During my stay in Melbourne the gold-fever was at its height. I was particularly interested in the mines, and went to Ballarat to see how the British managed these things. It was while I was there, as it happened, that the great "bonanza nugget" was discovered. I shall never forget the impression that this discovery and its tragic ending made upon my mind. It is a story that the world has heard many times, perhaps, and as many times forgotten; but for one who felt its terrible lesson stamped hot upon his heart, it is unforgettable.
There were lucky and unlucky miners in Australia, as there have been everywhere else in the world's gold-fields. Many found great nuggets that contained fortunes—"infinite riches in a little room"—while many more found nothing but infinite hardship and heart-breaking misery. Among the army of broken men, there was a "hobo" named Hooligan who had not found any gold, could no longer find even work, and was starving. One day he went to the owners of a mine or shaft that had been worked out, and asked permission to go down to try his luck. They consented. The desperate fellow took his pick and descended to the bottom of the shaft. In a few minutes he was worth a fortune. He had found the biggest nugget ever taken out of the earth's treasure-house. Two hundred feet below the surface of the ground, he had driven his pick, by merest chance, against a lump of gold that would have transmuted Midas's wand into better metal.
He came up out of the shaft, knowing that he had found a pretty big sum, but did not realize how much it was. The nugget was brought up and weighed. It had exactly the weight of a barrel of flour, 196 pounds. He was rich. That morning he had been a beggar, and now he was the richest miner in the fields. They weighed the gold carefully, and told him that he was a rich man.
"Is—all—that—mine?" he asked, as if the words were as heavy as the big nugget and as valuable. They told him it was. "It doesn't belong to the Government?" "No." "All mine," he said in a whisper, and dropped to the floor, dead.
No one knew him. His name even was not known. He was a mere restless wanderer upon the face of the earth, and had broken his heart over the biggest nugget, the richest piece of gold, on the globe. And so the nugget became the property of the Government, after all.
Capt. David D. Porter, who was afterward admiral of the United States navy, visited Melbourne while I was there, and I gave him a reception, at which he met the prominent people of the colony. He was a relative of mine. I was very proud of him then, though more so later. He was in command of the Golden Age, which was afterward famous for the Black Warrior incident. He invited my wife and myself to go with him in his ship to Sydney, New South Wales. We had a delightful trip around the island. The ship made as great a sensation in Sydney as it had made in Melbourne. The American flag had rarely been seen above a man-of-war in those waters. At Sydney we met Sir Charles Fitzroy, Governor of New South Wales, as well as prominent people in civil and official life. Sir Charles Fitzroy was a survival of the old "beau" days of the court of the last of the Georges, and had the heavy courtesy of that time, when everything said or done was accompanied by a low bow and a gracious smile. He entertained us handsomely at Government House. We were also entertained by Sir Charles Nicholson, at his beautiful country seat. I had the peculiar pleasure, while in Australia, of fulfilling one of the prophecies of Sidney Smith, made when he had been editor of the Quarterly Review some forty years before. He said, I remembered, that in half a century cargoes of tea—the luxury that England of his day and ours regards as an infallible evidence of civilization—would be landed at the docks of Sydney. He referred to Port Jackson, which is now dominated by the thriving city of Sydney, and was then one of the most promising ports of the South Seas. I was, at that time, receiving tea on consignment from Nye, of Canton, China, called the "Napoleon of tea trade," and it occurred to me that Australia should be a good market for it. Three cargoes came from Canton, with instructions that if the market at Melbourne proved unfavorable, one of the cargoes should be shipped to Sydney. It was accordingly sent there, fulfilling the prophecy of Sydney Smith, and opening the tea trade of that portion of Australia.
Sir Charles Nicholson, before we were there, entertained Commodore Wilkes, who was visiting Australia, and who afterward stirred up Great Britain by removing forcibly from the British mail-steamer Trent the Confederate States' agents, Mason and Slidell. I was surprised to find in the harbor two of our old packets, the Anglo-American and the Washington Irving, Captain Caldwell's packet, under changed names. They had been sold to English ship-owners.
Sydney was not a large place at this time, although it was growing fast. It may be well to recall here that it had been founded as a penal colony, the effects of which had not entirely passed away at the time of my visit, although no convicts had arrived since '41, I believe. The influence of Botany Bay had also been felt by Sydney. I was struck by the beautiful, narrow, rock-bound entrance to the harbor. It gives to the port many miles of seashore, and is so winding that when Captain Cook, who discovered it, sailed in and anchored in Botany Bay, some of his sailors reported that they saw from the masthead a large inland lake in the interior. The "lake" proved to be only an apparent one, produced by one of the many windings of the beautiful, sinuous arm of the sea, eventually to hold in its embrace the fine city of Sydney.
We returned from Sydney to Melbourne after a short but delightful visit. Shortly after leaving port we ran into one of the most terrific storms I have ever experienced. It was the right time of the year for gales to appear, and this one, as is characteristic of the wild nature of the South Seas, seemed to spring from a clear sky and unruffled waters. If our boat had been one of the usual type of merchantmen, it must certainly have gone down. But the Golden Age was stanch and strong. She battled with the seas as with a human foe. In spite of her seaworthiness, however, almost every one aboard thought she could not withstand the repeated shock of waves that tumbled in mountains against her bows.
In the midst of the storm, I saw one of the most prominent and richest merchants of Sydney coming across the deck, thrown hither and thither by the tossings of the ship, and carrying in his hands a very heavy package. "For the love of goodness, what have you there?" I asked in amazement. He made no direct reply, and I thought him too much terrified to speak, but he finally came close up to me and said: "Mr. Train, I know you have some influence here on the ship. I have brought with me one thousand sovereigns. They are here"—and he tapped the bag he carried in his hands. "I want you to go with me to the captain and give him this amount for putting me off in a small boat." "A small boat would not live a minute in this sea," I said. "I am prepared," he replied, "to take my chances, as it would be better there than here, for the ship may go down any moment." I refused to go to the captain with so foolish a request, and urged him to be calm, as the ship was stout and would weather the storm. He could not calm himself, but fretted and fumed in terror. As fortune favored us, the gale suddenly stopped, sweeping on away from us as swiftly as it had come. The rich merchant soon took his thousand sovereigns back to his room.