The Book Of The Bush, George Dunderdale [thriller novels to read .txt] 📗

Story 3 (Discovery Of The River Hopkins.) Pg 58

Her Hand,  Seated In A Magnificent Roman Chariot,  Drawn By The Lion

And The Unicorn.  That Team Had Tortured My Young Soul For Years.  I

Could Never Understand Why That Savage Lion Had Not Long Ago Devoured

Both The Queen And The Unicorn.

 

My Old Love Was Looking At Me,  And At Last She Put One Hand On My

Knee,  And Said:

 

"It's George."

 

"Yes," I Said,  "It's George."

 

She Gazed A While Into The Fire And Said:

 

"Alice Is Dead."

 

"Yes,  Alice Is Dead."

 

"And Jenny Is Dead."

 

"Yes,  And Jenny.  They Are At The Bottom Of The Sea."

 

In That Way She Counted A Long List Of The Dead,  Which She Closed

By Saying:

 

"They Are All Gone But Joe."

 

She Had Been A Widow More Than Twenty-Five Years.  She Was A Young

Woman,  Tall And Strong,  Before Bonaparte,  Wellington,  The United

States,  Or Australia,  Had Ever Been Heard Of In Lancashire,  And From

The Top Of A Stile She Had Counted Every Windmill And Chimney In

Preston Before It Was Covered With The Black Pall Of Smoke From The

Cotton-Mills.

Story 4 (Among The Diggers In 1853.) Pg 59

I Lost A Summer In 1853,  And Had Two Winters Instead,  One In England,

The Other In Australia.

 

It Was Cold In The Month Of May As We Neared Bendigo.  We Were A

Mixed Party Of English,   Irish,  And Scotch,  Twelve In Number,  And

Accompanied By Three Horse-Teams,  Carrying Tubs,  Tents,  And

Provisions.  We Also Had Plenty Of Arms Wherewith To Fight The

Bush-Rangers,  But I Did Not Carry Any Myself; I Left The Fighting

Department To My Mate,  Philip,  And To The Others Who Were Fond Of

War.  Philip Was By Nature And Training As Gentle And Amiable As A

Lamb,  But He Was A Young Irelander,  And Therefore A Fighter On

Principle.  O'connell Had Tried Moral Suasion On The English

Story 4 (Among The Diggers In 1853.) Pg 60

Principle.  O'connell Had Tried Moral Suasion On The English

Government Long Enough,  And To No Purpose,  So Philip And His Fiery

Young Friends Were Prepared To Have Recourse To Arms.  The Arms He

Was Now Carrying Consisted Of A Gleaming Bowie Knife,  And Two Pistols

Stuck In His Belt.  The Pistols Were Good Ones; Philip Had Tried Them

On A Friend In The Phoenix Park The Morning After A Ball At The

Rotunda,  And Had Pinked His Man--Shot Him In The Arm.  It Is

Needless To Say That There Was A Young Lady In The Case; I Don't Know

What Became Of Her,  But During The Rest Of Her Life She Could Boast

Of Having Been The Fair Demoiselle On Whose Account The Very Last

Duel Was Fought In Ireland.  Then The Age Of Chivalry Went Out.  The

Bowie Knife Was The British Article Bought In Liverpool.  It Would

Neither Kill A Man Nor Cut A Beef-Steak,  As Was Proved By Experience.

 

We Met Parties Of Men From Bendigo--Unlucky Diggers,  Who Offered To

Sell Their Thirty-Shilling Licenses.  By This Time My Cash Was Low;

My Twenty-Dollar Gold Pieces Were All Consumed.  While Voyaging To

The New Ophir,  Where Gold Was Growing Underfoot,  I Could Not See Any

Sound Sense In Being Niggardly.  But When I Saw A Regular Stream Of

Disappointed Men With Empty Pockets Offering Their Monthly Licenses

For Five Shillings Each Within Sight Of The Goldfield,  I Had

Misgivings,  And I Bought A License That Had Three Weeks To Run From

William Matthews.  Ten Other Men Bought Licenses,  But William

Patterson,  A Canny Scotchman,  Said He Would Chance It.

 

It Was About Midday When We Halted Near Bendigo Creek,  Opposite A

Refreshment Tent.  Standing In Front Of It Was A Man Who Had Passed

Us On The Road,  And Lit His Pipe At Our Fire.  When He Stooped To

Pick Up A Firestick I Saw The Barrel Of A Revolver Under His Coat.

He Was Accompanied By A Lady On Horseback,  Wearing A Black Riding

Habit.  Our Teamsters Called Him Captain Sullivan.  He Was Even Then

A Man Well Known To The Convicts And The Police,  And Was Supposed To

Be Doing A Thriving Business As Keeper Of A Sly Grog Shop,  But In

Course Of Time It Was Discovered That His Main Source Of Profit Was

Murder And Robbery.  He Was Afterwards Known As "The New Zealand

Murderer," Who Turned Queen's Evidence,  Sent His Mates To The

Gallows,  But Himself Died Unhanged.

 

While We Stood In The Track,  Gazing Hopelessly Over The Endless Heaps

Of Clay And Gravel Covering The Flat,  A Little Man Came Up And Spoke

To Philip,  In Whom He Recognised A Fellow Countryman.  He Said:

 

"You Want A Place To Camp On,  Don't You?"

 

"Yes," Replied Philip,  "We Have Only Just Come Up From Melbourne."

 

"Well,  Come Along With Me," Said The Stranger.

 

He Was A Civil Fellow,  And Said His Name Was Jack Moore.  We Went

With Him In The Direction Of The First White Hill,  But Before

Reaching It We Turned To The Left Up A Low Bluff,  And Halted In A

Gully Where Many Men Were At Work Puddling Clay In Tubs.

 

After We Had Put Up Our Tent,  Philip Went Down The Gully To Study The

Art Of Gold Digging.  He Watched The Men At Work; Some Were Digging

Story 4 (Among The Diggers In 1853.) Pg 61

Holes,  Some Were Dissolving Clay In Tubs Of Water By Stirring It

Rapidly With Spades,  And A Few Were Stooping At The Edge Of

Water-Holes,  Washing Off The Sand Mixed With The Gold In Milk Pans.

 

Philip Tried To Enter Into Conversation With The Diggers.  He Stopped

Near One Man,  And Said:

 

"Good Day,  Mate.  How Are You Getting Along?"

 

The Man Gazed At Him Steadily,  And Replied "Go You To Hell," So

Philip Moved On.  The Next Man He Addressed Sent Him In The Same

Direction,  Adding A Few Blessings; The Third Man Was Panning Off,  And

There Was A Little Gold Visible In His Pan.  He Was Gray,  Grim,  And

Hairy.  Philip Said:

 

"Not Very Lucky To-Day,  Mate?"

 

The Hairy Man Stood Up,  Straightened His Back,  And Looked At Philip

From Head To Foot.

 

"Lucky Be Blowed.  I Wish I'd Never Seen This Blasted Place.  Here

Have I Been Sinking Holes And Puddling For Five Months,  And Hav'n't

Made Enough To Pay My Tucker And The Government License,  Thirty Bob A

Month.  I Am A Mason,  And I Threw Up Twenty-Eight Bob A Day To Come

To This Miserable Hole.  Wherever You Come From,  Young Man,  I Advise

You To Go Back There Again.  There's Twenty Thousand Men On Bendigo,

And I Don't Believe Nineteen Thousand Of 'Em Are Earning Their Grub."

 

"I Can't Well Go Back Fifteen Thousand Miles,  Even If I Had Money To

Take Me Back," Answered Philip.

 

"Well,  You Might Walk As Far As Melbourne," Said The Hairy Man,  "And

Then You Could Get Fourteen Bob A Day As A Hodman; Or You Might Take

A Job At Stone Breaking; The Government Are Giving 7s. 6d. A Yard For

Road Metal.  Ain't You Got Any Trade To Work At?"

 

"No,  I Never Learned A Trade,  I Am Only A Gentleman."  He Felt Mean

Enough To Cry.

 

"Well,  That's Bad.  If You Are A Scholar,  You Might Keep School,  But

I Don't Believe There's Half-A-Dozen Kids On The Diggin's.  They'd Be

Of No Mortal Use Except To Tumble Down Shafts.  Fact Is,  If You Are

Really Hard Up,  You Can Be A Peeler.  Up At The Camp They'll Take On

Any Useless Loafer Wot's Able To Carry A Carbine,  And They'll Give

You Tucker,  And You Can Keep Your Shirt Clean.  But,  Mind,  If You Do

Join The Joeys,  I Hope You'll Be Shot.  I'd Shoot The Hull Blessed

Lot Of 'Em If I Had My Way.  They Are Nothin' But A Pack Of Robbers."

The Hairy Man Knew Something Of Current History And Statistics,  But

He Had Not A Pleasant Way Of Imparting His Knowledge.

 

Picaninny Gully Ended In A Flat,  Thinly Timbered,  Where There Were

Only A Few Diggers.  Turning To The Left,  Philip Found Two Men Near A

Waterhole Hard At Work Puddling.  When He Bade Them Good-Day,  They

Did Not Swear At Him,  Which Was Some Comfort.  They Were Brothers,

Story 4 (Among The Diggers In 1853.) Pg 62

And Were Willing To Talk,  But They Did Not Stop Work For A Minute.

They Had A Large Pile Of Dirt,  And Were Making Hay While The Sun

Shone--That Is,  Washing Their Dirt As Fast As They Could While The

Water Lasted.  During The Preceding Summer They Had Carted Their

Wash-Dirt From The Gully Until Rain Came And Filled The Waterhole.

They Said They Had Not Found Any Rich Ground,  But They Could Now Make

At Least A Pound A Day Each By Constant Work.  Philip Thought They

Were Making More,  As They Seemed Inclined To Sing Small; In Those

Days To Brag Of Your Good Luck Might Be The Death Of You.

 

While Philip Was Away Interviewing The Diggers,  Jack Showed Me Where

He Had Worked His First Claim,  And Had Made 400 Pounds In A Few Days.

"You Might Mark Off A Claim Here And Try It," He Said.  "I Think I

Took Out The Best Gold,  But There May Be A Little Left Still

Hereabout."  I Pegged Off Two Claims,  One For Philip,  And One For

Myself,  And Stuck A Pick In The Centre Of Each.  Then We Sat Down On

A Log.  Six Men Came Up The Gully Carrying Their Swags,  One Of Them

Was Unusually Tall.  Jack