liam Matthews. Ten other men bought licenses, but William
Patterson, a canny Scotchman, said he would chance it.

It was about midday when we halted near Bendigo Creek, opposite a
refreshment tent. Standing in front of it was a man who had passed
us on the road, and lit his pipe at our fire. When he stooped to
pick up a firestick I saw the barrel of a revolver under his coat.
He was accompanied by a lady on horseback, wearing a black riding
habit. Our teamsters called him Captain Sullivan. He was even then
a man well known to the convicts and the police, and was supposed to
be doing a thriving business as keeper of a sly grog shop, but in
course of time it was discovered that his main source of profit was
murder and robbery. He was afterwards known as "The New Zealand
Murderer," who turned Queen's evidence, sent his mates to the
gallows, but himself died unhanged.

While we stood in the track, gazing hopelessly over the endless heaps
of clay and gravel covering the flat, a little man came up and spoke
to Philip, in whom he recognised a fellow countryman. He said:

"You want a place to camp on, don't you?"

"Yes," replied Philip, "we have only just come up from Melbourne."

"Well, come along with me," said the stranger.

He was a civil fellow, and said his name was Jack Moore. We went
with him in the direction of the first White Hill, but before
reaching it we turned to the left up a low bluff, and halted in a
gully where many men were at work puddling clay in tubs.

After we had put up our tent, Philip went down the gully to study the
art of gold digging. He watched the men at work; some were digging
holes, some were dissolving clay in tubs of water by stirring it
rapidly with spades, and a few were stooping at the edge of
water-holes, washing off the sand mixed with the gold in milk pans.

Philip tried to enter into conversation with the diggers. He stopped
near one man, and said:

"Good day, mate. How are you getting along?"

The man gazed at him steadily, and replied "Go you to hell," so
Philip moved on. The next man he addressed sent him in the same
direction, adding a few blessings; the third man was panning off, and
there was a little gold visible in his pan. He was gray, grim, and
hairy. Philip said:

"Not very lucky to-day, mate?"

The hairy man stood up, straightened his back, and looked at Philip
from head to foot.

"Lucky be blowed. I wish I'd never seen this blasted place. Her