Joe Wilson and His Mates [57]
test the second bottom,
and if he found no gold there, to fill the shaft up to the other bottoms,
or build platforms at the proper level and then explore them.
He was living in a lunatic asylum the last time I heard of him.
And the last time I heard from that field, they were boring the ground
like a sieve, with the latest machinery, to find the best place
to put down a deep shaft, and finding gold from the second bottom on the bore.
But I'm right off the line again.
`Old Pinter', Ballarat digger -- his theory on second and other bottoms
ran as follows: --
`Ye see, THIS here grass surface -- this here surface with
trees an' grass on it, that we're livin' on, has got nothin' to do with us.
This here bottom in the shaller sinkin's that we're workin' on
is the slope to the bed of the NEW crick that was on the surface
about the time that men was missin' links. The false bottoms,
thirty or forty feet down, kin be said to have been on the surface
about the time that men was monkeys. The SECON' bottom --
eighty or a hundred feet down -- was on the surface about the time
when men was frogs. Now ----'
But it's with the missing-link surface we have to do,
and had the friends of the local departed known what Dave and Jim were up to
they would have regarded them as something lower than missing-links.
`We'll give out we're tryin' for the second bottom,' said Dave Regan.
`We'll have to rig a fan for air, anyhow, and you don't want air
in shallow sinkings.'
`And some one will come poking round, and look down the hole
and see the bottom,' said Jim Bently.
`We must keep 'em away,' said Dave. `Tar the bottom, or cover it
with tarred canvas, to make it black. Then they won't see it.
There's not many diggers left, and the rest are going;
they're chucking up the claims in Log Paddock. Besides, I could get drunk
and pick rows with the rest and they wouldn't come near me.
The farmers ain't in love with us diggers, so they won't bother us.
No man has a right to come poking round another man's claim:
it ain't ettykit -- I'll root up that old ettykit and stand to it --
it's rather worn out now, but that's no matter. We'll shift the tent
down near the claim and see that no one comes nosing round on Sunday.
They'll think we're only some more second-bottom lunatics,
like Francea [the mining watchmaker]. We're going to get our fortune
out from under that old graveyard, Jim. You leave it all to me
till you're born again with brains.'
Dave's schemes were always elaborate, and that was why they so often
came to the ground. He logged up his windlass platform a little higher,
bent about eighty feet of rope to the bole of the windlass,
which was a new one, and thereafter, whenever a suspicious-looking party
(that is to say, a digger) hove in sight, Dave would let down
about forty feet of rope and then wind, with simulated exertion,
until the slack was taken up and the rope lifted the bucket
from the shallow bottom.
`It would look better to have a whip-pole and a horse,
but we can't afford them just yet,' said Dave.
But I'm a little behind. They drove straight in under the cemetery,
finding good wash all the way. The edge of Jimmy Middleton's box
appeared in the top corner of the `face' (the working end) of the drive.
They went under the butt-end of the grave. They shoved up
the end of the shell with a prop, to prevent the possibility of an accident
which might disturb the mound above; they puddled -- i.e., rammed --
stiff clay up round the edges to keep the loose earth from dribbling down;
and having given the bottom of the coffin a good coat of tar,
they got over, or rather under, an unpleasant matter.
Jim Bently smoked and burnt paper during his shift below,
and grumbled a good deal. `Blowed if I ever thought I'd be rooting for gold
down among the blanky dead men,' he said. But the dirt panned out better
every dish they washed, and Dave worked the `wash' out right and left
as they drove.
But, one fine morning, who should come along but the very last man
and if he found no gold there, to fill the shaft up to the other bottoms,
or build platforms at the proper level and then explore them.
He was living in a lunatic asylum the last time I heard of him.
And the last time I heard from that field, they were boring the ground
like a sieve, with the latest machinery, to find the best place
to put down a deep shaft, and finding gold from the second bottom on the bore.
But I'm right off the line again.
`Old Pinter', Ballarat digger -- his theory on second and other bottoms
ran as follows: --
`Ye see, THIS here grass surface -- this here surface with
trees an' grass on it, that we're livin' on, has got nothin' to do with us.
This here bottom in the shaller sinkin's that we're workin' on
is the slope to the bed of the NEW crick that was on the surface
about the time that men was missin' links. The false bottoms,
thirty or forty feet down, kin be said to have been on the surface
about the time that men was monkeys. The SECON' bottom --
eighty or a hundred feet down -- was on the surface about the time
when men was frogs. Now ----'
But it's with the missing-link surface we have to do,
and had the friends of the local departed known what Dave and Jim were up to
they would have regarded them as something lower than missing-links.
`We'll give out we're tryin' for the second bottom,' said Dave Regan.
`We'll have to rig a fan for air, anyhow, and you don't want air
in shallow sinkings.'
`And some one will come poking round, and look down the hole
and see the bottom,' said Jim Bently.
`We must keep 'em away,' said Dave. `Tar the bottom, or cover it
with tarred canvas, to make it black. Then they won't see it.
There's not many diggers left, and the rest are going;
they're chucking up the claims in Log Paddock. Besides, I could get drunk
and pick rows with the rest and they wouldn't come near me.
The farmers ain't in love with us diggers, so they won't bother us.
No man has a right to come poking round another man's claim:
it ain't ettykit -- I'll root up that old ettykit and stand to it --
it's rather worn out now, but that's no matter. We'll shift the tent
down near the claim and see that no one comes nosing round on Sunday.
They'll think we're only some more second-bottom lunatics,
like Francea [the mining watchmaker]. We're going to get our fortune
out from under that old graveyard, Jim. You leave it all to me
till you're born again with brains.'
Dave's schemes were always elaborate, and that was why they so often
came to the ground. He logged up his windlass platform a little higher,
bent about eighty feet of rope to the bole of the windlass,
which was a new one, and thereafter, whenever a suspicious-looking party
(that is to say, a digger) hove in sight, Dave would let down
about forty feet of rope and then wind, with simulated exertion,
until the slack was taken up and the rope lifted the bucket
from the shallow bottom.
`It would look better to have a whip-pole and a horse,
but we can't afford them just yet,' said Dave.
But I'm a little behind. They drove straight in under the cemetery,
finding good wash all the way. The edge of Jimmy Middleton's box
appeared in the top corner of the `face' (the working end) of the drive.
They went under the butt-end of the grave. They shoved up
the end of the shell with a prop, to prevent the possibility of an accident
which might disturb the mound above; they puddled -- i.e., rammed --
stiff clay up round the edges to keep the loose earth from dribbling down;
and having given the bottom of the coffin a good coat of tar,
they got over, or rather under, an unpleasant matter.
Jim Bently smoked and burnt paper during his shift below,
and grumbled a good deal. `Blowed if I ever thought I'd be rooting for gold
down among the blanky dead men,' he said. But the dirt panned out better
every dish they washed, and Dave worked the `wash' out right and left
as they drove.
But, one fine morning, who should come along but the very last man