“What! did he forget that we were bound for the diggings? Lose two whole days which might be employed in collecting the gold of which we were so eagerly in search! Scarcely had our companions came up than on we pushed. The diggings were at hand; the nearer we got to them, the more eager we became to commence work. We reached at last the principal diggings. It was a fearfully wild spot—mountains on all sides, almost destitute of trees, with the river running between them; the ground in every direction was full of burrows, as if the habitation of rabbits; but the chief work was going forward by the banks of the river, where hundreds of men were labouring away from morn till night with very varied success. My partner and I set up a hut; it was a wretched affair, but not worse than many others; then we turned to with eager, beating hearts. We dug and washed hour after hour, but, toil as we might, we had not, at the end of the day, obtained more than would pay our expenses; sometimes not so much. We toiled on. We had no choice; we must find gold or starve. With the cold wind descending from the mountains at night, and the chill fogs; the hot sun by day striking down on our heads while we stood up to our knees in water—no wonder that all suffered more or less from ague and fever. Many died from disease, some went mad, some committed suicide. There was no one to care for them, no one to mourn them; bowie-knives were in constant requisition, murders frequent. One day I heard shots fired, and ran to see what was occurring. Some strangers, that is, natives of various countries, had trespassed on the ground claimed by a company of Americans. Without giving any warning, the latter assembled and fired on the new-comers, killing several; then rushing on them with bowie-knives, axes, and revolvers, they desperately wounded or killed several more, putting the rest to flight. ‘There, I guess they’ll not try it on again,’ I heard one of the victors say, as he kicked the dead body of one of the conquered party. I could describe many other similar scenes. At night we always slept with our pistols under our pillows, and our knives at our sides, ready to start up at a moment’s notice. Several successful diggers were murdered for the sake of their wealth, and others were cut off by Indians, while prospecting beyond the chief diggings. Altogether, I don’t think that any place on earth could have been more like Pandemonium than were those Californian diggings at the time I was there, for I have not mentioned half of its horrors and abominations. I resolved to get out of them. An unexpected run of success gave me the means; the news of the discovery of gold in Australia expedited my movements. My partner agreed to share my fortunes. We got back to San Francisco, though not without great hazard of losing our gold and our lives, and got on board a ship bound across the Pacific to this country. The ship, however, being caught in a gale off this coast, drove on shore, when half the crew and passengers lost their lives—my partner among them—while I only saved my life and the clothes on my back. I had learned by this time not to be surprised at any misfortune which might overtake me. I was far better off than in California, for I was among countrymen, I begged my way up to the diggings, or rather I had not to beg it, for I was passed along from station to station. I was much better off, too, at the diggings than I had been in California, for I was now one of the ruling faction; and, though things were bad enough in some respects, people were generally civilised and humane, compared to gold-diggers I had met on the other side of the globe. My luck, however, was much the same. All I could do was to keep body and soul together, till at last I had to come to the conclusion that I was not cut out for a gold-digger. On my way up to the diggings, I had rested at a station owned by an old gentleman, who seemed to take an interest in me. At all events, as I was going away, he promised to receive me when I got tired of gold-digging, if I would come back to him, and to put me in the way of making my fortune. Utterly disgusted with my ill-success as gold-digger, I bethought myself of him, and was on my way to his abode, when, on attempting to cross your river, I was carried off my feet, and should have become food for fish or water-rats had it not been for your courage, Arthur and Willie; and I can say, with sincerity, that you deserve great credit for it. As to thanking you, I do not fancy that thanks from such a wretched vagabond as I am are worth anything, and so I’ll say nothing about that.”
“We are too glad that we have succeeded in saving your life, old friend, to care about thanks,” said Arthur. “And now you are here, we hope that you will stay and try if you cannot follow our occupation. It is the one that succeeds best in Australia in the long run, depend upon it.”
Mark Withers said that he would think about the matter; but the next morning he declared his intention of proceeding to the farm of the old gentleman, a Mr Elton, who had invited him to his house before he went up to the diggings. “The fact is,” observed Mark, “I have an idea that he intended to leave me his property, and that would not be an unpleasant way of making a fortune, you’ll allow.”
“It would be a way of getting one, certainly,” observed James; “though I doubt if your expectations will be realised; and I think that you would enjoy it far more if you make it yourself by honest industry.”
“Every man to his taste,” said Mark, with a careless laugh; “if I fail in my expectations, I can but try on plodding industry at last, you know, and little harm will be done.”
“It is difficult to stop a rolling stone when it has gained an impetus downhill,” said James; “remember that, Mark. However, I can only say that my brothers and I shall be glad to welcome you back, should you find yourself mistaken in your hopes, and to find some employment for you which will put you in the way of becoming independent in the end.”
In so great a hurry was Mark to assure himself that he should obtain the expected fortune from Mr Elton, that he insisted on setting forth on his journey the next day. He did not object, however, to borrow a horse and a few pounds from his old friends. This he did with the air of a man conferring rather than receiving a favour. When Craven, who arrived soon afterwards, heard of this latter circumstance, he predicted that the face of Mr Mark Withers would not be again seen at Warragong, unless he might have the assurance to return and borrow more.
Charles Craven had become a very constant visitor of late at Warragong. By his intelligence, activity, and knowledge of mankind, he had contributed greatly to the prosperity of the Gilpins own property, as well as to that committed to their charge. They had obtained permission to make over a considerable portion of the latter to his management, so that he had now a comfortable, if not a handsome, income. There seemed to be no doubt that he admired Miss Gilpin, though he had not proposed to her. Perhaps he considered that she was indifferent to him, or regarded him merely as a valued friend of her brothers.
Nothing had been heard of Mark Withers since his departure. One evening a horseman was seen approaching the house, dressed in rough bush fashion; and soon afterwards, into the room where the ladies were seated, walked Mark himself. He had assumed a careless independent swagger, peculiarly distasteful to those into whose society he had introduced himself.
“Your brothers were right!” he exclaimed, throwing himself into a chair. “Old Elton was a humbug. He has cheated me abominably. Got me to labour for him, and then laughed in my face when I told him why I had done so; telling me that, as I worked for love, I required no wages; and that, as I was not worth my salt, he should give me none. However, here I am, not much the worse for the adventure, with a few months experience of bush life, and ready to become your brothers’ chief stockman, or overseer, or anything they like to put me to, not derogatory to the character of a gentleman.”