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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
In "Notes of a Gold Digger, and Gold Diggers' Guide," James Bonwick captures the vibrant essence of the Australian gold rush era, intertwining personal memoir with practical insights for prospectors. Through a blend of vivid storytelling and candid observations, Bonwick paints a picture of the relentless pursuit of fortune, documenting the trials and triumphs of those who sought to strike it rich. His narrative is not only richly descriptive but also reflects the broader societal impacts of the gold rush, positioning the book within the literary context of 19th-century colonial narratives that explore ambition, industry, and the human spirit. James Bonwick, an Irish immigrant and passionate chronicler of Australian life, was driven by both personal experience and a desire to illuminate the gold rush phenomenon. His background in education and history greatly influenced his perspective, allowing him to merge anecdotal evidence with a keen social analysis. Bonwick's extensive travels and interactions with miners provided him with a unique vantage point from which he crafted his guide, which serves as both a historical document and an instructive manual. "Notes of a Gold Digger, and Gold Diggers' Guide" is a must-read for those interested in the dynamics of the gold rush and its lasting impact on Australian identity. Ideal for historians, literary scholars, and casual readers alike, Bonwick'Äôs work offers a profound exploration of ambition, community, and desolation, making it a compelling addition to any literary collection.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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Notes of a Gold Digger, and Gold Diggers' Guide
Table of Contents
THE ROAD TO THE DIGGINGS.
Gold Fields have a most bewitching influence upon fallen humanity. The very name begets a spasmodic affection of the limbs, which want to be off. Then man, as a mere lover of beauty, cannot help wishing to look upon the pretty mineral in its virgin home of seclusion, and his acquisitiveness pants for possession of the loveliest darlings ever rocked in a cradle. But the Australian Gold Fields put to the blush the very fairy tales of old. The Genii of the “Arabian Nights” would have stared, had they winged their flight over the ocean, and taken a quiet evening’s stroll under our ranges and gullies. Need we wonder that the dull eyes of the sons of earth twinkle with delight at the chamber of treasure.
“They come—they come.” Well, let them come; and I for one will be glad to see them as lucky as their hearts can wish. In order to give the embryo digger a little insight into the wonders of this wonderful region, I have noted down a few facts, the result of my own experience as a Gold Digger.
Some simple hints before you start, my friend. Do not encumber yourself with too much luggage. The drays will not carry it for “thank ye.” There is no necessity for laying in a stock of everything, as storekeepers at the mines do not now desire a thousand per cent upon every article. This may arise from a principle of benevolence, or, as some ill-natured people say, from competition. If you lay in a stock in town you are likely to buy too much, as you are surrounded by good things, and the difficulties of the journey are unknown to you. Should you reserve the purchase of most of your requirements, till you arrive at the ground, you will have no trouble in carriage, you will know what you really want, and, from the high price, you will only buy what you want. By all means, however, provide yourself with good stout clothes and boots, a coat and trousers of oil-skin cloth, a roll of canvass for your future home, not forgetting a decent shooting jacket for Sundays, when you ought to appear civilized. Tools are dearer up than in town. A cradle may be carried in parts without much trouble.
Take up a few choice books, (not on Metaphysics or Mathematics,) because you should be prepared in some degree to keep up your intellectual position. A packhorse will ease the toil of a party, or a bundle might rest on the top of a passing dray. Unless positively obliged, spare yourself the anxiety of having your own conveyance. Otherwise a solemn warning—beware of a gibber, as that genus is not an uncommon one on the road. There are few things in life more undesirable than pushing behind a cart at every foot of rising ground, extricating a load from a chasm, or watching a vehicle approaching a precipice, impelled by an animal that will persist in going crabwise.
Now, I will suppose you are fairly started. You are rather nervous, yet sanguine. Sundry brave stories keep up your spirits. By one you are told of a fellow benighted in the bush, who could not sleep by reason of the hardness of his bed, but who ascertained by morning-light that he chanced to throw himself down upon a nest of big golden nuggets. Another tells you of a bullock driver in want of a stick, who pulled up a young wattle, and found hanging at the root, a whole family of nuggets like a brotherhood of potatoes; but that he was in too great a hurry to stop to pick them up. On the way you are passed by lots of returning diggers, some of whom carry down bags of treasure, and a few are carrying aches and pains to the hospital. There is some difference between your smooth chin, and their rough beards—your prim appearance and their soiled garb. You may possibly reach the Deep Creek, twenty miles from Melbourne, on the first day. Of course you camp. A fire is lighted, the meal is taken, and the romance of your first night out is enjoyed. You are wrapped in a 'possum rug or blanket beside your fire, or, if you are wise, beneath a canvass thrown over the shafts of a cart. Never start without a good breakfast. The dreary, crab-hole, five-mile plains are to be crossed. I had the satisfaction, when coming down, to be lost in this quarter, wandering about hungry and tired nearly all night, because my geological curiosity allowed the cart and my mates to get some hours a-head of me. It is to be hoped that you have a dry season in which to pass over Jackson’s Creek. On the other side an excellent dinner may be provided for you by Mr. Rainy at the Coffee House. The hills now rise on each side of you, and through one of the loveliest countries in the world you gain the Bush Inn at Gisborne, thirty-six miles from town. There are two inns there. Charges are no object to the successful digger, but usually a consideration to the up-going. A baker’s shop and store will there supply you with necessaries. I paid 2s 6d for a good loaf, 2s 6d for a pound of butter, and 7d for a pound of sugar. Prices vary according to the state of the roads. Near the Bush in winter you have to wade through a “slough of despond.” Going some miles hence, round the foot of Mount Macedon, a pretty watering place is obtained. You may, however, pass at once into the mysterious Black Forest, fourteen miles in extent. Being no alarmist, I shall give you no legend of powder and ball pertaining to those realms.
In the Black Forest are many rises, no surface stone, a great number of stringy bark trees, some fine cherry trees, and the modest cup of the beautiful epacris. At Five Mile Creek, at which are two inns, you pass over a wooden bridge. Soon after you come to sweet Carlshrue. Here are a Police station, a blacksmith, and houses of accommodation. On my way to town, early one morning, I beheld an icy forest on the plains. The arborescent icicles were about half-an-inch high and a twelfth diameter. Each top gently curved over. A vast number of these beautiful crystals standing together reminded one of a miniature giants’ causeway, or stalagmites from some sparry cave. Going up, our party spent a pleasant Sunday near a water-hole at Carlshrue.
You now approach the important township of Kyneton, fifty-six miles from town. Here are inns, stores, cottages, a wooden church, a pretty stone parsonage, and a neighbourhood of the finest alluvial black soil. Passing the Campaspie you gain the bridge of the Coliban: that is, if the awful quagmire permits your passage. A thriving township is just formed here called Malmsbury. This is about twenty miles from the Forest Creek. Attempting to get a short cut to the Loddon, my party were three days stumbling with a gibbing horse among the slate ranges. We had, too, the excitement of a twenty-four hours fast on that occasion. But you are less aspiring, and, following the beaten track, you come at last upon the scene of scenes. It is quite a beehive. Men are flitting about in strange disguise. Heads are popping up and down in various holes around you. The population are digging, wheeling, carrying or washing. But I have to conduct you through the diggings, so we must hasten forward. The old Post Office Square, the entrance to Adelaide Gully, the Montgomery Hill, the White Hill, the Private Escort station, the Little Bendigo, have to be passed in succession before reaching the junction of Forest, Barker, and Campbell creeks; at which place is the Chief Commissioner’s Quarters. This is a walk of four or five miles to the west. Desirous of seeing other digging regions, you must return to the neighbourhood of the Square, enter Adelaide Gully, and keep alongside the Adelaide creek till you come to the dividing range. Once over that, you approach the head waters of Friar’s creek, and you may follow down that stream to the south till it unites with the Loddon. The Golden creek flows southward into Friar’s creek; it has the interesting neighbourhood of Golden Gully, Red Hill and Windlas Hill. Turning once more to the east you reach the junction of the Campbell Creek and Loddon River. Pursuing thence a northernly course along the banks of the former, you again behold the Commissioner’s Tent. What with genuine soldiers, pensioners, and police, there is a force of about 200 men. There you will see the depository of Gold, awaiting the Escorts to carry it to town, and there is the place where for thirty shillings you may procure the talisman of a license.
