“How far to the claim?” he asked.
One of the miners pointed to a hillock of yellow and red earth by the side of which a rude stage had been erected, and a rope wound around, from which depended a raw hide bucket.
Moving up, he was aware of a shaft sunk to a depth of fifty or sixty feet; from appearances, the precious metal had been extracted by rude appliances on the bank of the creek, still running briskly through the little flat.
“I’m the captain of this claim,” said the big miner, “elected by a majority of the shareholders, so, till I’m turned out, I’ll have all the say.” The other diggers nodded. “You’re new to the game, mister, so I’ll give you the easiest show to begin with. Later on, you can tackle the pick and shovel. We three go below, one at a time, you see how it’s done, and be middlin’ careful: there’s a man’s life on the rope every time, and if you let the windlass run away with you, out he goes! Next man in.”
Sitting down on the “brace,” the miner took hold of the hide rope above his head with both hands, while one of the others at the windlass began to lower him slowly down, a short strong piece of pointed timber, referred to as the “sprag,” being inserted into the roller, through which the hide rope ran, in order to check its velocity, and give the man at the windlass control.
Blount looking down, saw him gradually descend, until the bottom of the shaft was reached. The second man was lowered. When the third with his foot in a bight of the rope prepared to descend, he felt a little nervous, which the miner was quick to observe. “Don’t be afraid of killin’ me, mate! just hold on to the windlass-handle like grim death. It’ll come easy after a bit.” He laughed as he commenced to descend, saying, “When you hear this tin arrangement clap together, it means ‘haul away.’”
Mr. Blount was most careful, and finding that he could manage the windlass easily, with the help of the “sprag” aforesaid, became more confident. The next excitement was when the clapper sounded, and he began to haul up. But the weight below seemed to be too great. The rope refused to draw up the bucket. Then he noticed that the “sprag” was still in the roller.
Smiling at his mistake he took it out, and immediately began to haul up. Though a good pull it was not a difficult task for an athletic young man, in high health and spirits. So he bent his back to the work, and presently the hide bucket, filled with yellow and red clay, came to the surface; this he drew on one side, and tilted over on to the “tip” or “mullock” heap, having to that extent been instructed. Lowering it again he continued the somewhat monotonous work, without cessation, till noon, when a double note on the clapper warned him that his mates desired to revisit upper air. This ascent accomplished safely, the billy was boiled, and dinner, so called, notwithstanding the early hour, was disposed of.
“My word! you’re gettin’ on fine, mate,” said the big miner, “and that reminds me, what are we to call you? You needn’t trouble about your real name, if you want to keep it dark. Many a good man’s had to do that hereabouts. Anyway, on a goldfield it’s no one’s business but the owner’s, but we must call you somethin’!”
“Call me Jack Blunt. It’s near enough for the present.”