Then the age of chivalry went out. The
bowie knife was the British article bought in Liverpool. It would
neither kill a man nor cut a beef-steak, as was proved by experience.
We met parties of men from Bendigo--unlucky diggers, who offered to
sell their thirty-shilling licenses. By this time my cash was low;
my twenty-dollar gold pieces were all consumed. While voyaging to
the new Ophir, where gold was growing underfoot, I could not see any
sound sense in being niggardly. But when I saw a regular stream of
disappointed men with empty pockets offering their monthly licenses
for five shillings each within sight of the goldfield, I had
misgivings, and I bought a license that had three weeks to run from
William 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.
Pages:
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127