That this was destined to be the centre of the largest, richest goldfield in Australia, his experience enabled him to decide. From all directions prospecting parties were converging—immediately importing themselves at the Bank. There was but one, at present. The shops and stores were much the same as those on every promising goldfield, perhaps more comprehensive and high-priced. The surroundings were, however, distinctly suggestive of a dry country in a dry season.
For rain does come to these ‘habitations in sicco,’ though chiefly with reluctance and economy. The animals for team and burden were half-starved, sometimes emaciated to a degree. The strings of camels, with their turbaned Afghan drivers, were strangely foreign to his unaccustomed eyes. They stood patient, and uncomplaining, before the larger stores, or arrived laden with wool from the more distant stations, which, owing to the dry season, were unable to forward their fleeces, or obtain supplies without the aid of the ‘ship of the desert.’ There he stood, huge, ungainly, unpopular with [63] ]the teamsters, terrifying to their horses—and all others.
Sullenly regarded by the white labourers as alien to their country and their trade, it yet could not be denied that here, at least, was the right burden-bearer in the right place—in spite of his queer temper, his general unpleasantness, and his incongruous appearance in this twentieth-century Australia, utterly, manifestly indispensable, as he had been in the long-past ages when ‘the famine was sore in the land.’
Mr. Banneret having a taste for exploring, and being also a practised pedestrian, took a longish walk around the outskirts of the town, before returning to the hotel and taking his seat at the dinner-table. This was a long, substantial piece of furniture, amply supplied with materials for a meal of the same character. All sorts and conditions of men were there represented: aristocratic tourists, on the look-out for mining investments—directors, or managers of syndicates, companies, exploring parties, mercantile partnerships, what not. All were animated by the common attraction, most successful of all baits with which to ensnare the soul of man, from the dawn of history. Recruits for the great army of industry, from all lands, of all colours, castes, and conditions—the coach-driver, the teamster, the newly arrived emigrant, the army deserter, the runaway sailor, the stock-rider, the navvy, the shepherd,—all men were free and equal at the Palace Hotel, so long as they could pay for bed and board. Nor was there [64] ]observable any objectionable roughness of tone or manner, in a company formed of such heterogeneous elements.
It is surprising to the ‘observer of human nature’ how the higher tone seems instinctively adopted by the mass, when leavened with gentlefolk, though they may have been wholly unused to its rules and limitations in earlier life.
To Arnold Banneret this was nothing new. Accustomed in his official journeyings to mix occasionally, though not, of course, habitually, with all classes of Australian workers, he knew—no man better—that, given a courteous and unpretending manner, no gentleman, in the true sense of the word, need fear annoyance or disrespect in the remote ‘back block’ region, or the recent goldfield ‘rush.’ It had leaked out that he had ‘come in’ from a find of more than ordinary value, the locality of which was deeply interesting to everybody. But the unwritten code of mining etiquette prevented direct questioning. They knew, these keen-eyed prospectors and workers on so many a field, that the necessary information would soon disclose itself, so to speak, and that the last who followed the tracks of the earlier searchers would have as good a chance of success as the first.
Having satisfied his appetite, a fairly keen one, he betook himself to his bedroom, and wrote at length to his wife, detailing all progress since his last letter, and finishing up with this exceptional statement: ‘This journey has, of course, not been without a certain share of inconvenience, [65] ]and what some people might call hardship. But you know that such wayfaring is in the nature of holiday-making for me. It was, of course, a hazardous adventure, inasmuch as all our small reserve of capital was embarked. A miscalculation would have been wreck, and almost total loss: would have taken years of painful saving and rigid self-denial to have made up the deficit. But now success, phenomenal, assured, has more than justified the risk, the apparent imprudence, everything. Our fortune is made! as the phrase goes; think of that! When the company is floated, the shares allotted, the machinery on the road to Perth, a hundred thousand pounds will be the lowest valuation at which our half share in the “Last Chance” can be calculated. A hundred thousand pounds! Think of that! Of what it means for you, for me, for the children. For everybody concerned. And a good many people will be concerned beneficially in the venture as soon as the money is paid to my account in the Bank of New Holland.
‘I don’t intend that there shall be any risk or uncertainty in the future—apart from those apparently accidental occurrences from which, under God’s providence, no man is free. But I will invest fifty thousand pounds in debentures, well secured; so that, come what will, a comfortable home, a sufficing income, will always be assured to you and the children. Of course I shall resign my appointment as soon as I return, giving the Government all proper notice. Our future home will be in Sydney or Melbourne, on whichever we [66] ]may decide. The children are just at the age when higher educational facilities are required. They have not done badly so far. But they are growing up fast, and upon what they assimilate, intellectually, for the next few years will their social success largely depend.
‘It is needless to dilate upon the endless pleasures and the general advantages of the possession of ample means, now, for the first time in our lives, enjoyed, or about to be provided for us, before the fruition is accomplished. I have always been averse to a too sanguine appropriation of the probable treasure. Alnaschar’s basket is still to be met with. And I must cross both desert sand, and ocean wave, before I can pour into your ear the tale of my strange adventures and their marvellous ending. For the present, I conclude, full of thankfulness, but, I trust, not unduly elated. “People I have met” will furnish many an hour’s talk, not the least of whom are my two mates and partners—one of whom is now delving away at the claim with old Jack Waters, as if to the manner born; and the other, whom I expect will rejoin me before sunset, is unromantically driving the light waggon containing all our goods and chattels. These “labouring men” are of a type unlikely to be found in any land less contradictory to all preconceived ideas than Australia. They are, in fact and truth, genuine English aristocrats—one being Lord Newstead, the other the Honourable Denzil, son of the Earl of Southwater. They are quite young, hardly past their majority, in fact; but [67] ]full of pluck, hungering for adventure, and resolving to see it out before they turn their backs on this Eldorado of the West. Particularly the Honourable Denzil, who is a born explorer and pathfinder. He will make his mark, if I mistake not, before he is many years older.
‘It is a great pleasure to me, as you may believe, to work with men of this sort. No doubt we are mutually helpful—their high spirits, and sanguine anticipations, tend to raise mine, which my experience (not to mention that of old Jack) moderates. We have been, since we forgathered, as Scotch people say, a cheerful and congenial party, destined, I think, to become firm friends and attached comrades in the future.’