"James," inquired the inspector, "do you know a miner here named Robert Henrets?"
"Yes, sir; young fellow—sandy hair—blue eyes—scar over the left one—saves his money—is doing well—never heard that he was a suspicious character," answered the officer, promptly.
"Pshaw!" returned Mr. Brown, pettishly; "you think that every person I ask about is a rogue; you are mistaken. Show these gentlemen to the shaft that Henrets is sinking, or the mine that he is working, and attend to their orders."
"Yes, sir; I know where he is; works the old 'Dugget mine;' smart lad—makes money—pays his tax regular, and never growls 'cos he has to."
"Then he is the only one at the mines," returned the inspector, good humoredly, and we took our leave, fearful that he would begin a long discussion on the merits and rights of taxation.
We had to walk about a mile before we reached the "Dugget mine," but our tramp was beguiled in listening to the peculiar conversation of our guide, who jerked out his sentences and words as though he was firing them at a whole regiment of refractory miners, and wished to make as short work as possible with them.
"You have been at the mines some time," I said, drawing the man into conversation.
"Ever since they were opened—one of the first police officers here—hard times for grub, then, let me tell you; used to eat leather, or any thing soft; horses all died for the want of water; gold plenty—miners died with overwork—few people here, then—civil—treated the police well, and made us presents. Used to dig myself, sometimes—didn't like it, though—hard work, very—by and by a lot of d——d furreners came here—got drunk and made rows—used to fire pistols at us when we arrested 'em—got hit once, but didn't hurt me much—the fellow gave me ten pounds to settle the matter—he was a Yankee, I think—had a revolver, and used to be desperate when he got drunk—thank God, he died one day, and I saw him buried."
Although the subject was a grave one, we could not refrain from laughing at his summary method of disposing of a sailor who used to be known at Ballarat as "Yankee Jim," and who was a terror to all police officers when he was drunk. He was represented as being as strong as half a dozen ordinary men, of the courage of a lion, and perfectly reckless when under the influence of liquor. Even his boon companions were often obliged to flee for their lives when one of his cross fits came on him: and if he was thwarted in the most trifling particular, his rage was unbounded. He would bite glass and chew it with his teeth, lacerating his gums in a dreadful manner; and it was at one time reported that "Yankee Jim" used to diet on tumblers whenever he felt disposed to grow fleshy.
The fellow was in the United States navy for many years, and ran away from a ship of war that was lying at Sydney when the gold mines were first discovered. The dissipated course that he pursued soon terminated his life, and he died, after a residence of only three months at Ballarat, with delirium tremens.