He could keep nothing from me. If he
had been a member of some secret society, he would have burst up the
secret, or the secret would have burst him.
He had some friends among the diggers. The big gum tree in front of
the church tent soon became a kind of trysting place on Sundays, at
which men could meet with old acquaintances and shipmates, and
convicts could find old pals. Amongst the crowd one Sunday were five
men belonging to a party of six from Nyalong; the sixth man was at
home guarding the tent. Four of the six were Irish Catholics, and
they came regularly to Mass every Sunday; the other two were
Englishmen, both convicts, of no particular religion, but they had
married Catholic immigrants, and sometimes went to church, but more
out of pastime than piety. One of these men, known as John Barton--
he had another name in the indents--stood under the gum tree, but
not praying; I don't think he ever thought of praying except the need
of it was extreme. He was of medium height, had a broad face, snub
nose, stood erect like a soldier, and was strongly built. His small
ferrety eyes were glancing quickly among the faces around him until
they were arrested by another pair of eyes at a short distance. The
owner of the second pair of eyes nudged two other men standing by,
and then three pairs of eyes were fixed on Barton.
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