"Well, my men, are you in want of work?" asked a well-dressed elderly gentleman, who had arrived in a carriage driven by a coachman in livery, and a footman, dressed in the same garb. He appeared to own every thing that he looked at; for we had seen half a dozen men take his orders, and then proceed to obey them with alacrity.
"We thought we'd try the mines first," I replied, in answer to his question.
"Hard work—hard work," he said, with a smile. "Americans, I see—smart men in that country. Hope you'll do well here. Afraid not if you go to the mines. Want men to help get these goods under shelter. Like to employ you;" and off he bustled.
"A pretty good sort of man, I guess," remarked Fred.
"I say, stranger," I asked, turning to a person with a cartman's frock on, who was seated on a box smoking a pipe, "can you tell me who that gentleman is?"
"I didn't see any gentleman," he answered, without even taking his pipe from his mouth.
"Why, I mean the one who just spoke to us—the man with the white vest and gold buttons."
"Him—he's a ticket-of-leave man, and has more money than half of the merchants in Melbourne," replied the cartman.
"What, that man a convict?" I asked, with surprise.
"Just so—transported for fourteen years for house-breaking. Behaved himself, and so got liberty to enter into business; and now he is at the top of the heap. In two years his time will be out, and then he can stay or go where he pleases."
After this piece of news the convict became an object of curiosity to us, and we watched him until he entered his carriage and drove off, his coachman treating him with as much respect as he would the governor general.
"I say," asked Fred of our new acquaintance, "do all convicts get rich? Because if they do I want to become one as soon as possible."
"Not all," replied the man; "but some blunder into luck, and others are shrewd and look after the chances. I don't suppose I shall ever be rich, although I am doing pretty well."
"And are you a—"
I didn't like to say convict, and so I hesitated.
"O, yes; I was sentenced to ten years' transportation for writing another man's name instead of my own on a piece of paper."
"That is forgery."
The convict smiled, as much as to say, you have hit it, and continued to smoke his pipe with infinite satisfaction.
"I should like to know if the company we are likely to meet in the mines are of the same class?" muttered Fred.
"Most of them," replied the man, who appeared to be a man of education; "and you'll find them more honest than those never sentenced, because they know that their freedom depends upon their reputation."
We sat staring at our informant for some time; but after a while he knocked the ashes from his pipe, and arose as though going.
"If you want your traps taken to the mines at a reasonable rate, I'll do it for you, as I start to-morrow with a load of goods for Ballarat," he said, after a moment's hesitation.
"Is that mine productive?" we asked.
"It's as rich as any of them. You may sink a shaft and strike a vein, and you may get nothing. It's all a lottery."
We consulted together for a few minutes, and concluded to try our fortunes at Ballarat, and so signified to our acquaintance.
"Then shoulder your traps, and I'll show you my shanty. You can sleep there to-night, and, let me tell you, it's a favor that I wouldn't grant to half of my countrymen."
As we considered pride out of place in that country, we readily accepted his offer, and in a few minutes were walking through the streets of Melbourne with a convicted felon.
We found his hut to be built of rough boards, with but one room; and the furniture consisted of a stove, wooden benches, a pine table, and a curiosity in the shape of a bedstead.
That night we learned more of the customs of the Australians from our host, who gave the name of Smith as the one which he was to be called by, than we should have found out by a six months' residence.
Over a bottle of whiskey, which was made in Yankeeland, we spent our first night in Australia.
"Come," said Smith, about ten o'clock, "it's time we were asleep, for we start early in the morning, and before to-morrow night you'll not feel as fresh as you do at present."
As he spoke he removed the whiskey, and in half an hour deep snoring was the only sound of life in the convict's hut.
CHAPTER II.
A MORNING IN AUSTRALIA.—JOURNEY TO THE MINES OF BALLARAT.—THE CONVICT'S STORY.—BLACK DARNLEY, THE BUSHRANGER.
"Hallo!" cried a gruff voice, accompanied by a gentle shake, which was sufficient to arouse Fred and myself from a deep sleep, that was probably caused by the whiskey.
The time had passed so swiftly that it did not seem an hour since we had first stretched ourselves upon our blankets on the floor.
We rubbed our eyes and sat up, looking around the Australian's hut, almost fancying that we were still dreaming. A spluttering tallow candle was dimly burning, stuck in the neck of a porter bottle, and a fire was lighted in the old broken stove, on which was hissing a spider filled with small bits of beef and pieces of potatoes. A sauce pan was doing duty for a coffee-pot, and the fragrant berry was agreeable to the nostrils of hungry men. Our host, the convict Smith, after he had aroused us, seated himself upon a three-legged stool, and was busily employed stirring up the savory mess, and trying to make a wheezy pipe draw; and as the tobacco which he was smoking was damp, and the meat was liable to burn, his time was fully occupied.
"Come, rouse up." Smith said, when he saw that we were awake; and while he spoke, he was trying to coax a coal into the pipe, but it obstinately refused to go.
"We'll be off in an hour's time; so I'm getting a little bit of breakfast ready before we start. Get up, and help me set the table."
We rolled up our blankets, and in a few minutes had drawn the rough table to the middle of the room, and placed thereupon our tin plates and quart pots.
As breakfast was not quite ready, I strolled out of doors, and found that the first streaks of daylight were just visible, and the stars looked white and silverish. There were no clouds to obscure the sight, and for a short time I stood watching the gradual changes that were taking place as the sun edged its way towards the horizon. First long streaks of a bright golden color were extended like huge arms, and then they changed to a subdued pink tint that defied the art of a painter to transfer to canvas. Glorious are the views to be obtained in Australia at sunrise, and if those of Italy excel them, it must indeed be a land for poets and painters.
A heavy dew had fallen during the night, and refreshed the aromatic plants that sprouted beneath my feet; and as they were crushed by my heavy tread, they yielded up their life with a perfumed breath that filled the air with fragrance, and made me regret that I had no other means of locomotion beside my feet.
The heavy rumbling of carts over the dry streets was heard, and an occasional crack of the dreadful whip and the fierce shout of the driver proved that there were others stirring as early as ourselves.