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Chapter XIII.

Leaving things as they are in the Hobart family for the present, we will return to Matthew Grant, whom we left in the police cell. When he was alone his mind began to dwell on his search for Clara. He felt certain he would not have to remain long in custody, as he could soon convince them that he was not John Whittler. The following morning Grant was taken before the magistrate, and, to his surprise, he heard the detective recount how he had been informed by one Grant a pardoned convict, from Van Dieman's Land, that the prisoner was the man they sought. The detective asked for a remand, on the ground that he would obtain further evidence from Hobart Town, or would find the man who had given the information, to give the required evidence against the prisoner. Grant here stated that he was indeed the Matthew Grant who had been pardoned; but the magistrate took no notice of this, and he was accordingly remanded. For fourteen long days Grant lay awaiting further evidence, and at last, to his delight, a warder arrived, who at once declared him to be Matthew Grant, and not John Whittler; and he was accordingly discharged.

Now, fully awake to the difficulties of his search, the liberated man started on his weary travel. During the following days he searched for the name of Hobart, but no trace of his whereabouts could he find, further than that one of the name had left there nearly two years before, but for what part no one could tell him. First he caused advertisements to be inserted in both the Melbourne and up-country papers, but no news came. After remaining there for nearly a month, he decided to leave the city, and for days he walked on asking of all he met for information; but none came to him, and at times he looked upon his search as so little likely to succeed that he page 105almost lost all hope. He had now journeyed on as far as the Dunolly diggings. The gold fever was then at its height, and the desire for acquiring wealth seemed to possess all; but for Grant, it had no charms. To him gold, or aught else, without Clara, was as useless dross, and he at times feared that before he could find any trace of her all his little capital would be gone. Still he persevered, and so anxious was he for information, that he would listen and ask questions of any whom he thought likely to give him a clue. On the evening of the fifth day after his arrival in Dunolly, Grant sat down, quite weary and footsore, for he had, during his stay, visited nearly every house on the diggings. The place in which he was seated was a public room, and many other people were there taking their evening glass.

"Well, Matthew," said one man, evidently a digger, "have you heard any word yet of your daughter?"

"No, I am sorry to say, I can find no tidings of her, and I know not where to look next."

"Well, I think you had better turn to and look for a fortune, for it seems easier to find than she."

"I care not for fortune without her, and while I have a shilling left I will look. When I must work of course I must."

The man addressed looked at Grant as though to take stock of him, and then said: "Why not take a trip over to Bendigo. She may be there."

"How far is that away?" asked Grant.

"Some forty miles. You can walk there in a day."

"Can you tell me the way, as I may as well try that place as stay here?"

"Oh yes," replied the man; "you take the road that leads from the back of this house, and as you go along ask anyone you meet the way to Jones's Creek and they will tell you."

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"Thanks," replied Grant; "I will start early, so that I may get through;" and with this the man wished him a good night, and departed.

Early on the following morning saw Grant again on the "wallaby track," as tramping was termed in those days; and before eight o'clock he had arrived at Jones's Creek. Now Jones's Creek was one of those lonely places where the timber grows so thickly that it was an easy matter for a man, or men, to hide behind the trees. The old man walked on till he came to a turn of the road, where, for the time, the sight of the track both before and behind him was lost to view—the timber at this point being thicker than usual. As he had eaten but little breakfast before he started, he stopped on the roadside, sat down on a fallen tree, and took from a small bundle which he carried in his hand a piece of bread and meat, and commenced eating his snack. He had sat there for some few minutes, still deep in thought, when there crept up from behind a man carefully and stealthily, carrying in his right hand a formidable-looking stick. He had now reached a huge tree, which stood two or three feet behind where Grant was seated, all unconscious of any danger. The man listened, to assure himself that no one was approaching, and then, carefully lifting his stick high over his head, he approached two steps nearer Grant, and brought his weapon down on the head of the unfortunate man. The victim of this murderous onslaught fell with a dull thud senseless on the earth, and then all was still again. In less time than it takes to tell, the pockets were rifled, and nearly seventy pounds in bright gold were soon in possession of the robber.

"Ah," he muttered, "I thought from the way you spoke old chap, that you were not short. Now, perhaps, you will go in search of fortune instead of wandering about looking for daughters;" and having satisfied himself that he had all Grant's possessions, the fellow made off, and left the unfortunate man lying there to live or die.

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About an hour later two more swaggers came along from Sandy Creek, bound for Dunolly. "We will accompany them a a little, and listen to their conversation.

"A queer road this, Jim; we must be near the spot where the Dunlop O'Neil murder was committed."

"Yes," answers the other, "we are just now quite near to it. Seems as though these places were made for that sort of thing. Look how thick the timber is here; why there might be a regiment of soldiers within twenty yards, and until they pounced on you you would never know they were there."

"Yes, by Jove, I should not care about travelling here now alone. God knows how many are murdered that nothing is ever heard of."

"Yes, you are right; but one hears of plenty as it is. But it seems to be always the same on a goldfield."

The two companions are just taking the turn of the road where old Grant was lying, and just as they turn the corner the one addressed as Jim calls out, "Hullo, another case. Talk of the devil, they say, and you see his works."

"Poor old fellow, quite dead, I think, from the loss of blood. Robbery, you see; his pockets are turned inside out."

Jim, throwing off his swag, kneels down, and places his hand over old Grant's heart, saying as he does so, "No, George, he is alive yet, but what a smash he has had on the head. Poor old man, struck down, as he must have been, eating his breakfast. Give me a drop of that P.B., and we will try and bring him round. Curse such a cowardly wretch. If I ever should know who did this, by the piper that played before Moses, but I would make him remember Jim Meredith."

The brandy was now forced down Grant's throat, and in a very few minutes he showed signs of returning consciousness.

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It was fully an hour before Grant could be made to understand the position of affairs, and when he did so he gave vent to the most pitiable cries of anguish.

"Oh, God," he exclaimed. "Am I to be ever pursued by evil fortune? I have been made the victim of plotters and murderers; and now, Clara, I shall never be able to find you," and the poor heart-broken old man burst into tears.

"Cheer up, old fellow," said Meredith, "things always look blackest before the dawn. Who knows but that this may be the means of your finding her you seek."

"I thank you for trying to make me look on things in a favourable light," replied Grant, "but you know not what I have suffered. It has always looked blackest with me, but of that I need not speak now. I know not how I am to gain a livelihood, for my life has been wasted, and I know nothing of what would now be useful to me."

"Look here," said George, who until now had said nothing; "I suppose you can work; so if Jim here likes you can come along with us for a bit anyhow, and share with us. You will live, if nothing else."

"True," said Jim, "we intend pitching our tent on Gooseberry's Hill, at Dunolly, as I hear they are getting a little gold there; and as for blankets, I have nearly enough of them for both of us, so we shall have no difficulty in managing."

Grant rose, feeling very weak from loss of blood, and, turning to newly-found friends, said: "I thank you for your kindness, and will accept your generous offer. For this day, at least, I will remain, and if after we have had a talk you are still inclined to help me on by letting me work with you, and so learn how to dig, I will stay longer."

They both now agreed to this, and the three turned their steps again towards Dunolly. The first thing to do on arrival was page 109to give information to the police; but in those days these officials had enough to do to attend to the robberies that were always being committed, without bothering themselves concerning people they knew nothing of.

The evening of the same day saw the tent of the trio erected on Goosberry Hill, three colonial stretchers were built, and Grant was initiated into the ways of living on the goldfields.

The following morning they marked out two claims, one to be sunk at once, the other to be shepherded until such time as they saw how the lead went. This was the only work they did on that day, except putting things in order a little, and in the evening when they were all assembled in the tent, Grant said: "Now, George and Meredith, as you have been kind enough to offer me your assistance, I think a little explanation is due to you as to who and what I am."

"Explanation," they both cried out, laughing. "On the diggings? I wonder you don't want to produce testimonials."

"I do not mean, as far as that goes," returned Grant; but I want to tell you something, and I must tell it to you. If, after I have done so you feel as now, all the better; if not, why I have done you no harm, and can go."

"Well," said George, who was evidently not much of a spokesman, "I don't think it any business of ours to know your business; but if you want to confess, I don't think Jim will object, and I know I shan't."

Grant, without further preface proceeded to impart to his two mates the story of his suffering on Van Dieman's Land, with which our readers are already acquainted; and, having concluded his narrative, he said: "Now, you know what I have been, and if you will still accept me as a mate, all that I can say is that I shall be grateful; if you will not, I must, of course, try what I can do for myself."

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"Why should we not take you?" said both, and Jim added, "All I say is, — the man who would turn his back on one who had been in gaol under these circumstances. No, we are not of that kind, Matthew; we will work together, and if we can help you to find your girl we will."

"Well," said George, "them lawyers are a bad lot. Poor old father used to tell me that if I ever disagreed with anyone, never to get a lawyer to settle the matter, for he will take something from both and keep it for himself."

"And I think him right," said Jim; "but this Hobart must belong to a good family—you must have a kindly feeling towards his family, Grant."

"I have not much ill-feeling towards him now. If I could only find my daughter, I would freely forgive all."

"For my part," said Jim, "I would have two objects; one to find her, and the other to take satisfaction."

"I trust," said Grant, "we may get some gold, and then I shall try again; and so I am afraid I shall go on until worn out, I shall die, and without again setting eyes on my Clara."

"Never fear," responded George, "providence will yet befriend you, and most likely when you least expect it."

"I should like," said Jim, "to find some trace of the man that knocked you on the head before we found you. Have you any suspicions of anyone?"

"None," answered Grant; whom could I suspect?"

"True; but did anyone that you met since you came here question you concerning your future movements."

"Well, no; but stay, yes—the night before I started a man in the Commercial did ask why I did not try my hand at making a fortune, instead of wasting time looking for my daughter."

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"And what answer did you make him?"

"I merely said I should keep on looking as long as I had a shilling left."

"And what then?" queried Jim.

"He asked me why I did not try Bendigo, and I enquired of him how far that was away. He told me forty miles."

"Yes, yes; and what further did he say," asked Jim impatiently.

"I said I thought I would go, and he informed me what direction I should take; and advised me first to enquire the way to Jones's Creek, and then on from there."

"Jones's Creek? Why, that was where we found you. Depend upon it, that fellow knew something of your being robbed, if he did not actually commit the assault. Would you know him again, do you think?"

"Yes, of that I am sure, for he was the only stranger that I spoke to about my search; and he seemed, now I come to think of it, to be very inquisitive."

"Well, look here, if you should ever see him again find out who and what he is, and tell me."

"I think the publican could tell me, for I saw the man I refer to in the hotel every day while I was staying there."

"We will walk over there some evening and have a look at them. If we find him there we can see whether we cannot unravel the mystery, for I should like to give a scoundrel like that his deserts. We must push on here, however, for a time, and try to get our claim bottomed."

For about a fortnight the party worked on hard in hopes of bottoming, and at last the day arrived when they were so nearly attaining their end that many of the miners from the adjoining claims gathered round, asking questions as to when they expected page 112to strike the lead. There is always a large class of men on the diggings who do little else but shepherd their claims until the adjoining one bottoms, and then, if the prospect turns out well, they too sink or sell; but, if not, they abandon their claims and try their luck elsewhere. As the day wore on, each of the party became most anxious for the result, but still the bottom seemed most provokingly far off, and night closed in without their knowing if they had bottomed another duffer or otherwise. Early on the following morning they again started to work. Jim was the first to descend the claim, and he had scarcely got down when he called out, "Someone has tried to bottom for us during the night, but they have been disappointed."

Such was indeed the case; some of the vagrant class of miners who infest the goldfields having attempted to bottom, with the intention of course of seeing what they could get, and also of using the information for their own benefit. One of the party worked on until near mid-day before the much-wished-for washdirt was found. At least Meredith called out from the bottom, "It's come at last, mates; the next bucket after this will be a prospect."

Eagerly did they stand around when the looked-for dish came to be panned off, and many were the eager faces of the miners from the adjoining claims. Slowly but surely does the washdirt work down in the pan, and eagerly as the mob—for there were a large number of men round the hole now—await the first swill around of the water after the pan is nearly empty of earth; but at last it comes. Jim carefully shakes down the prospect into the bottom, and then round goes the water, and there at the bottom is seen but one bright speck, and they and all else know that another "duffer" has been bottomed. Many more prospects are tried, but all to the same purpose, and by nightfall not only this claim but many of the adjoining ones are deserted, for the miners in those days rarely went any further if the neighbouring claim turned out a duffer. Poor old Grant, he felt this twice as much as either of his mates, for was there ever a new miner that did not page 113expect to make a fortune at the first attempt. This was to all a disappointment, but to Jim and Meredith not nearly so much as to Grant, for they had before this both had good and bad luck, and could consequently better endure the disappointment.

"Well," said Jim after tea, which poor Grant could not touch, "I suppose we had better try another a little further down the lead. I saw a bit of ground just in the little kind of gully that I should like to try, for it seems a likely kind of place. What say you, mates?"

"Just as you like," says George, while Grant wisely leaves these matters to them, as he knows too little to express an opinion.

"Well then, to-morrow morning I shall run down before breakfast and if it is not already taken mark the ground out, and then we can remove nearer and start fair."

Matthew Grant now sat like one completely cast down. Until now he had buoyed himself up with the hope of getting something from his new venture; but now this, like all else, had proved a failure.

"You do not look very lively to-night, Matthew," said George; "you did not expect to make a fortune the first start, did you? Better luck next time."

"I fear my luck is never going to turn—always the same, bad, bad, bad."

"That be blowed," says Jim. "You had good luck when that girl died who was a bit spooney on you, for she got you out of that difficulty."

"True; but I might as well have remained there I think, for I seem bringing bad luck with me."

"That's all rot. Come, cheer up; let's take a stroll into town, and then we can have a look in at the Commercial, and page 114see if that chap's there, for I want to see him if he is. Come on, George."

"All right, I'm on for anything."

"I really would sooner stay at home," said Grant. You know I have no money to spend, and I owe you both enough as it is."

"Don't say anything about that," returned George; "fair dues amongst mates. When one has money you know both have, and the other way round."

"You must come, Matthew, as I want to see this suspected individual, if possible," says Jim.

Grant thus pressed, very reluctantly joins them, and in time they find themselves down at the Commercial Hotel. The man they are looking for, however, is not there—at least they do not see him.

After a time, as they sit over a glass of ale, a man apparently drunk strolls into the room where they are sitting, and as soon as he does so, recognises Grant."

"Hallo, old un; back again? Did you find her? Have a drink. When did you come?"

"I have not been away yet," answers Grant.

"That be hanged," the man says, and then seeming to recover himself he adds: "but you told me you would go, did you not? But let's have a drink. What are you going to have? Your mates too, will they join us?"

"Yes," says Jim, who had been looking attentively at the stranger, "we will have a drink, of course. I suppose you have been luckier than we have, and bottomed a good claim. We have just bottomed a duffer."

"Me? Oh, yes; good claim—rather. I'm a lucky devil, always was."

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The drinks were now called for, and when brought the man appeared to search very diligently for the money in one of his pockets, but he was evidently unsuccessful. At last, turning to the barman he said: "I haven't got any money left just now; I'll give it you by-and by."

"That'll do; you fork out some of these sovereigns you've got in this pocket," and with that the barman struck the pocket, and sure enough the jingle of gold was heard. However, he whispered something to the barman, who simply nodded his head; and shortly after, under the pretence of going out to procure some money, the man himself went out.

"Is that the party?" asked Jim of Grant as soon as the three friends were alone.

"Yes, that is the man you asked me about."

"And that is the man," said Jim, "that knocked you on the head. I'll see if I can't meet him yet."

"And so will I," said George, "for I'd just about as soon serve him out as anyone I know of."

"Did you hear what the barman said about sovereigns?" asked Jim. "He's got your money right enough."

"Well, if he has perhaps it is all for the best. It seems I am never to have any pleasure, so it does not matter if he did rob me."

"What, let off a rascal like that? How much did he care whether he killed you or not? Never mind, Matthew, better luck next claim. I am always lucky when I select; George chose our last."

"Let's get home," says George, and so the party again pass through the bar, which is now quite crowded by people, most of whom are drunk, or partly so. In their midst they catch sight of the man who has but lately left them. He seems to be more page 116sober now, but at first he does not notice them; when he does, however, he pretends not to see them, and continues his conversation with one who is evidently a stranger, as he is plying his interlocutor with questions.

The next morning, as agreed, Jim rises early, and in less than an hour returns to the tent, and tells his mates that he had pegged out the claims; and the same day saw them again shifted, and all ready for work. After supper, about the time that they usually had their evening's chat, George went outside the tent door. Although he was expected each minute to return he did not, and after a time they concluded he had gone on some errand of his own, and consequently did not bother further. Jim and Grant remained sitting alone talking of the past, present, and their hopes of the future.