No wonder, therefore, that the population of Melbourne should be
young. It consists for the most part of immigrants from Great Britain
and other countries,--of men and women in the prime of life,--pushing,
enterprising, energetic people. Nor is the stream of immigration
likely to stop soon. The land in the interior is not one-tenth part
occupied; and "the cry is, still they come." Indeed many think the
immigrants do not come quickly enough. Every ship brings a fresh
batch; and the "new chums" may be readily known, as they assemble in
knots at the corners of the streets, by their ruddy colour, their
gaping curiosity, and their home looks.

Another thing that strikes me in Melbourne is this,--that I have not
seen a beggar in the place. There is work for everybody who will work;
so there is no excuse for begging. A great many young fellows who come
out here no doubt do not meet with the fortune they think they
deserve. They expected that a few good letters of introduction were
all that was necessary to enable them to succeed. But they are soon
undeceived. They must strip to work, if they would do any good. Mere
clerks, who can write and add up figures, are of no use; the colony is
over-stocked with them. But if they are handy, ready to work, and
willing to turn their hand to anything, they need never be without the
means of honest living.

In many respects Melbourne is very like home. It looks like a slice of
England transplanted here, only everything looks fresher and newer. Go
into Fitzroy or Carlton Gardens in the morning, and you will see
almost the self-same nurses and children that you saw in the Parks in
London. At dusk you see the same sort of courting couples mooning
about, not knowing what next to say. In the streets you see a corps of
rifle volunteers marching along, just as at home, on Saturday
afternoons. Down at Sandridge you see the cheap-trip steamer, decked
with flags, taking a boat-load of excursionists down the bay to some
Australian Margate or Ramsgate. On the wooden pier the same
steam-cranes are at work, loading and unloading trucks.

One thing, however, there is at Melbourne that you cannot see in any
town in England, and that is the Chinese quarter. There the streets
are narrower and dirtier than anywhere else, and you see the
yellow-faced folks stand jabbering at their doors--a very novel sight.
The Chinamen, notwithstanding the poll-tax originally imposed on them
of 10_l._ a head, have come into Victoria in large and increasing
numbers, and before long they threaten to become a great power in the
colony. They are a very hardworking, but, it must be confessed, a very
low class, dirty people.

Though many of the Chinamen give up their native dress and adopt the
European costume, more particularly the billycock hat, there is one
part of their belongings that they do not part with even in the last
extremity--and that is their tail. They may hide it away in their
billycock or in the collar of their coat; but, depend upon it, the
tail is there. My friend, the doctor of the 'Yorkshire,' being a
hunter after natural curiosities, had, amongst other things, a great
ambition to possess himself of a Chinaman's tail. One day, walking up
Collins Street, I met my enthusiastic friend. He recognised me, and
waved something about frantically that he had in his hand. "I've got
it! I've got it!" he exclaimed, in a highly excited manner. "What have
you got?" I asked, wondering. "Come in here," said he, "and I'll show
it you." We turned into a bar, when he carefully undid his parcel, and
exposed to view a long black thing. "What _is_ it?" I asked. "A
Chinaman's pigtail, of course," said he, triumphantly; "and a very
rare curiosity it is, I can assure you."

Among the public institutes of Melbourne one of the finest is the
Public Library, already containing, I was told, about 80,000 volumes.
It is really a Library for the People, and a noble one too. So far as
I can learn, there is nothing yet in England that can be compared
with it.[4] Working men come here, and read at their leisure
scientific books, historical books, or whatever they may desire. They
may come in their working dress, signing their names on entering, the
only condition required of them being quietness and good behaviour.
About five hundred readers use the library daily.

Nor must I forget the Victorian collection of pictures, in the same
building as the Public Library. The galleries are good, and contain
many attractive paintings. Amongst them I noticed Goodall's 'Rachel at
the Well,' Cope's 'Pilgrim Fathers' (a replica), and some excellent
specimens of Chevalier, a rising colonial artist.

The Post Office is another splendid building, one of the most
commodious institutions of the kind in the world. There the arrival of
each mail from England is announced by the hoisting of a large red
flag, with the letter A (arrival).

In evidence of the advanced "civilization" of Melbourne, let me also
describe a visit which I paid to its gaol. But it is more than a gaol,
for it is the great penal establishment of the colony. The prison at
Pentridge is about eight miles from Melbourne. Accompanied by a
friend, I was driven thither in a covered car along a very dusty but
well-kept road. Alighting at the castle-like entrance to the
principal courtyard, we passed through a small doorway, behind which
was a strong iron-bar gate, always kept locked, and watched by a
warder. The gate was unlocked, and we shortly found ourselves in the
great prison area, in the presence of sundry men in grey prison
uniform, with heavy irons on. Passing across the large clean yard, we
make for a gate in the high granite wall at its further side. A key is
let down to us by the warder, who is keeping armed watch in his
sentry-box on the top of the wall. We use it, let ourselves in, lock
the door, and the key is hauled up again.

We enter the female prison, where we are shown the cells, each with
its small table and neatly-folded mattress. On the table is a Bible
and Prayer-book, and sometimes a third book for amusement or
instruction. In some of the cells, where the inmates are learning to
read and write, there is a spelling primer and a copybook for
pothooks. The female prisoners are not in their cells, but we shortly
after find them assembled in a large room above, seated and at work.
They all rose at our entrance, and I had a good look at their faces.
There was not a single decent honest face amongst them. They were
mostly heavy, square-jawed, hard-looking women. Judging by their
faces, vice and ugliness would seem to be pretty nearly akin.

We were next taken to the centre of the prison, from which we looked
down upon the narrow, high-walled yards, in which the prisoners
condemned to solitary confinement take their exercise. These yards
all radiate from a small tower, in which a warder is stationed,
carefully watching the proceedings below.

We shortly saw the prisoners of Department A coming in from their
exercise in the yard. Each wore a white mask on his face with eyeholes
in it; and no prisoner must approach another nearer than five yards,
at risk of severe punishment. The procession was a very dismal one. In
the half-light of the prison they marched silently on one by one, with
their faces hidden, each touching his cap as he passed.

Department B came next. The men here do not work in their separate
cells, like the others, but go out to work in gangs, guarded by armed
warders. The door of each cell throughout the prison has a small hole
in it, through which the warders, who move about the galleries in list
shoes, can peep in, and, unknown to the prisoner, see what he is
about.

Both male and female prisons have Black Holes attached to them for the
solitary confinement of the refractory. Dreadful places they look:
small cells about ten feet by four, into which not a particle of light
is admitted. Three thick doors, one within another, render it
impossible for the prisoner inside to make himself heard without.

Next comes Department C, in which the men finish their time. Here many
sleep in one room, always under strict watch, being employed during
the day at their respective trades, or going out in gangs to work in
the fields connected with the establishment. Connected with this
department is a considerable factory, with spinning-machines,
weaving-frames, and dye vats; the whole of the clothes and blankets
used in the gaol being made by the prisoners, as well as the blankets
supplied by the Government to the natives. Adjoining are blacksmiths'
shops, where manacles are forged; shoemakers' shops; tailors' shops; a
bookbinder's shop, where the gaol books are bound; and shops for
various other crafts.

The prison library is very well furnished with books. Dickens's and
Trollope's works are there, and I saw a well-read copy of 'Self-Help,'
though it was doubtless through a very different sort of self-help
that most of the prisoners who perused it had got there.

Last of all, we saw the men searched on coming in from their work in
the fields, or in the different workshops. They all stood in a line
while the warder passed his hands down their bodies and legs, and
looked into their hats. Then he turned to a basin of water standing
by, and carefully washed his hands.

There were about 700 prisoners of both sexes in the gaol when we
visited it. I was told that the walls of the prison enclose an area of
132 acres, so that there is abundance of space for all kinds of work.
On the whole it was a very interesting, but at the same time a sad
sight.

I think very little of the River Yarra Yarra, on which Melbourne is
situated. It is a muddy, grey-coloured stream, very unpicturesque. It
has, however, one great advantage over most other Australian rivers,
as indicated by its name, which in the native language means the
"ever-flowing;" many of the creeks and rivers in Australia being dry
in summer. I hired a boat for the purpose of a row up the Yarra. A
little above the city its banks are pretty and ornamental, especially
where it passes the Botanic Gardens, which are beautifully laid out,
and well stocked with India-rubber plants, gum-trees, and magnificent
specimens of the Southern fauna. Higher up, the river--though its
banks continue green--becomes more monotonous, and we soon dropped
back to Melbourne with the stream.

It is the seaside of Melbourne that is by far the most
interesting,--Williamstown, with its shipping; but more especially the
pretty suburbs, rapidly growing into towns, along the shores of the
Bay of Port Phillip--such as St. Kilda, Elsternwick, Brighton, and
Cheltenham. You see how they preserve the old country names. St. Kilda
is the nearest to Melbourne, being only about three miles distant by
rail, and it is the favourite resort of the Melbourne people. Indeed,
many of the first-class business men reside there, just as Londoners
do at Blackheath and Forest Hill. The esplanade along the beach is a
fine promenade, and the bathing along shore is exceedingly good. There
are large enclosures for bathers, surrounded by wooden piles; above
the enclosure, raised high on platforms, are commodious
dressing-rooms, where, instead of being cooped up in an uncomfortable
bathing-machine, you may have a lounge outside in the bright sunshine
while you dress. The water is a clear blue, and there is a sandy
bottom sloping down from the shore into any depth,--a glorious
opportunity for swimmers!

I must now tell you something of my social experiences in Melbourne.
Thanks to friends at home, I had been plentifully supplied with
letters of introduction to people in the colony. When I spoke of these
to old colonials in the 'Yorkshire,' I was told that they were "no
good"--no better than so many "tickets for soup," if worth even that.
I was, therefore, quite prepared for a cool reception; but,
nevertheless, took the opportunity of delivering my letters shortly
after landing.

So far from being received with coldness, I was received with the
greatest kindness wherever I went. People who had never seen me
before, and who knew nothing of me or my family, gave me a welcome
that was genuine, frank, and hearty in the extreme. My letters, I
found, were far more than "tickets for soup." They introduced me to
pleasant companions and kind friends, who entertained me hospitably,
enabled me to pass my time pleasantly, and gave me much practical good
advice. Indeed, so far as my experience goes, the hospitality of
Victoria ought to become proverbial.

One of the first visits I made was to a recent school-fellow of mine
at Geneva. I found him at work in a bank, and astonished him very much
by the suddenness of my appearance. He was most kind to me during my
stay in Melbourne, as well as all his family, to whom I owed a
succession of kindnesses which I can never forget.

I shall always retain a pleasant recollection of a marriage festivity
to which I was invited within a week after my arrival. A ball was
given in the evening, at which about 300 persons were present--the
_elite_ of Melbourne society. It was held in a large marquee, with a
splendid floor, and ample space for dancing. Everything was ordered
very much the same as at home. The dresses of the ladies seemed more
costly, the music was probably not so good, though very fair, and the
supper rather better. I fancy there was no "contract champagne" at
that ball.

One thing I must remark about the ladies--they seemed to me somehow a
little different in appearance. Indeed, when I first landed, I fancied
I saw a slightly worn look, a want of freshness, in the people
generally. They told me there that it is the effect of the dry
Australian climate and the long summer heat, native-born Australians
having a tendency to grow thin and lathy. Not that there was any want
of beauty about the Melbourne girls, or that they were not up to the
mark in personal appearance. On the contrary, there was quite a bevy
of belles, some of them extremely pretty girls, most tastefully
dressed, and I thought the twelve bridesmaids, in white silk trimmed
with blue, looked charming.

I spent a very pleasant evening with this gay company, and had my fill
of dancing after my long privation at sea. When I began to step out,
the room seemed to be in motion. I had got so accustomed to the roll
of the ship that I still felt unsteady, and when I put my foot down it
went further than I expected before it touched the floor. But I soon
got quit of my sea legs, which I had so much difficulty in finding.

Before concluding my few Melbourne experiences, I will mention another
of a very different character from the above. I was invited to spend
the following Saturday and Sunday with a gentleman and his family. I
was punctual to my appointment, and was driven by my carman up to the
door of a new house in a very pretty situation. I was shown into the
drawing-room, where I waited some time for the mistress of the house
to make her appearance. She was a matronly person, with a bland smile
on her countenance. Her dress was of a uniform grey, with trimmings of
the same colour. We tried conversation, but somehow it failed. I fear
my remarks were more meaningless than usual on such occasions.
Certainly the lady and I did not hit it at all. She asked me if I had
heard such and such a Scotch minister, or had read somebody's sermons
which she named? Alas! I had not so much as heard of their names.
Judging by her looks, she must have thought me an ignoramus. For a
mortal hour we sat together, almost in silence, her eyes occasionally
directed full upon me. We were for the moment relieved by the entrance
of a young lady, one of the daughters of the house, who was introduced
to me. But, alas! we got on no better than before. The young lady sat
with downcast eyes, intent upon her knitting, though I saw that her
eyes were black, and that she was pretty.

Then the master of the house came home, and we had dinner in a quiet,
sober fashion. In the evening the lady and I made a few further
efforts at conversation. I was looking at the books on the
drawing-room table, when she all at once brightened up, and
asked--"Have you ever heard of Robbie Burns?" I answered (I fear
rather chaffingly) that "I had once heard there was such a person."
"Have you, tho'?" said the lady, relapsing into crochet. The gentleman
went off to sleep, and the young lady continued absorbed in her
knitting. A little later in the evening the hostess made a further
effort. "Have you ever tasted whisky toddy?" To which I answered,
"Yes, once or twice," at which she seemed astonished. But the whisky
toddy, which might have put a little spirit into the evening, did not
make its appearance. The subject of the recent marriage festivity
having come up, the lady was amazed to find I had been there, and that
I was fond of dancing! I fear this sent me down a great many more pegs
in her estimation. In fact, my evening was a total failure, and I was
glad to get to bed--though it was an immense expanse of bed, big
enough for a dozen people.

To make a long story short, next morning I went with the family to
"the kirk," heard an awfully long sermon, during which I nipped my
fingers to keep myself awake; and as soon as I could I made my escape
back to my lodgings, very well pleased to get away, but feeling that I
must have left a very unfavourable impression upon the minds of my
worthy entertainers.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 3: Mr. Batman died in September, 1869, at the age of 77, and
his funeral was one of the largest ever seen in Melbourne. This
"father of Melbourne" kept the first store, and published the first
newspaper in the settlement.]

[Footnote 4: The public library was inaugurated under Mr. La Trobe's
Government in 1853, when 4,000_l._ was voted for books and an edifice.
The sum was doubled in the following year, and greatly increased in
succeeding years. In 1863, 40,000_l._ of public money had been
expended on the building, and 30,000_l._ on the library.]




CHAPTER VIII.

UP COUNTRY.

OBTAIN A SITUATION IN AN UP-COUNTRY BANK--JOURNEY BY
RAIL--CASTLEMAINE--FURTHER JOURNEY BY COACH--MARYBOROUGH--FIRST SIGHT
OF THE BUSH--THE BUSH TRACKS--EVENING PROSPECT OVER THE
COUNTRY--ARRIVAL AT MY DESTINATION.


I had now been in Melbourne some weeks, and the question arose--What
next? I found the living rather expensive, and that it was making a
steady drain upon my funds. I had the option of a passage home, or of
staying in the colony if I could find some employment wherewith to
occupy myself profitably in the meanwhile. But I could not remain much
longer idle, merely going about visiting and enjoying myself.

I took an opportunity of consulting the eminent physician, Dr.
Halford, who pronounced my lungs sound, but recommended me, because of
the sudden changes of temperature to which Melbourne is liable, either
to return home immediately, in order to establish the benefit I had
derived from the voyage, or, if I remained, to proceed up country,
north of the Dividing Range, where the temperature is more equable.

I accordingly determined to make the attempt to obtain some settled
employment in the colony that might enable me to remain in it a
little longer. I found that there were many fellows, older and more
experienced than myself, who had been knocking about Melbourne for
some time, unable to find berths. It is quite natural that the young
men of the colony, desirous of entering merchants' houses, banks, or
insurance offices, should have the preference over new comers; and
hence those young men who come here, expecting to drop into clerk's
offices, soon find themselves _de trop_, and that they are a drug in
the market.

The prospect of obtaining such employment in my own case did not,
therefore, look very bright; yet I could but try and fail, as others
had done. In the last event there was the passage home, of which I
could avail myself. Well, I tried, and tried again, and at last
succeeded, thanks to the friendly gentlemen in Melbourne who so kindly
interested themselves in my behalf. In my case luck must have helped
me: for I am sure I did not owe my success to any special knowledge.
But happy I was when, after a great deal of running about, it was at
length communicated to me that there was a vacancy in an up-country
branch of one of the principal colonial banking companies, which was
open to my acceptance.

[Illustration: MAP OF THE GOLD-MINING DISTRICT, VICTORIA.]

I took the position at once, and made my arrangements for starting to
enter upon the duties of the office forthwith. I of course knew
nothing of the country in which the branch bank was situated,
excepting that it was in what is called a digging township--that is,
a township in which digging for gold is the principal branch of
industry. When I told my companions what occupation I had before me,
and where I was going, they tried to frighten me. They pictured to me
a remote place, with a few huts standing on a gravelly hill,
surrounded by holes and pools of mud. "A wretched life you will lead
up there," they said; "depend upon it, you will never be able to bear
it, and we shall see you back in Melbourne within a month, disgusted
with up-country life." "Well, we shall see," I said: "I am resolved to
give it a fair trial, and in the worst event I can go home by the next
Money Wigram."

After the lapse of two days from the date of my appointment, I was at
the Spencer Street Station of the Victoria Railway, and booked for
Castlemaine, a station about eighty miles from Melbourne. Two of my
fellow-passengers by the 'Yorkshire' were there to see me off, wishing
me all manner of kind things. Another parting, and I was off
up-country. What would it be like? What sort of people were they
amongst whom I was to live? What were to be my next experiences?

We sped rapidly over the flat, lowly-undulating, and comparatively
monotonous country north of Melbourne, until we reached the Dividing
Range, a mountainous chain, covered with dark-green scrub, separating
Bourke from Dalhousie County, where the scenery became more varied and
interesting.

In the railway-carriage with me was a boy of about twelve or
fourteen, who at once detected in me a "new chum," as recent arrivals
in the colony are called. We entered into conversation, when I found
he was going to Castlemaine, where he lived. He described it as a
large up-country town, second only to Ballarat and Melbourne. But I
was soon about to see the place with my own eyes, for we were already
approaching it; and before long I was set down at the Castlemaine
Station, from whence I was to proceed to my destination by coach.

The town of Castlemaine by no means came up to the description of my
travelling companion. Perhaps I had expected too much, and was
disappointed. The place is built on the site of what was once a very
great rush, called Forest Creek. Gold was found in considerable
abundance, and attracted a vast population into the neighbourhood. But
other and richer fields having been discovered, the rush went
elsewhere, leaving behind it the deposit of houses now known as
Castlemaine.[5] It contains but few streets, and those not very good
ones. The houses are mostly small and low; the greater number are only
one-storied erections. Everything was quiet, with very little traffic
going on, and the streets had a most dead-alive look.

The outskirts of the town presented a novel appearance. Small heaps of
gravelly soil, of a light-red colour, lying close to each other,
covered the ground in all directions, almost as far as the eye could
reach. The whole country seemed to have been turned over, dug about,
and abandoned; though I still observed here and there pools of red
muddy water, and a few men digging, searching for gold amongst the old
workings.

I put up at one of the hotels, to wait there until the coach started
at midnight. The place was very dull, the streets were very dull, and
everybody seemed to have gone to bed. At length the hours passed, and
the coach drew up. It was an odd-looking vehicle, drawn by four
horses. The body was simply hung on by straps, innocent of springs.
There were no windows to the carriage, but only leather aprons in
their place. This looked rather like rough travelling.

Away we went at last, at a good pace, over a tolerably good road.
Soon, however, we began to jolt and pitch about, the carriage rolling
and rocking from side to side. There was only one passenger besides
myself, a solitary female, who sat opposite to me. I held on tight to
the woodwork of the coach, but, notwithstanding all my efforts, I got
pitched into the lady's lap more than once. She seemed to take it all
very coolly, however, as if it were a mere matter of course.

After changing horses twice, and after a good deal more jolting, the
road became better and smoother; and then I observed, from the signs
outside, that we were approaching a considerable place. I was told
that it was Maryborough, and shortly after the coach pulled up at the
door of an hotel and I alighted. It was now between four and five in
the morning, so I turned into bed and had a sound sleep.

I was wakened up by a young gentleman, who introduced himself to me as
one of my future "camarades" in the bank, to whom my arrival had been
telegraphed. After making a good breakfast I stepped on to the
verandah in front of the hotel, and the high street of Maryborough lay
before me. It seemed a nice, tidy town. The streets were white and
clean; the shops, now open, were some of brick, and others of wood.
The hotel in which I had slept was a two-storied brick building. Two
banks were in the main street, one of them a good building. Everything
looked spic-and-span new, very unlike our old-fashioned English
country towns.

The township to which I was destined being distant about six miles
from Maryborough, I was driven thither in the evening,--full of
wonderment and curiosity as to the place to which I was bound. As we
got outside Maryborough into the open country, its appearance struck
me very much. It was the first time I had been amongst the gum-trees,
which grow so freely in all the southern parts of Australia.

For a short distance out of the town the road was a made one, passing
through some old workings, shown by the big holes and heaps of gravel
that lay about. Further on, it became a mere hardened track, through
amongst trees and bushes, each driver choosing his own track. As soon
as one becomes the worse for wear, and the ruts in it are worn too
deep, a new one is selected. Some of these old ruts have a very ugly
look. Occasionally we pass a cottage with a garden, but no village is
in sight. The brown trees have a forlorn look; the pointed leaves seem
hardly to cover them. The bushes, too, that grow by the road-side,
seem straggling and scraggy: but, then, I must remember that it is
winter-time in Australia.

At length we reach the top of a hill, from which there is a fine view
of the country beyond. I have a vivid recollection of my first glimpse
of a landscape which afterwards became so familiar to me. The dark
green trees stretched down into the valley and clothed the undulating
ground which lay toward the right. Then, on the greener and
flatter-looking country in front, there seemed to extend a sort of
whitish line--something that I could not quite make out. At first I
thought it must be a town in the distance, with its large white
houses. In the blue of the evening I could not then discern that what
I took to be houses were simply heaps of pipeclay. Further off, and
beyond all, was a background of brown hills, fading away in the
distance. Though it was winter time, the air was bright and clear, and
the blue sky was speckled with fleecy clouds.

But we soon lose sight of the distant scene, as we rattle along
through the dust down-hill. We reach another piece of made road,
indicating our approach to a town; and very shortly we arrive at a
small township close by a creek. We pass a shed, in which stampers are
at work, driven by steam,--it is a quartz-mill; then a blacksmith's
shop; then an hotel, and other houses. I supposed this was to be my
location; but, no! The driver turns sharp off the high road down
towards the creek. It is a narrow stream of dirty-coloured water,
trickling along between two high banks. We drive down the steep on one
side and up the other with a tremendous pull, the buggy leaning
heavily to one side. On again, over a crab-holey plain, taking care to
avoid the stumps of trees and bad ground. Now we are in amongst the
piles of dirt which mark abandoned diggings.

Another short bit of made road, and we are in the township. It is
still sufficiently light to enable me to read "Council Chambers" over
the door of a white-painted, shed-like, wooden erection of one story.
Then up the street, past the shops with their large canvas signs,
until at length we pull up alongside a wooden one-storied house,
roofed with iron, and a large wooden verandah projecting over the
pathway in front. The signboard over the door tells me this is the
Bank. I have reached my destination, and am safely landed in the town
of Majorca.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: Before railways were introduced, the town was a great
depГґt for goods going up-country to the different diggings.]




CHAPTER IX.

MAJORCA.

MAJORCA FOUNDED IN A RUSH--DESCRIPTION OF A RUSH--DIGGERS CAMPING
OUT--GOLD-MINING AT MAJORCA--MAJORCA HIGH STREET--THE PEOPLE--THE
INNS--THE CHURCHES--THE BANK--THE CHINAMEN--AUSTRALIA THE PARADISE OF
WORKING MEN--"SHOUTING" FOR DRINKS--ABSENCE OF BEGGARS--NO COPPERS UP
COUNTRY.


In my school-days Majorca was associated in my mind with "Minorca and
Ivica," and I little thought to encounter a place of that name in
Australia. It seems that the town was originally so called because of
its vicinity to a rocky point called Gibraltar, where gold had been
found some time before. Like many other towns up country, the founding
of Majorca was the result of a rush.

In the early days of gold-digging, when men were flocking into the
colony to hunt for treasure, so soon as the news got abroad of a great
nugget being found by some lucky adventurers, or of some rich
gold-bearing strata being struck, there was a sudden rush from all
quarters to the favoured spot. Such a rush occurred at Majorca in the
year 1863.

Let me try to describe the scene in those early days of the township,
as it has been related to me by those who witnessed it. Fancy from
fourteen to fifteen thousand diggers suddenly drawn together in one
locality, and camped out in the bush within a radius of a mile and a
half.

A great rush is a scene of much bustle and excitement. Long lines of
white tents overtop the heaps of pipeclay, which grow higher from day
to day. The men are hard at work on these hills of "mullock," plying
the windlasses by which the stuff is brought up from below, or
puddling and washing off "the dirt." Up come the buckets from the
shafts, down which the diggers are working, and the dirty yellow water
is poured down-hill to find its way to the creek as it best may.
Unmade roads, or rather tracks, run in and out amongst the claims,
knee-deep in mud; the ground being kept in a state of constant
sloppiness by the perpetual washing for the gold. Perhaps there is a
fight going on over the boundary-pegs of a claim which have been
squashed by a heavy dray passing along, laden with stores from
Castlemaine.

The miners are attended by all manner of straggling followers, like
the sutlers following a camp. The life is a very rough one: hard work
and hard beds, heavy eating and heavy drinking. The diggers mostly
live in tents, for they are at first too much engrossed by their
search for gold to run up huts; but many of them sleep in the open air
or under the shelter of the trees. A pilot-coat or a pea-jacket is
protection enough for those who do not enjoy the luxury of a tent; but
the dryness and geniality of the climate are such that injury is very
rarely experienced from the night exposure. There are very few women
at the first opening of new diggings, the life is too rough and rude;
and some of those who do come, rock the cradle--but not the household
one--with the men. The diggers, however genteel the life they may have
led before, soon acquire a dirty, rough, unshaven look. Their coarse
clothes are all of a colour, being that of the clay and gravel in
which they work, and the mud with which they become covered when
digging.

There is a crowd of men at an open bar drinking. Bar, indeed! It is
but a plank supported on two barrels; and across this improvised
counter the brandy bottle and glasses are eagerly plied. A couple of
old boxes in front serve for seats, while a piece of canvas, rigged on
two poles, shades off the fierce sun. Many a large fortune has been
made at a rude bar of this sort. For too many of the diggers, though
they work like horses, spend like asses. Here, again, in the long main
street of tents, where the shafts are often uncomfortably close to the
road, the tradesmen are doing a roaring business. Stalwart men, with
stout appetites, are laying in their stores of grocery, buying pounds
of flour, sugar, and butter--meat and bread in great quantities. The
digger thrusts his parcels indiscriminately into the breast of his
dirty jumper, a thick shirt; and away he goes, stuffed with groceries,
and perhaps a leg of mutton over his shoulder. In the evening some
four thousand camp fires in the valleys, along the gullies, and up the
sides of the hills, cast a lurid light over a scene, which, once
witnessed, can never be forgotten.

There were, of course, the usual rowdies at Majorca as at other
rushes. But very soon a rough discipline was set up and held them in
check; then a local government was formed; and eventually order was
established. Although the neighbouring towns look down on "little
Majorca"--say it is the last place made--and tell of the riotous
doings at its first settlement, Majorca is quoted by Brough Smyth,
whose book on the gold-fields is the best authority on the subject, as
having been a comparatively orderly place, even in the earliest days
of the rush. He says, "Shortly after the workings were opened, it
presented a scene of busy industry, where there was more of order,
decency, and good behaviour than could probably be found in any mining
locality in England, or on the Continent of Europe."[6]

The contrast, however, must be very great between the Majorca of
to-day and the Majorca of seven years since, when it was a great
gold-diggers' camp. It had its first burst, like all other celebrated
places in the gold-fields. As the shallower and richer ground became
worked out, the diggers moved off to some new diggings, and the first
glories of the Majorca rush gradually passed away. Still, the place
continued prosperous. The mining was carried down into deeper strata.
But after a few years, the yield fell off, and the engines were
gradually withdrawn. Some few claims are doing well in new offshoots
of the lead, and the miners are vigorously following it up. Two engine
companies are pushing ahead and hoping for better things. Over at the
other side of the creek, in amongst the ranges, there is still plenty
of fair yielding quartz, which is being got out of mother earth; and
the miners consider that they have very fair prospects before them.[7]

Indeed, Majorca has subsided into a comparatively quiet country place,
containing about 800 inhabitants. It is supported in a great measure
by the adjoining farming population. And I observed, during my stay at
the place, that the more prudent of the miners, when they had saved a
few hundred pounds--and some saved much more--usually retired from
active digging, and took to farming. The town consists, for the most
part, of one long street, situated on a rising ground. There are not
many buildings of importance in it. The houses are mostly of wood,
one-storied, and roofed with corrugated iron. There is only one brick
shop-front in the street, which so over-tops the others, that
malicious, perhaps envious, neighbours say it is sure to topple down
some day on to the footway. The shops are of the usual description,
grocers, bakers, butchers, and drapers; and the most frequent style of
shop is a store, containing everything from a pickaxe and tin dish
(for gold washing) to Perry Davis's patent Pain-killer. We have of
course our inns--the Imperial, where the manager of the bank and
myself lived; the Harp of Erin, the Irish rendezvous, as its name
imports, even its bar-room being papered with green; the German Hotel,
where the Verein is held, and over which the German tri-coloured flag
floats on fГЄte-days; and there is also a Swiss restaurant, the
Guillaume Tell, with the Swiss flag and cap of liberty painted on its
white front.

I must also mention the churches, standing off the main street, which
are the most prominent buildings in Majorca. The largest is the
Wesleyan Chapel, a substantial brick building, near which still stands
the old wooden shanty first erected and used in the time of the rush.
Then there is the Church of England, a neat though plain edifice, well
fitted and arranged. The Presbyterians worship in a battered-looking
wooden erection; and the Roman Catholics have a shed-like place, which
in week days is used as a school.

Our inns and our churches will give you some idea of the population of
Majorca. I should say the most of it--the substance--is English. The
Irish are hard workers, but generally spendthrifts, though there are
some excellent exceptions. The Irish hold together in religion,
politics, and drink. The Scotch are not so numerous as the Irish, but
somehow they have a knack of getting on. They are not clannish like
the Irish. Each hangs by his own hook. Then there are the Germans, who
are pretty numerous, a very respectable body of men, with a sprinkling
of Italians and Swiss. The Germans keep up their old country fashions,
hold their Verein, meet and make speeches, sing songs, smoke pipes,
and drink thin wine. Lager-beer has not reached them yet.

The building in Majorca in which I am, of course, most of all
interested, is that in which I officiate as "Accountant," the only
other officer in the bank being the "Manager." You will thus observe
that there are only officers in our establishment--all rank and no
file. Let me give you an idea of our building. Its walls are wooden,
with canvas inside, and its roof is of corrugated iron. The office
fronts the main street, and is fitted with a plain counter facing the
door, at one end of which are the gold-weighing scales, and at the
other the ledger-desk. Two rooms are attached to the office, in which
we sleep,--one behind, the other at the side. There is a pretty
little garden in the rear, a verandah covered with a thickly growing
Australian creeper (the Dolichos), sheltering us as we sit out there
occasionally, enjoying the quiet cool of the evenings, reading or
talking.

You will thus observe that our establishment is by no means of a
stately order.[8] Indeed the place is not weather-proof. When the wind
blows, the canvas inside the boards flaps about, and, in my queer
little sleeping-room, when the rain falls it runs down the sides of
the canvas walls, and leaves large stains upon the gay paper. But I
contrived to make the little place look tolerably comfortable; hung it
round with photographs reminding me of relations and friends at home,
and at length I came quite to enjoy my little retreat.

A look up and down the main street of Majorca is not particularly
lively at any time. Some of the shop-keepers are in front of their
stores, standing about under the verandahs which cover the pathway,
and lazily enjoying a pipe. At the upper end of the town the
blacksmith is busily at work shoeing some farmer's horses, in front of
the blazing smithy fire. Five or six diggers come slouching along,
just from their work, in their mud-bespattered trowsers and their
shirt sleeves, a pick or spade over their shoulders, and a tin "billy"
in their hands. But for the occasional rattle of a cart or buggy down
the street, the town would be lapped in quiet.

Here comes a John Chinaman with his big basket of vegetables. And let
me tell you that the Chinamen, who live in the neighbourhood of the
town, form no unimportant part of our community. But for them where
should we be for our cabbages, cauliflowers, and early potatoes? They
are the most indefatigable and successful of gardeners. Every morning
three or four of them are seen coming into the town from their large
gardens near the creek, each with a pole across his shoulders, and a
heavily laden basket hanging from each end. What tremendous loads they
contrive to carry in this way! Try to lift one of their baskets, and
you will find you can hardly raise it from the ground. Then you see
the "Johns" moving along from house to house, selling their stuffs. It
takes a very clever woman to get the better of one of the Chinamen in
a bargain. I found, by watching closely, that those got best off who
chose what they wanted out of the basket, paid what they thought a
fair price, and stuck to their purchase. John would at last agree, but
go away grumbling.

Of course there is not much in the way of what is called "society" at
this place. Like all the new towns in Australia, it consists for the
most part of a settlement of working people. Australia may, however,
be regarded as the paradise of working men, when they choose to avail
themselves of the advantages which it offers. Here there is always
plenty of profitable work for the industrious. Even Chinamen get
rich. The better sort of working families live far more comfortably
than our clerking or business young men do at home. The respectable
workman belongs to the Mechanics' Institute, where there is a very
good circulating library; he dresses well on Sundays, and goes to
church; hires a horse and takes a pleasure ride into the bush on
holidays; puts money in the bank, and when he has accumulated a fund,
builds a house for himself, or buys a lot of land and takes to
farming. Any steady working man can do all this here, and without any
difficulty.

Where the digger or mechanic does not thrive and save money, the fault
is entirely due to his own improvidence. Living is cheap. Clothes are
dear, but the workman does not need to wear expensive clothes; and
food is reasonable. Good mutton sells at 3_d._ a pound, and bread at
6_d._ the four pound loaf. Thanks to the Chinamen also, vegetables are
moderate in price. Every one may, therefore, save money if he has the
mind to do so. But many spendthrifts seem to feel it a sort of
necessity to throw away their money as soon as they have earned it. Of
course, the chief source of waste here, as at home, is drink. There is
constant "shouting" for drinks--that is, giving drinks all round to my
acquaintances who may be present. And as one shouts, so another
follows with his shout, and thus a great deal of drink is swallowed.
Yet, I must say that, though there may be more drinking here than in
England, there is much less drunkenness. I have very seldom seen a man
really drunk during my stay in Majorca. Perhaps the pure dry
atmosphere may have something to do with it. But often, also, when
there is a shout, the call of many may be only for lemonade, or some
simple beverage of that sort. It must also be stated, as a plea for
men resorting so much as they do to public-houses, that there are few
other places where they can meet and exchange talk with each other.

That everybody may thrive here who will, is evident from the utter
absence of beggars in Australia. I have not seen one regular
practitioner. An occasional "tramp" may be encountered hard up, and in
search of work. He may ask for assistance. He can have a glass of beer
at a bar, with a crust of bread, by asking for it. And he goes on his
way, most likely getting the employment of which he is in search at
the next township. The only beggars I ever encountered at Majorca are
genteel ones--the people who come round with lists, asking for
subscriptions in aid of bazaars for the building of churches and the
like. Nor did I find much of that horrid "tipping" which is such a
nuisance in England. You may "shout" a liquor if you choose, but
"tipping" would be considered an insult.

There is an almost entire absence of coppers up country; the lowest
change is a threepenny bit, and you cannot well spend anything under a
sixpence. I never had any copper in my pocket, except only a lucky
farthing. Many asked me for it, to keep as a curiosity, saying they
had never seen one since they left home. But I would not part with my
farthing.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: The following is from Mr. Brough Smyth's book:--

     "I need only now speak of Majorca. Here a prospecting shaft
     was bottomed in the beginning of March, 1863, in the middle
     of a very extensive plain, known as M'Cullum's Creek Plain.
     The depth of the shaft was 85 feet, through thick clay,
     gravel, and cement. The wash-dirt was white gravel,
     intermixed with heavy boulders, on a soft pipeclay bottom;
     its thickness being from 2 to 3 feet. It averaged in some
     places 3 oz. to the load. Finally, a rush set in, and before
     three months had elapsed there were more than 15,000 miners
     on the ground. The sinking became deeper as the work went
     on, and was so wet that whims had to be erected; and at one
     time, in 1865, over 170 might have been seen at work, both
     night and day. Subsequently steam machinery was procured,
     and now no less than ten engines, varying from 15- to
     20-horse power, are constantly employed in pumping, winding,
     and puddling. The lead in its lower part is 160 feet in
     depth, and is evidently extending towards the Carisbrook,
     Moolart, and Charlotte plains, where so much is expected by
     all scientific men."--_Mr. E. O'Farrell, formerly Chairman
     of the Mining Board of the Maryborough District.--Brough
     Smyth_, pp. 98, 99.
]

[Footnote 7: Since my return home, letters from Majorca inform me that
things have recently taken a turn for the better. Several of the
alluvial mining companies are getting gold in increased quantities.
New shafts have been bottomed on rich ground, and the remittances of
gold are gradually on the increase.]

[Footnote 8: Since I left Majorca a neat and substantial brick
building has been erected for the purposes of the bank, in lieu of the
former wooden structure.]




CHAPTER X.

MY NEIGHBOURHOOD AND NEIGHBOURS.

"DINING OUT"--DIGGERS' SUNDAY DINNER--THE OLD WORKINGS--THE CHINAMEN'S
GARDENS--CHINAMEN'S DWELLINGS--THE CEMETERY--THE HIGH PLAINS--THE
BUSH--A RIDE THROUGH THE BUSH--THE SAVOYARD WOODCUTTER--VISIT TO A
SQUATTER.


There is no difficulty in making friends in Victoria. New chums from
home are always made welcome. They are invited out and hospitably
entertained by people of all classes. But for the many kind friends I
made in Majorca and its neighbourhood I should doubtless have spent a
very dull time there. As it was, the eighteen months I lived up
country passed pleasantly and happily.

The very first Sunday I spent in Majorca I "dined out." I had no
letters of introduction, and therefore did not owe my dinner to
influence, but to mere free-and-easy hospitality. Nor did the party
with which I dined belong to the first circles, where letters of
introduction are of any use; for they were only a party of diggers. I
will explain how it happened.

After church my manager invited me to a short walk in the
neighbourhood. We went in the direction of M'Cullum's Creek, about a
mile distant. This was the village at the creek which I passed on the
evening of my first drive from Maryborough. Crossing the creek, we
went up into the range of high ground beyond; and from the top of the
hill we had a fine view of the surrounding country. Majorca lay below,
glistening amidst its hillocks of pipeclay. The atmosphere was clear,
and the sky blue and cloudless. Though the town was two miles distant,
I could read some of the names on the large canvas sign-boards over
the hotel doors; and with the help of an opera-glass, I easily
distinguished the windows of a house six miles off. The day was fine
and warm, though it was mid-winter in June; for it must be borne in
mind that the seasons are reversed in this southern hemisphere.

Descending the farther side of the hill, we dropped into a gully,
where we shortly came upon a little collection of huts roofed with
shingle. The residents were outside, some amusing themselves with a
cricket-ball, while others were superintending the cooking of their
dinners at open fires outside the huts. One of the men having
recognized my companion, a conversation took place, which was followed
by an invitation to join them at dinner. As we were getting rather
peckish after our walk, we readily accepted their offered hospitality.
The mates took turn and turn about at the cooking, and when dinner was
pronounced to be ready, we went into the hut.

The place was partitioned off into two rooms, one of which was a
sleeping apartment, and the other the dining-room. It was papered with
a gay-coloured paper, and photographs of friends were stuck up
against the wall. We were asked to be seated. To accommodate the
strangers, an empty box and a billet of wood were introduced from the
outside. I could not say the table was laid, for it was guiltless of a
table-cloth; indeed all the appointments were rather rough. When we
were seated, one of the mates, who acted as waiter, brought in the
smoking dishes from the fire outside, and set them before us. The
dinner consisted of roast beef and cauliflower, and a capital dinner
it was, for our appetites were keen, and hunger is the best of sauces.
We were told that on Sundays the men usually had pudding; but "Bill,"
who was the cook that week, was pronounced to be "no hand at a plum
duff." We contrived, however, to do very well without it.

I afterwards found that the men were very steady fellows--three of
them English and one a German. They worked at an adjoining claim; and
often afterwards I saw them at our bank, selling their gold, or
depositing their savings.