Chapter III
‘And you won't come with me?’
‘No, I think not. On the whole, I have had enough of station life. I think I shall go to the diggings. I want something more exciting.'
‘Well, I'm sorry to part. We have seen some trouble together, and that makes one friends. However, I hope we shall meet again.'
'I hope so, too.'
Thus, after a few weeks' wandering, the temporary tie between Yates and his partner was dissolved. They had found no difficulty in disposing of their run, and Cyril, with his usual good fortune, received an ample return for the few hundreds he had invested in it; while Tom's percentage was of course much greater, as he had taken up the land when quite in the rough. He was now a moneyed man, and well able to take up land in a more settled district, and if only Mary had been by his aide to help and comfort him, he would have desired nothing better; but she slept quietly in her northern grave, and in her absence lie had no heart to make a fresh start in life, and therefore was glad to accept an invitation to go and help his brother, a sugar-planter in the Fijis. He wished Cyril to join them, but the latter declined. His object was not to make money; he rather sought change and distraction from his own restless thoughts.
Three out of the five years had passed away, and he felt half inclined to return to Dunedin. To what had his romantic resolution led? Nothing. It had been the whim of a moment — no more; and now he felt half inclined to return and claim his own. But pride and a certain dogged resolution prevailed. He had told Nellie that he should remain away five years, and he thought it would be as well to test her constancy as well as his own resolution. So he resisted the temptation to return or to write, and determined to leave his friends without word or sign until the five years had passed. At the same time he felt no inclination to resume his station life, or even to adopt that of a planter.
‘I want something more exciting,' he said; 'I shall go to the diggings.'
And thus the tie between the two men was dissolved. Tom joined his brother, and Cyril set forth in search of new adventures.
It will be remembered that Cyril had given the Yates a false name, frankly acknowledging that it was not his own. By a mere accident, however, his real patronymic became known to them; and although they continued to call him Charles Hall, they knew well that that was not his real title. This circumstance, though seemingly very trivial, proved of great importance in the future, when it became necessary to establish the identity of the two men, Cyril Horne and Charles Hall.
A diggings township is a sight which has been so often described, and is so well known, that I need not dilate upon it here. To Cyril, however, it was new and strange, and consequently full of interest. He threw himself with energy into the life, the uncertainty of which proved only an added charm, and soon showed himself a first-rate digger. As usual, his first claim was a fortunate one, and he soon gained the soubriquet of 'Lucky Charley.'
For a time he worked alone, paying wages to the men who helped him; but one evening a stranger sauntered down to their camp fire, and asked permission to boil his billy. Of course it was granted, and for some hours he lingered, smoking and drinking tea in true Colonial fashion. He talked too, and that so pleasantly, that Cyril was quite charmed. Here was a man very different from the rough but kindly diggers who surrounded him — men who had not a single idea beyond their daily life, who had never read anything but a newspaper, and to whom the thoughts which move the world had no existence. But the stranger had seen life; he had read the classic works of many nations, and knew how to cap an apt quotation, to catch up and answer a half-uttered thought. His talk — half playful, half-serious— contained a thousand allusions to the great topics which move the world, and was at once a stimulant and a rest.
Cyril was delighted; and when the stranger threw out a hint that he was on the look-out for a mate, Cyril immediately proposed that they should join company. The newcomer pretended to hesitate.
‘I have no tent — you are so well provided.'
‘That is nothing. I cannot work well without a mate, and have been looking out for one. If you like to join me, I shall be pleased: I think we shall get on together.'
‘I am very poor. See, my coat is fairly in rags. I had a better one, but I sold it to buy these tools, which I scarcely know how to use. For years I have been a mark for “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." I am an unlucky dog — you had better have nothing to do with me.'
‘On the contrary, you had better see whether my good fortune will not neutralise yours. All my life I have been a favourite with the fickle goddess, and already I have obtained the nickname of “Lucky Charley." You had better cast in your lot with me. There! Throw down yon swag in that corner, and unroll your blankets, and say no more about it. What is your name?’
The stranger laughed.
'"What's in a name?”' he said. ‘Suppose you call me Romeo?'
'Too romantic for the circumstances. A fine name "to wear o' Sundays." Can't you suggest anything more prosaic?’
‘Dogberry of instance. No, I have a better idea. Call me John Smith.'
The acquaintance thus abruptly formed proved the source of many a pleasant hour, and the attraction which the newcomer exercised over Cyril grew daily stronger. He had never found such pleasure in the society of any man as in that of this clever, well-read, versatile, gentlemanly vagabond; and the affection of 'Lucky Charley' and his mate soon became a theme of conversation with the other diggers, who also noticed a striking physical likeness between the two. They were of the same height, they had hair and eyes of the same colour, and their general expression was much alike — yet to a keen observer there were many points of difference. Cyril's eyes were steadfast and calm, and set somewhat wide apart, whereas Smith's were shifty and restless, and nearer together than a physiognomist would have approved. Cyril's mouth was well cut, his lips thin and clearly defined. Smith's lips were thick — almost sensual, while the downward curves betrayed both selfishness and cruelty. Yet they were wonderfully alike, especially to a casual observer.
Cyril was the last to notice this resemblance, and when it was pointed out to him he made light of it, declaring that he considered it a compliment — ‘For Smith was a deuced good-looking fellow, and he only wished he could cultivate such a beard,' his own being of a most stubbly nature, which had never taken its growth kindly. He laughingly called Smith his ‘double,' and seemed never tired of heaping gifts and kindnesses upon him: and the man exerted himself ever more and more to please his companion, and strengthen the fascination which he had exercised from the very first, until ere long he became the ruling spirit of the firm. Not that he ever proposed any change outright, but by subtle hints and artful suggestions he induced Cyril to adopt his views, and believe them to be his own. Thus, when he formed the design of isolating Home from the other diggers, and leading him into a position where they two would be thrown entirely on each other, he effected his purpose in so crafty a fashion that it was not until long afterwards that Cyril perceived how he had been wrought upon to express a wish which had never really been his.
There are pioneer diggers as there are pioneer settlers, and these are called prospectors. As a rule, they are daring and experienced men, well accustomed to their work, and inured to all kinds of hardship, who wander for months on desolate hills and wild gullies,, seeking for some rich spot, where hidden in the bosom of the earth, the golden treasure lies awaiting the discoverer. These pioneers, when successful, receive a bonus from the Government, and .some special advantages in working the new claim, but the task is one of considerable difficulty and danger, and the life is lonely and dreary in the extreme.
Nevertheless Cyril, incited to it by his mate, decided to go on a pioneering expedition.
In a gully some ten miles south of the township Smith professed to have seen unmistakable signs of gold, both in the rocks and alluvia; and with his suggestions of wealth, and the glory of discovering a new and valuable 'field,’ so worked on Cyril's excitable nature that he resolved to strike his tent, abandon his present claim, and plunge into the unknown fastnesses of the wild' interior. In vain some of the more experienced diggers remonstrated with the young men', explaining some of the difficulties of the way, and assuring them that the most likely spots had already been explored.
Cyril laughed, and said he would try his luck, and Smith (in Cyril's absence) deplored his mate's obstinacy, and quietly hinted that he could not leave him to encounter danger alone, but that he should accompany him, though much against his judgment and wishes.
So, having disposed of all the gold they had already obtained, the two diggers struck their tent, packed their effects on two strong horses, mounted themselves on other two, and set out on their new venture.
Smith was of course the guide.
For some distance their route was direct enough, but after a time he began to get confused in the intricate mazes of the mountain. The country was wild in the extreme; a huge barrier of rock rent into a thousand strange contortions by some gigantic natural convulsion, some earthquake of primeval times; frowning precipices, steep gorges, dark ravines, lent a gloomy grandeur to the scene. There was, of course, no track of any kind. Water-courses, at this season almost dry, formed the only possible path, and the horses found great difficulty in scrambling over the huge boulders with which they were filled. Progress was slow and fatiguing, and when they camped for the night both man and beast were thoroughly exhausted.
It was some days before they could fix upon a spot suited even for a temporary camp, as the immediate neighbourhood of a water-course is to be avoided on account of the sudden and violent rains, and it was difficult to find even a small piece of level ground in a safe position; but in that summer weather it was pleasant enough sleeping out of doors, with a blanket wrapped round one, a saddle for a pillow, and the dark blue canopy of the starry heaven stretched in solemn peace above.
They wandered about, trying first one gully and then another with no success. The earth, when washed, left no glint of yellow behind. Cyril began to talk of returning to the township.
'They will laugh at us.'
‘I don't care. We have made a mistake, and may easily own to it.'
‘Oh, wait a while longer. Do not let us so soon confess ourselves defeated. Surely this life is pleasant enough — you are not tired of it already?'
'I wonder what it would feel like to be rich; I should like to try it just for once.'
And then, rousing himself to the occasion, he talked so pleasantly that the hours sped away on winged feet.
Before another week had passed, however, they found gold, first in tiny specks, and then, following the creek backwards into the heart of the mountains, they came upon a rich deposit, at the sight of which Smith’s eyes dilated with eager welcoming.
‘You’re luck again, Charley,' he said, turning to his mate. 'I can't think how it is that you are so confoundedly fortunate, while other poor devils — myself, to wit — are always on the wrong side of the ledger.'
‘You won't be able to say that much longer. By the time we have washed out all this gold you will be no longer a poor devil.'
‘I wonder what it would feel like to be rich; I should like to try it just for once.'
'Oh! it is nothing very delightful,' said Cyril, carelessly.
The other looked quickly at him. It was not the first time by many that a chance observation had led the astute observer to the belief, not far from the truth, that Cyril was not what he seemed, and was merely masquerading with poverty for some reason of his own; however, he was much too clever even to hint at this supposed discovery.
They worked steadily at gold-washing. The yield was splendid — almost double that which they had made in the township, and the work of obtaining it was much less severe.
The excellence of the yield did not, however, in any way lessen Smith's eagerness to obtain as much as he could. He worked morning, noon, and night with feverish anxiety, and grudged the moments that were spent in taking needful food and rest. Above all, he grudged the days that were passed in going to the township for provisions, and yet he would not resign that duty to Cyril, for he feared lest the generous-hearted young man should betray the secret of their rich find to the clever old diggers who were sure to question him. He therefore took this duty on himself, and managed it so well, that their secret remained for months unsuspected, and some pitied while others blamed them for wasting so much time on a spot which scarcely found them 'tucker.'
At length their secret was suspected, and Smith was tracked on his homeward journey. He speedily discovered the fact, and led his pursuers a pretty dance through the worst and wildest parts of the mountains, and then, when they were well nigh exhausted, he adroitly slipped away from them, leaving them to find their way home as best they might.
That night he was late in returning to the camp; and when he told Cyril the cause of his delay, the latter quietly remarked that they had got enough gold, that they had better dig up their spoil, carry it to the nearest bank, and then make known their discovery to the Government, and claim the reward.
'We must do that in the end, of course; but not yet — in a month's time, perhaps.'
‘But suppose you are tracked here, to this very spot — what then?'
Smith touched the pistol which, digger-fashion, he wore in his belt, and said, with a grim smile:
‘The knowledge would do them little good, for I should shoot them with as little compunction as I would shoot yonder crow.'
Cyril shuddered.
‘You are jesting.’
‘Not I. Do you think I am such a fool as lose the honest spoil of so many months? Let him who crosses my path beware!'
‘Still I think it would be wise to go while we can do so with a good grace. Besides, the weather is growing unsettled; sudden rains might set in at any moment, and then our position would be awkward.'
'All the more reason to “make hay while the sun shines.” I shan't stir from this for another month.'
Well, since you are so determined, I suppose we must remain for a while longer; but I think we shall regret it.
'No fear of that, so long as we get the gold; nothing else matters.'
It was at this time that Cyril first began to doubt his wisdom in receiving this stranger into his friendship. The mad thirst for gold revolted him. Perhaps he was a bad judge, since he had never known the pressure of want or one of the troubles which spring from poverty, and ‘He jests at scars who never felt a wound.' At the same time, this openly avowed greed formed a painful contrast to the lofty and generous sentiments to which his mate had so often laid claim, and the first doubt — often thrust aside, as often returning — rose in his heart, and would not be altogether silenced.
Their camp was placed in a narrow gully, beside a creek, at what seemed a very safe distance from it, for indeed the little stream in its summer drought was a mere thread, with scarcely volume enough to rock the cradles of the miners, or to wash out the precious metal from the soil in which it was embedded. Even in flood times the two diggers felt sure that it could not reach their tent; but this confidence was without foundation, as the result proved.
The weather had for some time been unsettled, short, sharp showers occurring at intervals, and the air being unusually hot and oppressive. Cyril's four years' experience In Australia, and all that he had heard from others, induced him to think that the long drought would shortly be succeeded by a season of storm and tempest, and he more than once urged on his mate the expediency of leaving the spot which had given them such a rich harvest. But Jack's greed was by no means appeased, and he would not stir.
At last the threatened tempest came. It began early in the evening with a most violent thunderstorm. The wild artillery of heaven pealed through the narrow gorge; its loud detonations were caught up by the overhanging rocks, and echoed and re-echoed a thousand times; the flashes of lightning, intensely blue and vivid, quivered in keen jagged lines from side to side of the ravine, and even seemed to sweep down it in blinding floods of light. The diggers' tent was at intervals illuminated by this electric light so that the minutest object was distinctly visible, and then again it was shrouded in impenetrable darkness so dense that the two men could not see an inch before them.
About midnight the flood-gates of heaven seemed suddenly opened, and a rain, the like of which they had never before experienced, descended in perfect sheets upon the earth. The strong tent, with its double fly, proved a very ineffectual protection. Being surrounded with but a shallow ditch, the water soon began to stream through and under the canvas in all directions. Nor was this the worst. The stream began to rise rapidly, and they could distinctly hear, above all the fury of the storm, the hoarse roar and rumble of the great boulders which were carried along in its impetuous course fretting and grinding their rocky bed.
‘The waters are rising fast,' said Cyril, lifting the flap of the tent, and trying to pierce the intense gloom without, and even to advance a few steps nearer to the current, but the strength of the wind and rain in his face forced him to retreat, and by a fugitive ray of lightning, now dimmed by the storm, he saw the white crests of the rushing water already many feet above its usual bed. 'The waters are rising fast; in a short time they will be upon us. We must clear out of this as quickly as we can. You remember the cave in the rock, a little below this. I think we might manage to reach that, and there we should at least be safe.'
Smith agreed, and proceeded to collect the gold, which even at that extreme moment he could not forget. In true digger fashion it was planted in a deep hole under their bunk, and formed in size and weight no mean swag. Smith tied it deliberately and quietly into two parcels, while Cyril stood by urging him to make haste, and a stream of water from the canvas roof dripped upon his head, while other streams, creeping under the fly, threatened to fill up the hole before he could extract its precious contents.
The noise outside was deafening. The continuous down pour of the rain, which seemed to come not in drops but in bucketsful; the reverberation of the thunder, the rush and roar of the stream, and the rattle of the great boulders; combined to raise such a volume of sound that the men's voices, even when raised to the highest pitch, were inaudible to each other.
At last the precious bundles were tied up, and, bending beneath their weight, the diggers sallied forth. It was still pitch dark, although the hour of dawn, was not far distant, and for a moment the storm seemed to have abated — at any rate they were quite able to stand against it.
With infinite pains and difficulty — on account of the gloom, the slippery surface of the rocks, and the burden which they carried — they succeeded in groping their way some two or three hundred yards down the creek, and then in climbing up into a small natural cave, with sloping roof, in which it was impossible to stand erect or move freely about, but which formed at that moment a most welcome shelter. There they threw themselves down at full length, and 'wished for the day.'
Very soon it came. In one moment the sun sprang above the horizon, and shed a faint light upon the desolate scene.
The tent was still standing, but the raging current had approached within half a foot of it, and presented a terrible appearance: its muddy waves, lashed to fury, tearing madly down the gully, bearing in their resistless course branches, logs, and even whole trees torn up by the roots, and coming down with force and swiftness which seemed titanic in its might. Against the forces of nature thus let loose human strength seemed puny indeed.
Cyril was just congratulating himself on his escape when Smith, remembering that he had left a small bag of precious nuggets in his bunk, announced his intention of returning to fetch them.
In vain Cyril entreated him not to run the risk, representing the great danger that there was from the rapidly-rising, furious water, against which the tent, if once surrounded, could not stand for a moment; but he was firm.
‘I shall have plenty of time to go and return, and I can't afford to lose them. They are worth two or three hundred pounds.'
'But suppose you lose your life to getting them? They are not worth the risk.'
'I think differently. Ta-ta.'
‘Stay! Do not peril your life for such a trifle. I will give you half my "dust."'
Smith glanced swiftly and curiously at him.
‘You are very generous. There are not many men who are so careless of their spoil. If you have more gold than you want, you can always hand it over to me. In the meantime I don't see the fun of letting so many precious little treasures go begging. So here goes.'
With that he swung himself lightly down the rocks, and in spite of wind and rain, which blew directly in his teeth, went swiftly back to the deserted tent. It took him but a few minutes to reach it, and possibly his stay inside was still shorter. But Cyril beheld with horror the momentary rising of the stream, which at every instant increased in violence, and finally seemed to throw itself with conscious malignity upon the drenched canvas.
In a moment the strong tent-pole snapped like a carrot, the flapping sides belched out like a balloon, the cords strained and snapped, and the whole collapsed, enveloping in its folds the unfortunate digger, who was perfectly helpless in his hideous winding-sheet.
One agonised cry rose to heaven, piercing the wild hubbub of the storm.
Cyril swung himself from the rocks, and careless of danger rushed to the rescue.
Half way between the tent and the cave stood a great rock jutting forward, over which the creek had not yet spread. Here he stationed himself, and, bending down, pressed his knees against the rock while he stretched forward to grasp the wreck of the tent as it should be swept past him.
He succeeded. The backward swirl of water caused by the jutting rock detained the debris, and with feverish strength he dragged it towards him, and joining his efforts to those of Smith himself — who had not yet lost consciousness, so swiftly had the whole thing happened — he succeeded in releasing the unhappy man from the snake-like coils of his terrible prison. But the rescue was dearly paid for.
The force of the stream catching the broken tent-pole, drove it against the rock; it was dashed upwards, and fell forward with great force, striking Cyril on the temple, and flinging him senseless upon the rock, only a few inches above the still rising water.
Chapter IV
Cyril lay for hours insensible, and when he returned to life he did not return to consciousness. The blow on the temple had injured the brain, and he talked wild delirious nonsense.
The storm which had done so much harm now began to subside, but the mischief it had wrought did not pass away so rapidly; and the chill which Cyril had sustained lying for so long a time in his wet clothes greatly aggravated the evil caused by the blow on his temple, and a violent attack of rheumatic fever was the not unnatural consequence.
In this emergency John Smith showed little feeling and less humanity. When Cyril rescued him from the dangerous position which must so soon have ended fatally, he amused himself by showering curses, deep if not loud, upon t