A Few Miles Further, And The Diggings Themselves Burst Upon
Our View.
Never shall I forget that scene, it well repaid a journey
even of sixteen thousand miles.
The trees had been all cut down; it
looked like a sandy plain, or one vast unbroken succession of countless
gravel pits - the earth was everywhere turned up - men's heads
in every direction were popping up and down from their holes. Well
might an Australian writer, in speaking of Bendigo, term it "The
Carthage of the Tyre of Forest Creek." The rattle of the cradle, as it
swayed to and fro, the sounds of the pick and shovel, the busy hum of
so many thousands, the innumerable tents, the stores with large flags
hoisted above them, flags of every shape, colour, and nation, from the
lion and unicorn of England to the Russian eagle, the strange yet
picturesque costume of the diggers themselves, all contributed to
render the scene novel in the extreme.
We hurried through this exciting locality as quickly as possible; and,
after five miles travelling, reached the Eagle Hawk Gully, where we
pitched our tents, supped, and retired to rest - though, for myself at
least, not to sleep. The excitement of the day was sufficient cure for
drowsiness. Before proceeding with an account of our doings at the
Eagle Hawk, I will give a slight sketch of the character and
peculiarities of the diggings themselves, which are of course not
confined to one spot, but are the characteristics that usually
exist in any auriferous regions, where the diggers are at work.
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