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Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Eight.
Unsuitable Associates

Once more I found myself without a home, without an occupation, and without any plans for the future – with a spirit undecided – depending on some slight circumstance as to what course I should next take.

Such a position is ever unpleasant. I knew this, from the fact of having been too often placed in it; and being well accustomed to the disagreeable reflections attending it.

I was anxious to decide, upon something to do. What should it be? What part of the world should I next visit? Why had I come back to Melbourne at all? Was it to make more money; or spend what I had already made? These, and a thousand other interrogatories succeeded each other in my mind; but to none of them could I give an intelligent answer.

While in this state of indecision, I came near losing a portion of my self-respect. There was a good deal to seduce me into habits of dissipation; and not much to restrain me from them. I had no longer the motives, to guard me against evil courses, that had once guided me. What could I gain, by always keeping on my best behaviour? Ever since first leaving home, I had endeavoured to conduct myself, as well as my limited knowledge would allow. What had I gained by it? Nothing, except, perhaps, a little vanity. Was this worth all the exertion I had made by resisting temptation?

Having little else to do, I spent some time in considering the question. The result was: satisfaction at the course I had pursued, and a determination to continue it.

A little vanity is, perhaps, after all, not such a bad thing. If a man cannot win the good opinion of others, he should endeavour to keep on proper terms with himself; and this he cannot do, without conducting himself in a proper manner. Because Fortune had not dealt with me, as I had wished, that was no reason why I should take her for an example, and imitate her unkindness. A man in adversity is too often deserted by his acquaintances; but this is no argument for turning against himself and becoming his own enemy. I determined not to act in a manner so stupid. I had too much self-respect, or pride, or vanity, to do so. Call it by what name you please, it served me at that time in good stead: for it was this, and nothing else, that restrained me from entering upon a course of dissipation.

My companions Vane and Cannon were good examples of men, who act without any fixed principles or firm resolve. They had both been, in the old country, what is called a “little wild,” and had come to the colonies not from any inclination on their own part, but rather at the instance of their relatives and friends. They had been sent out, in fact – in the hope of their getting tamed by the hardships of colonial life.

I have known thousands of genteel young men similarly expatriated; and who, armed with letters of introduction and recommendation, had landed in the colonies, under the belief that they were very much wanted there. Never was there a greater delusion – as most of them had afterwards reason to know. The only people required in Australia are those of good habits – combined with some brains, or else a willingness to work. The “fast youths” packed off to get them out of the way, are generally deficient in these essential requisites – otherwise they might have found employment at home.

Unwilling to work, they arrive in the colonies with too good an opinion of themselves and too low an opinion of the people there. Although leaving England under the belief that there may be greater people left behind, they feel confident that they will stand foremost in Australia.

Some of these young gentlemen have the sense soon to discover their mistake; and many of them turn to hard work, with a will that does them credit. My companions Cannon and Vane were not of this kidney. Neither would consent to do anything, that savoured of “toil;” and with all their letters of introduction – backed by the influence of the friends to whom they had come introduced – they were unable to procure what they had been led to expect – easy situations under “government.”

According to their showing, there was something wrong in the system; and the fault was with the colonial government and people. They could not understand that those who are called upon to govern a young colony – and put together the machinery of its social state – require to know something: and that they who, in their native land, have proved incapable of performing any useful duty, will be found still more useless, in a land where the highest capability is required.

Both had been unfortunate in having friends, who, while apparently behaving too well to them, had in reality been treating them in a cruel manner. They had been brought up in idleness – with the idea that labour is vulgar, and disgraceful to a gentleman. With these views they had been thrust forth upon a wide world – to war with life’s battles, as it were, undisciplined and unarmed. Neither had the spirit successfully to contend against the adverse circumstances, in which they now found themselves; and they appeared to think that the best way for combating their misfortune was to betake themselves to a course of dissipation.

I endeavoured to persuade them, to go up to the diggings with me, and try to make their fortune by honest and honourable labour; but both rejected my counsel – Vane even receiving it with scorn. They would not soil their soft hands by bringing them in contact with the dirty earth! They had as little inclination for such menial labour, as I for many habits in which they indulged, and which to my way of thinking were far more menial than gold-digging.

They had been educated as gentlemen – I had not. Their ways were not my ways; and, seeing this, I resolved to cut their acquaintance. They were naturally not bad fellows; but they had faults, arising from a defective education, that rendered their company undesirable – especially in a place like Melbourne.

They were both pleasant companions; and in many respects I could have liked them; but as they were trying to live in Melbourne on nothing a year, I saw they would not be the right sort of associates for me.

To do them justice, they seemed to be aware of this themselves, more especially Cannon. One day he had the honesty to confess to me, that he was afraid he could not lead the life of a respectable gentleman any longer.

“Why?” I asked; “can you not get work?”

“No,” he answered with a sneer; “I’m not going to drive bullocks, or dry-nurse a flock of sheep, for any man. I must live in some other manner – whether it be considered respectable or not.”

“What can you do?” I inquired.

“Haven’t an idea. I only know, Stone, that I shall be ‘spongeing’ on you, if you don’t cut my acquaintance.”

“And, when you can live on your acquaintance no longer, what then?”

“Then I must turn billiard-marker. My friends have sent me here, as they said, to make my fortune, but, as I believe, only to get rid of any further trouble with me at home. They have succeeded in their purpose: for I don’t believe that I shall ever rise the ‘tin’ to return to England, although I should deucedly like to do so.”

“Why should you wish to go where you are not wanted? Why not set to work; and become independent, by your own exertions?”

“Ah! my friend, you forget that we have not been brought up alike. You have had sensible parents, or guardians, who have done something to prepare you for that sort of thing, while I have been brought up foolishly by those who have tried hard to make me believe myself wiser than other people. What seems easy to you, is altogether impossible to me. You have been educated in a world that has taught you some wisdom, while I have been trained by a family that has only made a fool of me. I have been taught to believe that a man should owe everything to his ancestors; and you, that he should be indebted only to himself. Therefore, it’s idle to talk about the matter – we can never agree.”

I saw that there was no use in urging Cannon to attempt doing any thing in the colonies, as long as he could perceive no object to be gained by exerting himself.

Just then, I was myself slightly inclined to take a similar view of things. I had hoped and toiled to make myself as perfect, as was possible for a human being, placed in my circumstances. What had I gained by it? Nothing. What could I expect to gain? Nothing. Influenced by these thoughts, I remained for some time in doubt, whether I should return to the diggings or not. Life there, was, after all, only an excitement. It was not happiness.

Several times the temptation came strong upon me, to go back to Jessie; and see if I could find happiness with her. In striving to overcome this temptation, I was, perhaps, acting not so unlike my companions – Vane and Cannon: I was refusing to accept of fortune’s favours, when they could so easily have been won.

They were in a growing colony, where, with labour, they might easily have obtained a high position – yet they would not exert themselves. I was playing a very similar part; for I saw how I might become happy – at all events, how I might live without unhappiness – yet I rejected the opportunity fortune had thus set before me. I would only consent to accept happiness on my own terms; and my obstinacy was not so very different from that which was the besetting sin of my companions.

I never felt more like a Rolling Stone, than when in Melbourne upon that occasion; but the sensation was not peculiar to myself: for the city contained thousands of people who had been everywhere; and were ready, at an hour’s notice, to go there again!

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Nine.
Farrell’s Story Continued

I at length succeeded in making up my mind to leave Melbourne; and, having parted with Vane and Cannon, I proceeded alone to Geelong – on my way to the gold fields of Ballarat. It was my first visit to Geelong; and I made it a short one; but, short as it was, I came to the conclusion, that if the people of Geelong had, within the two previous years, advanced in civilisation as rapidly as those of Melbourne, they must have been in a dreadfully degraded state before: since I found the social, moral, and intellectual condition of the place, if possible, still lower than that which had disgusted me on my first visit to Melbourne – and this is saying a deal.

The principal business of the Geelongers appeared to be that of drinking; and at this they were, to a high degree, industrious. Almost every one, with whom I came in contact, used obscene language, and were, or appeared to be, in every way more depraved, ignorant, and brutish, than any people to be found out of England itself.

From Geelong I went on to Ballarat – a distance of forty-eight miles – in a conveyance drawn by four horses; and paid for my accommodation the smart sum of six sovereigns.

On my arrival, I once more pitched my tent on the richest gold field known to the world.

Gold-diggers had been called “lucky vagabonds” by the then Attorney-General of Victoria. Perhaps he was right; but, whatever name had been given them, I was well pleased at finding myself once more in their company; and ready to share their toils, chances, and disappointments.

There is something in gold hunting that unsettles a man’s mind, and makes him unfit for the ordinary occupations of life; and yet the calling itself is exactly suited to the state of mind it thus produces.

In this respect it is perhaps, unfortunately – too like the profession of the gamester.

No other occupation could have been so well adapted to my state of mind. I had no hopes to realise – no object to accomplish, but that of forgetting the past, and guarding my thoughts from straying into the future.

Such being the case, it was with much satisfaction that I again found myself a “lucky vagabond” – amidst the ever-varying scenes of excitement, to be witnessed on the gold fields of Ballarat.

The first acquaintance I encountered, after my arrival at the place, was Farrell – the Californian gold-digger – whom I had last seen in San Francisco.

As a matter of course, we stepped into the nearest hotel, to have a glass together.

“I suppose,” said Farrell, as soon as we were seated – “you have no objection to listen to the conclusion of that little romance – the second chapter of which I made you acquainted with in San Francisco?”

“Not the slightest,” I answered. “Although I felt sorry for what had happened to you, I confess I was very much amused at what you told me. But the most interesting part of the romance – as you call it – had not transpired. I shall be very glad to hear more of it.”

“Well,” proceeded Farrell, “you shall. As I told you they would, Foster and my wife came out to California; and, as I expected, to San Francisco. However, they had come ashore so very secretly and quietly, that I did not succeed in finding them, until they had been about ten days in the city.

“Foster took a house in Sacramento Street, furnished it with the money I had sent home to maintain my faithless wife; and laid in a stock of liquors. He intended to commence business in the grog-selling line; and was about opening the establishment, when I found them out.

“As soon as I did so, I went straight to the house – prepared for some sport.

“Foster and my wife were out shopping, and, no doubt, spending what remained of my money. The new tavern was in charge of a young man, whom they had engaged as a barkeeper.

“I immediately took possession of the whole concern – the house, and everything in it.

“I then discharged the barkeeper from their employment; and, the instant after, engaged him in my own service.

“I remained in that house for nine weeks – managing the business which Foster had intended to profit by; and then sold out for five thousand dollars.

“Neither Foster nor my wife, to my knowledge, ever came near the place – at all events, they never showed their faces in the house. They had found out, by some means, that I was in possession; and that had proved sufficient to make them surrender their claim without a contest.

“After selling out, I found leisure to look about me; and make further enquiries concerning the precious pair. I learnt that they had gone up to Sacramento city – where they had both taken situations in a public-house, managed by some other man. They had no longer any money, to go into business for themselves.

“I was still determined to see them; and started off for Sacramento.

“They must have had some one on the watch; for, on reaching the place, I found they had left only two hours before! As my anger had been for some time evaporating, I had no desire to pursue them any farther. The fact is, I felt a degree of freedom – after the loss of my wife – that went far towards reconciling me to the man who had relieved me of her. Besides, there was something in the idea of having turned Foster out of his finely furnished house in San Francisco, that made me think myself nearly square with him; and I did not care to take any more trouble, simply for the sake of troubling them.

“I returned to San Francisco; and from that place took passage in a ship just sailing for Melbourne.

“My anger has now entirely passed away; and yet I know I am still having some revenge – in addition to that I have already got. Wherever they may be, they are not living happily. They know that they have done wrong; and I’d lay a wager, there’s not an hour of the day that they’re not thinking of me, and dreading that I will make my appearance.

“I can return to my native land, and be happy. They cannot. I never wish to see either of them again: for I have become philosophical, and am willing that their crime should bring about its own punishment.”

I congratulated Farrell on the philosophy that had enabled him so successfully to regain his tranquillity of spirit; and, after giving each other mutual directions for meeting again, we parted company.

Volume Two – Chapter Thirty.
Odd Fashions in the Gold Fields

Farrell’s philosophical resolve – to trouble the delinquents no more – formed the subject of my reflections, as I walked towards my tent. It was an illustration of the power which circumstances may have, in allaying even the strongest passion: for I knew that, when first made acquainted with his dishonour, the man had felt both deeply and resentfully.

I could not help applying the lesson to myself. “Is it possible,” thought I, “that any circumstances can ever arise to allay my longings for Lenore? Is there in time a power that will yet appease them?”

My sentimental reflections were interrupted, by a scene that was of a different character – altogether comical. Not far from the place where I had parted with Farrell, I saw a crowd collected around a tent. Two miners, who had been “regular mates,” were quarrelling; and their neighbours had gathered upon the ground, to be edified by an abundance of vituperative eloquence.

After the two men had, for a considerable time, amused the bystanders with their dispute, there appeared to be but one point upon which they could agree. That was that they should remain “mates” no longer.

The tent, some provisions in it, along with their mining tools and cooking utensils, they owned in common: having shared between them the expense attending their purchase.

As these things could not be divided to the satisfaction of both parties, it was proposed that each should remove from the tent, whatever was fairly entitled to be called his “private property,” and that everything held in common – including the tent itself – should be burnt! This proposal was at once agreed to.

Each then brought forth from the tent his roll of blankets, and along with some other purely “personal effects.” The ropes, picks, shovels, and buckets – that chanced to be lying outside the tent – were then “chucked” inside; after which, a match was applied to the dry canvass, and the diggers’ dwelling was instantly in flames. The two disputants then walked coolly away from the place – each carrying his bag upon his back; one going to the east, the other to the west, amidst the cheers of the spectators – all of whom seemed greatly to admire this original mode of dissolving a partnership.

Law is so expensive and uncertain in all newly-established communities, that even sensible people do not like to resort to it, in the settlement of their disputes. Perhaps in this respect, the citizens of older communities might imitate the gold-diggers to advantage.

While in California, I was witness to another incident illustrative of the unwillingness to resort to the judgments of a legal tribunal. It was a case of two gold-diggers, who had been working together, and were about to dissolve partnership. Among the property they had owned in common was a fine mule. Each was desirous of becoming sole possessor of the animal; but neither would consent to give the other the price demanded for parting with his share. The difficulty might have been arranged by arbitration; but, neither desiring to be under any obligation to a third party, they adopted a more independent plan for settling the dispute.

“I’ll give you fifty dollars for your share of the mule,” proposed one, “or I’ll take a hundred for mine? I want the animal.”

“And I’ll give you fifty for your share, or take a hundred for mine?” said the other, “I want it too.”

“I’ll make you another offer,” said the first. “We’ll play a game of ‘Euker,’ and whoever wins shall have the mule?”

The third challenge was accepted. The game was played; and the difficulty settled in five minutes, without any expense or ill-feeling arising out of it!

A disposition to settle doubts and difficulties by chance – that “unspiritual god” – is very common, among those who have long followed the occupation of gold hunting – for the reason, no doubt, that there is so much chance or uncertainty in the calling itself. Gold-diggers become familiarised to a sort of fatalism; and, in consequence, allow many questions to be decided by chance, that should be submitted to the test of reason.

I have seen a miner after working out a rich claim, toss up a dollar, to decide whether he should return home or not! The piece of money fell wrong side down; and the man remained at the diggings; and for aught I know, may be there still, working for a “pennyweight per diem.”

And yet I do not always condemn this mode of relieving the intellect from the agony of doubt.

I once met two miners in San Francisco – to which place they had come from different diggings, for the purpose of having a few days’ rest after months of toil. They had been shipmates to California; and now meeting again, each told the other of the way fortune had served him, since they had parted.

“I have got together two thousand three hundred dollars,” said one. “I came out here to make up a pile of four thousand. If I had that, I’d go home.”

“I have done nearly as well,” said the other; “I have about two thousand; and if I had what we have both got, I’d go home; and never touch pick or shovel again.”

“Ah! so would I,” sighed the first.

“Well, then,” challenged his old shipmate, “I’ll tell you what we can do. We both want to go back home, with not less than four thousand dollars. We need not both be disappointed. One of us can go; and let the other stay. I’ll cut a pack of cards with you; and the one who cuts highest, shall take four thousand dollars, and go home. The odd two or three hundred will be enough, to carry the loser back to the diggings. What say you, old hoss?”

This proposal was instantly accepted. The man, who had made it, lost his two thousand dollars; and next morning he handed the money over to his more fortunate friend, shook hands with him, and started back for the diggings!

This story may seem improbable, to those who have never been in California in its best days; but I can vouch for its truth.

After parting with Farrell, I seemed destined to witness a variety of incidents on that same evening; and of both characters – comic and tragical.

Shortly after passing the crowd, who had assisted at the dispute of the two miners, I came in sight of another concourse of people – in the middle of which appeared two or three policemen. They were gathered around the shaft of an abandoned claim. I went up to see what the excitement was about; and learnt, that a Chinaman had been found suspended in the shaft.

The Celestial had committed suicide, by hanging himself; and the plan he had adopted for terminating his existence, seemed, from its ingenuity, to have met with as much admiration from this crowd, as had been bestowed by the other one on the mode of settling their dispute, which had been adopted by the two diggers.

The Chinaman, knowing that the shaft was a deep one, had placed a large log of wood across the top of it. To the middle of this he had tied the end of a rope about fifteen feet long. The other end he had fastened, loop fashion, around his neck; and then jumped down the shaft. No Jack Ketch could have performed the operation for him, in a more effectual manner.

I afterwards learnt that the Chinaman had been an opium eater; and that he had secretly squandered some gold, in which his mates owned shares. The crime preying on his conscience – perhaps, when he had no opium to fortify it – was supposed to be the cause of his committing the act of self-destruction.