To such he made a point of speaking a few words, such as, ‘Doing well, Connor? Fine field this? Anything fresh turned up?’ Whatever the answer, it would merely mean that he, the Commissioner, the man of dread and awful powers in days gone by, had simply recognised him: that [142] ]it depended wholly upon his future conduct whether that fact would tend to his injury. More than one of such former acquaintances sought him out at his hotel, and trusted that he would not ‘put the police’ on him. He was earning an honest living, and sending money to his wife and family in Melbourne, Sydney, or Hobart, as the case might be. ‘My good fellow,’ Mr. Banneret would reply, ‘as long as you behave yourself, I would much rather that you did well than not. You are getting another chance here, far away from people that know you and what you have been. It is no business of mine to inform the police, or any one else. Don’t drink; work hard—I know you can do that—and see that your people in Melbourne are not starving while you’re living comfortably here.’
‘No fear, sir! I sent ’em twenty pound last mail.’ So the man of a chequered career went back to his tent with his heart lightened, and a renewed resolve to go straight and reform—if indeed such a changing of spots of the proverbial member of the carnivora were possible. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. In any case his heart was softened, and the impulse to a better life, faint though it might have been, was distinct.
One day he came upon a claim of four men’s ground at which the shareholders had evidently been working hard, judging by the size of their ‘tip.’ The men on top were, apparently, new arrivals, judging by their fresh complexions and ruddy faces.
‘Now, Sailor Bill!’ said the taller man, ‘what are you a-thinkin’ of?—the clapper’s gone twice—to [143] ]haul up. Dick Andrews ’ll know you’re wool-gathering agin, same as you was when you lowered the bucket yesterday, without puttin’ the “sprag” in, and nearly finished him.’
‘Hang Dick, and you too! I was a-thinkin’ if it was true as I seen in the paper—as the p’leece was agoin’ to make a raid, as they call it, upon the runaway sailors on the field here. There’s a goodish lot, you know. They won’t get me. Afore I’d go home in that old tub as I come out in, with that devil of a skipper and his mate as is worse, I’d chuck myself down the deepest hole in the field, and make an end of it.’
‘Better show them cornstalk fellers, as they call theirselves, that an Englishman can do any work as they can, and handle any tools. It don’t do to let ’em have the laugh at us, Bill.’
‘Well, I’ll give my mind a bit closer to it after this, but the chaps work like navvies—and it’s not the only trade they’ve larnt, I can see. Wonder what they’ve been at afore they come here?—there’s summat queer about ’em, I’ll swear.’
‘Don’t know and don’t care. They’re hard-workin’ smart hands at mining work—and that’s all we care about. There goes the double clapper—it’s dinner time.’
Up came the bucket to the brace, with the man referred to as ‘Dick’ therein—a tall man, fully six feet in height, or perhaps an inch over. He was well made, though he carried but little flesh, and had the air of being fully acquainted with mining and pastoral matters. He wore a beard, with a full moustache hiding his mouth [144] ]and withholding the expression of his face from the casual observer.
He spoke with the drawling intonation peculiar to the natives of New South Wales, more especially those reared in the country towns of the interior. His features were regular, his eyes grey and apparently unobservant, though, like those of other races remote from cities and the haunts of men, there were few objects, or incidents, which were not quickly and comprehensively revealed to their vision. The countenance was impassive, as of a man who was not desirous of imparting his thoughts to chance comrades, and at the same time too little interested in the minor matters of life to furnish conversation about them. His hair and beard, of a fair or light brown hue, were streaked with grey. Verging upon middle age, he was probably a few years older, though the activity which he showed when roused to exertion forbade the idea. Indifferent and careless as to surroundings as he appeared to the ordinary observer, there was a hint of calm watchfulness about his air and lounging pose which, as of a hunter in ‘Injun country,’ conveyed the idea that it would be difficult to take him by surprise.