Smith was an old campaigner in these regions, and cheeked our generosity, by giving us a few words of advice, which we afterwards found were correct.
On we went, the road growing worse and worse as we advanced, and as the wheels sunk into the deep ruts, I thought the wagon would be shattered to pieces in the struggle to extricate it. Dozens of teams were stuck, and despite the yells and curses of the drivers, the tired cattle refused to move.
Smith's oxen, the freshest and strongest we had seen on the road, were often borrowed to give distressed teamsters a lift, so that our progress was rather slow; and it was not until five o'clock that we entered the town of Ballarat, and passed along the main street, which was graced with huts and tents of rough boards, on each side.
On we went, passing the "Melbourne Saloon," the "Sydney Saloon," the "London Hotel," the "American Hotel," the "Californians' Retreat," and numbers of other tents, decorated with huge letters of black paint, and all setting forth the peculiar merits which each offered to the weary traveller.
At one place, we were told that real London porter could be obtained for ten shillings per bottle; and at another, that XX ale was selling for only one shilling per glass.
Signs innumerable greeted our eyes. Doctors, who informed the public that their charges were only one pound per visit, cash in advance to save trouble; carpenters, who offered to build houses at the cheapest rate; carriers, willing to freight goods to any part of Australia, and would not guarantee a safe delivery—all these were passed by without attracting any attention, although the scene was one of novelty and excitement to us.
We gained a portion of the town that was comparatively clear of tents, and near a stream of water. Here Smith thought we had better stop; and tired, and perhaps homesick, we pitched our tent, and ate our first supper at the mines of Ballarat.