Pals: Young Australians in Sport and Adventure

by Carol Norton

  *CHAPTER XXXI*

  *OFF TO THE GOLD DIGGINGS*

  "The mountain air is cool and fresh, Unclouded skies bend o'er us, Broad placers, rich in hidden gold, Lie temptingly before us." SWIFT.

  Tents were struck, and the campers' impedimenta securely fastened to thepack-saddles, in the grey dawn of the following morning--the partyhaving breakfasted by starlight.

  The gold diggings about to be visited was situated in the ranges,equi-distant from Bullaroi and the Bay. The route from the Bay layalong the homeward track as far as the caves. At this point the trailturned due north--winding among the rugged country to the site of themining camp, which, in its palmy days, covered a flat that lay betweensome precipitous hills and a swiftly flowing mountain stream.

  The diggings in question was deserted, save by a few fossikers, orgully-rakers, as they were generally called--men who earned a precariousliving by following up the dry gullies, and picking out wash dirt frombetween the rocks; or else dry-blowing likely spots of the surface. Thelure of gold--so common to all--fed the imagination of these men. Theybecame nomads; lived in the most primitive ways; faced and endureduntold hardships; and, if not cheerful, were always hopeful. They sawvisions and dreamed dreams--of gold. The years passed, age pressedheavily, eyesight grew dim, and limbs palsied with weakness: but evenwhen broken down and encompassed with infirmity, their very senilitysustained its spirits upon visions of the rich find that was surelycoming--to-morrow.

  When the diggings "broke out," and the rush "set in," the flat was whitewith tents, the population running into four figures. It was analluvial diggings; that is, the gold was washed from the earth, and notcrushed from the quartz. In the flush days of Rocky Gully, rich"pockets" of gold were struck, and huge fortunes made. Life then, in thecharacter of its splendours and pleasures, was barbaric. Lucky diggers,with the spending lust upon them, ordered champagne baths, lit theirpipes with five-pound notes, shod their horses with plates of gold,squandered their suddenly acquired riches on camp wantons, and among theharpies of the gambling hells. There were many exceptions to thisfoolish course, 'tis true; but such is the mental intoxicationconsequent upon a lucky find, and the sudden acquisition of wealth, thatthe majority of lucky diggers succumb, and in a few weeks or months,shorn of their possessions, either blow out their brains in remorse, orchallenge fortune once more upon the same or some other goldfield.

  Rocky Gully was now a worked-out diggings, and its population had longago drifted away to other fields. Naught remained to remind one of itsglory now but a few tumbledown houses, and the wood skeletons of ironbuildings, together with countless heaps of empty tins and other refuse.Naught, that is, save a dozen or so of fossikers, who were distributedover the field; each having his area, into which the others neverintruded.

  How was it, then, that the Bullaroi party should have included a trip tothe deserted mining camp in their programme of sport and adventure?There was nothing inviting in the region so far as game was concerned;nor was there the rough excitements of a live diggings. The truth is, itwas the outcome of a suggestion of Harry. The stockman had a yarn he wasvery fond of relating, which included some tragic incidents associatedwith Rocky Gully. As a youth he lived there in its "boom" days, andtowards the close of his stay there he was mates with Humpy Bob. HumpyBob was an eccentric character, well known on a dozen goldfields, whoseshrewdness as a gold finder was countervailed by his incredible folly inspending his riches. On one occasion, when he had struck a "pocket,"from which he drew over a thousand ounces, he began a carouse whichcontinued until the last penny was spent.

  As illustrative of his folly during that spree, he purchased a generalstore for the sum of one thousand pounds. The same evening, in companywith the drunken guests of a champagne party he had given, he proceededto the store, deliberately fired it, and, with the other banqueters,stripped stark naked, danced a wild corrobberie while it burned.

  Bob sober was the antithesis of Bob drunk. Abstemious, taciturn,industrious, solitary, with a genius for divining likely places, hefollowed the pursuit of gold: seldom failing to earn good wages; oftenwinning handsome profits; occasionally making a pile.

  Humpy's end came suddenly and tragically; and of this Harry was awitness.

  The two men were driving a tunnel at a likely spot in the bank of ablind gully about three miles from the main camp. They worked inrelays, and had driven in about a score of yards, when Harry suggestedshoring it with saplings for safety. Humpy Bob, however, who was alwaysrunning risks, made light of the suggestion. They had just struck a veinof promising stuff, which gave "prospects" of several grains to thedish. When it was Bob's turn to go on, Harry again suggested shoring upcertain loose spots; especially one near where he had been picking, forthere had been a small fall during his shift. This the other would notconsent to, though his partner pleaded earnestly.

  "There's a hundred to one chances against there being anything serious,mate, and I'm not goin' to waste any time in propping up the blessedtunnel. It's not worth it. We'll most likely clean it out to-morrer.So-long!"

  So saying, the digger entered the drive, and was soon at his work.Harry, having nothing to do for a while, went to the tent and stretchedhimself on his bunk for a rest, intending to return in an hour or so towheel out the mullock. Unfortunately he fell asleep, and hours passedby before he awoke. When he did, he jumped from his bunk and ran out tothe drive, scolding himself for his negligence. The barrow was missingfrom its usual place, and, after a hasty search, the youth went to thetunnel's mouth and shouted to his mate. There was no response, nor werethe usual pick sounds to be heard. The light was still burning at theend of the tunnel. Hastily traversing the drive in a half-stoopingposition, as indeed compelled by the size of the tunnel, the youthcovered about half the distance when he stumbled over the barrow,severely barking his shins. Using hot language against the carelessnessof his mate at leaving the barrow in such a place, and with a half fearat the unsatisfactory look of things, he scrambled up and went ontowards the end of the tunnel. He had not taken more than two stepswhen he again stumbled; this time over a softer substance. It was hismate!

  Humpy Bob was lying unconscious, half-covered with a mass of fallenearth and rocks. Groping his way across this pile of debris, theexcited and frightened youth reached the end of the drive, seized thelight and returned to his mate.

  Tearing frantically at the soil and stones, he liberated old Humpy, and,as gently as possible, drew him to the tunnel mouth. Then dashing tothe little stream below, he brought water in a billy, and made thecustomary attempts to restore his stricken mate to consciousness. Hisutmost attempts availed not. The vital spark had fled. Not all theresources of medicine or surgery could bring light into the half-closedeyes, or life into those rapidly stiffening limbs. Humpy Bob wouldnever again unearth a nugget, rock a cradle, appraise the value of aprospect, or get on the "razzle-dazzle" and "paint the town red."

  It would seem that after working for a while, and making a heap ofmullock, the digger had come out of the tunnel for Harry. Not seeinghim about, the old man seized the barrow with the object of wheeling outsome of the earth. He had loaded it, and was in the act of wheeling italong, when a mass of earth fell full upon his back, fracturing thespine.

  Harry was greatly affected by this sad occurrence; for Humpy Bob hadmany good points of character, and a strong attachment had grown upbetween them. As soon as his mate was buried, he left the goldfield,and got a job on one of the stations.

  He had often thought of revisiting this scene, for he had a feeling thatgood gold would be found there. Of late the desire to test the groundagain had grown strong, and, when the project of the jaunt to theseaside was launched, he suggested a trip to the old diggings. The boysgladly fell in with the idea, for it furnished them with an item thatgave additional spice to the outing.

  The journey to the diggings was necessarily slow. The pack-horses wereheavily
weighted by the extra burden of the fish, and the method ofprogress was that shuffling gait known as the "jog." Though monotonousand tiring to the rider, it is the easiest pace for the loaded animals,and one that can be kept up all day.

  "Seems a pity that we should cart this blessed fish to the diggings,Sandy. Wouldn't it be better to 'cache' it somewhere near the junction?It's giving the horses unnecessary work, in my opinion. Let's see, it'stwelve miles to the junction, an' fifteen from there to Rocky Gully.Supposin' we planted the stuff in the scrub at the junction; it'd savethirty miles of hauling, an' be no end of a gain all round."

  "Good enough, Joe! What d'yer say, Harry? We could hide the barrelsan' bag easy enough in the scrub."

  "M-yes, perhaps so. Come ter think of it, I'm not so sure. Barrels'dbe all right, but 'twon't be the dingoes' fault if they don't root outthe dried fish. Tell you what, boys, plant 'em in the caves!"

  "Good shot! The very thing the doctor ordered! The caves! yes.'Twon't take us more'n a mile out of the way; an' 'twill be on the roadto Bullaroi on the return trip. We can easily strike in on the west sideof the cave ridge, and hide 'em in the stables. Nobody knows of thatplace but father an' the 'rangers; now poor ole Ben's shot----"

  "Maybe it's ha-aunted, bhoys. It's juist th' sphot owld Ben'd hide hissowl in, so as to frighten awa-ay th' p'lice whin they goes rummagin'about f'r booty; loike th' carr-sthle ghosts in th' owld conthry.Bedad, thin, Oi'll be expactin' t' see th' bowld raider comin' on us outiv th' dark, his face shinin' loike th' stuff phwat matches is made ov."

  "Brimstone an' treacle you're thinkin' of, ain't you, Denny? But, Isay, chaps, it'll be better to hide 'em at the 'ranger's outlet; thoughit'll be the dickens own job to get the barrels into the cave up thatslope. Wouldn't it be better, after all, to hide the stuff in thescrub, slinging the bag into a tree, high enough to be safe from thedingoes?"

  So it would, and have saved a most painful experience; but havingstarted the idea of hiding the fish in the caves, it presented anattraction that the others would not surrender. It gave a flavour ofromance to the act. Now that he was dead, the bushranger's hiding-placetook on a new interest; and so it came to pass that Tom found himself ina minority of one.

  They found it a tough piece of work to get the barrels up theprecipitous slope to the cave entrance. But, when the fish was at laststored in the forage chamber, as it was now called, and the party hadremounted their horses, they could appreciate the advantage gained byrelieving the pack-horses of so much dead weight.

  They now made more rapid headway, and struck an accommodation house, inthe early afternoon, kept by one Jago Smith--an old acquaintance ofHarry's.