He had never been accustomed to manual labour; he did
not like being exposed to the cold winds, to the frost or rain, with
no shelter except that afforded by our small tent. While at work we
were always dirty, and often wet; and after we had passed a miserable
night, daylight found us shivering, until warmth came with hard work.
One morning Philip lost his temper; his only hat was soaked with
rain, and his trousers, shirt, and boots were stiff with clay. He
put a woollen comforter on his head in lieu of the hat. The
comforter was of gaudy colours, and soon attracted public attention.
A man down the gully said:
"I obsarved yesterday we had young Ireland puddling up here, and I
persave this morning we have an Italian bandit or a Sallee rover at
work among us."
Every digger looked at Philip, and he fell into a sudden fury; you
might have heard him at the first White Hill.
"Yesterday I heard a donkey braying down the gully, and this morning
he is braying again."
"Oh! I see," replied the Donkey. "We are in a bad temper this morning."
Father Backhaus was often seen walking with long strides among the
holes and hillocks on Bendigo Flat or up and down the gullies, on a
visit to some dying digger, for Death would not wait until we had all
made our pile. His messengers were going around all the time;
dysentery, scurvy, or fever; and the priest hurried after them.
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