Chapter II.

The screaming kakas in Macpherson's Gully seemed strangely excited as they dashed back and forth among the pine tops, alternately attracted and repelled by the steady stroke of the axe beneath.

Suddenly, the sound of the axe was hushed, and a loud stentorian voice sung out excitedly:—“Look out there, Pete, stand from under, quick! Damnation! A loud, resonant crack—another, then a sharp succession of crackling sounds like the rapid discharging of revolvers, and with a mighty swish the giant pine went crashing down the precipitous sidling into the bottom of the gully. Snugly ensconced under an overhanging ledge of reef, close by the edge of the little creek that went tumbling down the gully on its way to the sea, lay the man to whom the warning shouts had been addressed. Not a scratch had he received from the falling pine, but a curious, and quite unlooked-for danger threatened him. The great tree in its descent had brushed before it a dense heap of scrub which, being now firmly jammed into the deep, narrow cleft forming the bed of the creek, had the effect of backing the water so rapidly, that in a twinkling “Pete”

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was floated out of his hiding place, and left entangled in a mass of supple jacks and lawyers, from which he vainly endeavoured to free himself. His predicament was serious, as in his struggles his head kept bobbing up and down, now above, and now under the surface of the water, which was still rising. His mates, however, who had hastily scrambled to his assistance, reached him in time, and he was hauled out of the trap, and helped up the sidling to a place of safety.

“Cot tamit all poys, why you not shpeak pefore, sooner?” he ejaculated, with such spluttering grimaces that the comicality of his appearance, now the danger was over, evoked the hilarity of his companions. “Vat for you laff, Mac? A shoke's a shoke, but to vall dot tam pig bine dree on der headt of beoples, is shoost a leetle too goot. Dot's vat I say.”

“I sung out to you at the first indication of danger, old man,” said Mac, “but you see, Pete, it was this way. We intended, as you know, to fall that tree right across the gap, where it would have been nearly in its proper position as the top log of the dam, but a sudden gust of wind caught it aloft and the darned thing came down before its time, in the wrong direction, too, by a long sight, and so it came about that you had such a devil of a narrow squeak for it— but here comes Larry with some dry togs for you.”

“Here ye are Pate me bhoy, get off your wet duds and get into these, an' ye'll be as right as ninpence. Ye're worth a dozen dead Dutchmen yet, begorra, in spite of the big scare ye got. Troth, it 'ud make any man feel a bit quare to be washed out ov a hole like a dhrownded rat, an' faith if Alick hadn't caught howlt ov ye when he did, it's mesilf 'ud feel a thrifle onaisy about you now.”

“Dot's shoost it, Larry. I vas drowndt out like a vasht rat, and den nearly schoked mit der plutty sooble yacks.”

Having got on some dry clothing, however, Pete began to feel more comfortable, so with the remark that “dot shob deserfs von shmoke,” he filled and lit his pipe, his mates following his example.

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While thus enjoying their smoke, let me take the opportunity of introducing you, my reader, more particularly to the company. The party consisted of four. First:—Neil Macpherson, (Mac) a strong, thickset man about fifty years of age. Rough, grizzled, shaggy as a bear, he looked a fair sample of the daring, indefatigable prospector. He had roughed it in many parts of the world, civilized and uncivilized. His wide experience and great power of work combined with a certain firmness of character, had generally gained him the ascendancy among his mates, whether in California, South Africa, Australia, or New Zealand, and in the present “crowd” he was tacitly acknowledged as leader. Second:—Peter Bergh (Pete), a native of Hamburgh. Had originally been a sailor, but like many others had, years ago, deserted his ship to follow the diggings on the West Coast. Had remained there ever since, experiencing the usual ups and downs of a digger's life. Was a good steady mate, and a capital hand at panning off. Indeed, it was commonly said that where Pete failed to find the colour, nobody else need try. Third: — Laurence Doolan (Larry), a young Irish new chum who, fascinated by some glowing newspaper reports from the gold-fields, had made his way straight from the ship's side, determined to push his fortune at the diggings. Fourth: —“Alick,” none other than our friend Alick Spencer, now almost as bronzed and rough in appearance as Mac himself. Eight months have elapsed since Alick first reached Canvastown, the scene of the rush. To his great disappointment, he found on his arrival that all the best ground, and much that was quite the antipodes of that, was already pegged off. Some of the claims were rich and paying handsomely, others, fairly well; many were duffers, but the great majority were simply being shepherded, their occupiers waiting till some of their more enterprising neighbours had bottomed, in order to decide by the result whether to sink or shift their pegs.

Alick was anxious to begin work at once—could not brook the thought of delay, and meeting with a few others

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as eager as himself, they agreed to join in as mates and start operations at once. Accordingly, they duly pegged off and “set in” on a piece of ground where nobody supposed they would get the colour. But strangely enough, in a couple of days, to the astonishment of everybody, they struck gold, and that too in payable wash. Needless to say, they were delighted. The wash was indeed rather thin, but they had good hopes of it making as they advanced. Instead of making however, it gradually got thinner, and in little over a week, to their utter chagrin, ran out altogether!

Nothing daunted, they shifted their pegs to fresh ground and again “set in”—and again bottomed on gold! This time there was a fair quantity of wash, but the gold was so thinly distributed, that after some weeks' persevering labour, the claim was abandoned as not payable. A similar result attended their next essay. And so it went on for months; always at work, always on gold, yet always on ground so poor that the yield seldom did more than pay expenses. Alick was now sorely discouraged, had some thoughts of giving up further attempts, but a visit from Macpherson, with whom he had formed a casual acquaintance on his first arrival, served to revive his hopes. Mac informed him that he had just struck a rich patch in a gully about twenty miles away, where he had been fossicking for some time, and that he was now quietly forming a small party to go out and work the ground. He wanted one more man, and had decided to give Alick the chance of joining. Was he on? Alick was, and at once agreed to set out the following day, arranging to meet the rest of the party at a certain spot in the bush before daylight next morning.

About noon of the day following that on which they started, they reached their destination—Macpherson's Gully, at that time unchristened, and indeed but little known. After fixing their tents and having some dinner, they turned out to have a look at the ground, and before long had seen enough to raise Alick's spirits as much as

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they had formerly been depressed. Digging a hole they struck the reef at a depth of about three feet. They found gold in the stuff right through from top to bottom; but close to the reef was a layer of black sand, about eight inches thick, which was particularly rich. This layer, Mac considered, would yield fully fifteen penny-weights to the load. A handful of the sand deftly washed out by Pete on along handled shovel left such a ring of the bright yellow metal behind it as fairly dazzled Alick's eyes, and he turned in that night strongly impressed with the notion that the streak of luck he had longed for, had at last made its appearance.

Next day they made a more extended examination of their claim. They found that the patch consisted of a narrow strip of wash running parallel with, and close to the edge of the little creek. The average depth was between two and three feet, and try where they would, the prospects obtained were as favourable as those of the preceding day. Being now fully satisfied as to the value of the ground, they fell to considering the best and most expeditious way of working it. To secure a steady supply of weater was of paramount importance. During wet weather, the creek itself contained water amply sufficient for their purpose, but at other times it was a mere string of tiny pools. Leading them to a spot about a quarter of a mile above the claim, Mac showed them a place where the sides of the defile approached each other so closely as to form a narrow gap. At this point he proposed to erect a dam, and as above the gap the gully again opened out and ran comparatively flat for some distance, he calculated that they would have storage for a body of water sufficient to enable them to work continuously. Mac's proposal received unanimous approval, and no time was lost in setting about the job, in the execution of which, the incident befell with which this chapter opened.

The work of construction occupied a month—a month of laborious days. They toiled like galley slaves, though not like them in hopeless monotony, few men ever laboured

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more heartily, or took more pleasure in their work. Only to the slave and the underpaid hireling is labour a curse. To the man who works with a reasonable hope of being able to achieve a position of independence, labour becomes a mere feather weight, and the severest toil is borne with a joyous fortitude that no difficulties can daunt.

During this time, their mode of life was simple in the extreme, healthful, and not on the whole unpleasurable; its distinguishing characteristics being hard work by day, and sound sleep by night. The short interval of recreation between the day's labour and “turning in” for the night, was sometimes devoted to yarns of the stirring-adventure type, consisting chiefly of reminiscences drawn from the rich experience of Mac and Pete. Mac, in particular, had a large fund of exciting exploits to relate, and to him the little camp owed much of its enlivenment. He had the rare knack of telling a story in such a way as to give his hearers a vivid conception of his meaning with scarcely any mental effort on their part. His word-pictures, though flawed perhaps by a too liberal garnishing of unparliamentary language, had all the realism of panoramic views. Nor was it only as a story-teller that Mac bore the palm, for when, as frequently happened, subjects of political or social importance cropped up for discussion, his information was found to be far beyond that of his mates, and they gladly yielded to him the lead in the Symposium. He was one of those men, not uncommon on the gold-fields, who unite with a hardy frame and adventurous spirit, keen powers of observation and a faculty for forming strong opinions of men and things, which opinions they hold in a bold uncompromising fashion, and are ever ready to give utterance to in the least conventional language.

A favourite subject of his was the pitiful state of the masses in the great centres of civilization. How to permanently alleviate the condition of the labouring poor, he held to be the most important, most pressing of latter-day problems. When his mates got him to hold forth on this topic, they were only too pleased to listen, as the subject

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lay near to their hearts, and the sentiments of the speaker were generally such as met with their cordial approval.

In the succeeding chapter I shall take an opportunity of placing before you, my reader, some of Mac's utterances on this topic, trusting to the importance of the subject to justily the digression.