. . . . . . . . .
How different were all things from the rude discomfort of his first visit!—the earlier stages and stopping-places grown from camps to villages, from villages to towns, from towns to cities having mayors and aldermen; telegraph and post offices, court-houses and churches, in almost, as the newly arrived traveller considered, unnecessary profusion. However, the gold returns had kept up—that was the main, the chief consideration. This month’s return from the field had been the largest yet. Other centres of gold production had been discovered, and were advancing along the road to riches and recognition. There had been cases of [138] ]excessive capitalisation, of course; but nothing that had in any way trenched upon the reputation or resources of the parent mine.
Arnold Banneret arrived late, and preferred to dine and sleep at the Palace Hotel—as, of course, the leading caravanserai at the city was named.
Here, though partly prepared for a series of surprises, he was genuinely amazed at the luxurious details of the apartments and the comparative excellence of the cuisine: fresh fish brought daily by train from the coast, packed in ice; fruit forwarded in the same way; the duly-kept saddle of mutton—the sirloin,—all good of their kind. Though the tariff savoured rather of a recent war, the retiring traveller was not disposed to find fault. The service generally was good, the attendance most creditable. Having slept the sleep of the just (and the tired-out), and arranged for an early breakfast, he left for Pilot Mount in a hired buggy, behind a pair of fresh, well-groomed horses.
A hot climate has its days of tyranny and oppression, but there are compensating advantages—even in summer. By leaving shortly after sunrise, you secure a sample of climate which is little short of perfection,—especially, as in this particular experience, where there is no wind. The sun appeared to be slowly, almost imperceptibly, disengaging his golden sphere from the mists and vapours of the lower world, and as he rose regally from his couch, all nature appeared to welcome the life-giving presence of the fire-worshipping god. Far as eye could see, over the mighty sweep [139] ]of plain that stretched to the horizon, were the evidences of recent occupation, more or less connected with the great industry which had lured the army of toilers, that Mr. Banneret saw before him, into the gold-seekers’ ranks—some destined to fortune, some to poverty, sickness, and death. In his own case, how nearly had his career come to an untimely end! His heart swelled with thankfulness as he remembered the hospital experiences—the lonely boding days, the faithful watchers by his couch, the unspeakable relief of convalescence.
As he neared the monolith which had been the pillar of hope and guidance in his journey through the wilderness, he was conscious of a certain feeling of disappointment in noting the comparatively small size of the encampment round the mine. He had expected a township of larger proportions, and had not reckoned on the attraction of the Great Aqueduct, recently completed, which will always stand as a monument to the courage and foresight of the Minister who planned and carried it through to successful fulfilment. May he live to crown his life-work with the completion of that other great undertaking with which his name will be always indissolubly connected! Worthily and suitably should the name be venerated, as of one who, himself a son of the soil, had, as an explorer, dared the perils of that waterless desert region.
Not being tied to time on this occasion, and having the satisfaction of seeing all things going well with the mine, Mr. Banneret permitted himself a season of leisure and recreation, so to speak, [140] ]which suited his personal tastes. He carefully inspected the machinery and general working of the ‘Reward Claim,’ as among the mining community it was generally known; the hundred head of stamps, the Diehl process of extraction, which inexorably dragged the last grain of the precious metal from the crushed rock. The wages men, the shift, and underground ‘boss,’ respectively and individually, were carefully noted and interviewed by him. Practised in the art of eliciting information and making acquaintance with the various and heterogeneous population of a goldfield, he from time to time noted, quietly and unobtrusively, many of the leaders and men of mark in the community. The results of this inquiry, he deemed, might be of value to him in time to come.
In his peregrinations he met with many individuals whom he had known or heard of under different circumstances. The majority of these were unaffectedly pleased to see him—even, rather to his surprise, some of those to whom he had been compelled officially to award pains and penalties. This seemed to make no difference in the cordiality of their recognition. Offenders under such circumstances rarely bear malice, as long as they believe in the justice and impartiality of the decision. The criminal classes, as a body, do not harbour revengeful feelings against administrators of justice. Their common expression is: ‘It’s the law, and it’s his business to carry it out. It’s all in the day’s work.’ True, they do not approve of the official ‘going out of his way’ to [141] ]arrest a convict. To any ordinary advantage, taken in pursuit or capture, they do not object. ‘It’s his business to run us in, and ours to get away,’ they admit. ‘But he ought to play the game.’ If he fails in this particular, they conspire to be revenged. And as colonial history tells us, they are prone to inflict terrible vengeance in such cases.
It was strangely interesting in its way for the retired magistrate—so unobtrusive of dress and manner, as he rambled from camp to camp in the early mornings or late afternoons, when the wind had ceased and the sun had lost his fiercer rays—to come across the men or women whom he had known under such different conditions of life and occupation in the long-dead days of his earlier life. Some had risen curiously high, while others had fallen unspeakably low.
It was pathetic to mark the sudden gleam of recognition, impossible to suppress, that lit up the eyes, and for an instant transformed the features of the ‘old hand,’ well known—too well known, in fact—to the police of more than one colony; the half-humble, half-defiant change of manner, as if to say, ‘I am free now, and unless I get into fresh “trouble” neither you nor any living man can touch me.’