I told them I had been tramping through the heart of the Continent for eight or nine months, and that I had no means of carrying nuggets and quartz about with me. But this explanation only served to renew their merriment, which reached its climax when, in an unguarded moment, I put a question which I had been burning to ask—
“What year is this?”
“This is Bellamy’s ‘Looking Backward’ with a vengeance,” cried one of the prospectors—a sally that was heartily appreciated by the whole of the company, with the exception of myself. I began to think that if this was the reception civilisation had for me, it were better for me to have remained among my faithful savages.
But in a few minutes the men’s demeanour changed, and it was obvious that they looked upon me as a harmless lunatic just emerged from the bush. I was assured that this conclusion was correct when I saw the diggers looking at one another significantly and tapping their foreheads. I resolved to tell them nothing further about myself, well knowing that the more I told them the more convinced they would be that I was a wandering lunatic. I learned that these men were a party of decent young fellows from Coolgardie. They offered me a meal of tea and damper, and pressed me to stay the night with them, but I declined their hospitality. I gratefully accepted a pair of trousers, but declined the offer of a pair of boots, feeling certain that I could not yet bear these on my feet. My rough benefactors told me that I should find many other camps to the south and west; so I wandered off into the bush again and spent the night alone.
My next move was in the direction of Mount Margaret; and along the road which I traversed I came across an interesting variety of picks, shovels, and other mining tools, which had evidently been discarded by disappointed prospectors. I decided not to enter this town but to go round it; then I continued my tramp alone towards Coolgardie and thence to Southern Cross.
After working for some time in the last-named town (my impressions of “civilisation” would make another whole book), I made my way to Perth, the capital of Western Australia. In Perth I was advised that it would be better for me to go to Melbourne, as I would stand a much better chance there of getting a ship on which I might work my passage to Europe. Accordingly I proceeded to Melbourne as soon as I could, and the only noteworthy incident there was my humorous interview with the French Consul. I addressed that dignified functionary in execrable French, telling him that I was a French subject and wanted to be sent back to Europe. I bungled a great deal, and when my French failed I helped myself out with English. The Consul waited patiently till I had finished, stroking his beard the while, and looking at me in the most suspicious manner.
“You claim this because you are a Frenchman?” he said.
“That is so,” I replied, involuntarily relapsing into English once more.
“Well,” he said coldly, as he turned away, “the next time you say you are a Frenchman you had better not use any English at all, because you speak that language better than I do.”
I tried to argue the point with him, and told him I had been shipwrecked, but when I went on to explain how long ago that shipwreck was, he smiled in spite of himself, and I came away. From Melbourne I went to Sydney, and from Sydney to Brisbane.