BESIDE THE BILLY.

Cromwell Argus, Volume I, Issue 36, 20 July 1870, Page 7

BESIDE THE BILLY.

JaLE OF THE OTAGO GOLD-FIELDS. n- I BY MU3 NUGENT WOOD. ’ s * 1 were sitting by the fire the other night m ,y husband and I, and the boys—cones ;ulating ourselves on the arrival of a mn and the expectation of winter; in spite of an rl ; ch used to lead me to grumble and rer at the first touch of genuine cold, a vo learned to love and appreciate a iter in Otago. But the autumn is best 3 » ,11; when the summer’s work—shearing, 8 * vesting,'mustering cattle, etc.—is all i r - when th^. mornings break clear and a i, and the idea of a frost sends the b » oil tingling through the veins, and seems hj give strength for any labor, mental or r * lily, which the coming day may bring ; d en the grand mountains, just capped ! a ;h early snow, like giants crowned with rer, show clear and sharp against the r, which spreads in the noonday, glowing l > 1 beautiful, seeming so high, so far J- i ay, without one shadow of a cloud on * blue 'expanse ; when the nights begin y draw in early, and the crimson curtains ;e the place of the summer’s muslin * ipery ; when the fire and lamp bum } i jerfully, and one can enjoy a long read, J fa round game, or a cozy talk, and a bit » r-I]iot supper afterwards. - 1“ Ah, yes,” I said, “ spring and summer - H> splendid just at first, but autumn and * 1 nter make the best of the year.” 1 “You think so now , wife,” said my hus- ■ Q d, “ but a few years ago, when I had 1 ’ s se journeys to Campbells, and you had rough it yourself in a tent, you had a Ijreht idea’of the climate.” Indeed, I had,” said I, shivering, in e of my seat on the hearth-rug, at the Election of days, thank God, gone by. o you remember the time you had to ■ so long in the hut, and I thought you e lost ?” I should think so—snowed up in a , with the happy thought that three i men were close beside me, who had m victims to the pleasant winter of go.” Snowed rip with three dead bodies !” jui the boys. “How awfully jolly !-—do |l us, uncle." I “ Not snowed up with three dead bodies, |ly in a hut near them,” he replied. “ Yet I was not an unpleasant time, after all.” 1 “Tell us about it,” I said. “It’s early lit, but I am tired of work. Light your llpe, and tell us all you can remember [tout that weary journey to Campbells.” 1 “ Well,” he began, “the chief thing in |y recollection is the billy—a large black Irong one it was, that gave us tea when |o were thirsty, and food when we were Hmgry ; it boiled in no time, and its very ileatli, as it floated out in odorous steam, lifting the lid for its own convenience, live us heart for the present and hope for ;Be future. Grand old utensil that ! T yonder what has become of it, and how riany besides us have sat near it, and rad comfort imparted to them—comfort, jourage, new life almost, for the old one ia very weak on a cold winter’s night among the mountains, unless such a friend H .that is near.” B “ But the story, uncle,” said the boys, p When were you there, and what had ||ou to do with the billy, and how did it tell you of the dead men.” i S It did not tell me itself; but I and some Others were sitting beside the billy, on some dismal nights, and this is how it happened, and what I heard. I had revived orders to visit the far-off gold-field land report upon it; and at that time few, |bave those hoiia fide miners who are ready to do and dare anything, had visited the [isolated regions amongst the hills. I had travelled for three days, and both my lorse and myself were nearly done up, the Short day was drawing to a close, and the Cold intense. The snow was falling, not Bi a shower of flakes, but in thin particles, lalf sleet, half hail, which pricked like needles, and wet one to the skin. Hungry, sold, lost, as I thought, I stopped my horse lor a moment to light my pipe—that being |he refuge for the destitute, the last hope for those who have nothing else. But on lotting my hand into the usual pocket, coqld not find my friend, no, nor in any ither^pockct—the pipe was lost, when or vhere, I did not know. It was a sad disiovery, and wearily I mounted again, and command, let my horse steer for vh ate veu''point he thought best. And veil for me that I did so. In half an hour, re pulled up in Potters Gully No. 2, belide a wharry, from which streamed a red ; ;low, which made the dismal evening glad rad bright to me. The occupants were dl absent at the claim, with the exception )f Dublin Jack, whose turn it was to cook ’or the week. Tethering my old horse to i tussock of snow-grass, I gladly availed nyself of Jack’s invitation. I “Ah! then, walk in, sir and kindly, Iwelcomc to all the hut contains, inside or imtside. It’s, a night not fit for a baste to §ie abroad ip, let alone the Commissioner. Kit down here on the ould gin-case, and i mdlyonr leggin’s, and I’ll have you as g f snug a bug in no time at all. There’s H It- rea y bo kcnl) and the fryingpan ffl besic/t; and, plase God, we’ll fill them lr ob &, id empty them too, before the night V Smolder.” I

My feet were hardly warm, my clothes not dry, when Jack’s mates arrived, in worse condition, poor fellows, than I had been myself. But soon the gum boots were removed, ablutions performed, and jackets put on, and all sat down to the supper prepared by Dublin Jack, or, as ho was familiarly called, “ Dub;’’ As he had prophesied, the pan was emptied, and the billy too, and both filled and emptied a second time, before nine hungry men had finished their evening meal. It was early then—say seven o’clock ; the wind was moaning up the gully, and the soft, cruel, silent snow heaping up an impenetrable barrier, that could make man 1 in his might shudder and be still. “ No go to-morrow, governor,” said Dub; “ sit down by the fire, and have a draw.” “ That’s more than I can do,” said I, “for I’ve lost my pipe." “ Oh, little matter of that, sir ; we have a dozen, never blackened, and plenty to charge them with. Bring a pipe, Mexican, while I get an armful of peats for the fire.” I cannot describe how welcome that “ clay” was to me, and the comfortable seat on the gin-case, with Dub, Mexican, and Pat for my companions; tho others having gathered round the rough table to enjoy the Irish game of “ forty-fives." “ Who are your nearest neighbours 1 Does anyone live hereabouts V’ I asked. “ No one, your honour, barrin’ the three dead bodies there beyant,” replied Pat, pointing over his shoulder towards the back of the hut; “ there’s no one betwixt this and Adelaide Point, except them.” Hardly restraining a laugh, I asked again : “ Three dead men 1 How came they here i Do you know anything of them 1” “I can tell you a bit of the history of one of them,” said Dublin Jack, “and you can see the board to-morrow that I put up to show where he’s laid, and his name—maybe you’ve seen it, sir—William Pitt; they was asking for him in the papers once.” ’ “I remember something about it,” I said. “ But what about him 1 Did he die here ?” “Yes, sir, he did. - No one knew much about him but me; for he was a quiet man, that cared little for company, and never saw any fun in a spree. He and I were old chums—shipmates together in the Nelson, through the lloosian war. Many a turn we did for each other, in days of trouble and nights of watching, at Scutari; and often we’ve said that the shores of that desolate Black idea would show us that there was nothing worse to come, whereever we went; but he, poor fellow, found out different here. We were paid off together, and stopped at home for a bit everyone making much of us, for what we had gone through. But news came of tho gold in Australia; and I, being always restless, made up my mind to go and seek ray fortune in the new and happy land. I hadn’t much to leave behind. My mother was living with my sister, who was married to a well-to-do blacksmith, and wanted no help from me ; but poor Bill was different—he had married a nice girl after we came home from the Crimea. They had kept company* on and off, for three years, and her father said she was going off in a decline, fretting for Bill; so they were spliced, and all went right enough until money was wanted, and wanted badly it was; for it was a hard year, and most people felt it, more or less. Bill had read the papers I'ke myself, and was sure of being a inch man, if he could emigrate ; so his wife went back to his father’s house, and Bill and me shipped on board the Marco Polo, and landed safe in Melbourne ; thinkirlg all would bo right now, and believing we would go home with a chest full of gold before tho year was out. Wo stuck together, in good or bad luck ; sometimes we took on another mate, sometimes we joined a party, but never separated. We tried Dunolly, and heard of big nuggets, more than a man could lift, being found near us, but only made tucker. Then we went to Ararat, and at last, after a good many changes, and tramping many miles, came to anchor at Gaffney’s Creek, and went to work as wages’ men. We were both steady, and earned a good bit; most of it was sent homo to Bill’s Polly, and glad she was to get it. “ Then the company we were employed by smashed up ; we got the wages owing to us after some trouble, and heard at the same time of tho rush to Gabriel’s Gully, here in Otago. lots of fellers were going from Victoria, and we put our money together, and came to. Lord ! but we did work—night and day almost —but somehow we didn’t seem to mind it. The climate, though we grumbled at it, freshened us up, and wo could do as much in one day here as in two on tho other side. At last the claim was used up, and off we set for the Dunstan rush, just broken out. We were more than half way there, when we put up one night at a shanty, and, like fools, began talking, after wd were in bed, of how wo would send money by the first mail to Polly, and saying to each other how glad we wore to have all our gold about us, ready to sell fit tho now rush, so that no one would think ns loafers. We boasted too soon. At daylight we woke, and, beginning to put on our clothes, found our trousers underneath tho stretcher instead of imder the pillow, as we had put them

the night before, and the waistband, into which we had sewn all our gold, clean cut off and gone 1 We had slept soundly, as men do who have walked twenty miles with a swag on their backs. Bill said ho felt once in the night as if rats were about him, but ho only turned over, and wont off to sleep again. No trace was loft but a slit in the canvas wall beside our stretchers ; so, as there was no help for it, wo shouldered our swags, and wont on, penniless and sadly down-hearted. We had no luck at the Dunstan ; tried Conroy’s, Bannockburn, and all the rest. Then news came, in a letter long-delayed, that Bill’s wife and baby were ill and in distress, and he was mad to gee money for her. Wo heard of Campbell's, some distance off, but good gold; so, though I didn’t quite like it, I held on to my mate, and we came on here together. We got on gold soon, but all the money we made was sent to Polly; and the snow began, and the winter was on us, without scarce a shelter over our heads, or a bit of warm clothing to keep the life in us. “ ‘ Bill,’ says I, one night, when we were sore with cold, and no hope, or anything else, ‘ let’s go down to the river (Molynoux), and get a job of work ; we can’t stay here through the winter.’ “ * Why not 1’ says he, ‘ We’re on a good prospect now, and we ought not to leave it. We’ve been cold at home, and out at sea : what are you frightened of ?” “ ‘ I ain’t frightened,’ says I; 1 but I’ve heard of men being snowed up here, and dead bodies found just where the strong men fell, who were too bravo or too foolish to go away in time.’ “ ‘ Well, you go,’ he says ; * but, my word, I’ll never leave a place where I can get gold for Polly and the child.’ “ For the first time in our lives, we quarrelled, but made it up before morning, and were better friends than ever. “ It was arranged that I'should go to the river for the winter, and if I earned anything we were to share and share alike, and be mates and friends the same as before. “ I had been about six weeks away, and a hard winter had set in. Many an hour I lay awake thinking of Bill and his mate, for he had taken one before I left. I made enquiries from all who came that way, but they were very few. I had no letter, no message; and I felt anxious, though 1 scarcely know why. “ One night, after a hard day’s work, I fell asleep early, and dreamed I saw Bill Starting on a journey. I thought 1 called for him to wait for ms,, but he only smiled, and said he had mugle his fortune, and was going homo. It was a kind of nightmare, for 1 tried so hard to get up and follow him that I woke. It was not a bad dream, but I fretted about it, and sat down the next evening to write a letter, and toll him that if he would not come to mo I should chance it and go back to him. “ While I was working away at the writing, which never came very easy to me, one of the policemen came in and add they wanted to get up a party to search for some men who had been lost in trying to come across from Campbells. It was like a lump of clay dropping on my heart, but I got cohragc to ask if their names were known. “‘Not all,’he said. ‘There wore six altogether ; they got snowed up at Potters, and tried to make their way by the snow poles over here. The one that told me is pretty jolly. Two of them are laid up with frost-bites at Jones’s store, and three are still missing—Bill Pitt and two others.’ “ Then party was soon made up, and a wretched tramp we had of it. We got information as wo went along from the two at Jones’s, and but a few miles farther on we found one of the others, not very bad, but stone blind. One of our party took him back, and, sadly enough, we trudged on. One night passed, and then another ; and all the hours of daylight were spent in walking forward, fancying every tuft of snow-grass concealed some sight we dreaded to see : sometimes nearly lasing ourselves in deep drifts, sometimes pitching head first into a hole, or over an embankment which the snow had covered, and still staggering on, weary, giddy, and nearly blind, yet prepared to search while life remained. “ The first reward we had, and it was o poor one, was finding Bill’s mate, lying on his side, quite comfortable like, nearly covered with snow, and not a quarter of a mile from one of the Government shelter sheds. Ho must have known it was near, but Ills strength would not hold out He had given up just too soon, and had fallen quietly asleep, never to wake in this cold world again. “ I liad little hope after that of ever hearing my mate’s voice again, but I was surprised to find he had dropped so soon. Yv r e found him lying near the snow-pole just on the hill at the back of this hut. Poor fellow ! I reckon he had left it too long, put off till there came u panic, and everyone turned to leave the place. Awful thin he was, too, and shrunk and starved looking. I got quite a turn when I lifted him and felt how light his body was. I found some letters in his pocket, and inside one of them, Polly’s likeness, and a little soft curl of the baby’s hair. “ Some said I should have sent them back to his wife, but I hadn’t the heart to take

them from him; and when I buried him up there, I just laid them on his breast, and spread a little handkerchief of hors, that was folded up in the Bible she gave us, over his face. It seemed to make him less lonesome like, and I knew afterwards 11101X3 would have been no use in sending them homo, for Polly and the child were gone to a bettor land before the news reached England. Somehow, after that, I couldn’t make up ray mind to leave Potters Gully, 1 built this hut, so us I should not bo killed with the cold. I make fair wages, and get on well with my mates ; but whether or not, I should have felt very bad if I had gone and left Bill lying there all alone on the hill. Sometimes of a Sunday 1 cleans myself and goes to the grave to read a chapter, or a letter from home, and it seems to me that Bill and me are mates still, and not to be parted, living or dead.” The men playing at forty-fives had stopped their game to listen to Dub’s story, and none spoke for some minutes. Then Mexican said—- “ I guess the governor’s tired, and we’d best turn in.” . So we said “ good-night," and took what beds, or substitutes for beds, there were. I awoke, after a night of profound slumber, to find the snow a foot deep, and the clouds low and heavy all around. While we were having breakfast, the storm commenced again, and there was no chance of ray doing any work that day. However, during a lull, I led my horse to a place recommended by the men as having some food and shelter for the ensuing night.- “ We’ll have the fire burning and the billy on when you get back, sir. It’s rough and ready, but there’s not much better to be had in Potters, and my mates and me are rare glad to see you.” I was glad, too, of the accommodation and entertainment offered by Dublin Jack ; and, though longing to get home, looked forward to another evening “ Beside the Billy,” with ray friends and my pipe. Walking over the hill as I returned, I stood for some time looking at the three graves. Two of them were mounds, without a letter to tell who slumbered there. The other brought strangely to my remembrance a costly tomb in Westminster Abbey, bearing the same name as the one I looked on now; yet I wondered if, where they both ara gone, there was much distinction made between the noble, gifted statesman and the brave, toiling, though unfortunate miner, over whose grave his mate, who loved him, had raised the only tablet in his power to give—a bit of deal board, {listened on a manuka pole, bearing the roughly-carved inscription, “ W. Pitt, June 12, 1864.”