Lost Lenore Part 51

There are not many spectacles more interesting to the miner, than that termed a "rush" to a gold-field newly discovered, and reported to be "rich."

The scene is one of the greatest excitement. On the ground to which the "rush" is directed, all the vices and amus.e.m.e.nts to be met with in large cities, soon make their appearance. Where, perhaps, a month before, not a human being could have been seen, taverns, with magnificent interior decorations, billiard-rooms, bowling-alleys, rifle-galleries, theatres, and dancing-saloons, will be erected; in short, a city, where, but a few weeks ago, there was nothing but the "howling" wilderness!

On my arrival at the Avoca diggings, I marked out a "claim," and for several days my occupation was that of "shepherding" it.

To "shepherd a claim," is to keep possession of, and merely retain it-- until, by the working of other claims near, a tolerably correct opinion may be formed: as to whether yours will be worth digging or not.

The system of shepherding claims, is only practised where the gold lies some distance below the surface; and where the claim can only be prospected at the expense of some money and trouble.

The claim I had marked out, was a large one--larger in extent than one person was ent.i.tled to hold. For this reason, on the third day, after I had taken possession of it, another man bespoke a share in it along with me.

I did not like the look of this man; and would have objected to working with him; but he would not consent to divide the ground; and the only way I could get clear of him was, to yield up the claim altogether.

This I did not wish to do: for it stood, or rather "lay," in a good position for being "on the lead."

I have said that I did not like the look of the intruder. This dislike to him arose, from the circ.u.mstance of his having a strong "Vandemonian expression" of countenance; and I had a great prejudice against those who, in the colonies, are called "old lags."

We "shepherded" the claim together for a few days, when the prospect of its being on the lead, became so fair, that we at length commenced sinking a shaft.

The more I saw of my companion, while we were toiling together, the weaker grew my aversion to him; until, at length, I began to entertain for him a certain feeling of respect. This increased, as we became better acquainted.

I learnt that he was not from Tasmania, but from New South Wales; and my prejudice against the "Sydneyites" was even stronger (having been formed in California,) than against the "old hands" from Van Dieman's Land.

The "Vandemonians," generally speaking, have some good traits about them, that are seldom met amongst those from the "Sydney side." The convicts from the former place, have more generosity in their wickedness, less disposition to turn approvers on their companions in crime, while at the same time, they display more manliness and daring in their misdeeds, than do the "Sydney birds."

One would think, there could not be much difference between the criminals of the two colonies: since both originally come from the same school; but the characteristics distinguishing cla.s.ses of _transportees_, change with the circ.u.mstances into which they may be thrown.

My new partner proved to be like few of the "downey coves" I had encountered in the diggings: for I found in him, a man possessing many good principles, from which he could not be easily tempted to depart.

He did not deny having been a convict, though, on the other hand--unlike most of his cla.s.s--he never boasted of it.

"Drinks all round," can usually be won from an old convict in the following manner:--

Offer to lay a wager, that you can tell for what crime he had been transported; and as his own word is generally the only evidence to be obtained for deciding the wager, ten to one it will be accepted. Tell him then: that he was "lagged for poaching," and he will immediately acknowledge that he has lost, and cheerfully pay for the "drinks all round."

This game could not have been played with the subject of my sketch: since he freely acknowledged the crime for which he had been transported: it was for killing a policeman.

One evening, as we sate in our tent, he related to me the story of his life; but, before giving it to my readers, I must treat them to a little explanation.

This narrative is ent.i.tled the "Adventures of a Rolling Stone," and such being its t.i.tle, there may be a complaint of its inappropriateness: because it also details the adventures of others. But part of the occupation of the hero, has been to observe what was going on around him; and, therefore, a faithful account, not only of what he did, but what he saw and heard--or in any way learnt--should be included in a true narrative of his adventures. Hearing a man relate the particulars of his past life, was to the "Rolling Stone," an event in his own history; and, therefore, has he recorded it.

The reality of what is here written may be doubted; and the question will be asked:--how it was, that nearly every man who came in contact with the "Rolling Stone," had a history to relate, and also related it?

The answer may be found in the following explanation:--

A majority of the men met with on the gold-fields of California and Australia, are universally, or at least generally, unlike those they have left behind them in the lands of their birth. Most gold-diggers are men of character, of some kind or other; and have, through their follies or misfortunes, made for themselves a history. There will almost always be found some pa.s.sage of interest in the story of their lives--often in the event itself, which has forced them into exile, and caused them to wander thousands of miles away from their homes and their friends.

When it is further remembered: that the principle amus.e.m.e.nt of the most respectable of the gold-diggers, is that of holding social converse in their tents, or around their evening camp-fires, it will appear less strange, that amongst so many "men of character" one should become acquainted with not a few "romances of real life"--such as that of the "Vandemonian" who became my a.s.sociate in the "sweet vale of Avoca," and which is here recorded, as one of many a "convict's story," of which I have been the confidant.

Volume Three, Chapter V.

A CONVICT'S STORY.

"You have expressed a desire to hear the story of my life," said my mining partner. "I make you welcome to it. There is not much of my history that I should be ashamed to tell you of; but with that little I shall not trouble you. I have never done anything very bad,--that is, I have never robbed anybody, nor stolen anything that I did not really want.

"I am a native of Birmingham, in which town I resided until I was about twenty years of age.

"My father was a confirmed drunkard; and the little money he used to earn by working as a journeyman cutler, was pretty certain to be spent in gin.

"The support of himself, and four young children fell upon my mother, myself, and a brother--who was one year younger than I. In all Birmingham, there were not two boys more dutiful to their parents, more kind to their younger brothers and sisters, more industrious, and less selfish, than my brother and myself--at the time I am speaking of.

"Our hours were wholly occupied in doing all we could, to supply the wants of my father's family.

"We sometimes attended an evening school. There we learnt to read and write; but even the time devoted to this, we would have considered as squandered, if we could have been doing anything else--to benefit the unfortunate family to which we belonged.

"One evening, after we had got to be grown up to manhood, my younger brother and I were returning from our work, when we saw our father at some distance off, in the middle of the street. We saw that he was intoxicated. Three policemen were around him--two of them with hands upon him.

"As usual with my father on such occasions, he was refractory; and the policemen were handling him in a very rough manner. One of them had struck him on the head with his baton, and my father's face was covered with blood.

"My brother and I ran up, and offered to take him quietly home--if the policemen would allow us to do so; but as he had a.s.saulted them, and torn their clothes, they refused to let us have him, and insisted in locking him up. My brother and I, then offered to take him to the lock-up ourselves; and, taking him by the hand, I entreated him to go quietly along with us.

"The policeman rudely pushed me aside, again collared my father, and commenced dragging him onward. Once more we interfered--though this time, only to entice our father to go with the policemen, without making any resistance.

"At that moment, one of the constables shouted `a rescue;' and the three, without further provocation, commenced an a.s.sault upon my brother and myself.

"One of them seized me by the throat; and struck me several times on the head with his baton. We struggled awhile, and then both fell to the ground. I turned my head, while trying to get up again, and saw my brother lying on the pavement, with his face covered all over with blood. The policeman, who had fallen with me, still retained his clutch upon my throat; and again commenced beating me as soon as we had both recovered our feet. A loose stone, weighing about ten pounds, was lying upon the pavement. I seized hold of it, and struck my antagonist on the forehead. He fell like a bullock. When I looked around, I saw that my father--who was a very powerful man--had conquered the other two policemen. He seemed suddenly to have recovered from his intoxication; and now helped me to carry the constable I had felled, to the nearest public-house--where the man died a few hours after the affray.

"I was tried for manslaughter; and sentenced to ten years transportation.

"Not until then, did evil thoughts ever make their home in my mind.

"Up till the time I was torn from my relatives--for whom I had a great affection--and from the girl whom I fondly loved, I am willing to be responsible to G.o.d and man, for every thought I had, or every act I did.

Ever since, having been deprived of liberty--dragged from all near and dear--with every social tie broken--and robbed of everything for which I cared to live--I do not think myself to blame for anything I may have done. I have been only a link in a chain of circ.u.mstances--a victim of the transportation system of England, that transforms incipient crime into hardened villainy.

"On arriving in New South Wales, I was placed in a gang with other convicts; and put to the business of pushing a wheel-barrow. We were employed in removing a hill, from the place where nature had set it: for no other reason, I believe, than for the purpose of keeping us from being idle! The labour was not severe; but the life was a very weary one. It was not the work that made it so to me. I was used to work, and did not dislike it, if there had been any sense in the task we had to perform. But I had no more idea of what my labour was for, than the wheel-barrow with which I performed it; and therefore I could feel no more interest in the work, than did the barrow itself.

"My toil was not sweetened with the reflection that it was in behalf of those I loved. On the contrary, I knew that the best years of my life were being uselessly squandered, while my mother and her children were perhaps suffering for food!

"I often asked myself the question: why I had been sent from home? It could not have been to reform me, and make me lead a better life, after the expiration of the term for which I had been sentenced. It could not have been for that: for no youth could have been more innocent of all evil intentions than I was, up to the time of my unfortunate affair with the policeman. All the philosophers of earth could not devise a scheme better adapted to corrupt the morals of a young man--make him forget all the good he had ever learnt--harden his soul against all the better feelings of human nature--and transform him from a weak frail mortal, with good intentions, into a very demon--than the transportation system of England.

"From the age of twenty years, until that of thirty, I consider the most valuable part of a man's existence; and as this whole period was taken from me, I naturally regarded the future of my life, as scarce worth possessing. I became recklessly indifferent as to what my actions might be; and from that time they were wholly guided by the circ.u.mstances of the hour.

"Each month, I either heard, or saw, something calculated to conduct me still further along the path of crime. I do not say that all my companions were bad men; but most of them were: since my daily a.s.sociates were thieves, and men guilty of crimes even worse than theft I am willing to acknowledge--which is more than some of them would do-- that the fact of their being convicts was strong evidence of their being wicked men.

"After having spent nearly a year, between the trams of the wheel-barrow in the neighbourhood of Sydney, I was despatched with a gang to do some labourer's work up the country.

"Most of the men in this gang, were wickeder than those, with whom I had previously been a.s.sociated. This was perhaps owing to the fact that my new companions had been longer abroad, and were of course better trained to the transportation system.

"Some of them were suffering great agony through the want of tobacco and strong drink, in both of which--being many of them `ticket-of-leave'

holders--they had lately had a chance of freely indulging. That you may know something of the character of these men, and of the craving they had for tobacco, I shall tell you what I saw some of them do.