the township, Russell and I found plenty to do. Saturday was our great gold-buying day. The diggers would begin to pour in about two o’clock, and from that time to seven or eight we were kept hard at work. There was many a growl at the apology for a bank. In front of the counter there was only room for half-a-dozen men at a time; sometimes there were that many in a party; others would come and stand about the door, at last get tired of “airing their heels,” and go off to another bank. The Oriental Bank had a more commodious building, not so the Commercial, which was even smaller than ours, but much more comfortable. Our opposite neighbour was William Mears, or, as he styled himself the “Greatest Wonder of the World.” The principal hotel (Great Eastern) was the only one patronised by the officers of the 12th regiment, the commissioners, and bankers, where we met every afternoon and evening. Garrotting was the order of the day, or rather night. When I first went to the Flat, I have often, when snug in bed, heard some poor fellow, who was being eased of his cash, calling out, “Murder,” “Police.” In coming home from the Great Eastern I invariably carried a revolver with me. One night I came in about eleven o’clock. Thompson told me he was sitting reading with the back door open as the chimney was smoking, when a big fellow walked in and asked him for a drink of water, which he gave him. When the man went away, Thompson took the precaution of shutting and locking the door. It was well he did so, for in about ten minutes he returned, and wanted Thompson to let him in, which he declined to do, telling him “to be off about his business;” in the meantime I came in. Thompson was just telling me about this when we heard a hammering at the front door. I called out, “Who’s there,” when the same fellow said, “I want to come in.” “If you’re not off in one minute I’ll fire at you through the door,” said I. When he retreated a few steps, I opened the door, raised my revolver and fired; not at, but close by him. He then took to his heels and was seen no more. Next morning I went to see if I could find any trace of the bullet, and found it lodged in one of the post office piles, a distance of sixty yards from where I fired. Russell and I lived at the bank. Thompson was not much of a cook, but we preferred a steak at home to a better meal at an hotel.
23rd October.—Great many diggers left for New Zealand. Truly the digger is a migratory being; no matter how well he may be doing, or comfortably settled in a place, at the first talk of a rush he is for “off,” sells out, and away he goes; in this instance, several hundreds of miles. I presume this is to be accounted for by the fact that the man who is the first on a new field stands the best chance. It may be so; but of this I am certain, these changes are good for his constitution, and a pleasant break in what otherwise must be a very monotonous life. For instance, say a miner
