Early in the month of September, 1852, I landed at Cole’s Wharf in Melbourne, one of four hundred passengers newly arrived from Liverpool by the “Lady Head” sailing ship. While yet at sea I had agreed to join a party of young men who intended starting for the diggings without delay. We found the lodging-houses overcrowded, with table-tops, chests, and chairs in use for bedsteads, and we were made acquainted with a considerable portion of the town before we found accommodation. Our capital being small we grudged the price asked, but were disposed to be thankful on witnessing next morning the shifts that numbers of our shipmates had been put to in getting shelter for the night. Some were lying among the barrels and bales of goods that lay lumbering the wharf. Some two dozen had made free with some piles of planks and built off-hand houses for themselves, but the night had been rainy, the roofs had leaked, and they looked anything but refreshed. Among these latter I observed a mother with a family of young children. A shawl hung across the opening that faced the road, but it was too scanty to screen her as she sat with a looking-glass before her setting her hair in order. The husband was absent, and the children sat with comfortless wonder in their young eyes, gazing at the rude throng that was beginning the bustle of the day.

I heard my name called, and turning to look, I recognised a late mess-mate perched on the top of an old waggon-shaped boiler, that stood, as it were, stabled, amidst the piles of wood. At first I thought he was but taking a birds-eye view of the situation, until another well-known figure struggled up from within, through the man-hole by his side, then a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and a seventh, and all so brown with rust from the hair to the boots that it was evident they were not far from where they had been sleeping. Awakened by the rumbling din they make in clambering out, an eighth figure is added to the group, but he comes from beneath, and is in a more singular condition than the others, for the lowness of the fire arch not allowing him to lie otherwise than on his back, his face has got sooted, and the handkerchief with which he wipes it spreads the marks all over, in various shades of black. They tried to console themselves with the thought that all this was but right and proper training for the diggings, but he who had lain in the chill fire-hole seemed to have some doubt upon the matter by the haste he made to a hot-coffee-stand that stood close by. One who had lain within proposed that they should further inure themselves to roughing it, by retaining possession of the boiler for the few days they would be in town, but the suggestion fell to the ground for want of support. The ground about was littered with the wet chests and the softer baggage of the houseless, and before we returned to town the first of the new day’s arrivals from the Bay, by lighter and by steamer, had begun to add to the confusion and the mud, to the evident distress of the wives and others who had been left in charge meantime.

Our preparations for the road were soon made. Dressed in blouses blue and red, with the creases of the shop folds bearing witness to the newness of our purchase, and in bright new leather leggings, and each carrying a couple of blankets and a change of clothes, with a quantity of bread and other necessaries in a pack slung across his shoulder, and each provided with a tomahawk stuck in his belt, and a tin pot, we joined company with a large party about to start from Flag-Staff Hill in the afternoon, having been advised to do so on account of the unsafeness of the roads. We were about forty in number at starting, but the packs, or as we were taught to call them, “swags,” began to sit heavy on many of our unaccustomed shoulders, obliging us to halt so often for re-adjustment, that I found myself at sundown one of six far in the rear.

On reaching Keilor plains, about ten miles from Melbourne, it began to rain, and as it was now useless to think of overtaking the main party we looked about for some place to camp in for the night. Much previous rain had drenched the ground, but we found a spot, with a dwarfish tree standing in the middle, and with perhaps a little less water than elsewhere standing about the grass roots. With difficulty we got a fire lit. We took no thought of those who would be coming after us, but carried and dragged from far and near the old mouldering wood that lay thinly scattered in our neighbourhood, and piled log upon log, until we raised a blaze that reddened the clouds overhead. We were drenched to the skin, our blankets were wet, and our bread and tea in a miserable condition. Fixing our loaves on long forked sticks, we would have toasted them, but the rain kept pouring down, and only made them softer, until the crust could be distinguished only by its colour. The steam from our fire-heated clothes enveloped us like smoke; we began to feel drowsy, and yet unwilling to lie down, for where were we to lie? Our feet had swollen in our rain-soaked boots, but for fear we might not be able to get them on again if taken off, the boots were allowed to go with us to bed. Breaking some branches from the tree above us, we made a rain shed of them, and spreading a few upon the floor, crept underneath the dripping bower, leaving one on guard to see to the fire and our general security while we slumbered. One of the company, when the fire had begun to throw out heat, had called the situation “jolly,” and in the exuberance of his delight, had commenced to sing,

and sacrificing both poetry and music to his desire to bring the thing home to our hearts, he improvised, and made the diggings and bags of gold the burden of his lay; but finding he was having the singing all to do himself, he soon gave over, and now here he was lying next to me, close huddled up, and shivering I thought even worse than myself.

In the middle of the night, those lying down had almost succeeded in falling asleep, when splashing footsteps were heard approaching. The watch called out, and we scrambled to our feet, our wits all flying loose in vain attempt to gather what the calling was about, or even where we were; and before we were thoroughly aware, a man with his face streaked with blood, and his clothes muddy and torn, ran in amongst us. Gazing on us for a moment, with eyes swollen and red, he inquired whereabouts the nearest police station lay. Truly we were sorry we did not know, for the question made us suddenly apprehensive that the knowledge might be useful to ourselves before morning; and not knowing but that this apparent distress of his was merely a device to throw us off our guard, while he spied our quality and means of defence, we felt glad when the owner of the only gun in our possession came forward with it in his hand. Willing however to propitiate the powers of evil, we spoke him softly, in our ignorance of how many confederates he might have close by to come up at his signal. Making known to him that we were strangers, he looked round on us, and in a tone that was anything but complimentary, and that sounded strangely from one seeking help, he answered. “Ha, I might ha’ seen’t afore.—A lot o’ new chums, d? ’em.” An awkward pause followed, in which we were beginning to regard him with increased suspicion, and to connect him with numberless shadows that we had not noticed till now outlying in the gloom, and to which the unsteady flame of our fire gave the appearance of motion. After sitting a few moments with his head between his knees, he abruptly rose, and started off in the direction of a light that appeared away on the border of the plain, and we saw him no more, though we thought we did several times, which led us, when the fire burnt low, to be content with a seat closer to it rather than venture out for more fuel.

At daybreak we tried to dry our blankets and spare clothes, but growing impatient to reach the bush, we rolled them up as they were, and started. The sun rose, and by mid-day we were making good progress. Finding the dray track wound much about, we decided upon guiding ourselves with the aid of a pocket compass, and the occasional sights we got of Mount Macedon, close by the foot of which the road to the Bendigo diggings lay, and setting out, we made what we thought were short cuts through the bush, but as we frequently lost ourselves, these were often the occasion of warm discussion and a change of leaders. The creeks were swollen by many days’ rain, and we had several times to strip in fording them. The scenery improved as we advanced. In the morning we might be crossing lightly wooded ranges, and at mid-day winding our way through what seemed ancient forest, in which at intervals stood groups of huge blackened trunks, the relics of bush-fires long before the white man had appeared upon the scene, the ground around being strewn with the old charred limbs, half-buried by the mould of byegone vegetation, and the rank luxuriance of the present. On the evening of the same day we have come upon wide-spreading grazing ground, and at times on scenes where nature, simple and unhelped, surpassed in beauty the finest parks we had ever seen in the old country, the indented margin of the forest that surrounded them, being as positively marked as if the hand of man had been there to clear away, and strike the lines with fence and ditch; while fancifully shaped clumps, with rich green underwood, relieved the lawn-like surface with so much appearance of art and method in the general arrangement, that our eyes have involuntarily looked about for signs of human habitation. Again, our way lay sometimes alongside of what at this season of the year were full watered creeks—great trees overshadowing the pools, and the banks on either hand spreading away with easy undulation, and looking so pleasant, with the sun shining on their soft carpeting of grass, waved gently by a fresh-smelling summer breeze, as to beguile completely the weariness of the way. One of our small company, becoming thoughtful as he looked abroad one morning on such a scene, said that if he had not been going to get gold he might have been tempted to remain and try what he could do at kitchen gardening; but recollecting that we had seen neither man nor habitation in the last twenty miles we had come, save one solitary shepherd, and his small bark hut in the distance, our friend’s thoughtfulness took a turn, and brought him the first to his feet to resume the march.

Towards sundown of the seventh day of our journey, wearied in feet and shoulders, we found ourselves limping along in melancholy scattered train the songs of the morning exchanged for sighs and useless, because unheard, murmurings against the two stronger men of the party, who would keep going on and on though passing places that seemed in every way suited to our wants for the night. The wearied ones being the majority would have halted and obliged the two to come back to seek them, but as darkness might have prevented reunion in this way, and as the two were carrying the beef can, there seemed no help for it but to continue following. At last, when the head and tail of the company were about a mile apart, a halt was made in front among some grey moss-grown rocks by the side of a small running stream. Oh what relief to throw our swags off, and to bathe our distressed feet in the cool clear water. Bendigo, where all the gold lay, was distant now only some ten miles; we hoped to be there by mid-day on the morrow. The stragglers as they came toiling in singly and in pairs with sullen moodiness louring in their faces, were made quickly to forget they had an explanation to demand, and soon all were merry as a wedding party, some gathering fire logs, one out with the gun, and the others preparing supper. One of the latter beckons from the water side that there is something to be seen there. We go to him, get down upon our knees, and can hardly think it real, but the sandy bottom is glittering with small gold-like atoms. We try to lift some with our fingers, but—it may be from our clumsiness—we are unable to raise anything but pinches of pure sand. We have learnt how the diggers wash their bottom stuff, and hurry up for some of our tin dishes, and are busy with them, when the man with the gun returns, and learning from us what we are hoping to be true, urges the advisability of getting under cover with our operations, in case we may be seen from the road by passing travellers, who might claim a share; we see the wisdom of the advice, scramble behind a bushy knoll, and speedily forget everything but our new discovery. We wash and try again, but we seem awkward hands at it, for we never can retain in the dishes anything the least like metal. Darkness is fast coming on, and we begin to fear we shall have to give over for the night, when a bigger bit than we have yet noticed is seen in the failing light, faintly glistening in the bottom of a shallow pool: three pair of legs on the instant wade in for it, and there might be more, but a certain pearly lustre, too like the moon, for the first time brings misgivings as to the nature of the chase. We have seen gold grains exposed in shop windows in Melbourne, and are anxious to attribute the difference in colour, as it now appears, to the presence of the water, but, a finger and thumb bring the truth sadly to our notice—we have been fishing powdered mica. We now find that we have been incredulous from the first as to its being anything but something of the mica kind, and the man with the gun claims credit for having saved us from making fools of ourselves openly, by getting us to go where we were not likely to be seen before wisdom came. We had lost time by the occurrence, and had to do without our usual brushwood shelter from the cold night wind; but making a large fire, we lay down to windward, with our feet to it, and slept soundly, with our heads covered by the blankets. One however allowed, his crown to escape from under its mantle: hoar-frost had whitened the ground like snow, and had glued the blankets to his uncovered locks. We found him first hard to waken, and then slow to rise, but beyond that he seemed but little the worse.

We now kept upon the dray track; it was sadly cut up by the winter traffic, and the numerous carcases of bullocks and of horses, that lay in some places at short intervals where they had fallen in their yokes, told a tale of road hardship and adventure, that made us better satisfied with our simpler though toilsome mode of travelling. Half an hour before coming on the diggings, we passed a bullock dray that had started from Melbourne, a hundred miles distant, the day before we sailed from the Mersey. The men looked sullen and toil-worn, and the cattle seemed scarce able to pull their feet out of the mud in which they sank half way to the knees at every step.

We reached the diggings about an hour before sundown, and were rather disconcerted at the appearance of a company of diggers, whom we met, and who called out that there was “still some left for us to get:” they were wet to the knees, had evidently been sitting among water, and their shoulders looked as though they had been dragged through a clay bed. Our mica business had but little prepared us for this sort of work, and—hum—a newly open clay field in wet weather, before the bricks have begun to be made, is clean and comfortable walking compared to this that now comes in view, as we near the creek that lies between us and the tents; and what water! yea, what a place to look for gold in.

Not wishing to be out of the fashion in the mode of living as practised by those who were now to be our neighbours, we without delay set about making for ourselves a house, but where was the stuff to make it of? One said that he had “some needles and three pirns o’ thread,” got for casualties among the buttons; but that seemed small help until another who had brought some fine bed linen with his blankets, pulled it from his swag, and remarking that it would be “nane the waur o’ the bleachin’,” offered it to make the roof; a third gave a tartan plaid, and a fourth a blanket; a fifth, in the enthusiasm of the moment, tore a striped shirt open, and throwing it with two towels among the other offerings, said these would make a gable. While some were fixing forked sticks in the ground to bear the ridge pole and attending to the fire and supper, the rest were busy, without thimbles, at the needlework. “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.” We were happy and contented, nay more, we were thankful when at last, by the aid of firelight, we got all finished, the floor strewn thick with rosin-smelling leaves, and our blankets disposed in order. Though not so grand looking as many of the neighbouring edifices it was our own, and the occupiers of those others might not be able to say more.