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Lady's Visit to the Gold Diggings of Australia in 1852-53, A.

<h3> Chapter X. </h3> <h3> IRONBARK GULLY </h3> I have said little in description of the Eagle Hawk, for all gullies or valleys at the diggings bear a strong external resemblance one to another. This one differed from others only in being much longer and wider; the sides, as is usually the case in the richest gullies, were not precipitous, but very gradual; a few mountains closed the background. The digging was in many places very shallow, and the soil was sometimes of a clayey description, sometimes very gravelly with slate bottom, sometimes gravelly with pipeclay bottom, sometimes quite sandy; in fact, the earth was of all sorts and depths. At one time there were eight thousand diggers together in Eagle Hawk Gully. This was some months before we visited it. During the period of our stay at Bendigo there were not more than a thousand, and fewer still in the Iron Bark. The reasons for this apparent desertion were several. The weather continued wet and uncertain, so that many who had gone down to Melbourne remained there, not yet considering the ground sufficiently recovered from the effects of the prolonged wet season, they had no desire to run the risk of being buried alive in their holes. Many had gone to the Adelaide diggings, of which further particulars hereafter, and many more had gone across the country to the Ovens, or, farther still, to the Sydney diggings themselves. According to digging parlance, "the Turon was looking up," and Bendigo, Mount Alexander, and Forest Creek were thinned accordingly. But perhaps the real cause of their desertion arose from the altered state of the diggings. Some time since one party netted 900 pounds in three weeks; 100 pounds a week was thought nothing wonderful. Four men found one day seventy-five pounds weight; another party took from the foot of a tree gold to the value of 2000 pounds. A friend of mine once met a man whom he knew returning to Melbourne, walking in dusty rags and dirt behind a dray, yet carrying with him 1,500 pounds worth of gold. In Peg Leg Gully, fifty and even eighty pounds weight had been taken from holes only three or four feet deep. At Forest Creek a hole produced sixty pounds weight in one day, and forty more the day after. From one of the golden gullies a party took up the incredible quantity of one hundred and ninety-eight pounds weight in six weeks. These are but two or three instances out of the many that occurred to prove the richness of this truly auriferous spot. The consequence may be easily imagined; thousands flocked to Bendigo. The "lucky bits" were still as numerous, but being disseminated among a greater number of diggers, it followed that there were many more blanks than prizes, and the disappointed multitude were ready to be off to the first new discovery. Small gains were beneath their notice. I have often heard the miners say that they would rather spend their last farthing digging fifty holes, even if they found nothing in them, than "tamely" earn an ounce a day by washing the surface soil; on the same principle, I suppose, that a gambler would throw up a small but certain income to be earned by his own industry, for the uncertain profits of the cue or dice. For ourselves, we had nothing to complain about. During the short space of time that we had been at Eagle Hawk Gully, we had done as well as one in fifty, and might therefore be classed among the lucky diggers; but "the more people have, the more they want;" and although the many pounds weight of the precious metal that our party had "taken up" gave, when divided, a good round sum a-piece, the avaricious creatures bore the want of success that followed more unphilosophically than they had done before the rich "pocketful" of gold had made its appearance. They would dig none but shallow holes, and a sort of gambling manner of setting to work replaced the active perseverance they had at first displayed. Some days before we left, Eagle Hawk Gully had been condemned as a "worthless place," and a change decided on. The when and the where were fixed much in the following manner: "I say, mates," observed William on the evening of the Sunday on which I had paid my last visit to Harriette, "I say, mates, nice pickings a man got last week in the Iron Bark—only twenty pounds weight out of one hole; that's all." "Think it's true?" said Octavius, quietly. "Of course; likely enough. I propose we pack up our traps, and honour this said gully with our presence forthwith." "Let's inquire first," put in Frank; "it's foolish to change good quarters on such slight grounds." "Good quarters! slight grounds!" cried William; "what next? what would you have? Good quarters! yes, as far as diggings concerned—whether you find anything for your digging is another matter. Slight grounds, indeed! twenty pounds weight in one day! Yes, we ought to inquire; you're right there, old boy, and the proper place to commence our inquiries is at the gully itself. Let's be off tomorrow." "Wait two days longer," said Octavius "and I am agreeable." And this, after a little chaffing between the impatient William and his more business-like comrades, was satisfactorily arranged. Behold us then, on Wednesday the 13th, after having sold all our goods that were saleable, making our way to the Iron Bark Gully. William enacted the part of auctioneer, which he did in a manner most satisfactory to himself, and amusing to his audience; but the things sold very badly, so many were doing the same. The tents fetched only a few shillings each, and the tools, cradles, &c., EN MASSE, were knocked down for half a sovereign. The morning was rather cloudy, which made our pedestrian mode of travelling not so fatiguing as it might have been, had the sun in true colonial strength been shining upon us. This was very fortunately not the case, for we more than once mistook our way, and made a long walk out of a short one—quite a work of supererogation—for the roads were heavy and tiring enough without adding an extra quantity of them. We passed in the close neighbourhood of Sailor's, Californian, American, Long, and Piccaninny Gullies before reaching our destination. Most of these gullies are considered ransacked, but a very fair amount of gold-dust may be obtained in either by the new comer by tin-dish fossicking in deserted holes. These deserted gullies, as they are called, contained in each no trifling population, and looked full enough for comfortable working. What must they have resembled the summer previous, when some hundreds of people leaving a flat or gully was but as a handful of sand from the sea-shore! Before evening we arrived at the Iron Bark. This gully takes its name from the splendid trees with which it abounds; and their immense height, their fluted trunks and massive branches gave them a most majestic appearance. We paused beneath one in a more secluded part, and there determined to fix our quarters for the night. The heavy "swags" were flung upon the ground, and the construction of something resembling a tent gave them plenty to do; the tomahawks, which they carried in their belts, were put into immediate requisition, and some branches of the trees were soon formed into rough tent-poles. The tent, however, though perhaps as good as could be expected, was nothing very wonderful after all, being made only of some of the blankets which our party had brought in their swags. Beneath it I reposed very comfortably; and, thanks to my fatiguing walk, slept as soundly as I could possibly have done beneath the roof of a palace. The four gentlemen wrapped themselves in their blankets, and laid down to rest upon the ground beside the fire; their only shelter was the foliage of the friendly tree which spread its branches high above our heads. Next morning William was for settling ourselves in the gully. He wanted tents, tools, &c., purchased, but by dint of much talking and reasoning, we persuaded him first to look well about, and judge from the success of others whether we were likely to do any good by stopping there. We soon heard the history of the "twenty-pound weight" story. As Frank and Octavius had at once surmised, it originated in a party who were desirous to sell their claims and baggage before starting for Melbourne. I believe they succeeded—there are always plenty of "new chums" to be caught and taken in—and the report had caused a slight rush of diggers, old and new, to the gully. Many of these diggers had again departed, others stayed to give the place a trial; we were not among the latter. The statements of those who were still working were anything but satisfactory, and we were all inclined to push on to Forest Creek. Meanwhile, it is Thursday afternoon. All but Frank appear disposed for a siesta; he alone seems determined on a walk. I offer myself and am accepted as a companion, and off we go together to explore this new locality. We proceeded up the gully. Deserted holes there were in numbers, many a great depth, and must have cost a vast amount of manual labour. In some places the diggers were hard at work, and the blows of the pick, the splash of water, and the rocking of the cradle made the diggings seem themselves again. There were several women about, who appeared to take as active an interest in the work as their "better halves." They may often be seen cradling with an infant in their arms. A man and a cart preceeded us up the gully. Every now and again he shouted out in a stentorian voice that made the welkin ring; and the burden of his cry was this: "'Ere's happles, happles, Vandemonian happles, and them as dislikes the hiland needn't heat them." The admirers of the fertile island must have been very numerous, for his customers soon made his pippins disappear. We passed a butcher's shop, or rather tent, which formed a curious spectacle. The animals, cut into halves or quarters, were hung round; no small joints there—half a sheep or none; heads, feet, and skins were lying about for any one to have for the trouble of picking up, and a quantity of goods of all sorts and sizes, gridirons, saucepans, cradles, empty tea-chests, were lying scattered around in all directions ticketed "for sale." We quickly went on, for it was not a particularly pleasant sight, and at some distance perceived a quiet little nook rather out of the road, in which was one solitary tent. We hastened our steps, and advanced nearer, when we perceived that the tent was made of a large blanket suspended over a rope, which was tied from one tree to another. The blanket was fastened into the ground by large wooden pegs. Near to the opening of the tent, upon a piece of rock, sat a little girl of about ten years old. By her side was a quantity of the coarse green gauze of which the diggers' veils are made. She was working at this so industriously, and her little head was bent so fixedly over her fingers that she did not notice our approach. We stood for some minutes silently watching her, till Frank, wishing to see more of her countenance, clapped his hands noisily together for the purpose of rousing her. She started, and looked up. What a volume of sorrow and of suffering did those pale features speak! Suddenly a look of pleasure flashed over her countenance. She sprang from her seat, and advancing towards Frank, exclaimed: "Maybe you'll be wanting a veil, Sir. I've plenty nice ones, stronger, better, and cheaper than you'll get at the store. Summer dust's coming, Sir. You'll want one, won't you? I havn't sold one this week," she added, almost imploringly, perceiving what she fancied a "no-customer" look in his face. "I'll have one, little girl," he answered in a kindly tone, "and what price is it to be?" "Eighteen pence, Sir, if you'd please be so good." Frank put the money into her hand, but returned the veil. This action seemed not quite to satisfy her; either she did not comprehend what he meant, or it hurt her self-pride, for she said quickly: "I havn't only green veils—p'raps you'd like some candles better—I makes them too." "YOU make them?" said Frank, laughing as he glanced at the little hands that were still holding the veil for his acceptance. "YOU make them? Your mother makes the candles, you mean." "I have no mother now," said she, with an expression of real melancholy in her countenance and voice. "I makes the candles and the veils, and the diggers they buys them of me, cos grandfather's ill, and got nobody to work for him but me." "Where do you and your grandfather live?" I asked. "In there?" pointing to the blanket tent. She nodded her head, adding in a lower tone: "He's asleep now. He sleeps more than he did. He's killed hisself digging for the gold, and he never got none, and he says 'he'll dig till he dies.'" "Dig till he dies." Fit motto of many a disappointed gold-seeker, the finale of many a broken up, desolated home, the last dying words of many a husband, far away from wife or kindred, with no loved ones near to soothe his departing moments—no better burial—place than the very hole, perchance, in which his last earthly labours were spent. These were some of the thoughts that rapidly chased one another in my mind as the sad words and still sadder tone fell upon my ear. I was roused by hearing Frank's voice in inquiry as to how she made her candles, and she answered all our questions with a child-like NAIVETE, peculiarly her own. She told us how she boiled down the fat—how once it had caught fire and burnt her severely, and there was the scar still showing on her brown little arm—then how she poured the hot fat into, the tin mould, first fastening in the wicks, then shut up the mould and left it to grow cold as quickly as it would; all this, and many other particulars which I have long since forgotten, she told us; and little by little we learnt too her own history. Father, mother, grandfather, and herself had all come to the diggings the summer before. Her father met with a severe accident in digging, and returned to Melbourne. He returned only to die, and his wife soon followed him to the grave. Having no other friend or relative in the colonies, the child had been left with her aged grandfather, who appeared as infatuated with the gold-fields as a more hale and younger man. His strength and health were rapidly failing, yet he still dug on. "We shall be rich, and Jessie a fine lady before I die," was ever his promise to her, and that at times when they were almost wanting food. It was with no idle curiosity that we listened to her; none could help feeling deeply interested in the energetic, unselfish, orphan girl. She was not beautiful, nor was she fair—she had none of those childish graces which usually attract so much attention to children of her age; her eyes were heavy and bloodshot (with work, weeping, cold, and hunger) except when she spoke of her sick grandfather, and then they disclosed a world of tenderness; her hair hung matted round her head; her cheek was wan and sallow; her dress was ill-made and threadbare; yet even thus, few that had once looked at her but would wish to look again. There was an indescribable sweetness about the mouth; the voice was low and musical; the well-shaped head was firmly set upon her shoulders; a fine open forehead surmounted those drooping eyes; there was almost a dash of independence; a "little woman" manner about her that made one imperceptibly forget how young she was in years. A slight noise in the tent—a gentle moan. "He's waked; I must go to him, and," in a lower, almost a deprecating tone, "he doesn't like to hear stranger folks about." We cheerfully complied with the hint and departed, Frank first putting some money into her hand, and promising to call again for the candles and veils she seemed quite anxious we should take in return. Our thoughts were as busy as our tongues were silent, during the time that elapsed before we reached home. When we entered, we found a discussion going on, and words were running high. My brother and Octavius were for going somewhere to work, not idle about as they were doing now; William wanted to go for a "pleasure trip" to Forest Creek, and then return to Melbourne for a change. Frank listened to it all for some minutes, and then made a speech, the longest I ever heard from him, of which I will repeat portions, as it will explain our future movements. "This morning, when going down the gully, I met the person whom we bought the dray-horses of in Melbourne. I asked him how he was doing, and he answered, 'badly enough; but a friend's just received accounts of some new diggings out Albury way, and there I mean to go.' He showed me also a letter he had received from a party in Melbourne, who were going there. From these accounts, gold is very plentiful at this spot, and I for one think we may as well try our fortune in this new place, as anywhere else. The route is partly along the Sydney road, which is good, but it is altogether a journey of two hundred miles. I would therefore propose (turning to my brother), that we proceed first to Melbourne, where you can leave your sister, and we can then start for the Ovens; and as provisions are at an exorbitant price there, we might risk a little money in taking up a dray-full of goods as before. And as we may never chance to be in this part of Victoria again, I vote that we take William's 'pleasure trip' to Forest Creek, stop there a few days, and then to Melbourne." This plan was adopted. FRIDAY MORNING.—Frank stole out early after breakfast, for a visit to little Jessie. I learnt the full particulars afterwards, and therefore will relate them as they occurred, as though myself present. He did not find her sitting outside the tent as before, and hesitated whether to remain or go away, when a low moaning inside determined him to enter. He pushed aside the blanket, and saw her lying upon an old mattress on the ground; beside her was a dark object, which he could not at first distinguish plainly. It was her grandfather, and he was dead. The moaning came from the living orphan, and piteous it was to hear her. It took Frank but a few minutes to ascertain all this, and then he gently let down the blanket, and hastened to the butcher's shop I have already mentioned. He learnt all that there was to know: that she had no friends, no relatives, and that nothing but her own labour, and the kindness of others, had kept them from starvation through the winter. Frank left a small sum in the butcher's hands, to have the old man buried, as best could be, in so wild and unnatural a place, and then returned to the mourning child. When he looked in, she was lying silent and senseless beside the corpse. A gentle breathing—a slight heaving of the chest, was all that distinguished the living from the dead. Carefully taking her in his arms, he carried her to our tent. As I saw him thus approaching, an idea of the truth flashed across me. Frank brought her inside, and laid her upon the ground—the only resting-place we had for her. She soon opened her eyes, the quick transition through the air had assisted in reviving her, and then I could tell that the whole sad truth returned fresh to her recollection. She sat up, resting her head upon her open hands, whilst her eyes were fixed sullenly, almost doggedly, upon the ground. Our attempts at consolation seemed useless. Frank and I glanced at one another. "Tell us how it happened," said he gently. Jessie made no answer. She seemed like one who heard not. "It must have been through some great carelessness—some neglect," pursued Frank, laying a strong emphasis on the last word. This effectually roused her. "I NEVER left him—I NEVER neglected him. When I waked in the morning I thought him asleep. I made my fire. I crept softly about to make his gruel for breakfast, and I took it him, and found him dead—dead," and she burst into a passion of tears. Frank's pretended insinuation had done her good; and now that her grief found its natural vent, her mind became calmer, and exhausted with sorrow, she fell into a soothing slumber. We had prepared to start before noon, but this incident delayed us a little. When Jessie awoke, she seemed to feel intuitively that Frank was her best friend, for she kept beside him during our hasty dinner, and retained his hand during the walk. There was a pleasant breeze, and we did not feel over fatigued when, after having walked about eight miles, we sat down beneath a most magnificent gum tree, more than a hundred feet high. Frank very wisely made Jessie bestir herself, and assist in our preparations. She collected dry sticks for a fire, went with him to a small creek near for a supply of water; and so well did he succeed, that for a while she nearly forgot her troubles, and could almost smile at some of William's gay sallies. Next morning, very early, breakfast rapidly disappeared, and we were marching onwards. An empty cart, drawn by a stout horse, passed us. Frank glanced at the pale little child beside him. "Where to?" cried he. "Forest Creek." "Take us for what?" "A canary a-piece." "Agreed." And we gladly sprung in. For the sake of the uninitiated, I must explain that, in digger's slang, a "canary" and half-a-sovereign are synonymous. We passed the "Porcupine Inn." We halted at noon, dined, and about two hours after sighted the Commissioners' tent. In a few minutes the cart stopped. "Can't take yer not no further. If the master seed yer, I'd cotch it for taking yer at all." We paid him and alighted. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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