n we were brought before the beak
Jonathan told our story, and showed several letters he had received
from Boston, so he was discharged. But I had nothing to show; they
knew I was an Irishman, and the police asked for a remand to prove
that I was a runaway convict. I was kept three weeks in gaol, and
every time I was brought to court Jonathan was there. He said he
would not go away without me. The police could find out nothing
against me, so, at last, they let me go. We went aboard the first
vessel bound for Melbourne, and, when sail was made, I went up to the
cross-trees and cursed Van Diemen's Land as long as I could see it.
Jonathan took ship for the States, but I went shepherding, and grew
so lazy that if my stick dropped to the ground I wouldn't bend my
back to pick it up. But when I heard of the diggings, I woke up,
humped my swag, and ran away--I was always man enough for that--
and I don't intend to shepherd again."

When Philip returned from his excursion down the gully, he gave me a
detailed report of the results and said, "Gold mining is remarkable
for two things, one certain, the other uncertain. The certain thing
is labour, the uncertain thing is gold." This information staggered
me, so I replied, "Those two things will have to wait till morning.
Let us boil the billy." Our spirits were not very high when we began
work next day.

We slept under our small calico tent, and our cooking had to be done
outside. Sometimes it rained, and then we had to kindle a fire with
stringy bark under an umbrella The umbrella was mine--the only
one I ever saw on the diggings. Some men who thought they were witty
made observations about it, but I stuck to it all the same. No man
could ever laugh me out of a valuable property.

We lived principally on beef steak, tea, and damper. Philip cut his
bread and beef with his bowie knife as long as it lasted. Every man
passing by could see that we were formidable, and ready to defend our
gold to the death--when we got it. But the bowie was soon useless;
it got a kink in the middle, and a curl at the point, and had no edge
anywhere. It was good for nothing but trade.

A number of our shipmates had put up tents in the neighbourhood, and
at night we all gathered round the camp fire to talk and smoke away
our misery. One, whose name I forget, was a journalist,
correspondent for the 'Nonconformist'. Scott was an artist, Harrison
a mechanical engineer. Doran a comme