Repondis je.'" The
specimen of man before me impressed me with such a decided opinion
of his ability for destroying sugarsticks, that at once I gave him credit
as the founder of a republic for babies to suck their thumbs.
In short, here dates the Victorian system of 'memorialising.' The diggers
of Ballaarat sympathised with those of Bendigo in their common grievances,
and prayed the governor that the gold licence be reduced to thirty shillings
a month. There was further a great waste of yabber-yabber about the diggers
not being represented in the Legislative Council, and a deal of fustian
was spun against the squatters. I understood very little of those matters
at the time: the shoe had not pinched my toe yet.
Every one returned to his work; some perhaps not very peacefully, on account
of a nobbler or two over the usual allowance.
Chapter V.
Risum Teneatis Amici.
I recollect towards this time I followed the mob to Magpie Gully. It was
a digger's life. Hard work by day, blazing fire in the evening, and sound
sleep by night at the music of drunken quarrels all around, far and near.
I had marked my claim in accordance with the run of the ranges, and safe
as the Bank of England I bottomed on gold. No search for licence ever
took place. What's the matter? Oh, the diggers of Bendigo, by sheer
moral force, in the shape of some ten thousand in a mob, had inspired
with better sense the red-tape there and somewhere else, so I took out
my licence at the reasonable rate of two pounds for three months,
my contribution for the support of gold-lace. So far so good. I had no fault
to find with our governor Joseph Latrobe, Esquire; nor do I believe
that the diggers cared about anything else from him. Was it then his being
an esquire that brought his administration into contempt? The fact is,
a clap of "The Thunder" from Printing House-square boomed on the tympanum
of my ear. We diggers got the gracious title of "vagabonds," and our massa
"Joe," for his pains to keep friends with us, was put down "an incapable;"
all for the honour of British rule, of course.
"Wanted a Governor," was now no longer a dummy in 'The Argus'; but, unhappily,
no application was made to the people of Victoria.
Give a dog a bad name - and the old proverb holds good even at the antipodes.
My trampings are now transcribed from my diary.
With the hot winds whirled in the Vandemonian rush to the Ballaarat Flat.
My hole was next to the one which was jumped by the Eureka mob, and where
one man was murdered in the row. At sixty-five feet we got on a blasted log
of a gum-tree that had been mouldering there under a curse, since the times
of Noah! The whole flat turned out an imperial shicer. (You do not sink
deep enough, Signore Editor.) Slabs that had cost us some eight pounds
a hundred would not fetch, afterwards, one pound. We left them to sweat
freely in the hole; and all the mob got on the fuddle. My mate and myself
thought we had been long enough together, and got asunder for a change.
I was soon on the tramp again. Bryant's Ranges was the go of the day,
and I started thither accordingly. December, 1853. Oh, Lord! what a pack
of ragamuffins over that way! I got acquainted with the German party
who found out the Tarrangower den; shaped my hole like a bathing tub,
and dropped "on it" right smart. Paid two pounds to cart one load down
the Loddon, and left two more loads of washing stuff, snug and wet
with the sweat of my brow over the hole. Got twenty-eight pennyweights
out of the load. Went back the third day, brisk and healthy, to cart down
the other two loads. Washing stuff! gone: hole! gone: the gully itself!
gone: the whole face of it had been clean shaved. Never mind, go ahead again.
Got another claim on the surface-hill. No search for licence: thank God,
had none. Nasty, sneaky, cheeky little things of flies got into my eyes:
could see no more, no ways. Mud water one shilling a bucket! Got the
dysentery; very bad. Thought, one night, to reef the yards and drop
the anchor. Got on a better tack though. Promenaded up to the famous Bendigo.
Had no particular objection to Celestials there, but had no particular taste
for their tartaric water. Made up my mind to remember my days of innocence,
and turned shepherd. Fine landscape this run on the Loddon: almost a match
for Bella Italia, but there are too many mosquitoes. Dreamt, one day,
I was drinking a tumbler of Loddon wine; and asserted that Providence
was the same also in the south. It was a dream. The lands lay waste
and desolate: not by nature; oh no; by hand of man. Bathing in these
Loddon water-holes, superb. Tea out of this Loddon water magnificent.
In spite of these horrible hot winds, this water is always fresh and delicious:
how kind is Providence! One night lost the whole blessed lot of my flock.
Myself, the shepherd, did not know, in the name of heavens, which way to turn.
Got among the blacks, the whole Tarrang tribe in corrobory. Lord,
what a rum sight for an old European traveller. Found natives very humane,
though. My sheep right again, only the wild dogs had given them a good shake.
Was satisfied that the Messiah the Jews are looking for will not be born
in this bullock-drivers' land; any how, the angels won't announce the happy
event of his birth to the shepherds. No more truck with sheep, and went
to live with the blacks for a variation. Picked up, pretty soon, bits
of their yabber-yabber.
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