Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone
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shall live to reach old England with it, in time torelieve my suffering relatives. That is all I care for in this world;and if I can accomplish it, I shall be willing to die."
At my request Oakes promised to write to me from Melbourne; and let meknow in what ship he would sail.
This promise was kept, for, the week after, I received a letter fromhim, informing me--that he had embarked in the ship "Kent," bound forLondon.
I could not help offering up a silent prayer, that favouring winds wouldsafely waft him to his native shore; and that his long-cherished hopesmight meet with a happy realisation.
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END OF VOLUME TWO.
Volume Three, Chapter I.
AN ADVENTURE WITH A "BLACK FELLOW."
Shortly after the departure of Oakes, I went to a little rush, on SlatyCreek, on the Creswick's Creek Gold-fields, about thirteen miles fromBallarat.
I was accompanied by two others, with whom I had lately been working.Soon after arriving at the rush, we took possession of a claim; andproceeded to "prospect" it.
After sinking a small hole on the claim, and washing some of the earthfrom the bottom of it, we found a little gold--not what we thought"payable," and yet the "prospect" was so good that we did not like toforsake the claim. In hopes that it might contain richer "dirt" thanwhat we had found, we determined to stay by it a while longer.
To sink our shaft to any advantage, we needed a crowbar. There weresome very large stones in the ground that could not be moved withoutone. A crowbar was an article we did not possess; and as we could notfind one at the two or three stores established on Slaty Creek, I walkedover, one evening, to Creswick Creek--a distance of some three or fourmiles--intending to purchase one there.
By the time I reached the township, made my purchase, and startedtowards home, it had got to be ten o'clock. About half a mile fromCreswick, on the road homeward, I had to pass a camp of native blacks.
These people, in morality and social habits, are upon a scale, perhaps,as low, as humanity can reach. The sole object of their existence is,to obtain strong drink. For that, they will sometimes work at gatheringbark and poles; or they will look about for stray specks of gold--inplaces where the miners have been working, and which have beenabandoned.
Any one, who understands the strength of their aversion to labour, mayform some idea of the desire these blacks have for drink: when it isknown that they will sometimes do the one for the sake of getting theother!
An Australian native black, after becoming degraded by intercourse withthe whites, will sell his mother, sister, or wife, for brandy!
The party, whose camp I was compelled to pass, had evidently met withsome success, in their various ways of obtaining brandy during that day,for from the noise they were making, I judged that all, or nearly all ofthem, must be in a state of intoxication.
Not wishing to be annoyed, by their begging for tobacco--which I knewthey would be certain to do, should they see me--I resolved to keep outof their way. Instead of following the direct path--which led onthrough the place where they had erected their "_mia-mias_" or huts--Imade a detour of their encampment. After passing well round it, Iturned once more towards the road to Slaty Creek, which, after a time, Isucceeded in regaining.
I had scarce got well upon the track, when I was confronted by a big"black fellow," apparently beside himself with drink.
As a general rule, the native blacks, seen roaming about the_gold-fields_ of Victoria, are seldom guilty of malignant violencetowards the whites; but the man, whom it was now my misfortune to meet,proved an exception to this rule: for the reason, no doubt, that he wasmaddened with alcohol.
As he approached me, I saw that he was brandishing a "waddy waddy," orclub. I strove to avoid him; but found, that although mad with drink,he was active upon his limbs, and able to hinder me from making aretreat. Had I attempted to run away, I should have been brought to astop--by a blow from his "waddy waddy."
I saw that my best chance of safety would be in standing firm, anddefending myself.
The fellow made two desperate lounges at me with his club, which, withsome difficulty, I managed to dodge--and all the while that he wasdelivering his murderous assault, he kept shouting to me, in his nativegibberish--apparently making some important communication, but thenature of which I had not the slightest idea.
Just as I was beginning to consider the affair serious, and waspreparing to act on the offensive, the black made a third blow with hiswaddy waddy. This I was unable, altogether, to avoid; and the clubstruck heavily against one of my legs.
Irritated by the pain produced, I could no longer control my temper;and, grasping the crowbar with both hands, I aimed a blow at the blackfellow's head.
I did not strike with the intention of killing the man. I only knewthat my life was in danger; and that I was suffering great pain from thewound I had received. This, however, had irritated me beyond the powerof controlling myself; and, no doubt, my whole strength was given to thestroke.
The crowbar descended upon the black fellow's naked crown; and nevershall I forget the horrible sound made by the crashing in of his skull.It was not only horrible, but sickening; and for a moment, completelyunmanned me. It was not the mere thought, that I had broken a man'shead, that unmanned me, for I had both witnessed, and taken part, inmany a sanguinary scene before that--without feeling any such remorsefulemotion. It was the horrid sound--caused by the crashing in of hisskull--that not only overcame me, but, for a time, rendered me faint,sick, and disgusted with the world, and all it contained.
That sound echoed in my ears for hours afterwards; and, ever since thattime, I have carefully avoided being near any place where a "free fight"was about to take place--lest it might be my misfortune to hear asimilar sound.
The day after, it was reported, that the blacks were entertainingthemselves with a funeral. I did not learn the particulars of theceremony; but, presume it was similar to a funeral I had witnessed amonga tribe of the same people on Fryer's Creek, in July, 1853. One oftheir number had been killed, by another of the tribe; and, on the nextday, I was present at the performance of their funeral rites, over theremains of the murdered man.
A grave was dug, about five feet deep--into which the body was lowered,and a sheet of bark laid over it. The earth was then filled in; andwhile this was being done, by one man, two others stood inside thegrave, stamping upon the dirt, and treading it down, as firm as theycould make it!
What could have been their object in thus _packing_ the dead body, Inever understood, unless it was done, under the impression, that thecorpse might come to life again, without this precaution being taken tokeep it under ground!
Volume Three, Chapter II.
FARRELL AND HIS WIFE, ONCE MORE.
Three weeks "prospecting," at Slaty Creek, convinced me that it was notthe place for a gold-digger to make his fortune, without the severestlabour; and for this reason, I left it--returning to Ballarat.
On arriving at the latter place, I went to see my old Californianacquaintance, Farrell. The instant I set eyes on him, and he on me, hisfeatures plainly proclaimed that he had something to tell me, which hedeemed very amusing.
"Farrell," said I, "you are working a rich claim; I see fortune writtenon your face."
"Nothing of the kind," he answered; "I have just finished a tolerablespell of digging, it is true; and shall start for home to-morrow. Butit ain't that; I have better news still."
"Better news? What can it be!"
"I've seen Foster, and my wife. Ha! ha! they've been living in sight ofmy tent for the last four months; and I never knew they were there untiltwo days ago!"
"Then you have seen Foster?"
"Certainly, I have!"
"What did you do to him?"
"Nothing. Fate is giving me all the revenge I want; and I would notinterfere with her designs--not for the world. In saying that Foster isthe most miserable object I've seen for
many years. I speak only thetruth. He has a rheumatic fever, and hasn't been able to stir out ofhis tent for six weeks. He will probably never go out of it again--thatis, alive. Now, I call that fun; isn't it?"
"Not much for Foster, I should think. But how came you to find them?"
"I was in my tent, one morning, when I heard a woman talking to mypartner, who happened to be outside just by the door. The woman waswanting to get some washing to do. She said, that her husband had beena long time ill; and that they hadn't a shilling to live upon. Ithought her voice sounded familiar to me; and, taking a peep out of thetent, I saw at once it was my runaway wife! I waited till she walkedaway; and then, slipping out, I followed her to her own tent. She wentinside, without seeing me; and then I stepped in after her, and stoodquietly surveying the guilty pair.
"My wife went off into a fit of