Let Us Start For Ballaarat, Christmas, December 1852.
- 'Vide' - 'tempore suo' -
'Julii Caesaris junioris.
De Campis Aureis, Australia Felix Commentaria.'
For the purpose, it is now sufficient to say that I had joined a party;
fixed our tent on the Canadian Flat; went up to the Camp to get our gold
licence; for one pound ten shilling sterling a head we were duly licensed
for one month to dig, search for, and remove gold, etc. - We wanted to drink
a glass of porter to our future success, but there was no Bath Hotel
at the time. - Proceeded to inspect the famous Golden Point (a sketch of which
I had seen in London in the 'Illustrated News'). The holes all around,
three feet in diameter, and five to eight feet in depth, had been abandoned!
we jumped into one, and one of my mates gave me the first lesson
in "fossiking," - In less than five minutes I pounced on a little pouch -
the yellow boy was all there, - my eyes were sparkling, - I felt a sensation
identical to a first declaration of love in by-gone times. - "Great works,"
at last was my bursting exclamation. In old Europe I had to take off my hat
half a dozen times, and walk from east to west before I could earn one pound
in the capacity of sworn interpreter, and translator of languages in the city
of London. Here, I had earned double the amount in a few minutes,
without crouching or crawling to Jew or Christian. Had my good angel
prevailed on me to stick to that blessed Golden Point, I should have now
to relate a very different story: the gold fever, however, got the best of
my usual judgment, and I dreamt of, and pretended nothing else, than a hole
choked with gold, sunk with my darling pick, and on virgin ground. - I started
the hill right-hand side, ascending Canadian Gully, and safe as the
Bank of England I pounced on gold - seventeen and a half ounces, depth ten feet.
Chapter III.
Jupiter Tonans.
One fine morning (Epiphany week), I was hard at work (excuse old chum,
if I said hard: though my hand had been scores of times compelled in London
to drop the quill through sheer fatigue, yet I never before handled a pick
and shovel), I hear a rattling noise among the brush. My faithful dog,
Bonaparte, would not keep under my control. "What's up?" "Your licence,
mate." was the peremptory question from a six-foot fellow in blue shirt,
thick boots, the face of a ruffian armed with a carbine and fixed bayonet.
The old "all right" being exchanged, I lost sight of that specimen of colonial
brutedom and his similars, called, as I then learned, "traps" and "troopers."
I left off work, and was unable to do a stroke more that day.
"I came, then, 16,000 miles in vain to get away from the law of the sword!"
was my sad reflection.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 3 of 100
Words from 1050 to 1549
of 51645
