"Do you see any thing?" I asked, when I thought that it was near enough to get a glimpse of its contents.
Before I could repeat the question, the eyes of the patrolman glared as though starting from their sockets, and his face flushed scarlet.
"Up with it, in the name of goodness," my companion shouted, leaning over the shaft, and grasping the rope that held the bucket in one hand, and attempting to pull it up, regardless of the rough windlass that I was working at.
"Can you see it?" I demanded, resting from my labor for a moment, and glancing down the shaft.
"Don't stop, sir," cried the policeman; "up with it, or the devil may carry it off before our eyes."
I did not feel so superstitious; and in spite of the warning managed to get a glimpse of the lump that had almost turned the brains of the Irishman and Fred.
At the first glance, I almost let go my hold of the windlass, I was so overpowered. My eyes appeared to blur over, and my brain grew dizzy. I did not seem to possess the strength of an infant, and for a moment I paused, and tried to rally my senses.
My heart beat so wildly that I thought it would burst, for the single glance that I had cast towards the bucket revealed to me a sight that would have driven half the miners of Ballarat crazy, and the remaining portion frantic with delight, provided, of course, they had seen and owned what I saw.