton, but the charges there were so enormous that we preferred pushing on and taking our chance as to the accommodation Carlshrue could afford, nor did we repent the so doing.
The following are the Kyneton prices. A meal or bed—both bad—4s; a night's stabling, one pound ten shillings per horse; hay at the rate of 9d. a pound; this is the most exorbitant charge of all.
Hay was somewhere about 20 pounds a ton in Melbourne. The carriage of it to Kyneton, now that the fine weather was setting in, would not exceed 8 pounds a ton at the outside, which would come to 28 pounds. The purchaser, by selling it at Kyneton at the rate of 9d. a pound, or 75 pounds per ton, cleared a profit of 47 pounds—NOT QUITE 200 PER CENT. If THIS is not fortune-making, I should like to know what is. It beats the diggings hollow.
Next morning we looked our last at "sweet Carlshrue," and having crossed the Five Mile Creek, camped for our mid-day meal beside the Black Forest. Here a slight discussion arose, as to whether it would be more advisable to proceed on our journey and camp in the Black Forest that night, or whether we should remain where we were outside, and recommence our journey in good time the next morning so as to get through this most uncomfortable portion of our travels in one day. Frank and Octavius were for the latter plan, as the best and safest, but the rest (thinking that, having once travelled through it without encountering any thing resembling a bushranger, they might safely do so again) protested against wasting time, and were for entering those dark shades without further delay. The uncle of Octavius whom, in future, for the sake of convenience, I shall call Mr. L——, was also of this mind, and as he was in some sort our leader during the journey, his advice decided the matter. Danger to him was only a necessary excitement. He was naturally fearless, and his merry laugh and gay joke at the expense of the bushranger fearing party gradually dissipated the unaccountable presentiment of danger which I for one had in no small degree experienced.
On we went, up hill and down dale, sometimes coming to a more open piece of ground, but more generally threading our way amid a very maze of trees, with trunks all black as the ground itself, whilst the dingy foliage and the few rays of sunshine that lit up those dark, deep glades served only to heighten the gloominess around.
After walking for about six miles—I preferred that mode of getting along to the joltings of the dray—we all felt disposed to rest ourselves. We selected a spot where the trees were less thickly clustered, and taking the horses out of the dray, tethered them by strong ropes to some trees near. The dray itself was turned up, and a blanket thrown over the up-raised shafts formed a most complete and cosy little tent.
A fire was next kindled, and a kettle full of water (with the tea in it!) was placed on to boil, some home-made bread, brought from Carlshrue, was placed upon the ground, and some chops were toasted on the ends of sticks, which are usually the impromptu toasting-forks of the bush. The old tin plates and pannicans, not quite so bright as once upon a time, but showing, despite sundry bruises and scratches, that they had seen better days, were placed upon the tea-table, which of course was the ground. Two or three knives and forks were on general service, and wandered about from hand to hand as occasion required. Altogether it was a merry, sociable party, and I think I enjoyed that supper better than any I ever tasted before or since.
"CHACUN A SON GOUT," many a one will say.
The pleasantest moments must come to an end, and so did these. After having sat up later than usual, Jessie and I retired to our gipsy tent, leaving our guardian diggers smoking round the fire. They meant to keep watches during the night to prevent a surprise.
FRIDAY.—We were comfortably seated at our breakfast, discussing a hundred subjects besides the food before us, when a shrill "coo-ey" burst through the air; "coo-ey"—"coo-ey" again and again, till the very trees seemed to echo back the sound. We started to our feet, and, as if wondering what would come next, looked blankly at each other, and again the "coo-ey," more energetic still, rang in our ears. This is the call of the bush, it requires some little skill and practice, and when given well can be heard a great way off. In such a place as the Black Forest it could only proceed from some one who had lost their way, or be a signal of distress from some party in absolute danger. We again looked from one to the other—it bewildered us; and again the cry, only more plaintive than before, came to us. Simultaneously they seized their pistols, and started in the direction whence the sounds proceeded. They were all too true Englishmen to hear a fellow-creature in peril and not hasten to their succour.
Jessie and myself could not remain behind alone—it was impossible; we followed at a little distance, just keeping our comrades in sight. At last they came to a halt, not knowing where to turn, and we joined them. Frank gave a "coo-ey," and in about the space of a minute the words "help, help,—come, come," in scarcely, audible sounds, answered to the call. We penetrated about thirty yards farther, and a few low groans directed us to a spot more obscure, if possible, than the rest. There, firmly bound to two trees close together, were two men. A thick cord was passed round and round their bodies, arms, and legs, so as to leave no limb at liberty. They seemed faint and exhausted at having called so long for help.
It was the work of a moment for our party to fling down their pistols, take out knives and tomahawks, and commence the work of releasing them from their bonds. But the cords were knotted and thick, and there seemed no little labour in accomplishing it. They were also retarded by the small quantity of light, for, as I said before, it was a dark and secluded spot. At length one man was released, and so faint and exhausted was he, from the effects of whatever ill-usage he had suffered, that, being a tall, powerfully made man, it required the united strength of both Frank and Mr. L—— to prevent his falling to the ground.
Jessie and myself were standing a little apart in the shade; we seemed as if spell-bound by the incident, and incapable of rendering any assistance.
The second was soon set at liberty, and no sooner did he feel his hands and feet free from the cords than he gave a loud, shrill "coo-ey."
A shriek burst from Jessie's lips as, immediately the cry was uttered, and before any one could, recover from the bewilderment it occasioned, four well-armed men sprang upon our startled party.
Taken thus at disadvantage, unarmed, their very knives flung down in their eagerness to untwist the cords, they were soon overpowered. The wretch who had been reclining in Frank's arms quickly found his feet, and, ere Frank could recover from his surprise, one heavy blow flung him to the ground; whilst the other twined his powerful arms round Mr. L——, and, after a short but sharp struggle, in which he was assisted by a fellow-villain, succeeded in mastering him.
It was a fearful sight, and I can hardly describe my feelings as I witnessed it. My brain seemed on fire, the trees appeared to reel around me, when a cold touch acted as a sudden restorative, and almost forced a scream from my lips. It was Jessie's hand, cold as marble, touching mine. We spoke together in a low whisper, and both seemed inspired by the same thoughts, the same hope.
"I saw a little hill as we came here," said Jessie; "let's try and find it and look out for help."
I instinctively followed her, and stealthily creeping along, we gained a small rise of ground which commanded a more extended view than most places in the Black Forest, and, but for the thickness of the trees, we could have seen our own camping-place and the part where the ambuscade had been laid. From sounds of the voices, we could tell that the ruffians were leading their prisoners to the spot where we had passed the night, and the most fearful oaths and imprecations could ever and anon be heard. Well might our hearts beat with apprehension, for it was known that when disappointed in obtaining the gold they expected, they vented their rage in torturing their unfortunate victims.
Meanwhile Jessie seemed listening intently. The time she had spent in the bush and at the diggings had wonderfully refined her sense of hearing. Suddenly she gave a shrill "coo-ey." The moment after a shot was fired in the direction of our late camp. Jessie turned even paler, but recovering herself, "coo-ey" after "coo-ey" made the echoes ring. I joined my feeble, efforts to hers; but she was evidently well used to this peculiar call. On a fine still day, this cry will reach for full three miles, and we counted upon this fact for obtaining some assistance.
"Help is coming," said Jessie, in a low voice, and once more with increasing strength she gave the call.
Footsteps approached nearer and nearer. I looked up, almost expecting to see those villainous countenances again.
"Women in danger!" shouted a manly voice, and several stalwart figures bounded to our side.
"Follow, follow!" cried Jessie, rushing forwards. I scarcely remember everything that occurred, for I was dizzy with excess of pleasure. There was a short scuffle, shots were fired at retreating bushrangers, and we saw our friends safe and free.
The whole, matter was then related to our preservers—for such they were—and I then learnt that when the bushrangers had marched off our party to the camping-place, they proceeded to overhaul their pockets, and then bound them securely to some trees, whilst one stood ready with a pistol to shoot the first that should call for help, and the others looked over the plunder. This was little enough, for our travelling money, which was notes, was kept—strange treasury—in the lining of the body of my dress, and here too were the gold receipts from the Escort Office. Every night I took out about sufficient to defray the day's expenses, and this was generally given into Frank's hands.
Enraged and disappointed, the villains used most frightful language, accompanied by threats of violence; and the one on guard, irritated beyond his powers of endurance, fired the pistol in the direction of William's head. At this moment Jessie's first "coo-ey" was heard: this startled him, and the shot, from the aim of the pistol being disarranged, left him unhurt.
"It's that d——d child," muttered one, with a few, additional oaths; "we'll wring her neck when we've secured the plunder."
One of the ruffians now attempted more persuasive measures, and addressing Mr. L——, whom I suppose he considered the leader, expended his powers of persuasion much in the following manner.
"You sees, mate, we risks our lives to get your gold, and have it we will. Some you've got somewhere or another, for you havn't none on you got no paper from the Escort—you planted it last night, eh? Jist show us where, and you shan't be touched at all, nor that little wretch yonder, what keeps screeching so; but if you don't—" and here his natural ferocity mastered him, and he wound up with a volley of curses, in the midst of which our rescuers rushed upon them.
When we came to talk the whole matter over calmly and quietly, no doubt was left upon our minds, as to the premeditation of the whole affair. But for the watch kept, the attack would most probably have been made during the night.
Our timely friends were a party of successful diggers returning, from work. They too had passed the night in the Black Forest—providently not very far from us. They accepted our thanks in an off-hand sort of way, only replying—which was certainly true—"that we would have done the same for them." It was in endeavouring to assist assumed sufferers that our party fell into the ambuscade laid for them.
They waited whilst we got the dray and horses ready, and we all journeyed on together, till the Black Forest was far behind us. We saw no more of the bushrangers, and encamped that night a few miles beyond the "Bush Inn." At this inn we parted with our gallant friends. They were of the jovial sort, and having plenty of gold, were determined on a spree. We never met them again.
On Saturday we travelled as far as the "Deep Creek Inn." Some distance before reaching that place, we passed two rival coffee-shops on the road. We stopped at the first, to know if they had any uncooked or cold meat to sell, for our provisions were running low.
"Havn't none," said the woman, shaking her head. Then looking hard at William, and judging from his good-humoured face, that he was a likely one to do what she wanted, she said to him. "Now, Sir, I'm agoing to ax a favour of you, and that is to go a little farther down the road, to the other coffee-tent, and buy for me as much meat as they'll let you have. They's got plenty, and I've none; and they knows I'll lose custom by it, so you'll not get it if they twigs (ANGLICE guesses) you comes from me. You understand, Sir," and she put sovereign into his hand to pay for it.
Laughing at the comicality of the request, and the thoroughly colonial coolness of making it, William set off, and presently returned with nearly half a sheep hanging over his shoulders, and a large joint in one hand.
"Bless me, what luck!" exclaimed the delighted woman, and loud and profuse were her thanks. She wanted to cook us a good dinner off the meat gratis; but this we steadily refused and purchasing enough for the present, we put our drays again into motion, and a little while after kindled a fire, and were our own cooks as usual. That night we camped beside the Deep Creek, about a mile from the "Deep Creek Inn." The route we were now taking was different to the one we had travelled going up—it was much more direct.
We remained all Sunday beside the creek, and the day passed quietly and pleasantly.
On Monday the 25th we were again in motion. We passed the well known inn of Tulip Wright's. How great a change those few weeks had made! Winter had given place to summer, for Australia knows no spring. We walked along the beautiful road to Flemington, gave a look at the flagstaff and cemetery, turned into Great Bourke Street, halted at the Post-office, found several letters, and finally stopped opposite the "Duke of York Hotel," where we dined.
I shall leave myself most comfortably located here, whilst I devote a chapter or two to other diggings.
Ballarat is situated about forty-five miles from Geelong, and seventy-five nearly west of Melbourne. This was the first discovered goldfield of any extent in Victoria, and was made known on the 8th of September, 1851. The rush from Geelong was immense. Shops, stores, trades, all and everything was deserted; and the press very truly declared that "Geelong was mad—stark, staring gold-mad." During the month of September five hundred and thirty-two licences were taken out; in the month following the number increased to two thousand two hundred and sixty one!
The usual road to Ballarat is by the Adelaide overland route on the Gambier Road; but the most preferable is per Geelong. The former route leads over the Keilor Plains, and through Bacchus Marsh, crossing the Werribee River in two places. Mount Buninyong then appears in sight of the well-pleased traveller, and Ballarat is soon reached.
The route VIA Geelong is much quicker, as part of the way is generally performed by steam at the rate of one pound a-piece. Those who wish to save their money go to Geelong by land. After leaving Flemington, and passing the Benevolent Asylum, the Deep Creek is crossed by means of a punt, and you then come to a dreary waste of land, called Iett's Flat. Beyond is a steep rise and a barren plain, hardly fit to graze sheep upon, and at about twenty miles from Melbourne you come to the first halting house. Some narrow but rapid creeks must be got over, and for seven miles further you wander along over a dreary sheep-run till stopped by the Broken River, which derives its name partly from the nature of its rocky bed, and partly from the native name which has a similar sound.
This creek is the most steep, rapid, and dangerous on the road, having no bridge and no properly defined crossing-place or ford, except the natural rocks about. The bottom is of red sand-stone and rocks of the same description abut from the sides of the creek, and appear to abound in the neighbourhood; and all along the plains here and there are large fragments of sand and lime-stone rocks. Two hundred yards from the creek is a neat inn after the English style, with a large sitting-room, a tap, a bar, and a coffee-room. The bed-rooms are so arranged as to separate nobs from snobs—an arrangement rather inconsistent in a democratic colony. The inn also affords good stabling and high charges. Up to this distance on our road there is a scarcity of wood and springs of water.
We now pass two or three huts, and for twenty miles see nothing to please the eye, for it is a dead, flat sheep-walk. About seven miles on the Melbourne side of Geelong, the country assumes a more cheering appearance—homesteads, gardens, and farms spring up—the roads improve, and the timber is plentiful and large, consisting of shea-oaks, wattle, stringy bark, and peppermints. Many of the houses are of a good size, and chiefly built of stone, some are of wood, and very few of brick.
Geelong, which is divided into north and south, is bounded by the Barwin, a river navigable from the bay to the town, and might be extended further; beautiful valleys well wooded lie beyond. Between the two townships a park has been reserved, though not yet enclosed; the timber in it, which is large—consisting principally of white gum and stringy bark—is not allowed to be cut or injured. There are several good inns, a court-house, police-station, and corporation offices. There is also a neat church in the early pointed style, with a parsonage and schools in the Elizabethan; all are of dark lime-stone, having a very gloomy appearance, the stones being unworked, except near the windows; the porches alone slightly ornamented. The road and pavement are good in the chief streets; there is a large square with a conduit, which is supplied by an engine from the Barwin. The shops are large and well furnished, a great many houses are three stories high, most are two, and very few one. The best part of town is about one hundred feet above the river. A large timber bridge over the Ballarat road was washed down last winter. The town is governed by a mayor and corporation. There is a city and mounted police force, and a neat police-court. A large and good race-course is situated about three miles from the town.
As regards scenery, Geelong is far superior to Melbourne, the streets are better, and so is the society of the place; none of the ruffian gangs and drunken mobs as seen in Victoria's chief city. There are various, chapels, schools, markets, banks, and a small gaol. The harbour is sheltered, but not safe for strangers, as the shoals are numerous. Geelong is surrounded by little townships. Irish Town, Little Scotland, and Little London are the principal and to show how completely the diggings drained both towns and villages of their male inhabitants, I need only mention that six days after the discovery of Ballarat, there was only one man left in Little Scotland, and he was a cripple, compelled NOLENS VOLENS to remain behind.
The road from Geelong to Ballarat is well marked out, so often has it been trodden; and there are some good inns on the way-side for the comfort of travellers. On horseback you can go from the town to the diggings in six or eight hours.
Ballarat is a barren place, the ground is interspersed with rocky fragments, the creek is small, and good water is rather scarce. In summer it almost amounts to a drought, and what there is then is generally brackish or stagnatic. It is necessary never to drink stagnant water, or that found in holes, without boiling, unless there are frogs in it, then the water is good; but the diggers usually boil the water, and a drop of brandy, if they can get it. In passing through the plains you are sure of finding water near the surface (or by seeking a few inches) wherever the tea tree grows.
The chief object at the Ballarat diggings is the Commissioners' tent, which includes the Post-office. There are good police quarters now. The old lock-up was rather of the primitive order, being the stump of an old tree, to which the the prisoners were attached by sundry chains, the handcuff being round one wrist and through a link of the chain. I believe there is a tent for their accommodation. There are several doctors about, who, as usual, drive a rare trade.
It is almost impossible to describe accurately the geological features of the gold diggings at Ballarat. Some of the surface-washing is good, and sometimes it is only requisite to sink a few feet, perhaps only a few inches, before finding the ochre-coloured earth (impregnated with mica and mixed with quartzy fragments), which, when washed, pays exceedingly well. But more frequently a deep shaft has to be sunk.
Of course the depth of the shafts varies considerably; some are sixty or even eighty, and some are only ten feet deep. Sometimes after heavy rains, when the surface soil has been washed from the sides of the hills, the mica layer is similarly washed down to the valleys and lies on the original surface-soil. This constitutes the true washing stuff of the diggings. Often when a man has—to use a digger's phrase—"bottomed his hole," (that is, cut through the rocky strata, and arrived at the gold layer), he will find stray indications, but nothing remunerative, and perchance the very next hole may be the most profitable on the diggings. Whether there is any geological rule to be guided by has yet to be proved, at present no old digger will ever sink below the mica soil, or leave his hole until he arrives at it, even if he sinks to forty feet. So, therefore, it may be taken as a general rule, wherever the diggings may be, either in Victoria, New South Wales, or South Australia, that gold in "working" quantities lies only where there is found quartz or mica.
Ballarat has had the honour of producing the largest masses of gold yet discovered. These masses were all excavated from one part of the diggings, known as Canadian Gully, and were taken out of a bed of quartz, at the depths of from fifty to sixty-five feet below the surface. The deep indentures of the nuggets were filled with the quartz. The largest of these masses weighed one hundred and thirty-four pounds, of which it was calculated that fully one hundred and twenty-six pounds consisted of solid gold!
About seven miles to the north of Ballarat, some new diggings called the Eureka have been discovered, where it appears that, although there are no immense prizes, there are few blanks, and every one doing well!
In describing the road from Melbourne to Geelong, I have made mention of the Broken River. A few weeks after my arrival in the colonies this river was the scene of a sad tragedy.
I give the tale, much in the same words as it was given to me, because it was one out of many somewhat similar, and may serve to show the state of morality in Melbourne.
The names of the parties are, of course, entirely fictitious.
Prettiest among the pretty girls that stood upon the deck as the anchor of the Government immigrant ship 'Downshire' fell into Hobson's Bay, in August, 1851, was Mary H——, the heroine of my story. No regret mingled with the satisfaction that beamed from her large dark eyes, as their gaze fell on the shores of her new country, for her orphan brother, the only relative she had left in their own dear Emerald Isle, was even then preparing to follow her. Nor could she feel sad and lonely whilst the rich Irish brogue, from a subdued but manly and well-loved voice, fell softly on her ear, and the gentle pressure of her hand continually reminded her that she was not alone.
Shipboard is a rare place for match-making, and, somehow or another, Henry Stephens had contrived to steal away the heart of the 'Downshire' belle. Prudence, however, compelled our young people to postpone their marriage, and whilst the good housewife qualities of the one readily procured her a situation in a highly respectable family in Melbourne, Henry obtained an appointment in the police force of the same town.
Their united savings soon mounted up, and in a few months the banns were published, and Christmas-Day fixed on for the wedding. Mary, at her lover's express desire, quitted her mistress's family to reside with a widow, a distant relative of his own, from whose house she was to be married. Delightful to the young people was this short period of leisure and uninterrupted intercourse, for the gold mania was now beginning to tell upon the excited imaginations of all, and Henry had already thrown up his situation; and it was settled their wedding trip should be to the golden gullies round Mount Buninyong.
And now let me hasten over this portion of my narrative. It is sad to dwell upon the history of human frailty, or to relate the oft-told tale of passion and villainy triumphant over virtue. A few days before Christmas, when the marriage ceremony was to be performed, they unfortunately spent one evening together alone, and he left her—ruined. Repentance followed sin, and the intervening time was passed by Mary in a state of the greatest mental anguish. With what trembling eagerness did she now look forward to the day which should make her his lawful wife.
It arrived. Mary and the friends of both stood beside the altar, whilst he, who should have been there to redeem his pledge and save his victim from open ruin and disgrace, was far away on the road to Ballarat.
To describe her agony would be impossible. Day after day, week after week, and no tidings from him came; conscience too acutely accounting to her for his faithlessness. Then the horrible truth forced itself upon her, that its consequences would soon too plainly declare her sin before the world; that upon her innocent offspring would fall a portion of its mother's shame.
Thus six months stole sorrowfully away, and as yet none had even conjectured the deep cause she had for misery. Her brother's non-arrival was also an unceasing source of anxiety, and almost daily might she have been seen at the Melbourne Post-office, each time to return more disappointed than before. At length the oft-repeated inquiry was answered in the affirmative, and eagerly she tore open the long-anticipated letter. It told her of an unexpected sum of money that had come into his hands—to them a small fortune—which had detained him in Ireland. This was read and almost immediately forgotten, as she learnt that he was arrived in Melbourne, and that only a few streets now separated them.
She raised her face, flushed and radiant with joyful excitement—her eyes fell upon him who had so cruelly injured her. The scream that burst from her lips brought him involuntarily to her side. What will not a woman forgive where once her heart has been touched—in the double joy of the moment the past was almost forgotten—together they re-read the welcome letter, and again he wooed her for his bride. She consented, and he himself led her to her brother, confessed their mutual fault, and second preparations for an immediate marriage were hurriedly made.
Once more at the altar of St. Peter's stood the bridal party, and again at the appointed hour Stephens was far gone on his second expedition to the diggings, after having increased (if that was possible) his previous villainy, by borrowing a large portion of the money before mentioned from his intended brother-in-law. It was pretty evident that the prospect of doing this had influenced him in his apparently honourable desire to atone to the poor girl, who, completely prostrated by this second blow, was laid on the bed of sickness.
For some weeks she continued thus and her own sufferings were increased by he sight of her brother's fury, as, on her partial recovery, he quitted her in search of her seducer.
During his absence Mary became a mother, and the little one that nestled in her bosom, made her half forgetful of her sorrows, and at times ready to embrace the delusive hope that some slight happiness in life was in store for her. But her bitter cup was not yet drained. Day by day, hour by hour, her little one pined away, until one dreary night she held within her arms only its tiny corpse.
Not one sound of grief—not an outward sign to show how deeply the heart was touched—escaped her. The busy neighbours left her for awhile, glad though amazed at her wondrous calmness; when they returned to finish their preparations for committing the child to its last resting-place, the mother and her infant had disappeared.
Carrying the lifeless burden closely pressed against her bosom, as though the pelting rain and chilling air could harm it now, Mary rapidly left the town where she had experienced so much misery, on—on—towards Geelong, the route her seducer and his pursuer had taken—on—across Iett's Flat, until at length, weak and exhausted, she sank down on the barren plains beyond.
Next morning the early dawn found her still plodding her weary way—her only refreshment being a dry crust and some water obtained at an halting-house on the road; and many a passer-by, attracted by the wildness of her eyes, her eager manner, and disordered dress, cast after her a curious wondering look. But she heeded them not—on—on she pursued her course towards the Broken River.
Here she paused. The heavy winter rains had swollen the waters, which swept along, dashing over the irregular pieces of rock that formed the only means of crossing over. But danger was as nothing to her now—the first few steps were taken—the rapid stream was rushing wildly round her—a sensation, of giddiness and exhaustion made her limbs tremble—her footing slipped on the wet and slimy stone—in another moment the ruthless waters carried her away.
The morrow came, and the sun shone brightly upon the still swollen and rapid river. Two men stood beside it, both too annoyed at this impediment to their return to Melbourne to be in the slightest degree aware of their proximity to one another. A bonnet caught by a projecting fragment of rock simultaneously attracted their attention: both moved towards the spot, and thus brought into closer contact they recognized each other. Deadly foes though they were, not a word passed between them, and silently they dragged the body of the unhappy girl to land. In her cold and tightened grasp still lay the child. As they stood gazing on those injured ones, within one breast remorse and shame, in the other, hatred and revenge, were raging violently.
Each step on the road to Ballarat had increased her brother's desire for vengeance, and still further was this heightened on discovering that Stephens had already left the diggings to return to town. This disappointment maddened him; his whole energy was flung into tracing his foe, and in this he had succeeded so closely, that unknown to either, both had slept beneath the same roof at the inn beside the Broken River.
The voices of some of the loungers there, who were coming down to the Creek to see what mischief had been done during the night, aroused him. He glanced upon his enemy, who pale and trembling, stood gazing on the wreck that he had made. Revenge at last was in his hands—not a moment was to be lost—with the yell of a maniac he sprang upon the powerless and conscious-stricken man—seized him in his arms rushed to the river—and ere any could interpose, both had found a grave where but a few minutes before the bodies of Mary and her infant had reposed.
About seventy years ago a small colony of convicts first made the forests ring with the blows of the axe, and a few tents were erected where Sydney now stands. The tents, and they who dwelt beneath them, have long since disappeared, and instead we have one of the finest cities that our colonial empire ever produced.
The streets in Sydney are, as in Melbourne, built at right angles with one another; they are macadamized, well lighted with gas, and perambulated by a number of policemen during the night. Some of the shops almost rival those of London, and the public buildings are good and numerous. There is a custom-house, a treasury, police-office, college, benevolent asylum, banks, barracks, hospitals, libraries, churches, chapels, a synagogue, museum, club-house, theatre, and many splendid hotels, of which the largest is, I think the "Royal Hotel," in George Street, built at the cost of 30,000 pounds.
Hyde Park is close at hand, with un-numbered public walks, and a botanical garden, the favourite resort of all classes.
In the neighbourhood of Sydney are some good oyster-beds, and many are the picnics got up for the purpose of visiting them. The oysters cling to the rocks, and great numbers are easily obtained.
The distance from Sydney to Melbourne, by the overland road, is about six hundred miles; but the steamers, which are constantly plying, afford a more comfortable mode of transit.
The gold diggings of New South Wales are so well known as to require but a cursory notice. The first official notification of the fact of gold having been discovered bears date, May 22, 1851, and is contained in a despatch from the Governor to Earl Grey. In it he announced the existence of a gold field to the westward of Bathurst, about one hundred and fifty miles from Sydney. At the same time, he added his supposition that the gold sent for inspection was Califorian.
Mr Stutchbury, the geological surveyor, quickly undeceived his Excellency. He wrote from Hill Creek reporting that four hundred persons were hard at work, and that the gold existed not only in the creek but beyond it. The following postscript was added to his letter: "Excuse this being written in pencil, as there is no ink in this city of Ophir." And this appropriate name has ever since been retained.
The natural consequences of this discovery was the flocking of hundreds of the inhabitants of Sydney to Bathurst. Sober people began to be alarmed at this complete BOULEVERSEMENT of business and tranquillity. For the sake of order the Governor attempted to put a stop to the increasing desertion of the capital by proclaiming that the gold-fields were the prerogative of the Crown, and threatening gold-diggers with prosecution. It was all in vain. The glitterings of the precious metal were more attractive than the threats of the Governor were otherwise. The people laughed good-humoured at the proclamation, and only flocked in greater numbers to the auriferous spot.
Government now took a wiser course, and finding it impossible to stem the torrent, determined to turn the eagerness of the multitude to some account. A licence-fee of 30s., or half an ounce of gold, per month was imposed, which, with few exceptions, has always been cheerfully paid.
The Turon diggings soon followed those of Bathurst. This river flows into the Macquarie after a course of a hundred miles. Along the entire length auriferous discoveries are constantly being made, and it bids fair to last for many years to come. The gold is not found, as many erroneously suppose, so much among the sand as by digging in the soil. It also exists in paying quantities on the shores and in the rive flows of the Macquarie, the Abercrombie, and Belubula rivers. Major's Creek, too, is a favourite locality, and was first made known by a prospecting woman.
According to Mr. Stutchbury's report, he found gold ALMOST WHEREVER HE TRIED FOR IT, and whilst traversing the Macquarie from Walgumballa to the Turon, he found it at EVERY place he tried. Surely Midas must, once upon a time, have taken a pleasure-trip to Australia!
The delirium of the Sydney gold-fever reached its height when it became publicly known that a piece of one hundred and six pounds weight had been disembowelled from the earth, at one time. This immense quantity was the discovery of a native, who, being excited by the universal theme of conversation, provided himself with a tomahawk, and explored the country adjacent to his employer's land. He was attracted by a glittering yellow substance on the surface of a block of quartz. With his tomahawk he broke off a piece, which he carried home to his master, Dr. Kerr, of Wallawa. Not being able to move the mass conveniently, Dr. Kerr broke it into small fragments. The place where it was found is at the commencement of an undulating table-land, very fertile, and near to a never-failing supply of water in the Murroo Creek. It is distant about fifty miles from Bathurst, thirty from Wellington, and twenty from the nearest point of the Macquarie river.
Dr. Kerr presented the native and his brother with two flocks of sheep, two saddle-horses, a quantity of rations, a team of bullocks, and some land.
About twenty yards from the spot where this mass was found, a piece of gold called the "Brennan Nugget" was soon after discovered. It weighed three hundred and thirty-six ounces, and was sold in Sydney for more than 1,100 pounds.
But it would be useless to enter into fuller particulars of the diggings of New South Wales. Panoramas, newspapers, and serials have made them familiar to all.
Adelaide, the capital of South Australia, was the last formed of the three sister colonies. In 1834 an act of colonization was obtained; and land, both in town and country, sold rapidly. The colonists, however, were most unfortunately more engaged in speculating with the land, than grazing upon or tilling it; and the consequence was, that in a few years the South Australians were only saved from a famine by the unexpected arrival overland of herds and flocks from Victoria. As it was, horses and cows of a very indifferent kind were sold for more than a hundred pounds a-piece, and sheep for five pounds a head.
The discovery of the copper mines alone saved the country from ruin. The first was the Kapunda. It was accidentally discovered by a shepherd, who picked up a piece on the surface of the ground, and showed it to his master. Pieces of copper ore may even now be found in the same way.
Next followed the far-famed Burra-Burra. In the latter mine there is a great quantity of malachite, which, when smelted, gives copper at an average of eighty-five per cent.
South Australia possesses the finest river in Australia—namely, the Murray, on which steamers will soon ply as far as five hundred miles up the country. On either side of this river is a thick and dry scrub—sometimes ten, sometimes thirty miles wide. In this scrub, manna is not unfrequently found, to the great delight of the natives, who are very fond of it. It is of a very excellent description, and in colour has a slight tendency to pink.
Adelaide itself is a well-laid out town. The streets are built in the same manner as in Sydney and Melbourne; but those in Adelaide are much wider. Many of the buildings and warehouses are highly creditable, particularly when we take the juvenile age of the colony into consideration.
Adelaide has never yet been "a transportation colony," and the society there is usually considered more RECHERCHE than in any other city in Australia. The climate is very good, and the vine flourishes as in the south of France. The principal export of South Australia is copper, to which may be added some wool and tallow.
The roads about are excellent, and the small farms in the neighbourhood are more in the English style than one could expect to meet with so many thousand miles away from home.
The overland route from Adelaide to Melbourne is about four hundred miles in length. In summer the road is pretty good, but in winter, a lake or swamp of twenty miles extent has to be waded through.
The scrub about South Australia is very thick, and any one may easily lose themselves in it. This has in fact often been the case, and a fearful instance of it occurred some few years ago. A young lady—the daughter of a gentleman residing near Adelaide—started out one Sunday afternoon with a book as her companion. Evening came, and she did not return, which alarmed her family, and search was made far and near—but in vain. On the fourth day, they at length discovered her lying dead at the foot of a tree. The pages of her book were covered with sentences, pricked in with a pin, expressive of her sufferings and of her unavailing efforts to retrace her steps. She was only three miles from her father's house when she sank down to die of hunger, thirst, and exhaustion; and probably during the whole time of her wanderings had never exceeded that distance from her home.
The Adelaide gold-diggings began to excite attention in the months of August and September, 1852. In October the following report was made:
"Camp, Echunga, Gold-Fields,"October 2, 1852.
"Sir,
"I have the honour to state for the information of his Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor, that since my last report sixty licences have been issued, making a total of three hundred and fifty-six. * * * * Many families of respectability have arrived, and are now living in comfortable and commodious tents. The presence of well-dressed women and children gives to the gold-fields, apparently distinguished for decorum, security and respectability.
"From the feeling of greater security and comfort, combined with cheapness of living, all classes of diggers are unanimous in their preference of this place to Victoria. * * * *
"The nugget of gold which I have forwarded for his Excellency's inspection, weighing about an ounce and a half, was found about seven feet below the surface.* * * *
"There are some few amongst the lately arrived who expressed dissatisfaction with the result of their labours and observations, while others, who have been working for the last month, have promptly renewed their expired licences.
(Signed) "A. J. MURRAY,"Assistant Gold Commissioner."The Hon. the Colonial Secretary."
In the month of October several pieces of gold, weighing each half an ounce and upwards, were found, and a few of the holes that had been abandoned by inexperienced hands, when taken possession of by old diggers on the Turon or the Bendigo, were found to contain good washing stuff. The diggings were well supplied with food of every kind; and during the summer months there could be no lack of fruits and vegetables in abundance, at reasonable prices, supplied from the numerous and well-cultivated farms and gardens around. This is certainly an advantage over the diggings of Victoria or New South Wales, if gold really does exist in paying quantities; if not, all the fruit and vegetables in the world would not keep the diggers at Echunga.
The following "Lament" was circulated in Adelaide, but not one of the newspapers there would print it. They were all too anxious for the success of their diggings, to countenance any grumblers against them: