CHAPTER XXXII

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*HOW THEY STRUCK GOLD*

"There's a bonny wee spot in the mountains I love, Where the pine trees are waving o'erhead far above, Where the miners are happy, kindhearted, and free; And many come here from way over the sea. There's gold in the mountain, there's gold in each glen, The good time is coming, have patience, brave men; Hold on to your ledges, and soon you will see Both money and mills coming over the sea." C. CRAWFORD.

Jago Smith was an "old timer," as, in Colonial parlance, men with his past were called. A Londoner by birth, he was initiated when but a child into the arts and artifices of that profession which flourishes by the application of sleight-of-hand tricks to the pockets and purses of an unsuspecting public. In short, this London arab was a thief, belonging to just such a school as Dickens has portrayed in _Oliver Twist_.

His career as a collector of "wipes" was brought to a summary end through being caught full-handed in a theatre crush. A "Children's Court," or a "First Offender's Act," was unknown in the early days of the nineteenth century; consequently young Jago Smith was had up before the magistrate, committed to the Assizes, convicted to the hulks, and ultimately transported to Botany Bay to serve a term of penal servitude.

At a theatrical effort made by certain prisoners of histrionic talent at Sydney, at the tail-end of the eighteenth century, to which first Governor Philip and his wife were "graciously" invited, the following lines form part of the prologue composed for the occasion--

"From distant climes, o'er wide-spread seas, we come, But not with much eclat or beat of drum. True patriots all; for be it understood, We left our country for our country's good.

No private views disgraced our generous zeal, What urged our travels was our country's weal, And none can doubt, but that our emigration Has proved most useful to the British nation."

Fourteen years' penal servitude for the theft of a few pocket-handkerchiefs! Such a sentence to-day would be regarded as a monstrous iniquity; it passed without comment in those days.

But transportation was not an unmixed evil to Jago Smith. As early as 1793 schools were started at the penal settlement, under the impression that they would be the most likely means of effecting a reformation in the morals of youthful prisoners.

Jago, with the consent of the master to whom he was assigned on landing, attended a night school, and gained some insight into the three R's.

[Illustration: "'We've struck it rich, I do believe,' cried the stockman."--_See p._ 295.]

After a somewhat varied career, the ex-pickpocket, who had served his time, became a settler on Rocky Creek; and when the Rocky Gully gold rush set in he drove a very profitable trade with the diggers. In addition to raising cattle on his selection, Smith kept an accommodation house, where board and lodging was to be had. As the place was on the public road, about five miles from the diggings, it received much patronage. Jago was very proud of his signboard. It was an incontestable proof of his accomplishments in writing and spelling.

ACKOMERDASHON FUR MAN AN BESTE SMALL BIER SOULED HEAR GORD SIVE TH E KWEEN J SMITH

As the party drew up to the hitching blocks, old Jago, who was lounging in an arm-chair in the verandah, hobbled out to the front, quietly surveying the group; to whom Harry addressed himself.

"Good-evenin', Mister Smith. How are yer gettin' on these times?"

"Not gettin' any younger, you may be sure. But who be you?"

"Don't yer remember me, Jago?" replied the stockman, walking up to the old man.

"Yes; I see who it is now. You be the boy wot worked with old Humpy, an' used ter stay here when Bob had an attack of the jim-jams."

"The same, ole chap. We're goin' to put up here for the night, and intend goin' on to-morrer to where me an' Humpy worked when 'e was took. Got room for us, I s'pose?"

"Plenty o' room, me lad. Not over rushed with travellers these times. Better take your 'orses round ter the back; ye'll find the saddle-room in the old plice, an' yer can turn the neddies inter the paddock. There's plenty o' grass fer 'em."

The boys were ready for the supper of homely fare which awaited them at sunset. After supper, Harry and the old man got into a conversation, in which the former stated that he was determined to have a try at the old claim; for, though Humpy had put it about when working it that it was a "shicer," Harry, of course, knew differently. The gold-bearing stuff, it is true, was but a thin vein, but they expected it to develop into something better farther on. Old Jago informed him that no one had touched the spot, so far as he knew. Yes, he had some picks and shovels and prospecting dishes, which he had taken as payment at one time and another from hard-ups. Harry was welcome to make a selection.

This the stockman did without any delay. He took from the curious assortment of diggers' tools two picks, two short-handled shovels, two prospecting dishes, the roller and handle of a windlass, a couple of buckets, some stout rope, a length of chain, a strong hook, a crowbar, and a pound or two of blasting powder.

These he obtained as a loan, for Smith would not hear of pay. He viewed the whole thing in the light of a joke. The idea of Harry starting to work a claim with a parcel of kids who had never seen a gold shaft in their lives, with a time limit of three or four days at the most! The stockman was but humouring the fancies and ambitions of the kids. They, no doubt, expected to locate the golden nuggets in the same fashion that they would track a missing bullock on the bush, or run down a wild cat to its lair in a hollow log. Well, they would at least develop their arm muscles and have blistered hands to show their friends. So the old settler--who at the time of the rush had listened to the confident prediction of many a greenhorn, going post-haste to pick up the nuggets that were waiting for somebody to tumble over. Not so Harry; he, at least, was no greenhorn. He would give the abandoned workings a trial. It would be a novelty for the boys, and though they mightn't get anything to boast about, would, he was confident, get enough to give each member of the party a souvenir of the visit.

Leaving the accommodation house after an early breakfast, the band of diggers, for such we must now call them, arrived at the old workings in a couple of hours, passing _en route_ two or three fossikers who were working their shows. These ancients looked with a degree of astonishment upon this cluster of youths, whose very jauntiness was suggestive of a prime lark.

Arrived at the diggings, the party had a good look round. Intense solitude reigned everywhere, and save for the heaps of rusty cooking utensils and other rubbish there was little to indicate that the place had once been a busy hive of life and energy. An old signboard, written by another hand than had done Jago Smith's, was seen nailed to a tree. Its language was simple and to the point.

ROYAL HOTEL ALL DRINKS 6c.

_N.B.--Clean Glasses_

Harry took a rapid survey of the situation. The place apparently had not been disturbed since the fatal accident. The old tent poles remained as he had left them, and there was no evidence of any one having camped there for years.

Proceeding to the tunnel, which, as previously described, was driven into the perpendicular bank of a deep gully, things looked pretty much as they did on that fatal day, excepting that the earth had fretted away about the tunnel mouth, and, on venturing in a short distance, the man saw that the roof had broken down, completely blocking the mine.

"Well, Harry," exclaimed Joe, when the leader emerged from the tunnel mouth, which the boys had been eagerly watching, "is it all clear? Did you go to the end?"

Didn't git half-way. Tunnel's half blocked."

"What a pity!" chorused the lads.

"Dunno 'bout that; cause, yer see, it's proof ter me no one's bin interferin.'"

"'Twon't be a heavy job to clear it out, will it?" continued Joe.

"Carn't say; depends on the amount that's fallen. But 'tain't my notion ter use the tunnel at all. Yer see, it's this way: it may take us an hour or a day to clear the rubbage outer the tunnel. When we'd done that, we'd have ter do two other things afore we could tackle the wash-dirt. Fust an' foremost, there's plenty of foul air in the far end of the drive, like wot nearly pisened you coves in the caves. Let me tell you, it's hard work clearing the stinkin' air outer a tunnel. You can git it outer a shaft easy enough, by tyin' a bunch o' bushes onter a rope and running 'em up an' down; but it's mighty hard work clearin' a tunnel, an' orften a long job. Then, s'posin' we got it out, we'd have ter shore up the whole blessed length; for, let me tell you, I'm not goin' ter run any risks in this 'ere job. We've had fright enough over Joe an' the shark, an' I cuddent face the Boss an' the missus if anything happened to any of you here. Now, to shore up this blessed tunnel'd take a power of timber, an' ter git it an' fix it'd take a far longer time than we've got."

"Oh, I say, Harry," cried Tom in tones of deep disappointment, voicing the feelings of the group of boy diggers, "don't tell us it's all a go, an' we're to return without havin' a try! Can't you find some other spot?"

"Harry, ye spalpeen, Oi dhramed all laast night Oi was diggin' up gowlden prr-aties, an', ochone! Oi'd just stuck th' pick into a monsther iv a prr-atie, a ton weight at the laast, an' was tryin' me best to upind her wid a laver, whin owld Jago comes bangin' at th' dure. Begor! Oi was sweatin' loike a stoker whin th' owld mahn woke me. Jist give me wan little chanst, me bhoy, an' be Saint Michael Oi'll----"

"Ye'll git yer charnse, Denny, never fret. They's more ways of killin' a pig besides chokin' 'im with a lump o' butter. It never was my plan, boys, ter use the ole tunnel. There's a better way nor that. When me an' ole Humpy drove in 'ere, we wus follerin' a lead, an' ye niver can tell 'ow far yer 'ave ter go: maybe a few feet, maybe a 'undered yards afore it opens out inter a body. So we did the right thing then. Now I propose ter put down a shaft, to tap the wash-dirt jist erbout the end of the tunnel, or, maybe, a little furder up nor that. I calkerlate we'll tap it in twenty feet or so. I know the clarss of country we'll have to go through. All this bank's wot we call 'made up.' It's a formation called pudden stone. It's formed o' river wash, an' is pretty pebbly. The pebbles is the plums. We'll go through it in a couple o' days at most, an' that'd give us two days more afore we need clear orf 'ome."

The boys were delighted beyond measure at Harry's proposal, and set about rigging up the camp near the spot which the leader had selected to put down the shaft.

While the pals were doing this, Harry and Denny set to work at sinking the shaft. So expeditious were they that by night they had sunk the hole about ten feet and had rigged up the windlass. All the boys had a turn at digging, which they enjoyed immensely because of the novelty of the work. Harry and Denny, however, did the main part, while the lads manned the windlass, and hauled up the stuff from time to time, as the buckets were filled.

At daylight next morning the party were eating breakfast preparatory to a long day's work at the shaft. They had to do a good deal of blasting, for some of the stones were too heavy to haul up, and that consumed time. It was verging on evening when, clearing up a rather heavy blast, Harry, who had gone down to fill the bucket, cried out, "Haul up quick! we've broken through. Foul air!"

On winding their comrade up, he declared that the blast had broken the ground into the tunnel, and that the foul air was coming freely into the bottom of the shaft. "We'll let it stay as it is till termorrer, an' then we'll clear it out."

The pals went to sleep that night to dream about the El Dorado which, in their imagination, they had struck. The earliest dawn found them at the shaft's mouth. Harry tied several bushes to the end of the rope, and this was rapidly lowered and raised for about a couple of hours, the condition below being tested from time to time by a lighted candle placed in a bucket and lowered to the bottom. At last it remained alight, though it burned very feebly. About half an hour after this, the candle, on being sent below again, burned brightly.

"It's all right, now, boys! We've got rid of the gas, that's a blessing. Lower away!" In a few seconds Harry was filling the buckets with the broken rock and earth. In a short time it was all cleared up, and the leader had started to drive along the line of the vein. He had not cut in more than a couple of feet when he threw down the pick and shouted up the shaft, "Hurroar, boys! I've struck a patch. Be gosh, it looks like a pocket!"

The excitement above at this good news may be better imagined than described. The vein of wash-dirt suddenly expanded into a cube of about sixty buckets of auriferous earth. It was a genuine though small pocket. Whether rich or poor could be determined only by washing.

Harry filled a bucket with the dirt, which was speedily hauled up. The next minute he was pulled to the surface, and, spreading the stuff on the ground, examined it. To the great delight of the pals, he picked out several large specks and a small nugget, scaling about half an ounce.

"It's all right, mates!" cried the stockman, now almost as excited as the boys. "We've struck it rich, I do believe. Sandy, me boy, git your nag an' a packhorse, an' streak fur Jago's as fast as yer can git, an' borry a cradle. It'd take too long ter pan this stuff--must have a cradle. But, look 'ere, don't give the show away. Tell 'im I got a few specks from a bit o' stuff I came acrost, an' that I'm jist goin' ter give it a try. He'll most likely call me a big fool, an' don't yer conterdict 'im."

A cradle, it may be said, is a machine on rockers for washing the auriferous earth. The machine is fed with the wash-dirt, a stream of water being poured on while it is rocked like a child's cradle. The heavy sand and gravel, together with the precious metal, sink to the bottom and are retained by the "ridges," whilst the earth and all light matter pass away with the water. It is finally treated in a dish so skilfully that only the pure metal is left.

While Sandy is speeding off to Jago's the rest are busy picking the pocket and carrying it down to a flat by the side of the tiny stream which ran along the gully bottom. The work was hard, for the wash-dirt was heavy, and the buckets big; but they made fun of the hardships of bruised fingers and strained muscles, as they hauled the precious earth from the shaft mouth, and then humped it to the stream.

They had not quite finished their work ere Sandy reappeared upon the scene with the cradle. Very little grass had grown during the performance of his task.

Scarcely allowing themselves time to bolt down their midday meal, the party were grouped around the cradle, which Harry had fixed within a yard of the stream. The stockman soon made his dispositions of the forces. Joe and Tom are to lift the water and pour it on as required, while he and Sandy work the cradle. Denny is to feed the machine with the dirt.

So the work of "washing up" started. Every now and then Harry stopped the work and "cleaned up" the cradle--that is, took out the heavy golden sand which was caught in the cross-bars of the machine and emptied it in a bag, to be "panned" later. From time to time the party were gladdened by the sight of large specks, and now and then a tiny nugget of some grains' weight. The gold, for the most part, however, was fine. The work went on continuously till night closed in upon them. Though dreadfully tired, they reluctantly abandoned their work for the day, and after supper threw themselves upon their primitive beds and slept the sleep of the just.

"Be up betimes in the morning, boys," was Harry's last word.

The party had to thank a pair of laughing jackasses[#] for their early waking. Perched on the limb of a tree close to the tent, they began their morning orisons at the first paling of the stars, making such a cachinnation as to cause Tom to fly out from his bunk, crying in startled tones, "Dressin', dad; goin' for the cows this minute." While Denny was disturbed sufficiently to turn over on his side, saying in sleepy tones, "Jist repa-ate they swa-ate wurrds agin, Bridget me darlin'! an' sa-ay ye---- Howly Moses, 'tis th' owld Johnny-axes at their thricks!"

[#] Giant kingfisher.

In a few minutes the fire is burning briskly, and as soon as breakfast is demolished the lucky diggers make their way to the gully to start operations. The work was a repetition of yesterday's, and, according to Harry's calculation, they would be finished by noon if they stuck well to the job; bullock teams couldn't have drawn them from it.

After working for about an hour, Denny, who was shovelling the dirt, picked up a lump of rock, saying at the same time, "Oi'll pitch this awa-ay, annyways. It feels moighty heavy, though, for a sthone: 'tis as heavy as lead. Musha, but the sthones ar-re heavy hereabouts!"

"Hey, you fool! don't throw that away. Let's see it," cried Harry, seizing the piece of rock, which was about the size of the lad's head. "Why, great jumpin' Jehosaphat! it's a bloomin' nugget. You precious duffer! if you'd thrown that away I'd 'a' pitched you down the shaft."

The pals dropped their buckets and crowded round the leader as he held the lump with both hands.

"See 'ere, this white rock's quartz, an' all these yaller veins is gold. It isn't wot you'd call a pure nugget, but by the weight of it I guess there's a power of the yaller stuff inside. 'Ere, Tom, streak up ter the tent fur a tommy an' we'll soon see."

Furnished with the tomahawk, the stockman laid the quartz nugget on a flat stone that cropped out of the ground near by, and dealt vigorous blows upon it with the head of the weapon. In this way he crushed the quartz crystal sufficiently for them to see that the gold formed a mass in the centre.

"That's all we'll do at present; we'll crush it out properly in a mortar when we get home. Guess there's full twenty ounces o' gold in 'er."

There were no more such finds in the dirt, but the last few lots yielded a good deal of coarse gold, one piece weighing about four ounces.

By nightfall they had washed out the bagged ore. There it lay on a cloth before the fire, a little heap of pure gold, and beside it the quartz nugget, so to call it.

"Call me a frog-eater if there ain't full seventy ounces o' gold in that there lot--close on three 'undered pounds' worth!"

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