Lost at the Gold-Fields.

Cromwell Argus, Volume I, Issue 4, 1 December 1869, Page 1 (Supplement)

Lost at the Gold-Fields.

A TALK OF Till!: d'AGO DIGGINGS,

[WJM OIIAMBBIH'd JoiniSA.li.} (Concluded.) " But, indeed, wo worona in muoklo hatter plight oursol's, for it was a far road to tho gully, and thosuaw-drift had smooro I our tracks, forbye fa'ing sae thick that we couldna see frae the tao end o' tho lino to tho tithor, as we traiupit along m Indian file, Tho first man had aye to tramp the snaw door*, ye ken, which was vera tiresome work ; sae when he was tired oot, ho wad stan' by, fit' bolt in fc, and anither wad t ik' lead iu turn. There was nao rantia' or daffin' amang ns—wo were in ower mnckie trouble forthat; aud we trudged on in solemn silence, only broken by the crunchin 1 o' the suw under our foot or whiles by a cry o' ' Spoil, oh. !' when we were fain to rest oursel's. As naar's as I can tell, we had gana on like this alioot throe boors, when a great cry cam' frae the rear, an' T ran back to see what w.a.s't was wrong. I found that one o' the lads was missin'. Naebody kent hoo laiig he was gane, for he was the liindermost ane, and it seems he must jist liae droppifc' clown i' the snaw without a word. Weel, I got them to stop while twa o' us turned back a quarter o' a mile or inair to look for him. But we couldna find any trace o' him ; and though we coo-eed with a' our strength there was nao answer but jist the moaning o' the wind as it sweepit by. Wo wont back \vi' the black tidings to our mates, and a great fear fell upon us. Naebody spak', for a' were afeard to say onything ; but we lookit i' ane another's faces, and the shadow o-' death seemed hoverin' ower us a'. Then without a. word, we cast off our swags and hurried on, like as if we were fieein' for life, as indeed we weir. " Sune after, it cam' to my turn to step oot, and tak' my place aliint. I counted the lads as they steppifc by ; and, oh ! my heart sank within me when I saw there were but eleven o' us left, out o' tho fourteen that started frae the hill-tap. Gude forgi'e mo if I did wrang, but I judged it best to sae naetlung, for as the was coming on, we couldna' bide to search for tho pnir lost fellows, and I didna' wish to frighten the lave. It was bad enough without that, so I just keepit it to mysel'. But presently one staggart and fell doon i' a kind o h a dwam m our midst, and witli a' we could do, we werena able to rouse him ; and to carry him was nao to be thought o'. Then the lads gob clean wudmad. Willie Cranston, wha was wie us, and mysel' did what we could to keep them' a' thegifcher ; but we couldna. They gaed aff, belter skelter, any way, and so'got seattert ower tlie brae-side, like scared sheep. Willie and T and twa ithers keepit company for a while, but somehow in the dark and drift we missed them baith, and there was Willie and mysel' alaue on the dreary mountain. '• It was an awfu' moment when we foond it oot. There was nae sign o' the gull/, and we werena quite sure that we ' were on the doon-tr.ick. Willie gied a kind o' a sab, and " 'Sandy,' he said, ' there's Ane above a' ; and if it's His will that wo leave oor bones in the wreath, let us dee like Christian men, and no' like the brute beasts.' " It was lang since either o' us had prayed to Him—the mair shame to us for nice minding the good teachin' o' oor forbears. But we knelt doon there in tho snawy wildernes's>witj i , the cauld wind ragin' and howliu' and swirlin' tho half-frostc-d flakes in oor con ; and we prayed for help and forgiveness iu the hour of oor extremity, as few mm ever pray mair than ance in the space of a lifetime. " Then we thought o' oor mithers, wha little kerst thnt their bairns were so sair pit till't that night ; and I gave Willie a bit o' my hair, and made him gie me a bit o' bis, and we made a solemn compact, an' grippot hands up oat, that if ane o' us not back to the living world lie would send it hame as a momento o' tho ither. " ' And now, Willi"," said I, < there's just a wee drap o ! whisky left, saw we'll mnk'an end o't at once, fin- if we dinna sune find the gully we'll never want whisky mair.' " ft was niro' dark noo, sac that when we lifted a foot we werena very suro where we should pit it doon agiin. But I think we baith felt mair comfortable, and gied on wi' a new courage. I'm no just saying that oor prayers were directly answered ; but God was gude to us. We hadna'gane abune a few hundred y rds when a light flickered oot far doon belo.v us. just as we turned the breisfc o' a hill, and we kent fu' w»el that where that bleoze was there was life o' som.* sort. An* sae it proved ; for atween rollin' and lettin' oorselves slip dnon, we sune <rot till't; and eh ! the feelin' o' gladness that cam' ower us when we foond we were at the very door o' nuld Burniewin's.smiddy ! " Wo were the first that cam' in, and when we telfb what had happened, the folk fired off,-runs to guide, any o' tlie ithers that might bo wandering abooti' the snaw. And syne ane came,,and'then anither ; and a pairty that gaed'oot in search wi' lights brought in three mair. But that was a'. Seven o"us w r"> saved, and seven were lost iir tlie drif fc'iat night. " The storm had) spent its fury before next morning ; am* three days after soma

folk cam' owor'fr.ie tho Dunstan, for news hid gotten abroad that five hundred men weiv sawed in and starving at (Jimphell's. A number o' the digger* volunteered for a relief pirt/, and the storekeepers gied provisions, and medicines, and a' things needj fnl; an 1 thy got lnraos, and cam'right through till us. When they found the | ooaditum wo were in they bided a while, ! till tin track was clear, and then took us ' into the hj Hpitd, for we were a' mail' or | loss suffering frae frost-bites, whereby, as ' I mentioned before, I lost ane o' my taes. But some wore far worse than mysel', and | ane o* the seven died on the way, and | auither in tin Uospit d, sae that only five oito' the lot wore spired tint tried to find ' their way back to Cimpbell's. I got ower to Cimpbell's again as sune ' as I was able to walk, and r>ur claim and our bit hut were a' as I left thorn. Willie ' had lost twa o' his mates in the storm, and [ I had lost a' mine ; sae we pit the claims J thegither, and wrought them as ane. I J had the hut a' tae mysel', and whiles I felt unco lonesome, and than I wad gae doon ' to auld Biruie win's'fir a crouse crack wi' 5 folk. Wool, one night when I was there, > Geordie Tainson, wha wrought higher up 1 the gully, came birslin' in wi' a face like a J disheloot; and ' Sandie, man,' said he, : 'div ye no believe in ghaists V • " I didna weel ken what to mak' o' the 1 question, sae I speered, ' What for aye, 1 and whit for no?' ' " 'Weel," he says, 'l'm no thinkin ye j hae done anything wrang by Tain Page, but I'm feared he canna rest, for he's been > walkiu' in the gully; and I saw his ghaist ' as I was coniin' doon this vera night, as sure as ye'ro sittiu' there." ; We a' laughed at geordie, and tauld him 1 he had been scared at his ain shadow ; but he wadna hie't. A' weeould say, he stickit till't he had seen' the ghaist o'Tam Page ' beside the auld claim, and keekin' down in till't. But the lads sae sair daffed him, that he said uae mair, but sat silent and grumpy in a corner. Sae, when I got up to gang hame, I said till him, 'Come awa wi' me, Goordie, and we'll hae a deoch-an (hurls* at the hut.' " Geordie cam awa, and sae did Willie and ane or twa mair, and up we a' gied to the auld hut. I was a bit dumbfoundored to se-! a light shinin' through the chinks o' the door ; but I thought maybe the logs hid bleezed up. B itTCjordie stopped as we cam' near: 'Whisht! Whisht!' says he. ' Whatni's yon V And as true as death I heard a faint croonin' o' the sing about 'John Brown's body,' just as I heard it when I last saw Tarn on tho hi" range ! " It dirled through me like a stang, and ' my heart louped to my mouth. Bidding the lads stan' fast, I creepit up softly, and keokit through a chink, and there was tho figure o' a mm sittin' by the lum', and seernin to warm its hands owor the lowe. At first its back w.is to the door, sae thai we couldni see its face ; but after a while it half lookit round, and I saw it was the vsra likeness o' Tarn Page ; but sae pale and waesome was't, that I was fair dumb wi' fright. " I signed to Willie and the lave to come up, and the-/ a' saw't. Some o' them were minded :o flee awa' ; but Wdlie said 'lt's uae ghaist ava', but just Timdamsel';' and wi' that he opened the door, and the ghaist jumpit up and pit his loof in mv ain ; and then I kent that after a' Tun Page wastia dead, but actudly livin' in "the flesh. " it turned out that sune after they unlucky thirteen got awi' frae us, they began to misdoubt they were on the right trick, ane some gaed this wav and some amtlierj and Tarn got pairted frae them a*. WhoA he found himsel' gaun his lane, bethought on what he had aften heard aboot keepiu' to a gully or a burn, and ave follo-vin-' it doon, when no sure o' the track. It's the only safe course in sic matters, and Tarn owed his life till't, un ler Providence. He wandered aboot a' th it night, but his senses never deserted him, and his steps were guided—uae dooS on't—*t> a spot where, by rig:*in' up a blanket, he was able to get shelter under the lee of an owerhangin' j rock. I hae seen.the place since, and there's no .anitlnr like it on the bull mountainside. But ho diuredni .gae to sleep, for he was feart he might never wauken mair ; and when lie fbit drowsy he ■valkcd alnnfc to rinse hiras-df. Neist morn hj». was awa.' wi' the daylight; but though he could see the river before him, he wis sae weary from want of rait, that lie couldm g\e far, and at last wis fain to lie down in despair. But afore the sleep o death itsd' cam' ower him, twa men passed by on their wiv in frie the Pomahawk, and Tarn hid inst enough strength to coo-ee to them. Weel, tliev heard his cry, and went, back, and ane o' them took him up on his back, and sae thev carried him by turns fo his tent on the Mnlvnoox ; and as sune's the weather cleared up they sent him on wi' some friendly packers to tho hospital at Tuapeka : but we kent n-iethin' o't at the Dunstan. Tarn had j been sair bitten wi' the frost, but he ave I had a good sound constitution, whirl) belpit him to hirple ower the danger without ony I loss' o' his limbs';-and when he was no ; ance mair his first thought was to gao back to Campbells, at d seek for his mates in the auld place. "I forgot to nontion that nfore he was fair parted frae Ik's company, ho changed J >• * A parting glasr,j oe stirrup imp.

coats \vi' ane o' them (as is oftou -done aiming mates), whidi acouit d f r his elaes being found on the puir creature vvhtt deed in tho wreath, " 'O, Tain, Tarn', said I, when fie fmd fcuuld mo a', ' I'm wao for ye and for a' ye bio gono through ; U'.i. what for did yo cu' me a coward yon time ? for, yo roc, I cwddna get it oot o' my nun'.' Ami ho laughed in his auld wild wny, and siid it was just some trash that cam' in til his heid oot o' ano o' they rantin' plays that a loon ca'd John Falstaff once said to bonny Prince Hal. Ami wi' that he grippit my Inn' wi' his pair wasted fingers, and said ho didna mean to vox me : ' and, Sandy,' says he, ' dinna bear malice for a thought less word, for I hae paid dearly for't.' Sae I e'en took the laddie to my heart again, and we haena pitirtod sin' syne. " It's a' by and gane noo, but aften [ gae through it a' ower again in my dreams ; and then I start up in a caufd sweat, thin!cin' I'm sinkin' down, down in the snaw-drift: and when I wan ken I seem to hoar that wearisome sang o' 'John Brown's body' in ilka blast that whistles round our hut.