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Lady's Visit to the Gold Diggings of Australia in 1852-53, A.

<h3> Chapter XIII. </h3> <h3> BALLARAT </h3> Ballarat is situated about forty-five miles from Geelong, and seventy-five nearly west of Melbourne. This was the first discovered goldfield of any extent in Victoria, and was made known on the 8th of September, 1851. The rush from Geelong was immense. Shops, stores, trades, all and everything was deserted; and the press very truly declared that "Geelong was mad—stark, staring gold-mad." During the month of September five hundred and thirty-two licences were taken out; in the month following the number increased to two thousand two hundred and sixty one! The usual road to Ballarat is by the Adelaide overland route on the Gambier Road; but the most preferable is per Geelong. The former route leads over the Keilor Plains, and through Bacchus Marsh, crossing the Werribee River in two places. Mount Buninyong then appears in sight of the well-pleased traveller, and Ballarat is soon reached. The route VIA Geelong is much quicker, as part of the way is generally performed by steam at the rate of one pound a-piece. Those who wish to save their money go to Geelong by land. After leaving Flemington, and passing the Benevolent Asylum, the Deep Creek is crossed by means of a punt, and you then come to a dreary waste of land, called Iett's Flat. Beyond is a steep rise and a barren plain, hardly fit to graze sheep upon, and at about twenty miles from Melbourne you come to the first halting house. Some narrow but rapid creeks must be got over, and for seven miles further you wander along over a dreary sheep-run till stopped by the Broken River, which derives its name partly from the nature of its rocky bed, and partly from the native name which has a similar sound. This creek is the most steep, rapid, and dangerous on the road, having no bridge and no properly defined crossing-place or ford, except the natural rocks about. The bottom is of red sand-stone and rocks of the same description abut from the sides of the creek, and appear to abound in the neighbourhood; and all along the plains here and there are large fragments of sand and lime-stone rocks. Two hundred yards from the creek is a neat inn after the English style, with a large sitting-room, a tap, a bar, and a coffee-room. The bed-rooms are so arranged as to separate nobs from snobs—an arrangement rather inconsistent in a democratic colony. The inn also affords good stabling and high charges. Up to this distance on our road there is a scarcity of wood and springs of water. We now pass two or three huts, and for twenty miles see nothing to please the eye, for it is a dead, flat sheep-walk. About seven miles on the Melbourne side of Geelong, the country assumes a more cheering appearance—homesteads, gardens, and farms spring up—the roads improve, and the timber is plentiful and large, consisting of shea-oaks, wattle, stringy bark, and peppermints. Many of the houses are of a good size, and chiefly built of stone, some are of wood, and very few of brick. Geelong, which is divided into north and south, is bounded by the Barwin, a river navigable from the bay to the town, and might be extended further; beautiful valleys well wooded lie beyond. Between the two townships a park has been reserved, though not yet enclosed; the timber in it, which is large—consisting principally of white gum and stringy bark—is not allowed to be cut or injured. There are several good inns, a court-house, police-station, and corporation offices. There is also a neat church in the early pointed style, with a parsonage and schools in the Elizabethan; all are of dark lime-stone, having a very gloomy appearance, the stones being unworked, except near the windows; the porches alone slightly ornamented. The road and pavement are good in the chief streets; there is a large square with a conduit, which is supplied by an engine from the Barwin. The shops are large and well furnished, a great many houses are three stories high, most are two, and very few one. The best part of town is about one hundred feet above the river. A large timber bridge over the Ballarat road was washed down last winter. The town is governed by a mayor and corporation. There is a city and mounted police force, and a neat police-court. A large and good race-course is situated about three miles from the town. As regards scenery, Geelong is far superior to Melbourne, the streets are better, and so is the society of the place; none of the ruffian gangs and drunken mobs as seen in Victoria's chief city. There are various, chapels, schools, markets, banks, and a small gaol. The harbour is sheltered, but not safe for strangers, as the shoals are numerous. Geelong is surrounded by little townships. Irish Town, Little Scotland, and Little London are the principal and to show how completely the diggings drained both towns and villages of their male inhabitants, I need only mention that six days after the discovery of Ballarat, there was only one man left in Little Scotland, and he was a cripple, compelled NOLENS VOLENS to remain behind. The road from Geelong to Ballarat is well marked out, so often has it been trodden; and there are some good inns on the way-side for the comfort of travellers. On horseback you can go from the town to the diggings in six or eight hours. Ballarat is a barren place, the ground is interspersed with rocky fragments, the creek is small, and good water is rather scarce. In summer it almost amounts to a drought, and what there is then is generally brackish or stagnatic. It is necessary never to drink stagnant water, or that found in holes, without boiling, unless there are frogs in it, then the water is good; but the diggers usually boil the water, and a drop of brandy, if they can get it. In passing through the plains you are sure of finding water near the surface (or by seeking a few inches) wherever the tea tree grows. The chief object at the Ballarat diggings is the Commissioners' tent, which includes the Post-office. There are good police quarters now. The old lock-up was rather of the primitive order, being the stump of an old tree, to which the the prisoners were attached by sundry chains, the handcuff being round one wrist and through a link of the chain. I believe there is a tent for their accommodation. There are several doctors about, who, as usual, drive a rare trade. It is almost impossible to describe accurately the geological features of the gold diggings at Ballarat. Some of the surface-washing is good, and sometimes it is only requisite to sink a few feet, perhaps only a few inches, before finding the ochre-coloured earth (impregnated with mica and mixed with quartzy fragments), which, when washed, pays exceedingly well. But more frequently a deep shaft has to be sunk. Of course the depth of the shafts varies considerably; some are sixty or even eighty, and some are only ten feet deep. Sometimes after heavy rains, when the surface soil has been washed from the sides of the hills, the mica layer is similarly washed down to the valleys and lies on the original surface-soil. This constitutes the true washing stuff of the diggings. Often when a man has—to use a digger's phrase—"bottomed his hole," (that is, cut through the rocky strata, and arrived at the gold layer), he will find stray indications, but nothing remunerative, and perchance the very next hole may be the most profitable on the diggings. Whether there is any geological rule to be guided by has yet to be proved, at present no old digger will ever sink below the mica soil, or leave his hole until he arrives at it, even if he sinks to forty feet. So, therefore, it may be taken as a general rule, wherever the diggings may be, either in Victoria, New South Wales, or South Australia, that gold in "working" quantities lies only where there is found quartz or mica. Ballarat has had the honour of producing the largest masses of gold yet discovered. These masses were all excavated from one part of the diggings, known as Canadian Gully, and were taken out of a bed of quartz, at the depths of from fifty to sixty-five feet below the surface. The deep indentures of the nuggets were filled with the quartz. The largest of these masses weighed one hundred and thirty-four pounds, of which it was calculated that fully one hundred and twenty-six pounds consisted of solid gold! About seven miles to the north of Ballarat, some new diggings called the Eureka have been discovered, where it appears that, although there are no immense prizes, there are few blanks, and every one doing well! In describing the road from Melbourne to Geelong, I have made mention of the Broken River. A few weeks after my arrival in the colonies this river was the scene of a sad tragedy. I give the tale, much in the same words as it was given to me, because it was one out of many somewhat similar, and may serve to show the state of morality in Melbourne. The names of the parties are, of course, entirely fictitious. <HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> Prettiest among the pretty girls that stood upon the deck as the anchor of the Government immigrant ship 'Downshire' fell into Hobson's Bay, in August, 1851, was Mary H——, the heroine of my story. No regret mingled with the satisfaction that beamed from her large dark eyes, as their gaze fell on the shores of her new country, for her orphan brother, the only relative she had left in their own dear Emerald Isle, was even then preparing to follow her. Nor could she feel sad and lonely whilst the rich Irish brogue, from a subdued but manly and well-loved voice, fell softly on her ear, and the gentle pressure of her hand continually reminded her that she was not alone. Shipboard is a rare place for match-making, and, somehow or another, Henry Stephens had contrived to steal away the heart of the 'Downshire' belle. Prudence, however, compelled our young people to postpone their marriage, and whilst the good housewife qualities of the one readily procured her a situation in a highly respectable family in Melbourne, Henry obtained an appointment in the police force of the same town. Their united savings soon mounted up, and in a few months the banns were published, and Christmas-Day fixed on for the wedding. Mary, at her lover's express desire, quitted her mistress's family to reside with a widow, a distant relative of his own, from whose house she was to be married. Delightful to the young people was this short period of leisure and uninterrupted intercourse, for the gold mania was now beginning to tell upon the excited imaginations of all, and Henry had already thrown up his situation; and it was settled their wedding trip should be to the golden gullies round Mount Buninyong. And now let me hasten over this portion of my narrative. It is sad to dwell upon the history of human frailty, or to relate the oft-told tale of passion and villainy triumphant over virtue. A few days before Christmas, when the marriage ceremony was to be performed, they unfortunately spent one evening together alone, and he left her—ruined. Repentance followed sin, and the intervening time was passed by Mary in a state of the greatest mental anguish. With what trembling eagerness did she now look forward to the day which should make her his lawful wife. It arrived. Mary and the friends of both stood beside the altar, whilst he, who should have been there to redeem his pledge and save his victim from open ruin and disgrace, was far away on the road to Ballarat. To describe her agony would be impossible. Day after day, week after week, and no tidings from him came; conscience too acutely accounting to her for his faithlessness. Then the horrible truth forced itself upon her, that its consequences would soon too plainly declare her sin before the world; that upon her innocent offspring would fall a portion of its mother's shame. Thus six months stole sorrowfully away, and as yet none had even conjectured the deep cause she had for misery. Her brother's non-arrival was also an unceasing source of anxiety, and almost daily might she have been seen at the Melbourne Post-office, each time to return more disappointed than before. At length the oft-repeated inquiry was answered in the affirmative, and eagerly she tore open the long-anticipated letter. It told her of an unexpected sum of money that had come into his hands—to them a small fortune—which had detained him in Ireland. This was read and almost immediately forgotten, as she learnt that he was arrived in Melbourne, and that only a few streets now separated them. She raised her face, flushed and radiant with joyful excitement—her eyes fell upon him who had so cruelly injured her. The scream that burst from her lips brought him involuntarily to her side. What will not a woman forgive where once her heart has been touched—in the double joy of the moment the past was almost forgotten—together they re-read the welcome letter, and again he wooed her for his bride. She consented, and he himself led her to her brother, confessed their mutual fault, and second preparations for an immediate marriage were hurriedly made. Once more at the altar of St. Peter's stood the bridal party, and again at the appointed hour Stephens was far gone on his second expedition to the diggings, after having increased (if that was possible) his previous villainy, by borrowing a large portion of the money before mentioned from his intended brother-in-law. It was pretty evident that the prospect of doing this had influenced him in his apparently honourable desire to atone to the poor girl, who, completely prostrated by this second blow, was laid on the bed of sickness. For some weeks she continued thus and her own sufferings were increased by he sight of her brother's fury, as, on her partial recovery, he quitted her in search of her seducer. During his absence Mary became a mother, and the little one that nestled in her bosom, made her half forgetful of her sorrows, and at times ready to embrace the delusive hope that some slight happiness in life was in store for her. But her bitter cup was not yet drained. Day by day, hour by hour, her little one pined away, until one dreary night she held within her arms only its tiny corpse. Not one sound of grief—not an outward sign to show how deeply the heart was touched—escaped her. The busy neighbours left her for awhile, glad though amazed at her wondrous calmness; when they returned to finish their preparations for committing the child to its last resting-place, the mother and her infant had disappeared. Carrying the lifeless burden closely pressed against her bosom, as though the pelting rain and chilling air could harm it now, Mary rapidly left the town where she had experienced so much misery, on—on—towards Geelong, the route her seducer and his pursuer had taken—on—across Iett's Flat, until at length, weak and exhausted, she sank down on the barren plains beyond. Next morning the early dawn found her still plodding her weary way—her only refreshment being a dry crust and some water obtained at an halting-house on the road; and many a passer-by, attracted by the wildness of her eyes, her eager manner, and disordered dress, cast after her a curious wondering look. But she heeded them not—on—on she pursued her course towards the Broken River. Here she paused. The heavy winter rains had swollen the waters, which swept along, dashing over the irregular pieces of rock that formed the only means of crossing over. But danger was as nothing to her now—the first few steps were taken—the rapid stream was rushing wildly round her—a sensation, of giddiness and exhaustion made her limbs tremble—her footing slipped on the wet and slimy stone—in another moment the ruthless waters carried her away. The morrow came, and the sun shone brightly upon the still swollen and rapid river. Two men stood beside it, both too annoyed at this impediment to their return to Melbourne to be in the slightest degree aware of their proximity to one another. A bonnet caught by a projecting fragment of rock simultaneously attracted their attention: both moved towards the spot, and thus brought into closer contact they recognized each other. Deadly foes though they were, not a word passed between them, and silently they dragged the body of the unhappy girl to land. In her cold and tightened grasp still lay the child. As they stood gazing on those injured ones, within one breast remorse and shame, in the other, hatred and revenge, were raging violently. Each step on the road to Ballarat had increased her brother's desire for vengeance, and still further was this heightened on discovering that Stephens had already left the diggings to return to town. This disappointment maddened him; his whole energy was flung into tracing his foe, and in this he had succeeded so closely, that unknown to either, both had slept beneath the same roof at the inn beside the Broken River. The voices of some of the loungers there, who were coming down to the Creek to see what mischief had been done during the night, aroused him. He glanced upon his enemy, who pale and trembling, stood gazing on the wreck that he had made. Revenge at last was in his hands—not a moment was to be lost—with the yell of a maniac he sprang upon the powerless and conscious-stricken man—seized him in his arms rushed to the river—and ere any could interpose, both had found a grave where but a few minutes before the bodies of Mary and her infant had reposed. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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