RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XVII.--At Pitcairn Island.

    A few evenings after this the captain remarked to me, "If this breeze holds (it was northerly), and you will turn out at 6 o'clock tomorrow morning, I'll show you Pitcairn Island, about twenty miles off, on the weather bow." Accordingly, about 6, I went on deck, and the skipper, pointing to windward, exclaimed in a triumphant tone: "There you are; there's Pitcairn as large as life." So it was, looming high above the horizon, though our distance from it was certainly not less than the stipulated twenty miles. I thought this an uncommonly good "landfall," considering that Pitcairn Island is a mere speck on the huge waste of waters of the South Pacific. In the forenoon we ranged up within sight of a row of white cottages, crowning the top of a precipitous cliff, apparently about five miles to windward, and the captain, backing the main topsail, called for volunteers to take oars in the boat that was to be sent ashore in charge of Mr. Doran, the first mate. Alick Mackenzie and I at once stepped forward, and then Mr. Hargreaves presented himself at the gangway in a rather hesitating manner, and was accepted. Neither Ned Hawkins nor any of our other cabin mates could pull an oar, so they had to stand ruefully by and see us scramble into the boat, which had been lowered, and was gaily tossing alongside in a pretty rough sea. "Shove off," was the first word of command, and then, "Out oars and give way," and off we set towards the land. Not fifty yards had we advanced when a splash and a "thud" behind me made me look over my shoulder, and there was the ponderous form of Mr. Hargreaves sprawling in the bottom of the boat, with his legs over his thwart tilted up in the air. He had "caught a crab," and had lost his oar, which was picked up with some difficulty. Another start, and in ten minutes another "crab" revealed to us that Mr. Hargreaves was totally incapable of managing an oar, so his had to be laid in, and we had the left-handed satisfaction of propelling through a heavy sea fifteen stone of useless weight, with three oars instead of four. The hardship of the infliction was much increased when we discovered that instead of having been five miles from land, as we fondly imagined when we left the ship, we must have been at least ten, the mistake having been caused by an optical delusion [sic] which made the cliffs on the top of which the cottages were ranged appear quite low, when they were in fact several hundred feet high, and we had pulled at least five miles before we saw the surf breaking on their base. After nearly four hours' hard pulling we found ourselves opposite a depression in the cliff, and at its foot we saw a narrow strip of sandy beach, with large boulders extending from it a couple of hundred yards seaward. Over these boulders the waves were breaking furiously, and not a channel through them could we see. A good many people were collected on the beach behind the breakers, and presently to our great joy a whaleboat shot out through them, manned [omission] came alongside of us, and one of them jumped on board our boat. Taking the helm, he told us to "give way," and this we did with a will. Plunging into the breakers, our pilot guided us through them by a tortuous channel, until we got within a dozen yards of the beach, when half a score of young fellows rushed in up to their waists, seized the boat by both gunwales, and, aided by a topping "comber," shot her well up onto the beach. When the wave receded, out we all jumped, and in a twinkling the boat was hauled high up onto the dry sand. At least a score of people of both sexes and all ages now rushed upon us, seized our hands, and, shaking them most cordially, bade us welcome in excellent English. A comely, well-built set of folks they were, many of the men and nearly all the young women and children having tolerably fair, rosy complexions, with black or dark brown hair, the women's neatly gathered on the top of their heads, and fastened there in graceful, wavy ringlets. The men were all dressed in light European clothes, and the women wore a loose jacket of light striped stuff, reaching below the waist, and a long strip of the same kind of stuff wound round and fastened to the waist, and reaching halfway down the leg. For that climate nothing could be more "neat, cool, and handy" than this costume.
    In a few minutes a charming bevy of about a dozen young women, girls, and boys moved off towards the foot of the cliff, and called to us to follow, which we cheerfully did, and now we noticed for the first time a narrow road that had been cut in the face of the cliff at a pretty steep angle, and which in a couple of hundred yards brought us to the top of the cliff onto a small plateau formed of rich volcanic soil. From here a winding path up the sloping face of a high bank formed of the same kind of soil brought us out upon a large level plateau, extending far to the left and right, running parallel to the top of the cliffs, and dotted with lovely rustic cottages, each surrounded by a large plot of beautifully cultivated land, teeming with banana, plantain, and breadfruit trees, sugar cane, yams, sweet potatoes, and other tropical fruits, and vegetables too numerous to mention. Behind this plateau the country sloped upward several hundred feet, covered with indigenous forests, with occasional clearings occupied by groves of cocoa palms and other tropical or semitropical plants. At the top of this was a large cultivated plateau, flanked by a range of hills, one of them sending out a spur towards the sea, terminating in a high, conical peak, on the top of which Christian, the leader of the mutineers, was accustomed to sit for hours on the outlook for a man of war, which, he expected, would pounce down upon him, and avenge his mutinous and piratical outrage. 'Tis thus that "Conscience doth make cowards of us all." This high-lying, cultivated plateau was treated differently from the rest of the arable land. Instead of being divided into moderately large portions, each the private property of individual owners, the ownership was vested in the whole community, and each man was supposed to contribute equally to its cultivation. The consequence was that instead of being in the admirable order in which the individually owned land surrounding the cottages was kept, the "communal" land was foul, weedy, and comparatively unproductive, and was, I believe, the only cause of occasional disagreement among the natives.
    After wandering about among the cottages, and shaking hands with numbers of the natives, we met a purebred white man, who presented himself to us as the Rev. Mr. ------, the missionary who had spiritual charge of the natives, to whom he was, in appearance, a very striking contrast, being an undersized, rough-looking individual, with a florid complexion, a bland and somewhat sneaking manner when he spoke to us, but assuming one of overbearing superiority towards the islanders. I found afterwards that Mr. ------ had been a common before-the-mast sailor, that he had "become converted," had joined a sect, got himself ordained, and by some means or other appointed as missionary to the Pitcairn Islanders. So much for Mr. ------ at present; he will figure again by and by in this narrative. Mr. Doran, our chief mate and officer in charge of our boat, now signified his intention of returning on board, and the ship having by this time beaten up close to the landing place, where she was standing "off and on" under easy canvas, looking, from our commanding elevation, like a boy's toy boat, and the wind being off the land, and therefore fair for the boat to return on board, he set off with the two sailors who had come ashore with us and Mr. Hargreaves, while Mackenzie and I remained on shore. I had given Mr. Doran a note for Hawkins, telling him to come ashore as soon as he could, if he wished to see the most beautiful spot, and the nicest and handsomest people that had ever greeted his Australian optics. I also asked him to bring with him as many of his own, of Mackenzie's, and of my spare garments as he could conveniently lay his hands on, as Mr. ------ had told me that they would be very highly appreciated by the islanders. Mr. ------ also begged Mr. Doran to persuade our captain to send him a few bottles of spirits, to be used "solely for medicinal purposes." The islanders' whaleboat also put off to the ship, and in a couple of hours returned with Hawkins and Mr. Davidson, the man who had been elected managing directer of our Fruit and Vegetable Joint Stock Company, and cashier of the amalgamated capital. They brought with them a fair supply of "old clo'", and about half a dozen bottles of brandy, as a gift from our skipper to the Rev. Mr. ------, to be used "for medicinal purposes only." We now set off, each accompanied by a band of young women, girls, and boys, to explore the island, while the older men set to work and carried down from the high-lying, cultivated land bags of sweet potatoes and yams, while large supplies of oranges, limes, coconuts, bananas, and plantains were gathered from the gardens surrounding the cottages, and everything was deposited in heaps in a central place on the lower plateau above the beach. After rambling around for half an hour under the guidance of my charming friends, through sylvan groves, with occasional vistas giving us glimpses of the sea sparkling in the sun, we returned to the cottages, and I began to explore them in search of my friend Hawkins, of whom I had somehow lost sight during our wanderings. For a long time I could hear nothing of him, but at last a young native pointed to a cottage across a small watercourse, and said that a tall young man of our party was there. Crossing the creek by a rustic bridge, I entered the cottage by the open door, and the first thing that greeted my vision was my friend sitting at one side of a table and Mr. ------ at the other. A bottle of the brandy, "used solely for medicinal purposes," was standing between them, with glasses to match, and there they sat conversing in the most sociable and friendly spirit on the past history and present prospects of Pitcairn Island and its inhabitants! Hawkins was of course not aware of the terrible infraction he was committing on the rules laid down by his "spiritual" companion for the use of ardent spirits on the islands, or he may perhaps have persuaded Hawkins that the state of their healths required a little "medicinal" stimulant, as the rev. gentleman was both the "body curer" and " soul curer" of the islanders, and in the former capacity freely distributed among them the contents of a big and well-stocked medicine chest. Alcoholic medicine was, fortunately for them, not so lavishly distributed; free trade, then in its infancy, had not penetrated to Pitcairn, and the "Liquor Laws" were there administered as a strict monopoly.
    When night set in we became the guests of various cottage-owners, who guided us to their homes and served us with supper, which in my case consisted of stewed kid with baked yam, nicely cooked, and followed by fried plantain, bananas, and oranges, all very neatly served up by my hostess, a fine, handsome young woman, a descendant of one of the midshipmen of the Bounty, named Young, who was, I believe, not a mutineer, but was forced by Christian to remain in the Bounty. My host, her husband, was named Christian, and was a son of Thursday October Christian, and grandson of the arch-mutineer, whose wife, my host's grandmother, a pure Tahitian, and the sole survivor of her race on the island, lived with her grandson in the cottage. She could not speak English, but in her native Tahitian requested her grandson to tell me that she remembered seeing Captain Cook when she was a girl of 5 or 6. She was a hale, hearty, and very stout old dame, with copper complexion, and a shock of thick, wavy, snow-white hair. After supper we adjourned to a building, larger than the ordinary cottages, which was used as a kind of consulting place or town hall, and here a ball was got up in our honor, but only the men figured in it as dancers, the women looking on and refusing to dance, in spite of our urgent requests for them to honor us by becoming our partners. We found out afterwards that it was considered highly indelicate for women to dance, and, though we assured them that the Queen (for whom they all expressed the most devoted loyalty), often "figured on the light fantastic," our entreaties and blandishments were in vain. As for the men, "hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels put life and mettle in their heels" to the music of a fiddle, played by one of the young islanders, the only one, I believe, who had visited foreign countries and acquired the art of "scraping the viol." Towards the small hours we separated, and each proceeded to his quarters, escorted by his host carrying a torch, to light up the narrow paths winding among the gardens and cottages. Devout prayers brought the day to a close, and I was soon ensconced in a very comfortable bed, made up of cocoa fiber, and covered by bedding woven from the fiber of some native plant by the industrious and deft hands of the women.
    Next morning at gray dawn I accompanied my host to a cluster of cocoa palms, his property, growing on the outskirts of the timbered slopes behind his cottage. He scrambled up one of them and threw down a number of nuts, some ripe and some quite green, and after coming down he opened the end of one of the green ones and handed it to me. Clapping it to my mouth I drank a long draught of the delicious cool milk, and, thus refreshed, was able to help my friend to carry home a number of the nuts, his share of those intended for shipment to our gallant barque. During our absence, my fair hostess had been preparing our breakfast, of which we partook with great relish after our exertions in the early morning. During the forenoon the men were all busy carrying loads of fruit and vegetables to the beach and placing them in the boats, which took them on board ship, while our treasurer, Mr. Davidson, was taking a note of everything that was sent off. When the last load disappeared down the path to the beach, he settled accounts with Mr. ------, who represented the island, and then Mr. Davidson and our other cabin companions embarked and went on board, while Hawkins and I lingered, putting off our departure to the last moment. That moment came too soon. I took an affectionate leave of my kind entertainer, his mother, his wife, and lovely children, and, after bestowing sundry garments on Christian and knickknacks on the women and children, went off towards the beach, the wife preceding me along the path, carrying an immense bunch of bananas, the stalk resting over her shoulder, and the end dragging along the ground at her heels. On the way we came upon Hawkins and Mr. ------ in earnest conversation. Mr. ------ was deeply affected, and in moving terms was representing a case to Hawkins, which seemed to make a deep impression on my friend's sensitive heart. On my joining him he took me aside, and said: " Look here, that donkey Davidson has gone on board, and in settling accounts with Mr. ------ has paid him 10 dollars too little for the stuff we have bought." Here we turned and joined the poor injured Mr. ------, who now appealed to us both in moving terms, and begged us to square the account ere we left. He said he was a poor man with a large family, and the islanders would hold him responsible, and make him hand over to them every cent that was due, and so forth. All this he said in a tone of anguish, with hands clenched, and an expression of earnest appeal on his face. This was too touching for us to resist, and we each contributed one-half of the sum required to render full justice to the deeply aggrieved Mr. ------. We then descended to the beach, and bade a touching final adieu to the sorrowing assembly of islanders that had escorted us. Each of us got a wreath of orange blossoms wound round his hat, and as I stepped into the boat my kind hostess handed me, as a parting present, the big bunch of bananas she had carried down. This was the last of the many acts of kindness I had received from her and her husband, but there was no time left for giving expression to my gratitude. Our crew and our steersman were all in the boat, the word was given to shove off, and away we went in the face of a greatly diminished surf, the heavy waves through which we landed the day before having been caused by a local gale. With waving of hands and handkerchiefs on both sides as long as we were within view we made our way on board, and, presenting our native friends who had brought us off with a few gifts as parting tokens of regard, we bade them a final farewell, and, bracing round our main yard, stood once more on our course; but we did not "go on our way rejoicing," as we were all very sorry to part from such kind and hospitable friends as the Pitcairn Islanders.
    After the island began to fade on the horizon we descended to the cabin, and began to talk over our various adventures, and presently Hawkins mentioned the unfortunate mistake our treasurer had made in settling with Mr. ------, and how we had rectified it. The first effect of this announcement was a look of amazement on Mr. Davidson's face, and amusement on the faces of the others, which soon developed into a burst of hearty and prolonged laughter. The look of grave reproach which Hawkins and I cast around us only served to increase the merriment, and when Davidson brought out his accounts, and proved by them that he had paid Mr. ------ every farthing that was due to him, Hawkins and I had blushingly to confess that, enlightened and thoroughly wide-awake Australians as we were, we had been completely "done," in fact "done brown," by an ignorant combination of before-the-mast sailor, missionary, and quack.
    The Rockhampton Record states that "Mr. David Archer, one of the noble band of brothers who have left their mark on the history of this country, and father of Mr. Robert S. Archer, of Gracemere, passed away at Croydon, Surrey, England, on 10th January, at the ripe age of 83 years. The deceased was one of the pioneers of settlement in this colony--at the time portion of New South Wales. He arrived at Sydney in 1832, and immediately engaged in pastoral pursuits, being appointed manager of Willarawong for Mr. James Walker. In 1842 he proceeded north to take up country on his own account, and, crossing Darling Downs, he selected Durundur, north of Caboolture, as a favorable spot. Later on Emu Plains and Coonambula, both on the Burnett, were taken up by the subject of this notice. At that time the firm was styled David Archer and Co., Eidsvold and other properties in which the deceased was interested being owned by Archer Bros. In 1852 Mr. Archer returned to England and entered into business as one of the firm of Johnson and Archer. In this he was engaged until a few years ago. As one of the brothers Archer, he was at one time part owner of Gracemere, and of the firm Mr. Thomas Archer, ex-Agent General, is the sole survivor, although there are three brothers who were not in the firm--Messrs. Archibald, Colin, and James Archer—still alive." (The late Mr. David Archer is the "brother David" so often referred to by Mr. Thomas Archer in his "Recollections."--Ed. Queenslander.)

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XVII (Continued.)--The Mutiny of the Bounty.

    As I fear that the education of some of you has been so shamefully neglected that you have been left in ignorance of the history of Pitcairn Island, I may as well favor you here with a slight sketch of it. About the end of last century, or say, about one hundred years ago, H.M.'s ship Bounty, Lieutenant Bligh in command, was sent out to the South Sea Islands to bring from there to the West Indies the breadfruit tree, which had been reported by Captain Cook, or Mr. Banks, the naturalist who accompanied him, to abound on these islands. The Bounty attempted to make the passage via Cape Horn, but then, as in Drake's time, and even to this day, gales of westerly winds prevailed in that region at least nine months out of the twelve, so after beating about for several weeks, and sustaining considerable damage in trying to weather the storm, the Bounty put up her helm and bore away for the Cape of Good Hope, where she refitted, and laid in a supply of provisions and water, and then continued her eastward course until she reached the coast of Tasmania (Van Diemen's Land), then unsettled and almost unknown. Here a fresh supply of wood and water was taken on board, and the voyage was continued to Tahiti, in the Society Group, so well known to the reader of Cook's voyages. Here the Bounty remained for a considerable time, refitting and filling her water casks, and digging up and taking on board many hundred breadfruit plants, the natives helping the crew in the most friendly manner in all their labors, and treating them with the greatest kindness.
    After all this was accomplished, the Bounty, amid the tears and heartrending cries of the natives, got under way, and started westward on the way to the West Indies. Not many days after this a band of mutineers, led by Acting Lieutenant Christian, appeared early one morning in Captain Bligh's cabin, seized him, tied his hands behind his back, dragged him on deck, and placed him and eighteen of the other officers and men who refused to join in the mutiny in one of the boats, with a very small supply of food and water, a compass, and a few other nautical instruments, and, casting them adrift, with a cry of "Hurrah for Tahiti!" turned the ship's head round, and shortly she disappeared from the view of the unfortunates in the boat, who found themselves in one of the most awkward predicaments in which human beings can well be placed. The boat was so deeply laden that only about a foot of "freeboard" was left above the surface of the sea, and their distance from the nearest land inhabited by whites--the Dutch island of Timor--was nearly four thousand miles. Nothing daunted, however, Captain Bligh and his crew shaped their course westward, making for the coast of Australia, then unsettled, and only very cursorily explored by Captain Cook. Calling at one of the South Sea Islands near their course to renew their supply of water and pick up any fruit that could be found, they were attacked by the natives, who killed one of their men, and, their only arms being a few cutlasses, the rest had to jump hurriedly into the boat, narrowly escaping a general massacre. They passed several other islands, but dared not land on them, and, favored by the southeast trade wind that generally prevails in those latitudes, they crossed the vast expanse of ocean between the islands and the coast of Australia, which they reached after enduring terrible hardships from cold, starvation, and thirst, and being often nearly swamped by the heavy seas that came raging after their deeply laden and frail craft. Crossing the barrier reef, they got into smoother water, and steered in among the islands that are scattered along the Australian coast, where they occasionally landed to fill their water cask and gather shellfish, which now formed their principal food supply. Rounding Cape York, they passed through Torres Straits, again faced the open ocean, and, in about a fortnight, the miserable, half-starved, and emaciated crew reached Timor, where the Dutch colonists received them with great kindness. Several of the men died soon after, killed by the hardships they had endured, and Captain Bligh and the survivors made their way back to England, via Batavia. Shortly after they got home, a frigate named the Pandora was sent out to Tahiti to capture the mutineers, in which she partly succeeded, most of them having taken up their abode in the Society Group. But the Bounty, with eight of the mutineers, including their leader Christian, had, after taking on board a number of native men and women, disappeared, no one knew whither. The Pandora, on her way back to England, was wrecked on the coast of Australia, on that part of the Barrier Reef which is named after her, and many of her hands and several of the mutineers were drowned. The survivors followed Bligh's course on to Timor in their boats, and when they reached England the mutineers were tried, a few, on the plea of having been forced into the mutiny, were pardoned, and the rest were sentenced to death, and duly hanged from the yardarm of a man-of-war in Portsmouth.
    Of the Bounty and her crew nothing was heard for many years, and, although the crew of an American whaler reported that they had seen inhabitants on Pitcairn Island, so busy was our government in carrying on the fighting that then raged between us and most of our neighbors, that no steps were taken to ascertain whether these people were the Bounty mutineers. In 1814, about twenty-five years after the mutiny, two English frigates cruising in the South Pacific, probably on the lookout for American whalers, happened to pass within sight of the island, and, noticing some smoke ascending from it, and a few specks that looked like human habitations scattered about, they ranged up on its lee side, and, heaving to, one of them was in the act of lowering a boat, when a canoe with two natives on board shot out through the surf, and, paddling up under the ship's lee, one of the crew, to the amusement of those on board, shouted out in excellent English, "Won't you heave us a rope now?" This request was complied with, and the men, making the end of the rope fast to the canoe, pulled themselves up hand over hand with great agility, and, jumping on deck, walked aft, and, like true man-of-war's men, saluted the captain. One of them informed the group of astonished officers that gathered round them that his name was Thursday October Christian, that he was the son of the leader of the mutineers, and that only one of them, an old man named Adams, survived. The captain of the man-of-war now got on board his boat, and, guided by young Christian and his companion in their canoe, landed through a heavy surf on the same beach where my party and I stepped ashore so many years later, that beach being the only accessible landing place on the whole island. They could then see the mortal remains (ribs) of the poor old Bounty, wedged in among the rocks and boulders outside the beach, onto which she had been run with great force by her treacherous captors, who stripped her, carried ashore in the boats everything they could lift that could be of use to them, and set fire to the hull, and burned it nearly to the water's edge, lest it should be seen by any passing ship. The captain of the man-of-war now ascended by the path that had been cut in the cliff, and on reaching the cottages was received by old Adams (who had formerly borne the classic name of Smith, but for some reason had changed it), who met him with abject fear, lest he should be seized, taken home to England, and hanged, as he richly deserved, having been, next to Christian, one of the most violent and daring of the piratical crew.
    A tragic tale he told, when questioned as to the doings of the mutineers after their arrival at Pitcairn. The island had been seen and reported by some ancient navigator, and Christian had read about it in some old book of voyages and adventures. He therefore, after embarking the native men and women at Tahiti, steered first in the opposite direction, as long as the ship was in sight of the men left behind, and then, altering his course in the direction indicated by the discoverer of the island, he found it after a long search, and at once ran the ship into the breakers. The island had evidently been inhabited in remote times, as was proved by the abundance of coconut palms and other tropical fruits found upon it, as well as traces of dwellings, stone hatchets, and chisels, and other tools and weapons, of which I procured several. But the inhabitants had died out or quitted the island centuries before. The new occupants now set to work to make themselves as comfortable as possible, by building huts and cottages, and dragging the things landed from the ship up the path they had made in the face of the cliff. Two of these articles we saw on the lower terrace--namely, a blacksmith's anvil and a carronade, which it must have taken enormous labor to drag up the steep and rocky path. It is almost needless to say that nearly all this toil was performed under compulsion by the males of the colored population, who, in about a year after landing, were driven to such a state of desperation that they entered into a conspiracy and murdered Christian and three others of their white taskmasters, leaving only Adams and three other whites, one of them named McKoy. Not long after this catastrophe the native women banded together and in one night murdered all their countrymen, so that the population was now reduced to the four whites, about a dozen women, and about half that number of young children. Before very long the population was further reduced by Adams and McKoy killing the other two whites on account of some deadly feud that arose between them. With the inventive genius which is so marked a trait in his countrymen, McKoy (who had been a distiller) discovered a mode of manufacturing an imitation of his native "mountain dew" by fermenting the roots or fiber of some indigenous plant. Unfortunately for him, his patriotic tendencies prevailed over his native caution; he fell into the habit of imbibing too freely this imitation of his national beverage, until one dark night he fell (or jumped) over one of the cliffs into the sea, and was seen no more. Adams (nee Smith) was now the sole European survivor, and the laws of justice and discipline were thus amply vindicated by the speedy and almost total destruction of this band of piratical mutineers, the most obdurate and unfeeling wretches that ever disgraced the British Navy. Adams would have been arrested by the captain of the man-of-war and brought home for punishment, had it not been for the intense misery such a step would have caused among his innocent family and the islanders generally, so that the captain was induced to leave him, and let the home authorities decide what was to be his fate. Fortunately he was a man of some education, and spent much of his time in teaching the young people to speak, read, and write English, in which many of them soon became proficient, and when we visited the island, all of them could understand, and most of them converse freely in our language when talking to visitors, though in speaking to each other they always used their ancestral Tahitian. A Bible and prayer book had been landed from the Bounty's wreck, and by the aid of these Adams had brought the more youthful of his pupils to become wonderfully proficient in the doctrines and morals of Christianity.
    Captain Bligh was, many years after the Bounty episode, appointed Governor of New South Wales, and he must have been of an uncommonly overbearing and tyrannical disposition. A military mutiny broke out against him in Sydney, led by a Captain or Major Johnston, who, aided by his confederates, seized the Governor, placed him under arrest, and sent him home to England. His daughter tried to keep off the mutineers by standing in the doorway of Government House with a drawn sword in her hand, threatening to kill the first man who dared to enter, but she was either disarmed, or the assailants made their way into the house by some other door, or by the windows, and arrested his excellency. The brave lady who thus tried to save her parent from outrage was afterwards married to General Sir Maurice O'Connell, who was commander in chief of the troops in New South Wales when I arrived there, and father of the late Colonel Sir Maurice O'Connell, who was afterwards president of the Queensland Upper House, and of Captain William O'Connell, a connection of mine by marriage. Major Johnston was afterwards arrested, tried, and sentenced to death for this gross act of insubordination, but on closer investigation into the causes that led him to commit it, he was reprieved, and afterwards became a colonist and the owner of a valuable estate at Johnston's Bay, near Sydney. He was grandfather or great-grandfather of Johnston, of Kolan, near Bundaberg where my brother Willie and I passed several days together as guests, and I once saw him, the descendant of the mutineer, and W. O'Connell, the great-grandson of his victim, Governor Bligh, meet, converse, and hobnob together, in the most friendly and cordial manner, instead of rushing at each other's throats and fighting out their ancestral feud to the bitter end. Such is the degeneracy of the modern colonial race of men!
    Johnston is the descendant of an old Scottish family, the Johnstons of Annandale, in the southwest of Scotland, and the name always reminds me of a story told by Mr. Jardine, the late Police Magistrate of Rockhampton. In the olden times, centuries before the invention of the "iron horse," a traveler was journeying on horseback through this wild and then rather desolate part of Scotland, when one night, as he was approaching a small hamlet, his horse fell dead lame. There was no inn within miles, and for a long time he wandered about leading his limping nag by the bridle, and trying in vain to persuade someone to give him a night's shelter. At length a small crowd gathered round him, and in desperation he called out, "Is there no Christian among you that will take pity on an unfortunate wayfarer and give him a night's shelter?" when an old hag bawled out in reply, "Na, na, there's nae Christians here; we're a' Jardines and Johnstons!" After the perpetration of this "witty joke," it is high time for us to resume our voyage to San Francisco.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XVII (Continued.)--The Mutiny of the Bounty.

    Soon after leaving Pitcairn, we caught the southeast trades, which carried us merrily into the torrid zone, or "doldrums" as the sailors call it. Here we jibed, tacked, and drifted about for ten days, when we crossed the line (happily without any visit from Father Neptune), and after a few more days of beating about entered the northeast trades, through which we passed nearly "close on a wind" to the westward, but far out of sight, of the Sandwich Islands. We were now in the northern temperate latitudes, and with variable winds we gradually approached the coast of North America. When about a couple of hundred miles from land, a cry of "Sail, O!" from aloft caused great excitement throughout the ship, this being the first sail we had seen since leaving Pitcairn, and only the second that had "hove in sight" since we passed New Zealand. The wind was light and easterly, so we were both "beating to windward" on different tacks, and slowly approached each other. When broadside on, up went our ensign to the mizzen peak, and almost simultaneously the "Stars and Stripes" displayed themselves on the peak of our neighbor, a full-rigged ship of about 500 tons, now only about 300 yards from us. As we were anxious to communicate with her, we went about, and "hove aback," and so, very politely, did our Yankee friend. We now began to cast off the fastenings of our jolly boat, which was lashed keel up on the top of our deckhouse, but before this was half accomplished I looked over the side and there was a whaleboat with five men in her, one of them, boat hook in hand, holding on to our main chains, and in less than a minute the other four were on our deck, advancing aft and shaking hands most cordially with the captain and everyone they met. This was the first time I had come into such close contact with Americans, and a very queer-looking lot I thought them, dressed as they were in long blue woollen coats and brown or gray billycock hats, and looking more like farmers than sailors. With true Republican freedom, they all accompanied the captain into the cabins, and were regaled with copious supplies of "Bass's bitter," which they seemed to enjoy very much. The talk was animated and plentifully garnished with "Do tell," "Waal, waal," "I reckon," "I guess," and other Americanisms which I had never heard before, and thought rather expressive and amusing. The captain's object in wishing to communicate with them was to find out if they had a chart of San Francisco Harbor on a large scale, and, if so, whether they would allow him to take a copy of it, as he had none. To this our guests most cordially consented, and offered to take one of our second-class passengers, a surveyor, on board their ship, to make a copy of their chart on tracing paper. My request to be allowed to join the party was also assented to, so down we all slipped into the boat, and in a few minutes I found myself for the first time on the deck of an American craft, and a very wonderful sight met my gaze. On the upper deck were stowed several boats (one a ten-tonner), which had all been built on board on the voyage out from the States. Along the sides were swung half a dozen whaleboats, fully equipped, and ready for lowering if a suitable whale was sighted, which accounted for the smartness with which we had been boarded. On descending to the lower deck, which was lighted by a row of ports on each side, I was amazed to find nearly the whole deck lumbered up by a succession of workshops; a blacksmith's forge in full blast, carpenters at work building another large boat, hoopers [sic] hammering hoops upon new casks, and, in short, a babel of sounds, enlivened occasionally by a song from the busy workers. The captain, an elderly and very polite man, showed me round, and seemed pleased at the surprise I expressed at seeing so much useful work carried on in the "'tween decks" of a ship at sea. After the inspection was finished, we returned on deck, and the captain invited me into his cabin, where he explained the mystery that had so greatly perplexed me. The ship's name was the Mount Vernon, of Boston; she was what the captain called a "company ship," which meant that almost all her crew of about fifty hands were partners in a company that had been formed in the States for the purchase and fitting out of the ship for a voyage to California, with the view of starting a prospecting and gold-digging company on a large scale. All the necessary appliances for carrying this out were to be manufactured on the voyage; a proportion of the sailors were experienced whalers, and whaling was to be practiced if an opportunity occurred, but the captain told me, with regret, that no suitable whale had ever appeared, "So they did not catch that whale, brave boys." While this conversation was going in, my surveyor companion was busy tracing off San Francisco Harbor, and when that was finished we bade goodbye to our kind Yankee skipper, and were rowed back to our (comparatively) insignificant-looking barque, by the fine, but oddly dressed, boat's crew. I left that ship with a very high opinion of the energy, enterprise, and kindness of our Yankee cousins, an opinion that was never altered by future experience. When we got on board our barque, the main topsail was braced round and filled, and the same process was performed on board the Mount Vernon, after her boat was again suspended from her "davits." We then dipped our ensigns to each other, and proceeded on our way side by side for a short time, but before long our neighbor gradually drew ahead, and was our neighbor no longer. This was my first experience of the great superiority in sailing capacity of the Yankee merchantman over the English one. The Mount Vernon was not by any means a modern "clipper"; she was an aged craft, but her great length and her clean lines enabled her to push her way steadily through the waves, and forge ahead of us the more readily as she was kept a little more off the wind than was our barque, which, though a comparatively new vessel, was built on the old English model--short, high, wall-sided, bluff-bowed, and heavy-quartered, and there she lay, bob-bobbing to the sea, and making much more leeway than the Mount Vernon. At dusk she was far ahead of us; about four bells she went about, and we could see her lanterns glide across our bows at least a mile ahead. The adoption of, and adherence to, this very inferior model, that spoiled the sailing qualities of our merchant ships, was caused by the Board of Trade measurement laws, which enabled a ship to carry more cargo in proportion to her tonnage the nearer her shape resembled an oblong box, and the payment of tonnage dues was thus to some extent lightened. This is the explanation I have heard from old sailors, but I fear that our tendency to "stick in the old groove" had something to do with it. Our measurement laws were soon after altered, greatly to the benefit of our ships' models, which then sometimes nearly attained to the grace and beauty of the American clipper.
    After another week of "box-hauling" about, with light and variable winds, we got so near the land that one clear afternoon we saw the sun shining on what resembled a bank of irregular white clouds on the eastern horizon, which on closer inspection turned out to be a range of snow-covered mountains--in fact, the renowned ten-thousand-feet high Sierra Nevada. These mountains were certainly not less than a hundred miles inland, while we were at least fifty miles from the coast. Our being able to see at such a distance the glare of the sun on their snow-covered peaks proved the wonderful brilliancy of the Californian atmosphere. The magnificent object disappeared at sunset, and next morning, after a fair night's run, the dark, mountainous coast of California appeared in view, and at night we were becalmed between the "Farallones," a group of islands about thirty miles from the land and the "Golden Gate," which leads the weary voyager into the harbor of San Francisco. The night was clear, and the bright moonlight enabled us to see a school of whales disporting themselves around us for hours. I climbed up to the mizzen crosstrees and sat there for an hour, perfectly enchanted by the beautiful sight. So brightly phosphorescent was the sea that I could trace the shapes of the huge animals as they gamboled around us, and one of them passed our stern so close that I was half afraid he might brush against our rudder and carry it off with him. Sometimes they sprang clean out of the water, and came down on its surface with a thud that sent the spray flying a dozen feet in the air. After spouting half a dozen times they would make a dive with their heads down in the sea, and their tails waving about high in the air, and then, disappearing with a splash, descend fathoms deep to their feeding ground. I wondered at the time that so large a school of these valuable mammals could exist so near a coast which had for years been frequented by the enterprising American whaler, but was afterwards told that they were not very valuable, being of a peculiar species, particularly active and fierce, not largely supplied with "blubber," and therefore hard to catch, and not very remunerative when caught, which fully accounted for the immunity they enjoyed. Next morning we were favored by a nice sea breeze, which in the afternoon carried us and a dozen other craft through the Golden Gate, and never have I forgotten the glorious view that opened out before my vision as I sat on the foreyard and gazed around me. When the huge harbor opened out after the "Gate" was passed, I saw the largest collection of ships moored in it that ever I beheld before or since. The shore on the south side was comparatively low, but on the north, hill was piled above hill, and the scenery, lit up by the setting sun, was very beautiful. The main expanse of waters extended inland and northeastward nearly as far as one could see, and thousands of tents, hundreds of "clapboard shanties," and half a dozen or so adobe (sod) houses, built by the old Californians, that then formed the city of San Francisco, appeared on our right hand, at the entrance of another bay, smaller, though still several miles wide, branching off to the southward from the main estuary. The wind fell light soon after we passed "The Gate," and the ebb tide was very strong, so that our progress was very slow, and at sunset we had to anchor before we reached the great fleet of ships (estimated at 800) riding at their moorings thick and close for miles ahead of us, and nearly all deserted by their crews, who had gone up country prospecting for "the golden elephant." This was towards the end of October, 1849, so that I have the privilege of calling myself one of the famous Californian "forty-niners." Our voyage from Sydney had taken about eighty days, thanks to the tortuous course a sailing ship has to pursue, owing to the variable winds, and thanks also to the indifferent sailing of our "poor devoted barque," the Elizabeth Archer.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XVIII.--First Days in California.

    Next morning dawned upon us bright and calm, and soon after sunrise a boat belonging to the Mount Vernon, which was anchored a short distance further in, having beaten us by a couple of days, came alongside, and half a dozen of her crew jumped on deck and greeted us cordially. They gave us the glorious news that the gold diggings had increased amazingly, both in extent and richness, and that thousands were making their "piles" all over the "placers," which extended for more than a hundred miles along the slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Soon after the Mount Vernon men left, we were boarded by another boat, manned by Australian Englishmen, who informed us they had arrived from Hobart Town a few days before, and fully confirmed the good news told us by the Mount Vernonites. One of these Hobart-towners was a nice-looking young fellow, with whom I had a long conversation on various subjects, and I rather liked his intelligence and gentlemanly manner. As they were descending into their boat, I said to him, "I hope we may meet again. Will you please tell me your name?" "My name is Swanson," was the answer. "Mine is Archer," I replied, when, to my surprise, he sprang up on deck again, and exclaimed. "If your name is Archer, you must be a brother of our captain. I thought there was something about your voice and manner that reminded me of him." On further explanation, no doubt was left in my mind that Mr. Swanson's surmise was correct, so, asking that I might be allowed to accompany them in their boat, I soon found myself on board the Harriet Nathan, of Hobart Town, shaking hands with her captain, my brother John, whose surprise at seeing me was, as may be imagined, very great, in the whirligig and confusion that reigned in San Francisco ashore and afloat in those times. We might have been within hail of each other for a month without knowing aught about it, and, but for this accidental encounter with Mr. Swanson, we would probably never have met.
    I now took up my abode on board the Harriet Nathan, and the first thing we had to accomplish was passing our belongings through the Customs--no easy task, as hundreds were eager to do the same, and we had to join onto a long queue of people, stringing along the top of the Plaza, with their papers in hand, and heavy bags of Mexican orAmerican dollars under their arms, slowly filing into the custom house, a long, low, adobe building, occupying the upper side of the Plaza. Inside, there was a long counter with half a dozen men behind it, examining and signing the papers, counting the dollars, and shoveling them onto the floor behind the counter, where they lay confusedly piled up, some of the heaps nearly a foot deep. We had been warned to provide ourselves with dollars before leaving Sydney, as they were then the only current coin in California, and we had done so with difficulty, and had to pay a high premium for them, owing to the heavy demand caused by the large export of goods to San Francisco from Sydney after the gold discovery. Papers in hand, and bags under our arms, we slowly edged our way with the throng in at one door, emptied our dollars on the counter, got our papers signed, and then crowded out at the other door. This went on for hours day by day (Sundays excepted), ships arriving by half-dozens or more nearly every day, and from almost all parts of the civilized globe, so that the customs receipts of the port were, at that time, and for long after, quite fabulous. After this had been accomplished, and our barque had been moved further up the harbor into the throng of ships, we began to land our goods on the beach, in front of one of the suburbs of the town, then called the "Happy Valley," close inside "Rincon" Point, where an observatory was afterwards built. Here we pitched our tents among hundreds of others, occupied by thousands of people, who, like ourselves, had come by sea to try their fortunes in this new El Dorado. Ere many days all hands save the second mate, one sailor (an old Norwegian from Kristiansand) and a couple of apprentices deserted from the Elizabeth Archer, and, but for the assistance the captain got from some of the passengers, whom he allowed to live on board, it is hard to say how or when we would have got the cargo discharged. In this "Happy Valley" we remained camped for about ten days, preparing for a start to the mines, and here I had an unexpected honor thrust upon me, by being invested with the title and office of Deputy Sheriff of San Francisco, and thus it came about. As I had met a brother, so Ned Hawkins had met a brother-in-law, named Bertelsen. Mr. Bertelsen had come from Sydney in an English barque that had sailed some weeks before us, and the crew (mates and all) had bolted to the mines directly on their arrival. The captain then appointed Mr. Bertelsen to be mate of the ship, though he did not know the main truck from the main-top bowline, and the two embarked in some joint commercial speculations, which ended in a difference of opinion as to how the spoils (profits) should be divided, and a moral quarrel was the result. While this was raging, the captain of the barque got some assistance from H.M.'s frigate Inconstant, which was anchored at Sausalito, a small bay on the north side of the harbor, just inside "The Gate," about half a dozen miles from the San Francisco anchorage, where the barque had been moved, and was anchored under the protection of the guns of the frigate. Assisted by some of the man-of-war's crew, the barque was preparing for sea, and was to be manned by them, and taken to some port where fresh hands could be shipped. Mr. Bertelsen, having a claim against the captain, and seeing that, if he did not "look alive" he would probably lose all chance of recovering it, applied to a judge, who issued a writ against the captain in due form. So far, all well, but unfortunately the Sheriff of San Francisco was absent or unwell, and there was no deputy to be had, so, in desperation, Mr. Bertelsen came to me, and asked me to assume that exalted office, or the captain would escape and take the spoils away with him. I declined, and when Hawkins tried to persuade me, I suggested that he should take upon himself the high honor. He thought, however, that would hardly do, considering his near relationship to the claimant, so, after more persuasion I, with my usual facility of disposition, gave way, went to the judge, was duly appointed, and had the work or warrant or whatever it was placed in my hands. Borrowing one of the Harriet Nathan's boats, an old, rickety and heavy tub, Hawkins, Mackenzie, Sandy (Hawkins' blackboy), and I set off for Sausalito, and after about three hours' vigorous rowing we boarded the barque, and I showed the captain, who was alone on board, the formidable document I held, and told him that we would go ashore for an hour, then come on board again for him, and take him with us back to San Francisco. This well-matured plan did not meet with his approval, and he refused to adopt it, referring me to the captain of the Inconstant, who, he said, had taken full charge of his barque and himself, and no sooner had we quitted the barque and started for the shore than we beheld the ensign rush upward to the mizzen peak, and flutter there "union down," a signal of dire distress. Before we reached the shore we saw a boat leave the Inconstant, board the barque, and the crew remained on board and took possession. We continued our course to the shore, landed, and spent about an hour taking some lunch we had brought with us, enjoying a whiff of tobacco, and scrambling about on the sides of the hills, whence we had a grand view of the harbor, the town, and the huge fleet anchored before it in the distance, with the frigate and the barque in the foreground at our feet. We then set off again much refreshed, and made for H.M.'s ship, but owing to the strong ebb tide and our heavy boat we missed the gangway, and were swept away to the frigate's stern, where we seized hold of a boat which was towing astern, fastened to the frigate by a long rope. A marine sentry, musket on shoulder, was pacing backwards and forwards along the inside of the taffrail, and an officer looked over it down upon us. I bawled out: "I want to see the captain." No answer was given, but presently another officer appeared and also stared at us over the taffrail. From the respectful demeanor of the other officer (of whom several had now appeared) I could see that this must be the captain, so I shouted: "I have got a writ against the captain of that barque, and intend to take him with me to San Francisco." The only answer was a stentorian yell, "Let go that boat," and as the sentry at the same moment stopped, faced about towards us, and dropped his musket into the hollow of his left arm, we did let go that boat like a hot poker, and the tide swept us rapidly away. But no sooner were we beyond the reach of the "Brown Bess" (then the only firearm of our soldiers and marines, which would carry a bullet pretty true for about sixty yards) than, jumping on one of the thwarts, I shook my fist in the captain's face, and bawled out: "I'm English too, and you'll hear from me again." We now made our way to the barque, but finding her in possession of an officer and several man-of-war's men, who refused me permission to board and carry off the captain, we at once shoved off, and started on our return to San Francisco, my feelings deeply hurt, and my temper wholly shorn of its natural amiability by this ignominious defeat.
    Landing at San Francisco towards evening, I at once went to the judge's house, and was told that he was at a prayer meeting in a huge tent that then did duty as a church. Going to the entrance, I sent the doorkeeper with a message to "his honor" that he was wanted, and in a couple of minutes he appeared, and I stated my case to him. He "reckoned" that we had better go to Commodore Jones' house, and consult him as to the best course to pursue, which we did, and that fine, handsome, old officer at once took me on board his flagship, the Savannah frigate, which, with two or three smaller craft, formed the American squadron in charge of the port. The Commodore's secretary put into writing my statement of the case, and while he was making out, under the Commodore's directions, the documents required to enlighten the Britisher as to the false position he had assumed, I indulged in a promenade round the magnificent ship, and had some friendly talk with several of the junior officers, who all showed a deep interest in the account of my Sausalito adventure. This was my first opportunity of noticing the difference between an American and an English frigate. The Savannah's tonnage, the number and weight of her guns, and the thickness of her scantling placed her for force quite on a par with our sixty-gun line of battleships, and I ceased to wonder how such frigates succeeded in our last, and I hope final, war with America, in capturing and sinking several of our ships, also called frigates, but which in size, number of guns, and weight of metal, were unworthy to be compared with their Yankee opponents. When the ships were somewhat on a par in force as well as in name, we were sometimes more fortunate, witness the action between the Chesapeake and Shannon frigates, and the Wasp and Hornet sloops.
    A messenger soon came and asked me to return to the Commodore's cabin, where I was served with supper, and the gallant old man advised me to lie down and take a rest in one of his staterooms, as it was now dark, and it would be some time before the needful documents could be got ready. This I gladly did, and had a refreshing snooze until midnight, when I was called and requested to take my place in one of the ship's huge barges, manned by sixteen double-bank rowers, and officered by a lieutenant and midshipman in full uniform and armed with revolvers, not intended to be used to capture H.M.'s ship Inconstant, but to secure them from an attack by their own sailors, a case having occurred shortly before when a midshipman was attacked at night in a boat and flung overboard by the men, who rowed the boat up the bay in the dark, and at daylight landed and set off for the mines, where I afterwards saw two of them. Englishmen, of course! Whether the midshipman was drowned or rescued, I don't remember. After a stiff pull of a couple of hours, during which I had some interesting talk with the lieutenant (who told me, amongst other things, that the name of the Inconstant's captain was Shepherd, and that, owing to his somewhat irritable temper, he was known in the service as "the gentle Shepherd"), we arrived within hail of the Inconstant, and were challenged by the sentry at the gangway with, "What boat is that?" "From the U.S. frigate Savannah," was the answer, when a bright lantern was suspended over the gangway, and, guided by its light, our gallant lieutenant ascended the ship's ladder in a very quiet and dignified manner, leaving the "middy" and me in the boat. In about fifteen minutes he returned, accompanied by an English officer, and we at once started for the barque, which the English officer boarded, and soon brought the captain back with him into the boat. We then took the officer back to the Inconstant, and set off on our return to the Savannah, which we reached about 5 a.m. The captain and I remained on board till 10 o'clock, when we were both landed, and in the afternoon the captain appeared before the court; his case was decided against him, and he had to pay up. The judge, then turning to me, said: "What fees and expenses do you claim against the defendant?" I answered, "None." "But you have, I suppose, to pay heavy wages for the men who rowed you?" "No; the men were friends of mine." "But I suppose you have to pay considerable hire for the boat, anyhow." "No, I borrowed her." "But do you mean to say that you are not going to make any claim against the defendant?" "No, sir, none." Thus ended, with more honor than profit, the duties of my exalted official post in San Francisco. There it was called deputy sheriff; here it would, I fear, be degraded into the less dignified name of bailiff. But "What's in a name?" I was glad at the time that I had been the means of enabling my friend's relative to obtain his rights, and I was rather proud also of having asserted the supremacy of law over force, even though the law was American and the force English.
    While camping in the Valley, Hawkins and I often rambled about the town, and saw a good deal of the somewhat primitive state of society that then prevailed there. The most interesting institutions we inspected were the gambling and liquor tents, which were profusely scattered round, and where the (to us) new and deeply interesting game of "monte" was carried on during the whole afternoon and into all hours of the night. Native Californians, Sonorans, and Mexicans (called by the Americans greasers) were mostly the owners of these establishments, where hundreds of ounces of gold and thousands of Mexican dollars changed hands from hour to hour. My principal occupation on these occasions was watching the countenances of the performers, and seeing them change "from grave to gay, from lively to severe," according to the rise and fall of fortune. I cannot remember ever placing any part of my fortune in the hands of fate on these occasions; I did not like the security, and therefore abstained from "coming down with the dust."
    On one side of the town there was then a partly isolated hill, with steep sides, jutting into the Bay, and one day, when rambling over it, I came upon a battery, armed with three very ancient Spanish brass eighteen-pounders, with their poor old effete muzzles overlooking the shipping in the Bay. On the land side of this hill there was a cemetery, and one day, on strolling through it. I saw on a wooden cross the name of Francis Forbes. The occupant of the grave below was the son of Sir Francis Forbes, late Chief Justice of Sydney, and owner of Clifton station on Darling Downs, which we had passed on our way from the Castlereagh to Moreton Bay. Forbes, poor fellow, had left Sydney shortly before us, and had died a few weeks before our arrival. I had met him several times, and my coming upon his grave thus accidentally was a singular coincidence.
    There were several heavy falls of rain during our sojourn in San Francisco, which converted the streets into complete quagmires, unpaved and undrained as they were, and winding about as they did in the most promiscuous manner among the trading, gambling, and liquor tents, and the few wooden shanties built of Oregon timber that then formed the main part of the town. One of these downpours converted a hollow in one of the main streets, Montgomery or Washington Street, I forget which, into a small lake, putting some feet of water on the floors of many of the trading tents, and damaging and destroying great quantities of goods that were stowed in them. The true and very enviable Yankee philosophy displayed by many of the owners of this formerly valuable property was most comical, and was shown by the cheerful manner in which they stood up to their knees in water, "chaffing" each other, guessing, reckoning, and shouting to each other across the pond all kinds of comical and humorous ideas. One day I saw a mule wagon sunk beyond its axle in one of the streets, and remarked to an American standing by that the streets seemed rather soft. "Reckon you're right" was the answer, "but they ain't so bad here as at the other side of the town, where I was walking along and saw a hat lying in the middle of the street; went and picked it up, and there was a man's head below it." "Waal," says I to him, "How in tarnation did you get there?" "Oh! that ain't nothin'" says he; "I've got a mule under me." This story was told with the utmost gravity, and the man moved on without further explanation as to the fate of the hat, the mule, or the rider.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XVIII (Continued.)--In California.

    Let us now return to our encampment in the Happy Valley, from which we have been too long absent. After camping here for about ten days, we shipped the greater part of our goods on board a schooner trading to Sacramento City, but freight and passage money being excessively high, we placed the rest on board a ship's longboat, which we had bought for the conveyance of ourselves, our people, and our belongings to the same destination. The whites of our party were Hawkins, Mackenzie, a gentleman named Hicks, a fellow passenger from Sydney--whom I had known as a friend of the Mackays on the Burnett--and myself. Then there were Hawkins' two Chinamen, his two blackboys, and my two blackboys, Jacky Small and Davy. The boat was rather deeply laden, but, as it was all inland navigation we had to perform, I did not think this involved any risk. Making our way through the crowded shipping, we passed close by the Elizabeth Archer, and were favored by three parting cheers from those on board. Our sail was a small lug, and, favored by a fine, fair breeze, we made our way across the entrance of the Bay to its northwest side, passed some islands, and skirted along the land from point to point till dusk, when, the wind falling light, and the tide turning to ebb, we turned to land, and moored our boat under the shelter of a rocky point.
    Soon after daylight the next morning a fair breeze came in from the sea, and we got under way and stood across to the Strait of Benicia, which connects the outer bay, which we had traversed, with another large sheet of water farther inland, called Suisun Bay. A small township, called Benicia, had lately been founded on the north side of the Strait, and here we landed about 3 p.m., made some small purchases of provisions at a store near the shore, and, sheltered by a ship that was moored along the land, we lay there about an hour and took lunch. The weather was hazy, but the wind and tide were both fair, so we again set sail, hoping to reach before dark the mouth of the Sacramento River, which falls into the head of Suisun Bay; but in this we were disappointed. At dusk we were still several miles from the mouth of the river, and the night becoming very dark, the wind freshening, and the ebb tide coming on, we let go our anchor some distance from the land, which had changed from a hilly, irregular formation, with small bays forming good shelter for boats, into an immense swamp covered with high reeds (called tules by the natives), and affording no shelter for boats to anchor in. The land, or rather mud, sloped very gradually from this reedy swamp into the Bay, so that we were obliged to anchor well out from the shore to prevent the boat from getting embedded in the mud at low water. The wind was high and the night very cold, and all hands save myself wrapped themselves in their blankets and turned in on top of the cargo, without taking off their heavy pea jackets and the long sea boots which most of us wore.
    I remained on watch in the stern of the boat, and had no difficulty in keeping awake, so cold was the wind, and so dismal the shrieking of thousands of wild geese that swarmed all over the tule swamp and flapped their wings close over our heads. I occasionally thrust an oar over the side to test the depth of the water, and about 2 a.m. I found that the ebb had ceased, leaving only a few inches of water under our keel. The flood tide now came on, and the wind had calmed down considerably, so, calling Hicks to take the watch, I told him to be sure to slacken off our anchor hawser several fathoms in about an hour, as I knew it was rather short for the boat to ride to at high water. Wrapping a blanket round me, I lay down on one of the afterside thwarts, and, being neither very comfortable nor very warm, I often woke and put my hand down to the bottom of the boat to make sure that no water was coming on board. About 4 a.m., Hicks called Mackenzie, who then took the watch, and Hicks turned in. I still occasionally woke, and felt for water in the boat's bottom, but there was none above the bottom board, and all seemed safe and well, so I dozed off to sleep again.
    Suddenly a voice called out, "The boat is sinking!" I felt her give a lurch to one side and a plunge forward, and in an instant we were all in the water, and those who could swim swimming for their lives. Hawkins and I were quite close together, and he said to me quite calmly as we struck out to get clear of the sinking boat, "What are we to do now, Tom?" "We can do nothing but swim for it," was my answer. But, dressed as we were in heavy clothing and large sea boots, I soon found that swimming for any distance would be impossible, nor had I, in the suddenness of the catastrophe and the darkness, the faintest idea of the direction in which the nearest land lay, so the case seemed to me utterly hopeless, when, hearing behind me a noise of moaning and chattering, I looked back, and noticed the dim outline of several human forms, sitting on something that was floating on the surface of the water. The tide had swept me about a dozen yards away, so I had small hope of reaching the floating group, but, after a severe struggle, I got near enough to grasp hold of the object to which they were clinging, and, getting astride of it, I found it was the stern and a small part of the side of the boat, which had come up to the surface after part of the cargo had been flung out by the lurch she gave to one side as she filled and sank. Mackenzie, having been awake when the accident happened, had noticed this, and at once grasping hold of the gunwale, had seated himself astride it with his head and shoulders above water, and had been joined by one of Hawkins' blackboys, Sandy, and my boys, Jacky Small and Davy. As soon as I took my place beside Mackenzie, we both shouted as loudly as we could for Hawkins and the others, but not a sound could we hear in reply, and we never saw them again.
    Hicks could not swim, so must have sunk at once, but Hawkins was a better swimmer than I, and I have never been able to understand his having disappeared without attempting to reach us, or making any reply to our calls. But so it was, and thus ended the life of one of the most manly, most generous, and most kindhearted friends I ever had. For many years I bitterly regretted his loss, and still look back upon its cause with sorrow, not unmixed with blame to myself for the share I had in it. I often thought when too late that more careful management on my part might have averted it, as the charge of the boat was entirely in my hands. She was too deeply loaded for the safe navigation of these large, and to us unknown, waters at that late season of the year. The waves rise to a considerable height in these large bays, when the wind ts strong and blows against the tide, as it did on this occasion. I ought to have slacked out the anchor hawser myself, instead of leaving it to be done by others, for if it was not slacked out, the anchor being fast embedded in the mud, the boat's bow may have been dragged down by it, and prevented from rising in the short choppy sea that got up after the tide turned, thus allowing the water to splash over the bow and bring the boat down by the head. Whether Hicks did or did not pay out the hawser I never ascertained. Going on from Benicia so late on a winter day was also rash, but the temptation to push ahead with a fair wind and tide was greater than we could resist, and we rushed on to our fate without the faintest idea of the dangers we were incurring.
    All these thoughts occurred to me in the days that followed, and not during the terrible half hour Mackenzie, the black boys, and I spent seated on, or clinging to, the side of the boat, the waves dashing against us, making it difficult for us to strip off our heavy outer clothing and boots, which we at once agreed to do, so as to make it possible to swim for our lives as soon as daylight appeared and showed us the direction of the nearest land. This occurred in about half an hour, when a gray streak of light appeared on the eastern horizon, and presently we could see to the north a low streak of level land, stretching along the water's edge, and appearing in the dim light to be at least two miles off. After we had stripped off all our heavy clothing, the icy north wind pierced us to the marrow, and we agreed that, hopeless as it looked, it would be better to swim for our lives towards the land, than stay where we were and perish with cold. Telling the blackboys, who could all swim, to follow us, we struck out for the shore, agreeing to keep low down in the water, and swim very slowly, so as to save our strength as long as possible. The friction of the water, the shelter it gave us from the icy, bitter wind, and the exercise of swimming restored our circulation to some extent, and we had progressed three or four hundred yards when it occurred to me that, though not very tired, I might as well put down my feet and try for the bottom. I did so, and to my amazement and joy found that I could touch it with my toes and still keep my chin above water. Telling Mackenzie this good news, I struck out again, and in about another hundred yards found that I could reach the bottom with the soles of my feet, and at once changed from swimming to walking. Mackenzie, not being quite so tall, had to swim some short distance further, and then he also could touch the bottom. We now turned round and looked for the blackboys, but not a trace of them could we see, and we shouted and cooeyed for them to follow us, but in vain. There was no answer, so we again advanced, walking slowly towards the land, which could now be seen more distinctly, and appeared to be about a quarter of a mile off. The water shoaled very gradually; as we emerged from it, the weight on our feet became greater, and by the time the water took us up to the knees, a new danger threatened us--namely, that of being stuck fast in the mud and smothered. So soft was it that at last we had to throw ourselves down on our hands and knees, and crawl slowly along for the last fifty yards, when we reached dry land, and found ourselves among the reeds that grew thick and high above our heads, all over the surface of this large swamp. Here we crouched down for some time, expecting to see the blackboys on the boat, and intending to signal to them to follow us ashore as soon as the increasing light enabled us to see them; but the bitterly cold blast made us feel so benumbed that we were afraid we would soon be unable to walk if we stayed longer, so we got up and began to force our way through the reeds in the direction of Benicia, no easy task in our scanty clothing and with shoeless feet. But the exertion made the cold more endurable, and in about half an hour we saw before us a grassy slope, and knew that the risk of being embedded and smothered in the mud of this dismal swamp was past.
    It was now broad daylight, and, on reaching the top of the slope, we saw at some distance in front of us a man with rifle in hand, who occasionally fired at the flocks of geese that flew in hundreds over our heads, but fired in vain. On coming close to him, we asked the way to Benicia, and how far it was off. Pointing westward, he answered with the utmost coolness: "That's the way to it, and I reckon it's about two or three miles off," and sauntered on looking out for another shot. Hobbling along in the direction indicated, we shortly came across another sportsman, who, just as we got within fifty yards of him, let fly a bullet into a flock of geese passing overhead, and down came one of them, falling stone dead close to his feet. Telling him of the fate that had befallen us, and repeating our question as to Benicia, he gazed at us with surprise and pity in his face, and, seeing the condition to which I was reduced by the cold, my teeth chattering and my whole frame trembling (Mackenzie, though a native of Australia, endured the cold far better than I), our kind and sympathetic friend at once took off his greatcoat, and insisted on wrapping it round me, exclaiming: "Waal, do tell! You poor unfortunate fellows; I reckon I'll turn back with you and show you the way to Benicia." Then, reloading his rifle and picking up the dead goose, he set off, and we hobbled after him as well as we could with our naked feet and stiffened limbs.
    In about an hour we arrived at a "shanty" (clapboard house) on the outskirts of the township, a boarding house for workmen, where our kind companion lodged. The men were all absent at work, or shooting geese, and the floor on which they slept at night was covered with a collection of blankets, rugs, and some sheepskins in wild confusion. Stripping off our scanty and still damp garments, we plunged into the midst of this collection of wraps, and our companion piled them around us, as carefully as if we had been his best and oldest friends. Here we lay thawing for a couple of hours, until the lodgers began to come in to dinner, when, hearing of our misfortunes, and the state of misery to which we were reduced, they at once began to make a collection of clothing, in which we dressed ourselves, and then joined our kind hosts at their midday meal, the hot coffee, which formed a part of it, being for me the most luxurious beverage of which I ever partook, trembling as I still was with a kind of ague which I could not stop, and which continued at intervals for several days.
    We then went down to the township, and called at the store, the same one, I think, where we had bought some trifling supplies the day before, and, telling the owner what had befallen us since we passed, I begged him as a favor to supply us with a suit of clothes each, and promised to pay for them as soon as we got back to San Francisco. First casting a glance of embarrassment round the store (a large tent), he suddenly looked me straight in the face and said: "Waal, stranger! I guess you look like a man that will pay me for them some day, and I reckon you can have what clothes ya want." This I considered the greatest compliment I had ever received, and as the clothing certainly was the greatest boon, we arrayed ourselves in it with profound satisfaction, and were enabled to return with thanks the somewhat scanty, ragged, and not very clean garments that had been lent us by the occupants of the boarding house.
    The news of our sad adventure spread through the scant population of Benicia, and we were soon surrounded by several men, to whom we told the particulars of our misfortune, to which they listened with much sympathy and pity. Among them were two engineers who were in charge of a small steam launch or tug, moored to the shore. Her machinery had broken down, and they were waiting until the broken parts could be replaced or repaired. These men offered to get a boat and go with us to the wreck of our poor craft and see if any of the cargo could be saved, or if there was any chance of raising the hull. We gratefully accepted the offer, and next morning the four of us rowed to the place where part of the stern and side of the boat was still visible on the surface of the water. The men took a long look at her, and came to the conclusion that, with the poor appliances which could be had at Benicia, it would be very difficult and expensive to raise her, and I was also of this opinion, as I knew that the wheels, axle, shafts, and some other parts of a horsecart were stowed in her and must still be there, as well as a quantity of tools and other heavy things. On our way back I noticed that our companions, who sat in the forepart of the boat, talked to each other a good deal in low tones, and presently one of them said: "Look here, gentlemen; we are both stopping at Benicia with little to do, and if you will give us an idea of what things are likely to be left in the boat we'll try and raise some money and buy her from you, and give you as good a price as we think she is worth." With this we at once complied, and told them all we knew of the heavy cargo that had been stowed in the boats. That afternoon, after our return to Benicia, the men came to us and offered--I forget how much--but I know that we accepted the offer with alacrity and gratitude, got the price in cash or gold dust, at once proceeded to the store, and, to the surprise of the owner, who did not expect payment so soon, handed him the full price of the clothes we wore. While we were thus engaged, a man came into the store, whom our friend took aside and spoke to for a few minutes, and then introduced him to us as Captain ------, of a barque which was anchored in the Straits, and going to sail for San Francisco that afternoon. Captain ------ would, he said, be glad to take us with him, if we would work our passages, as he was rather shorthanded. To this we gladly and gratefully assented, said a cordial farewell to our friend of the store, settled our account at the boarding house, accompanied the captain on board his barque, and at once got to work helping to get her under way. The wind was light and against us, and we had to beat down the narrow Straits with much pulling of ropes and rushing about the decks, which I found was harder work than I had anticipated, but it did me good, and for the time cured me of the shivers which had afflicted me. At night we came to anchor, and supped on biscuits, bacon, and quantities of wild goose, which at that time formed the principal meat diet of the San Franciscan neighborhood. Next morning we again got under way and beat down the outer bay, of which I forget the name, and in the evening anchored among the shipping of the town. Our captain lent us one of his boats, which took us on board the Harriet Nathan, where we were received by my brother John and Mr. Bertelsen, who had taken up his quarters on board, with an astonishment when they saw us, and a profound sorrow when we told them what had happened.
    I may now as well tell you what was the fate of the wrecked boat and her enterprising new owners, and how I came to hear of it. About six months after the wreck, when we were camping on the banks of the now classic [sic] Stanislaus River, at the foot of Table Mountain, a brother digger, who was wandering in search of a "placer" (gold mine), came and sat down by our camp fire, and entered into conversation with us. He spoke like a true Yankee, and evidently was one, so that I was rather surprised to see on his feet a pair of colonial-made blucher boots, and said to him: "Have you ever been in Australia?" "No, sir," was the answer. "Then please tell me where you got those boots, which I'm sure were made there." "I reckon you're right," was the reply. "These boots came out of a bag full of boots that was taken out of a boat belonging to Australians, that was wrecked near Benicia in Suisun Bay. I was one of the men that helped to raise her, and a long and tough job we had of it, you bet. We had to get a couple of lighters and about ten men, and after some days' hard work we got her up, and found that her bow had been buried a couple of feet in the mud, and that she had loads of heavy things in her as well as the bag of boots. But the queerest thing of all was that we found a lot of gold dust in the mud inside her, and washed out some ounces of it, and where that gold dust came from nobody can tell." "Yes, I can," was my answer, "You can? Why, what in tarnation do you know about it?" "A great deal; I was part owner of that boat and all in her, and the gold dust came out of a wooden desk, which must have gone to pieces and floated off after the gold came out of it." "Waal, waal; that's the queerest thing, I ever heard of. Do tell! Waal, anyhow, gold and all, the men that bought that boat didn't make much out of it, if they earned anything at all, it cost so much to get her up, and part of my pay for helping them was these boots and some other things out of that boat. Goodbye, stranger." This conversation took place at the foot of Table Mountain, but whether my informant was "Truthful James" I know not, as I never saw him again. This gold dust we had got in payment for some of our goods, which we had sold in San Francisco, and it had been stowed away in a desk belonging to poor Ned Hawkins, along with our receipts and other papers, among them being probably my journal of the voyage from Sydney.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XIX.--At the Gold Diggings.

    Mackenzie and I now stayed on board the Harriet Nathan for some days, and how it came about I do not remember, but it was probably by my brother that I was introduced to a man named McLean, who had a trading establishment on the Stanislaus River, and was then in San Francisco purchasing supplies for the winter. This man advised us to give up the idea of going to Sacramento, as we had intended, and to go instead to his place on the Stanislaus, via Stockton, on the San Jose River, which joins the Sacramento on the south. He also told us that a man whom he knew was going to start in a few days for Stockton in a whaleboat, and would take us with him if we would pull an oar. To this we were only too glad to consent, and by some means we got a man to purchase the supplies we had sent by schooner to Sacramento, which put us in possession of some gold dust, how much I do not remember. Embarking, therefore, in the whaleboat, we rowed all day, and in the evening arrived at Benicia, where we passed the night in the 'tween decks of the ship which was moored along the bank, as before related, and which was quite deserted by her crew. Ah! had we but passed the night here on our former journey up the bay, how different would have been our fate! Next day we rowed on through Suisun Bay past the scene of our terrible disaster, and entered the mouth of the Sacramento River, up which we rowed amid a downpour of cold rain. Near the junction of the Sacramento and San Jose rivers a small township had been founded, called "New York of the Pacific," where several ships were berthed, and among them I recognized my old acquaintance the Mount Vernon. The captain and nearly all hands had left her and gone to the mines, but we were kindly asked by the two or three hands that had been left in charge of the ship to pass the night in the 'tween decks. Next morning we continued our pretty severe pull up the San Jose, but were kept comfortably cool by a heavy downpour of rain with a tendency to sleet. As we advanced up the river we lost the occasional benefit of the flood tide, and had to force our way against a heavy current caused by the rains of the last few days. In the afternoon we arrived at the mouth of a "slough" that joined the river from the left, or east side A slough is a sheet of deep, still water, that looks like an artificial canal, but has been formed by some extraordinary freak of Nature. At the top of this phenomenon was situated the city of Stockton, and here we arrived just before dark. What became of our fellow boatmen I do not remember, but Mackenzie and I took refuge from the rain in a small shanty, or lean-to, outside one of the clapboard houses belonging to a friend of McLean's, and here, with our "lodging upon the cold ground" and wrapped in our dampish blankets, we slept the sleep of those who have pulled an oar from morn to eve during four consecutive days, being kept fresh and cool during the three last by an almost constant downpour of cold rain.
    The rain continued off and on for several days, converting the so-called "streets" of Stockton and the roads to the mines into perfect quagmires, so it was useless for us to attempt to continue our journey. But idle we could not remain, so we wandered out in search of a job, which we soon obtained. Mackenzie scrambled up onto the roof of a shanty that was being built, where he nailed to the rafters the battens that were to support the shingles, while I remained on the street, converting boards into battens by ripping them with a handsaw! Oh! tell not this in fashionable circles! It was a terrible sacrifice of gentility, but this was amply compensated by our earnings, amounting to one-half ounce of gold, value eight dollars, per day for each of us. When the rain was too severe for outdoor work we passed the time in our damp hovel, and by the aid of sail needle, palm and twine, manufactured a small tent, the materials for which we had bought at an exorbitant price at one of the numerous stores, which, along with some gambling tents and a few liquor booths, then formed the city of Stockton. One thing I recollect seeing while we were at Stockton, and that was a string of about fifty Chinamen, marching, or rather jogging, into the outskirts of the town, with poles over their shoulders, and heavy burdens dangling at the ends of the poles. They had been expelled from rich diggings discovered by them, and hunted out of the mines by whites who had "jumped" their claims. This I thought, at the time, was somewhat odd in a "free country," but I got more used to such things by and by. After about a week the weather improved, and we bought some supplies and a mustang (native horse) to carry them. With the tent folded and strapped over all to keep them snug and dry, and one of us carrying a pick, and the other a tin washstand and shovel over his shoulder, off we set for the Stanislaus mines, trudging on foot over the most boggy roads we had ever traversed, through which it required all the efforts of our poor lean mustang to make his way. Fortunately he was lightly laden, or his fate might have been that of numerous mules which had sunk under the burden of their heavy loads, and lay dead along the road, entombed in mud. At night we pitched our little tent (about 8 ft. by 6 ft. without walls), and slept, wrapped in our damp blankets, on the damper ground, for it was far beyond our means to pay the exorbitant price charged for a night's lodging in the accommodation and liquor tents pitched here and there along the road. On the fourth day we waded and struggled across the Calaveras River, and soon quitted the boggy and sticky plains for undulating, hilly country, which gradually sloped upwards to the foot of the grand Sierra Nevada Mountains, that loomed ahead of us fifty miles off.
    Soon after crossing the Calaveras, and after we entered the hilly country, we saw the first signs of gold diggings, where the earth had been thrown up from some holes reaching down to the bedrock. They had been abandoned, so down one of them we scrambled, filled our tin washpans with earth scraped from the bedrock, took it to the nearest water, and carefully washed it out. At the bottom of the pan could be seen, by a strong optical effort, a few minute specks of the glittering rubbish that had attracted us to this desolate spot, and had been the cause of all our losses, misfortunes, and sufferings. As my friend Mackenzie said, there was just about as much of it in the pan as "you could put in your eye, and not see the worse for it." After advancing another day's march into this sound and comparatively dry country, we came upon a small watercourse with grassy banks, and here we decided to camp for a day and two nights to rest our weary nag and ourselves, we pitched our tent, cut some dry boughs from the fine oaks growing round us, lit a blazing fire, raked together some of the withered oak leaves scattered about, dried them, spread them on the floor of our tent, and bedded ourselves in them in the lap of luxury, our blankets being now also dry. Several strings of laden mules passed by us along the road towards the mines, as well as a good many travelers on foot, on horse, and on mule, and one of the footmen came, and sat down beside our fire, entered into an animated conversation, and told us all about the road we had to travel, where the best diggings were to be found, and how to reach them. Presently he rose, and strapping his luggage across his back, prepared to resume his tramp, but first, turning to me, said: "Stranger! what part of the States do you belong to?" I answered, "I don't belong to the States at all, I'm an Englishman." "Waal, do tell," was the answer; "I thought you must be from the States; you don't speak such broken English as most Englishmen. Goodbye," and off went my complimentary friend.
    Next evening we camped on "Forgotten" Gulch, one of the richest mines in that district, which was already claimed from end to end, and occupied by a numerous mining population. It was close to this place that the first cluster of gigantic Araucaria wellingtonia was discovered about a year later. The following afternoon, after scrambling over several stony hills and crossing sundry steep gulches, we reached the Stanislaus River at McLean's ferry, and saw the spacious trading tents and wooden shanties forming his establishment on the other side of the river, at the foot of a high and very steep range of hills which rose behind them. The river was swollen and difficult to cross, so we camped on its bank opposite to the trading tents, and here we were at last in the midst of the Northern Californian gold mines. For a fortnight or so we kept fossicking around in the small gulches above our camp, trying to discover payable diggings, but without much success, only a few specks of the yellow metal here and there rewarding our efforts. Several large and rich gulches, descending from the mountains around us, had been discovered, but these were claimed from end to end, and were being worked by the fortunate diggers who had first found them, or acquired them from those who had.
    Our resources were getting low, and our provisions scanty, and affairs were beginning to look rather blue, when one morning a report spread abroad that payable gold had been found in a small gulch which came down from a hill close behind our tent, and after breaking through a low rocky plateau, disappeared in a sandy flat which skirted the Stanislaus River. A rush at once set in, scores of people appeared from all quarters, and in a few hours the whole upper part of the gulch was claimed and marked off before we "new chums" were aware of what was going on. It occurred to me, however, that, although the gulch was now dry, it must be a perfect torrent during the heavy rains, and the melting of the mountain snows, and I could not see why the gold should not have been washed down through the rocky gorge, and deposited in the sandy flat below. We, therefore, marked out a claim just below the gorge, and dozens of others followed our example. We then set to work and dug down about 3 ft., to the bedrock, without discovering a speck of gold. Nothing daunted, however, we continued for days working on, encouraged by the success of some few of our fellow diggers around us, when, joy of joys, after our claim was more than half worked out, we came upon a lead of the most beautiful "nuggety" gold, extending in patches from the roots of the grass down to the bedrock, and varying in size from dust and pinhead specks up to quarter-ounce nuggets. How such heavy gold could remain near the surface of soil so loose and porous puzzled me then, and puzzles me still. It must have been sent down by a sudden upheaval of a comparatively recent date, that is to say. within four or five thousand years ago, so that the gold had not had time to settle down on the bedrock, where it is generally found. But waiving all geological theories, it was lucky for us that the gold was so easily come-at-able, as it enabled us to earn in a few days sufficient capital to pay off some small liabilities we had already incurred at McLean's store, and also to lay in provisions sufficient to keep us for a month.
    While we were thus agreeably occupied, I was surprised one day by the receipt of a letter from someone in San Francisco (I do not remember whom) telling me that two of our blackboys had been rescued from the wreck of our boat in Suisun Bay. They had been seen in the morning clinging to the wreck by some men in a boat on its way up to Sacramento, who had rescued them when nearly exhausted by exposure and cold. These men were, by a singular coincidence, from Australia, and were consequently able to understand what the poor boys had to tell them about their past history, and with whom they had been when wrecked. The boatmen, who were trading between San Francisco and Sacramento, took them to the latter place, and then back to San Francisco, and handed them over to someone who knew where we were, and who sent them to Stockton, and thence to us, by a train of mules bringing supplies to McLean. On the day when they were expected, I walked down the road some miles to meet them, and heartily glad I was to find that they were my two boys, Jacky Small and Davy. I had known them since they were children at Durundur, and had been much pained at the thought that I should see them no more. They told me that when Mackenzie and I left the wreck and struck out for the shore, telling them to follow, they did so, but soon got frightened, and turned back to the wreck. Hawkins' boy, Sandy, a lad of weak physique, soon became too chilled and exhausted to hold on longer, and was washed away by the waves and drowned some time before the rescuers came in sight.
    It was during our sojourn at McLean's ferry that I first witnessed the somewhat rough and ready, but in the state of society that then prevailed in California, useful, if not indispensable, institution: lynch law. A Jersey man, named Davis, was camping near the ferry, and brought an accusation against a Frenchman of having robbed him of some gold dust. A jury was at once formed, which tried the supposed culprit, but the evidence was not sufficiently clear to prove his guilt. Had it been so, the man would at once have been "hanged until he was dead," but he got the benefit of the doubt, and was only sentenced to be run up by the neck to a limb of the oak under which the judge and jury held their court, and afterwards to be banished from the camp. This sentence was carried out by putting a knotted (not noosed) rope round his neck, running him up to the branch without a drop, and then letting him gently down again. Mackenzie and I did not join in these proceedings, but remained at work in our claim close by, and were surprised to see the man stand up straight when he was let down. When released from the rope, he ran off close past us, amid the laughter and jeers of his tormentors, plunged into the river, swam across it, disappeared up the mountainside, and was seen no more in that camp. It was hinted to me afterwards the robbery was committed, if committed at all, by a Mexican friend who lived with Davis. This brutal and unjust administration of lynch law disgusted me greatly, but I afterwards found that California would have been uninhabitable for civilized and law-abiding people if Judge Lynch had been absent. His ministrations were generally confined to the punishment of murders and outrages committed in open day or in lamp-lit gambling tents and before many onlookers, and when that was the case, I highly approved of his proceedings. In a case of the kind related above, when the evidence was uncertain and circumstantial, the result should have been acquittal, and this was the only trial of the kind that ever came under my notice which had so disgusting a result. Davis, the prosecutor, spoke French with great fluency, and English with a decided French accent, and always addressed me as "Gentleman," but when some Frenchmen one day in my hearing claimed him as a countryman, he drew himself up to his full height (of 5 ft. 7 in.) and, assuming a very dignified and imposing aspect, answered: "Non, Monsieur, je suis Anglais," which naturally made me feel proud of my country!
    Shortly after this maladministration of lynch law, we heard of diggings having been discovered some eight or ten miles off, beyond the ferry, on the top of some tableland about 1500 ft. above the Stanislaus, so, loading our almost starved mustang and ourselves with our tent, blankets, tools, and not very plentiful supply of provisions, we scrambled up the mountain at the back of the ferry. It was now about the end of December, '49, when we took up our quarters in this elevated and rather chilly region, and our sufferings from cold and damp for the next three months were very severe. It "blew and snew and friz and thew," and sometimes we had to turn out in the night and rake the snow off the tent to prevent it collapsing on the top of us. The amazement of the blackboys when they saw the first fall of snow was very amusing. It occurred in the night, and they sat up on the floor with their blankets wrapped about them, "glowering" through the door-flap, which had to be left partially open for ventilation when human beings occupied the floor. The boys sat clapping their hands, "coorieing" and "kindabarring" in the utmost amazement. Groping about in the snow, seeking for wood to light the fire for boiling our coffee pot for breakfast, was somewhat trying, and had always to be done by Mackenzie or me, as the boys were quite unable to stand the cold, and shivered dolefully, though quite as warmly clad as we were. Fortunately the snow never lay very long, but generally melted in a day or two, so that our wretched mustang managed to pick up sufficient food to keep him alive, and that was about all. At this time my sufferings from lumbago were very severe, and after work was over I had often, with hands on knees, to "hirple" to a tree and support myself against it, while endeavoring to straighten my back. These hardships would, however, have been endured with patience and equanimity if the diggings had been good--but, alas! they were not good. As the ground was saturated with moisture, we could only dig a foot or so beneath the surface when a rush of water came on from all sides, and in a few minutes filled the holes we made, and the result was that a few specks of the gold was all we could ever discover at the bottom of each pan of earth which we washed out. The soil was so stiff and adhesive that we were unable to pass it through our "cradles," the gold digger's usual appliance for separating the gold from the soil. The constant immersion of our hands in the ice-cold water, when pan-washing, made the skin crack; our nails were worn down to the quick, and altogether we were reduced to a state of physical misery not easily forgotten. Sometimes, when retiring to rest on my lowly and humble couch, I would resolve to abandon the whole affair, go back to McLean's ferry, and try to borrow from him enough cash to take me and my party back to Australia, or to the Sandwich Islands, where I knew my brother Archie was then living. But the refreshing slumbers of the night and the invigorating effects of a pork and frijoles (Mexican beans) breakfast, washed down with a pint of hot coffee, renewed my vigor, my courage, and my pride, so that I was ashamed in the morning of the disgraceful thoughts that had entered my head overnight. Then, although the attraction towards Australia was strong on one side, the memory of "Home, Sweet Home" [i.e., Norway] was infinitely more powerful on the other, and always enabled me to abandon with shame any idea of "chucking up the sponge," and made me determined to stay and fight it out to the last gasp. In this resolve I was strongly confirmed by my poor friend Mackenzie (I lately heard of his death in a coaching accident in his native land, New South Wales), who also firmly resolved not to give up the struggle while strength remained to turn a sod or rock the cradle.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XIX.--(Continued.)

    In the hope of improving our condition and discovering richer diggings. I set out on several occasions with one of the blackboys on prospecting expeditions, generally exploring the steep gorges descending from the sides of the tableland on which our camp was pitched into a large tributary of the Stanislaus, some five miles off, rising out of the grand and lofty Sierra Nevada, which towered above us in the northwest, and flowing through a deep gorge or canyon extending down to McLean's Ferry. On one of these prospecting trips, when we were forming our camp in the evening, and Davy was a short distance off, collecting wood for the fire, while I was unloading our blankets and other belongings from the mustang and taking off the pack saddle, Davy uttered a low cooey, and beckoned me to come to him. I did so, when, stooping and pointing to the ground with astonishment, he exclaimed: "You see that fellow track? Baal me know that fellow." Looking down to where he pointed, I saw, to my dismay, the huge and perfectly fresh footprint of a grizzly bear impressed in some soft clay at the side of a small stream on which we were making our camp, and which poured down the steep side of the mountain into the Stanislaus. On searching round, we saw places where the animal had been scratching up roots and poking his nose into some loose soil in search of mice, and so fresh were all these traces that I was sure the gigantic "King of (American) Beasts" was not far from us, and, unarmed as we were, Davy and I passed that night in a somewhat wakeful and restless condition, keeping up a great fire all night to inspire Mr. Bruin with awe if he happened to be in sight. We also tethered the mustang close by us, lest he might fall a prey to the evil one. We stayed quietly where we were, as I thought it better to do so than to make a move in the dark, when we might at any moment have dropped across our "plantigrade" neighbor or a friend of his. At dawn we saddled up and proceeded on our way rejoicing, in what direction I do not remember, probably home to our main camp, but I know I was very glad not to have made Mr. Bruin's personal acquaintance.
    Having seen in old abandoned Indian encampments traces of acorns having been roasted and eaten by the savages, I tried on one of these expeditions to eke out our meager fare by following "the manners and customs of the natives." It was a mistake, however, as it made me very ill, and I had to return to camp in a rather attenuated and "needy" condition. I discovered afterwards that the Indians pound the acorns in a hollow stone with a pestle of the same material, soak them in water, and convert the substance into a patty or dough, before they roast and eat it. I relate this anecdote as a warning to my readers never, even when half starved, to indulge in acorns either raw or simply roasted.
    On another prospecting trip which I undertook in company with two white men, one a doctor who had come from Hobart in the Harriet Nathan, the other a sailor from Aberdeen, who camped near us, we crossed the same branch of the Stanislaus higher upstream, where it emerged from the Sierra by a deep gorge or canyon. The river was spanned by a huge pine tree that had been felled across it in former times, and the place had consequently been named "Paso del Pino." The pine tree had been flattened on its upper side with an adz, and we walked along it to the other bank, carrying our arms, pick, shovel, pan, blankets, and provisions enough for a couple of days' consumption. The level part of the tree was about 8 in. broad, and the roaring torrent some 20 ft. below it, so it looked like a rather risky undertaking to cross it with our heavy loads, when a stumble or false step would at once have sent one headlong into the abyss below, and so "farewell for ever and aye." But we were then all young and adventurous, with steady nerves and firm steps, so the risk was perhaps not really so great as it appears now, after an interval of forty years. I distinctly remember, however, that I was not sorry to find myself once more on firm earth on t'other side, ascending the steep mountain that formed the western side of the huge gorge. A toilsome scramble this was, occupying more than two hours, and made more exhausting by a downpour of rain that began just after we crossed El Pino, and turned into sleet when we reached the top of the hill and entered upon the undulating and open country that formed that side of the valley. Drenched with rain, and sliding about in mud up to our ankles, we walked on and on, hoping to drop on a rich gold mining gulch which we had heard had been discovered somewhere in this quarter. In a few miles we came upon a lately deserted Indian encampment, where lay stretched out the skeleton of a horse, which the natives had stolen from someone, killed, and eaten. Trudging on through the heavy mud, with the sleet still pouring down upon us, until evening, we began to discuss the advisability of camping without any fire, when we saw some smoke rising above the oak trees in front of us. Cautiously advancing towards it, we saw to our great joy that it did not rise from an Indian encampment, but from a huge fire surrounded by about half a dozen white men, who stood arrayed in the usual Yankee costume of heavy outer boots and greatcoats made of rough woolen stuff, now saturated with rain and steaming in the heat of the fire. From a tree in their midst hung a deer just shot by them, and every now and then they would step up to it, cut a long strip of flesh from its ribs or haunches with their bowie knives, stick it onto the end of a long wooden skewer or an iron ramrod, hold it for a few minutes near the fire, and then devour it without salt, pepper, or other luxurious condiment but with a gusto that can be acquired only in circumstances such as these. On coming within a few yards of this interesting group, we paused until some of them called out: "Come on, gentlemen, I reckon you are pretty tired and hungry like us, so come and stick into this venison." I never accepted an invitation with greater pleasure, and I think I can say the same of my companions. We cheerfully advanced and joined our entertainers, following their example with regard to the venison, and never did I enjoy a meal more heartily, not even when indulging in the luxury of Australian kangaroo tail, or even tree grubs. That night we camped with our new friends, generally sitting on our "hunkers" under the shelter of a blanket stuck up on some twigs, and when we did lie down we found the earth, though rather damp and cool, delightfully soft.
    The sleet continued nearly all night, and in the morning the hills around us were sprinkled with snow. At the invitation of our companions we joined them in their wanderings in search of the grand new diggings, the report of which had also reached them, and we did so the more willingly, as there were traces of Indians about. In fact, we saw in the course of the morning several tawny faces, surmounted by shaggy locks, looking down upon us from the tops of hills which we passed, but their owners refused to respond to our gestures inviting them to come down and speak with us. About noon we descended into a valley where another branch of the Stanislaus joined the one we had crossed the day before, and here, on a level piece of country between the two streams, we came upon an encampment of Indians of about a dozen wigwams, occupied by some forty people of all ages and both sexes. They evidently expected us, as we found them all on the watch, the men standing in a group facing us, and the squaws and papooses cowering behind the shelter of the wigwam. If the weather had been dry, it is possible we might have had some trouble with these people, but in continued wet weather their bowstrings, made of deer's sinews, become soft and elastic, and their bows are consequently useless, so they were practically unarmed, which, in a damp winter such as this, accounted for their liking for horse flesh, since it was difficult for them to kill deer; and it probably also accounted for the fact that in a few minutes we were in friendly conversation with them, one or two of our party being able to speak the patois used in conversation between the Indians and the whites. We soon found out that they knew nothing of any gold diggings having been discovered in that neighborhood, and this was enough to make me and my two companions resolve to return to our home camp. The rain and sleet had continued to pour nearly all day, and we feared that the Stanislaus might rise above the Pine Tree Bridge, cut us off from our camp, and bring us to the verge of starvation, as we were scantily provided with food. Saying goodbye, therefore, to our kind companions, we started back for the Paso del Pino, and after scrambling over various hills and flooded ravines, we arrived there just in time to cross before dark. The river had risen to within a foot or two of the tree, and glad we were to find ourselves once more on the right side of it. Here we took up our quarters with a company of Frenchmen, who had been there for some months trying in vain to dam and turn the river, and on the floor and before the fire of one of their "shanties" we passed a comparatively comfortable night, and consumed the remains of our provender for supper and breakfast. Early next morning, we ascended the steep side of the canyon, and about noon arrived safely at our home camp.
    This was my last prospecting attempt in that quarter. Shortly after my return a heavy fall of snow came on one night, and soon covered the whole face of the country to a depth varying from 6 in. to a foot. We could hear our poor old mustang whinnying around the camp for several hours begging for food, of which we had not a particle to offer him. After midnight his voice became fainter, and at last ceased to vex and grieve us. Next morning we looked for him in vain, and supposed he had perished from cold and starvation. As far as work was concerned, the loss of the poor beast was not of great importance. Hardship and hunger had reduced him to such a state of misery that he had been of little use to us for some time, and we had every Sunday to trudge to a township, called the Sonora camp, seven miles off, to buy our provisions, and carry them on our backs to camp. In snow or rain, and sometimes, but very seldom, in sunshine, this had to be done, and the worst of it was that the price of provisions had become so high that our paltry earnings were not nearly sufficient to pay for the food we required to keep us alive. Flour was 1 dollar a lb., pork the same, Chilean jerky (dried beef) half a dollar to 75 cents, tea 5 dollars, coffee 3 dollars, frijoles (dried beans) about half a dollar, and everything else in the same proportion. So badly off were we sometimes for the necessaries of life that I had to apply to McLean, of the Ferry, to supply me on credit with what was necessary to make up the deficiency. His answer to my application was: "Well, I don't like to do business on credit, but I'll never see a brother of Archibald Archer want for anything that I can supply him with!" McLean had known Archie at Tahiti or Honolulu, or somewhere in the South Sea Islands, where my brother had been a sugar or coffee or tobacco planter, and, luckily tor me, McLean had formed a tolerably good opinion of him. The result was that in the three months which we passed on that elevated tableland, we contracted a debt of nearly 500 dollars, besides spending every ounce of gold we dug, strictly in procuring the bare necessaries of life.
    One great drawback of having to bring part of our supplies from the Ferry was that they had to be carried up the face of the steep hill forming one side of the valley, and then a distance of some eight miles, while the Sonora camp was almost on the same level with us, and only seven miles off. Our way to that place was for the first four miles through a pathless forest, and then we came upon a mule track leading from McLean's Ferry to the Sonora camp. In trudging through the forest when snow was on the ground, I soon became familiar with grizzly bear tracks, and found on inquiry that, though the winter was unusually severe, these monstrous animals, instead of hibernating like Norwegian or Russian bears, were in the habit of coming down from the mountains and prowling about at night in search of food. They were, however, not very dangerous, unless suddenly aroused from their lair, or wounded, but then it was time for the intruder to beat a hasty retreat, as they could run fast, and one mild blow from their paw, or a gentle hug, was quite sufficient to give a man of ordinary vitality his quietus, though I met one tough old backwoodsman who had survived both. They were, like ourselves, omnivorous, but, unlike us, they did not hunt down and kill big game for food, and contented themselves with rats, mice, roots, the seeds of pine cones (some of them nearly as big as our Queensland bunya-bunya), and I was afterwards puzzled to understand how such large animals managed to keep themselves in such splendid condition. They would consume the meat and polish off the bones of any animal found dead, but that was a luxury that seldom fell to their lot. Had I but known more of the manners and customs of poor Bruin when Davy and I saw his tracks for the first time we would not have passed such a wakeful and lively night. I afterwards began to feel pity and sympathy for the poor beast when I saw the fate that certainly awaited him at the hands of his bold and rapid-firing invaders. My pity did not, however, extend so far as to prevent me from enjoying a steak of delicious bear's meat, even at 1 dollar a lb., when I was lucky enough to have the chance. It was such a pleasant change from the eternal salt pork and jerky.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XX.--Grizzly Bear Hunting.

    I fear I have trespassed too much on the patience and valuable time of my readers (if I ever have any) in entering with such minuteness into the details of my first experiences as a gold-digger in California's "antres vast." I have done so just to give an idea of the existence an exploring gold-digger had to lead if he took up his quarters in winter on one of the elevated plateaus forming the sides of the gigantic and aptly named Sierra Nevada, that loomed over our heads covered with snow, and attained in places to an altitude of fourteen thousand feet over the sea level. After three months passed as I have described, things began to improve with the advancing season. The days became longer, the nights not quite so cold, and the sun's rays strong enough occasionally to pierce through the heavy masses of clouds that had almost constantly lowered over us, and kept us abundantly supplied with rain and snow. The grand old oaks, covered with swelling buds, now began to look green, and the grass sprang verdant in all the sheltered valleys around us. One day, to my great surprise, Mackenzie appeared with our mustang in hand, having dropped across him quite casually at the bottom of a sheltered valley about two miles from our camp, and the good old beast was looking well and hearty after his long rest, though still rather thin. Shortly after his reappearance I took him to the ferry to fetch a supply of provisions, when McLean told me that someone he knew had discovered a rich "bar" on the bank of the river about fifteen miles below the ferry, and strongly advised me to take my party down there, and try for better luck. No sooner said than done. Striking our tent and packing it and all our belongings on our own and the mustang's backs, we migrated down the river, and in a couple of days were camped on its bank, in a valley surrounded by moderately sized mountains, one of them afterwards named "Table Mountain," now so familiar to all the English-reading world. Here we were some five or six hundred feet lower down in "creation" than we had been before, and the mountains around us not being high enough to carry masses of snow, the climate was comparatively mild and genial. Setting to work with vigor and energy, we stripped off some soil on the river bank to the depth of about three feet, and came upon a deposit of gravel clay overlying a bedrock full of fissures and crannies, teeming with drift gold in scales, varying in size from the finest dust to the scales of a herring. This gravelly clay we carried down to the river in tin buckets, and passed it through the "cradle" at the bottom of which these lovely and glittering scales were deposited at the rate of several ounces of pure gold per day. A month of this pleasing work enabled us to pay off our debt to McLean, and lay in a good stock of provisions, now in our prosperity not strictly confined to the bare necessaries of life. Pickles, sardines, and sundry kinds of preserves formed part of our condiments, and we also indulged occasionally in venison, sold by the hunters, and fresh beef, the produce of cattle brought from Lower California and Sonora in droves, and bought by the storekeepers around us. There were also a good many half-civilized Indians camping on the other side of the river, and from them we bought large supplies of wild watercress, and a kind of small eschalot, which they dug up in great quantities on the banks of the brooks that came down from the hills around us.
    For about two months we continued to lead this life of luxury and prosperity, but by that time we had worked so deeply into the river bank that the topsoil had increased to a height of some six or eight feet, and the "pay gravel" had considerably diminished. The topsoil was composed of a loose alluvial deposit, too damp to enable us to follow the gold-bearing clay by driving subterranean passages, without running great risk of being buried alive by the topsoil tumbling upon us. We determined, therefore, to abandon this charming, though no longer remunerative, "bar" and moved our camp about a mile up the river to the outskirts of a small township of about a dozen tents and shanties, called "Peoria," after a town in Illinois. Here we bought and pitched a new and roomy Yankee-made tent of striped cotton, and got to work on another bar, more extensive, but not so rich as the first one. It was while camping here that I saw the man who wore colonial-made boots, from whom I learned the history of our wrecked boat, as related above.
    Soon after taking up our quarters near Peoria, I sent the blackboys out one morning to look for, and fetch in, the mustang, which we had not seen for some days. In about half an hour they came rushing back to camp, with faces full of horror, and complexions of a whitey-brown color resembling parchment. On my asking, "What's the matter ?" they exclaimed, "Eh! Me been seen him Devil-devil." On cross-examining them, I found that they had seen a large grizzly bear pretty close to them, strolling about and rooting up the ground. They at once turned and made for a large pine tree, up which they scrambled, while the bear, which had probably heard or seen them, slowly made off, and to their intense relief they saw him disappear in a cluster of "chaparral" (underwood). After waiting some time to make sure that he would not come back and eat them, they slid down the tree and rushed hack to camp in the state of terror I have described. I at once went up to the township and told the people what had happened, and in less than fifteen minutes a dozen men were ready, gun and rifle in hand, to sally out and attack the bear if it could be found. The blackboys now boldly took the lead, and guided us to where they had seen the bear, and they followed his tracks for hours, we following them very quietly, expecting every minute to overtake him. But he had evidently been quite as frightened as the boys, for he had kept steadily on his way, only lingering occasionally to snuff up the ground, and look for rats or roots for food. We continued on his tracks till after sundown, when we found ourselves on the side of a deep gorge, and by general consent we sat down on its edge and began to discuss the advisability of returning to camp. The blackboys were, however, too keenly intent on tracking their "Devil-devil" to pause. They continued to follow the tracks down the side of the gorge, and one of the whites, unseen by me, followed after them. In a few minutes we heard a shot, accompanied by a terrific snarling roar, and in an instant we were all rushing down the side of the gorge, yelling and shouting like a band of maniacs. In a minute we came upon the man clinging to the stem of a pine tree, and the blackboys 20 ft. up it hanging on for bare life. The man was considerably shaken, blood was flowing down his face pretty freely, and it was some time before we gathered from him that the boys had followed the tracks until they disappeared in a patch of chaparral bushes. Going up to the edge, they threw some stones into it, and the bear, suddenly jumping up, was making off, when the man fired at him. Uttering the terrific roar we had heard, the bear turned and came at him furiously. The man wheeled round and ran down the side of the ravine, but Bruin soon overtook him and knocked him over. Fortunately the impetus given to the heavy animal in running down the steep hill caused him to pass over the man. By this time we were rushing down to the rescue, yelling, and setting large stones, loosened by our feet, rolling down the hillside, so it was supposed that the bear, hearing all this hubbub, did not care to turn back and kill the man, but continued his headlong course down the hill. The man's wounds were caused by his face having been severely cut and scratched on the stones when the bear ran over him, and, except for a violent shaking and some fright, he was uninjured. The boys now slid down the tree, again took up the tracks of the bear, and followed them to the bottom of the ravine, but by this time it was nearly quite dark, only sufficient light remaining to let us see drops of blood on some large boulders he had passed over ere he began to ascend the opposite stony and almost precipitous hill. Following him further in the dark was quite useless, so we decided on returning home to camp, which we reached about midnight, after the roughest scramble I ever had, in a cloudy, pitch-dark night. We could not well camp out, as we had no provisions, and had not tasted food since breakfast, so that our frugal supper on reaching camp was highly appreciated. The man who had shot at the bear, and felt Bruin's overpowering force, was at first inclined to blame us for having abandoned him to his fate, but we contended that he had rashly abandoned us. He was armed only with a smooth-bore double barrel, so the bullet could not have done the poor beast much bodily harm, though it had decidedly ruined his temper. I discovered afterwards that it generally took dozens of rifle bullets to kill a full-grown grizzly, so huge and so well protected is he by a massive coat of hair, a tough hide, great layers of flesh, and enormous bones, while the ordinary American sporting rifle of those days carried a very light bullet, and its capacity for hitting the mark was not to be trusted much beyond a range of a hundred and twenty yards. But this has no doubt been altered in later times.
    This was my first and last bear hunt. Some days after it occurred, a man came in and reported that he had seen a large grizzly in a rocky cave, on the edge of the same ravine where we had so ignominiously failed. A band of a dozen or fifteen men at once turned out, but Mackenzie and I did not join them, as the recollection of our former failure was too vivid, and we had no rifle or arms of any kind save a brace of small rifled pistols, which I had brought from Australia. They had been sent to Sacramento and were not lost in the wreck, but were utterly useless in a bear hunt. To join in a hunt, therefore, we should have had to borrow arms and buy ammunition, which was sometimes difficult and troublesome. The armed band sallied out, found the bear still in the cave, and nearly all took up positions behind trees and rocks, while two or three crept quietly up near the entrance and fired some bullets in among the rocks. A bullet, or a glancing fragment of one, probably struck the bear, for with a growl he bolted out, and was received with a dropping fire from every side. One bullet fortunately struck his shoulder and lamed him, but even then he could run fast, and charged his tormentors, while they distracted him by keeping up a desultory fire from behind cover all round. At last he singled out one of them, my friend Uriah Shock, a most humorous old toper, who turned and fled when he saw the bear making for him. The poor riddled beast was almost in the act of giving Uriah the "finishing touch" when a stray bullet entered his ear, pierced his brain, and rolled him over. I confess I was pained at having absenced myself from the hunt when I heard of its success from some of the men, who came in for horses to carry the carcass and skin of the defunct animal into camp, especially when I had to buy bear's meat at a high price instead of getting it free, as did the slayers, and besides I forfeited the right of sharing the profits resulting from the sale of Bruin's luscious flesh and magnificent hide, which together realized something approaching 300 dollars, equal to nearly 15 dollars per man.
    I heard of another very distressing bear hunt which occurred on the other side of the river, where the Indians came upon a she-bear with two small cubs at her side. About fifty Indians at once surrounded and attacked the poor beast, driving numerous arrows into her hide, while she could neither escape from nor attack her foes, without abandoning her cubs, which were too young to move, except at a mere crawl. This frightful torment went on for two whole days, and not till the third did the poor beast succumb to her cruel fate. The Indians had no difficulty in following her blood-stained tracks each morning, and came up to her close to where they had left her overnight, and so at last she fell a victim to her maternal affection. I did not invest in any part of her mortal remains, but I saw the two cubs gamboling and playing with each other like a couple of pups in the wigwam of the exalted Indian chief Cassoos, whom I visited a few days after he and his "braves" had perpetrated this horrible cruelty, and I could not but congratulate the grizzly family on the change in store for them in escaping the horrors of the Indian arrow, and falling victims to the more rapidly fatal rifle bullet of the white man. On this visit to the chief, Cassoos, I closely examined the arrows of these Indian heroes, and cannot but admit that they filled me with an amount of respect and awe which had never resulted from the tolerably intimate knowledge I had acquired of the Australian natives' spears, even the barbed ones of New South Wales. The arrowheads were made of flint, their barbed points were sharp as lancets, and their edges jagged like the edges of a tenon saw. They were fastened on with a kind of resin as tenacious as glue to a slender hardwood stick about 3 in. long. The other end of this stick was inserted into a socket at the outer end of the shaft, which was made of a light, but strong, reed, feathered at the end, which fitted to the bowstring. The consequence of this socketing arrangement was that any attempt to extract the arrowhead from a wound was useless if it had entered beyond the barbs, because a pull at the shaft made it slip out of the socket, leaving the ghastly arrowhead buried in the wound, and the shaft in the grasp of the operator. The poor mother bear bristled with scores of these frightful instruments of torture, and I could not but entertain great respect for their possessors, and sincerely hope that any acquaintance I might make with their weapons would be only a "passing" one. It was not very wonderful that, shortly after I had inspected them, I felt somewhat nervous and perturbed when a dispute occurred between some whites, of whom I was one, and the Indians, about gold claims on a bar on the opposite side of the Stanislaus, a few hundred yards above Peoria. After a little scuffling the Indians withdrew, and, ranging themselves along the land side of the bar, drew arrows from their quivers, and laid them across their bows ready for use. We whites, though unarmed, stuck manfully to our claims, and I fully expected a flight of arrows to descend among us. But luckily a report of the dispute had reached the township, half a dozen men appeared, rifle in hand, within easy range on the opposite bank of the river, and the dispute was amicably arranged without any fighting.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XX (Continued.)--Gold Digging Experiences.

    After about a month passed at Peoria I was somewhat surprised one evening when a man only slightly known to me came into our tent and said, "Reckon I've got something to tell you, but you must promise to keep it quiet." The promise was made, and our visitor continued: "I've just been across at the trading tent near the Indian camp, and the owner of the tent told me that the Indians are coming in with lots of coarse, nuggety gold, of a kind never found about here before, and the man has, after much trouble, found out that they bring it from a rich gulch that falls into the river three miles down on the other side from here. If you will join me we will go down there quietly after dark and take up a claim, as there is sure to be a great rush for it when the news spreads." To this proposal we graciously consented, and as soon as the camp was sunk in repose set to work and ferried all our tools, our cradle, and belongings, save the tents, which we left standing, across the river by several trips, in a small "dugout" canoe, which was worked by a rope stretched from bank to bank, the river being now in full flood, owing to the heat of summer melting the snow on the Sierra Nevada. After getting everything and ourselves safely across we spent the whole night in carrying our "kit" over the hills and rocky vales on our backs--no easy task, as the night was dark, and the country rough and pathless. Being the biggest and strongest of the party, the cradle [fell] to my lot, and a very "hard lot" I found it. Soon after daylight we had got most of our belongings to the top of a low hill, whence we looked down into a valley with a small and nearly dry gulch traversing it towards the river. A few hundred yards up this valley stood a tent, and close to it were three white men at work in the gulch, and further up could be seen about a dozen Indians panning out the soil with wooden bowls. Above them the gulch split into two, and just above the junction, on the right-hand branch, we pegged out a claim for five, and lucky it was that we chose that branch, as it was afterwards discovered that not a speck of gold was to be found in the other. After a very light breakfast we set to work prospecting, and the results were most encouraging. Every pan we washed out contained gold, some of them a pleasing lot of beautiful nuggety lumps, weighing up to quarter of an ounce or more. Here we camped "in the open," and set to work in earnest, and fortunate it was that we had gone off quietly, for soon the news spread, and in a week nearly all Peoria was transferred to "Scorpion Gulch," so called on account of the numerous scorpions that were turned up out of the soil, not graceful and active ones like the tree scorpion of Australia, but thick-bodied, short-limbed monsters, disgusting to look at, but apparently harmless.
    After securing and working our claim, and camping out for a few days, some of us went and struck our tent, carried it down, and pitched it, and here we remained for about six weeks, reveling in the luxury of hard work and hard fare, turning up lots of scorpions and a fair quantity of beautiful, nuggety, coarse gold, the only "coarse" thing I ever admired. We found afterwards that the three white men were the original discoverers of this golden gulch, and had managed to keep it quiet for a long time by obtaining their supplies from a ferry about ten miles down the river, on the plains, where there were no gold-diggers. The Indians, when out hunting deer, had at last come across them, and at once began to dig, and purchase provisions with the gold they found, so the secret was discovered. These men had, however, by this time "made their pile," and shortly after our arrival at the Gulch they sold out and "made tracks" home to the States. One thing which I dug up here, besides gold and scorpions, surprised me a good deal. It was a large and rather clumsy flint arrowhead, which lay at least 2 ft. below the surface, showing that the ancestors of the Indians must have occupied the country for many centuries, and used weapons similar to these now in use among their descendants.
    While at the "Scorpion," a report reached us (I forget how) that one of the richest mines ever found in the southern part of California had been discovered in the neighborhood of the Sonora Camp, near which we had passed the winter before, and hearing that some of our fellow passengers from Sydney were there, I set off one Saturday on our gallant mustang to find out the exact spot where this rich "placer" had been prospected. After a twenty-mile ride, I passed through the "Sonora," and was told to follow the direction in which our old camp lay. My amazement and disgust may be more easily imagined than described when I found that the new diggings were exactly on the spot where our camp had been, and where we had suffered so many hardships the winter before. The first heavy find of gold had been made by some "greasers" in a small dry gulch where we had cut the rafters placed inside our tent to keep the snow from crushing it down. A large flat in front of our camp was now being turned up by hundreds of diggers who had found, and were still finding, thousands of ounces of gold, and the hills round were white with their tents. I now discovered that while I was trudging for miles around looking for new diggings, we were literally surrounded by masses of gold, and sleeping a few feet above it. We could not then have reached it, as the soil was saturated with water, but if we had waited a few weeks, instead of moving off to the Stanislaus Bar, we would probably have "made our pile" and quitted California with flying colors. The name of this rich "placer" was the Columbia mines, and after passing the night with my old shipmates, I returned the next day to the Scorpion Gulch in a very unamiable frame of mind. They had arrived too late to secure a rich claim, and one of them, Mr. Hargreaves, afterwards the first gold discoverer in Australia, had left in disgust, and returned to San Francisco. Our having missed this chance of "feathering our nest" was a fair illustration of the glorious uncertainty that haunts the occupation of a gold-digger.
    When our claim was worked out, we joined a company that was formed at Peoria for damming and turning the Stanislaus through a race which we dug along its bank for about a quarter of a mile. The company numbered twenty, and I was selected to go to San Francisco with several pounds of gold contributed by the members round my waist, and purchase supplies and tools for the use of the company. To this I cheerfully consented, and on arrival at 'Frisco, found, to my great joy, the Elizabeth Archer in port, just returned from China with a general cargo and a number of "heathen Chinese" as passengers. Captain and Mrs. Cobb had not heard of our boat disaster before they left for China; the sad news had only reached them a day or two before I came, and they were deeply affected when they saw me, Hawkins having been a great favorite with both. I lived in luxury on board with them during my ten days' stay in 'Frisco, and never can I forget the hospitality lavished upon me by these kind friends. I met on this occasion a Sydney acquaintance, Mr. Hort, a connection of the Montefiores, who had established a commercial house in 'Frisco, and who assisted me in procuring and sending off to Peoria the supplies for my company, and I soon followed after them, resisting the strong temptation held out to me by Captain Cobb to go with him to the Sandwich Islands, and thence back to Australia, or home.
    The work we now had to tackle was of a somewhat laborious nature. To form the dam, huge stones had to be rolled with levers, and smaller ones to be carried on handbarrows, and thrown into the river, and ton upon ton of clay deposited on the upper side of the dam, while a considerable portion of the race had to be blasted through solid rock. The theory was that where "bars" forming the sides of the river were so rich with drift gold, what must the bottom be? The result was that, after four months of heavy, slogging work, when we reached the bottom, we found about as much gold as paid our blacksmith's bill for sharpening the tools. The reason was that the great floods, rolling down the river during winter and spring, had carried with them for ages the fine, flaky gold, and deposited it on the side-bars, where there were eddies and quiet pools; but in the center of the stream the rush of water was so great that the gold could not sink to the bottom in any large quantity, so the only thing we gained by our heavy labors was a verification of the old Norsk adage, "Af Erfaring bliver man ofte klog, men sjelden rig," which, freely translated, means "Experience maketh us sometimes wise, but seldom rich." The English proverb, "Experience teacheth a fool," would be more applicable in my case. This venture absorbed one-half of the gold I had dug out of the Scorpion Gulch. Luckily, I had disposed of the other half elsewhere.
    A somewhat alarming affair occurred while we were at Peoria. A law was passed by the Californian Legislature inflicting a heavy tax (I think twenty dollars a month) upon all foreigners residing in the mines. This was done to get rid of the numerous Sonorans (greasers) that swarmed around, and no white man was called upon to pay the tax, if he declared his intention of becoming an American citizen. Many of the Sonorans struck their tents and started for their home, but on the way committed several atrocious murders, entering tents at dead of night and tomahawking the sleepers. Several murders were committed within a short distance of us, and I was very particular in concealing all our edge tools every night, lest the greasers should mistake us for Americans, and brain us without remorse. Some of our kind friends tried to persuade us to "declare our intentions" to become American citizens, and thus escape the tax; but this we gratefully declined, and paid the tax like true blue (or "green" as our friends called us) Britons, until the law was repealed in a few months. Inflicting this tax was very short-sighted policy, as the richest diggings were often discovered by the "greaser," and "jumped" by the enterprising white man.
    The most distressing consequence of our long residence at Peoria was that it caused my two blackboys to adopt some of the manners and customs of civilized life. They were too small and weak to take a share in the heavy work of the company we had joined (commonly called the "Damming and Blasting Association of Peoria"). They, therefore, passed a great deal of their time away from me, and found that by becoming hewers of wood and drawers of water for the Peorians they could earn a good many half-dollars and dollars. These they soon learned to stake on the gambling-board, where, in spite of my remonstrances and threats, they spent hours, risking their earnings in the attractive game of "monte," generally losing all they had, but sometimes doubling or trebling their stakes. Then they too often retired to the bar, and spent their gains on the bad brandy, or American Monongahela whiskey, sold there. Discovering, in short, that they were in a free country, they emancipated themselves from the slavery of obedience to me, and becoming free and independent democrats, behaved "as sich." On one occasion this tendency to drink almost ended tragically. Jacky Small was left in charge of a trading tent for a few minutes, while its owner, a tall, handsome Swede (who had come to California with the U.S. army and deserted from the garrison of Monterey), went to visit a neighboring tent. On his return, he found Jacky parading in front of the entrance with a loaded revolver in his hand, which he pointed at the Swede, who performed a "right about face" and bolted, followed by a bullet which passed close above his head. Several people gathered together some distance off, and called upon Jacky to put down the pistol, but he kept pointing it at them, and threatened to shoot anyone that approached him. It was evening, I was at my tent some distance off, and someone called me to come up, which I did at once. Seeing at a glance how things were tending, and knowing that if Jacky shot anyone, the delicate attention of Father Lynch would at once be bestowed on him, I walked up with my eyes steadfastly fixed on his, and ordered him to hand me the pistol which, to my intense relief, he did, without taking a shot at me. I then seized him by the "scruff of the neck," pushed him down to our tent, tied his hands with twine, roped him fast to the tent pole, and there he lay, yelling, singing, and laughing till he fell asleep. It turned out that the tent owner had left on the counter a bottle of brandy and a revolver, and the temptation to make free with both had been too strong for poor Jacky. The difference of temperament in the two lads never came out so conspicuously as when they had indulged in too much "fire water," the Indian name for grog. Jacky, as shown, became ravingly dangerous, while Davy's good nature increased, and his habit was to sit or lie down and talk, laugh, sing a "corroboree," and sometimes shed tears. These tendencies to civilization (nearly always sooner or later certain to develop in an Australian black) distressed me greatly, and I did all in my power to check them, but in vain.
    Another great misfortune resulted from our Peorian damming and blasting mishaps. Mackenzie took such a dislike to gold digging in all its branches that he resolved to abandon it, and try his luck at hay-making on the edge of the plains near the lower ferry, and wanted me to join him in it. But I was determined not to release the "golden elephant" after the brute had trodden so severely on my toes, and declined. Mackenzie and I, therefore, parted, the very best of friends, and I heard afterwards that, with great toil and expense, he had got together a huge stack of excellent hay, and was looking forward to a profitable sale, when winter came on, and the feed for pack mules became scarce. But before that happy time arrived he saw from his tent one night a glare of light, and rushing out, found his stack in a blaze from end to end. Whether this was caused by accident or design, he never knew, but suspected the latter, as others had hay for sale not far from him. Soon after this catastrophe he returned to Australia, a wiser, but, I fear, not a richer man than when he left it. He took once more to his old bush life, got the management of a station, married, set up a large dairy near Sydney, and earned a handsome independence. Here I saw him frequently many years later, and for the edification of his excellent wife and fine family we spun many a "tough yarn" about our adventures in the Californian "placers."
    I was deeply grieved when, three years ago, I received a notice of his death by a coaching accident.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XX (Continued.)--Gold Digging Experiences.

    Almost the only advantage I had so far derived from my gold-grubbing experiences was a great improvement in my strength and general physical condition. Though the weather at Peoria had been for several months intensely hot and cloudless during the day--summer rains being almost unknown in California--yet the nights were cool and refreshing, and we had the advantage of having a torrential river close beside us into which one could at any time thrust one's glowing head, and imbibe an unlimited supply of water that had shortly before, in the towering Sierra Nevada, been snow and ice, a luxury I frequently indulged in, and which must have suited me admirably. My lumbago was nearly gone; my hair, which had been thin and straggly when I left Australia, had become as thick and strong as it had ever been; my hands were hard as horn, and had swollen to a great size, principally from the jarring of the blasting spuds, and my weight was nearly a stone heavier than it had ever been in the bush. Physically, I felt able, like our gallant soldiers and sailors, "to go anywhere and face anything." But though my American friends in Peoria were most genial and kind, there I would no longer remain, and, the blackboys refusing to accompany me, so off by myself, like a "pelican in the wilderness," and crossing Table Mountain, descended into the valley of Wood's Creek, where we had bought our supplies when camping at the lower bar, and where I was consequently acquainted with several people. Here I joined in with four men, Americans, and educated, excellent fellows they all were, full of humor, good nature, and honesty. We lived together in an adobe hut, took the cooking by turns, and spent about two months in turning up the soil for about 6 ft. to 8 ft. on a large dry flat, at the bottom of which there was nearly a ton of "pay dirt," which we heaped up in tons, and waited patiently for rain to form pools in which we could wash the gold out of it. Winter had now set in, and we never doubted that the usual downfall at that season would come. But no such luck was ours. One-fourth of the rain and snow that had fallen on our heads the winter before would have crowned us with success, but we waited and worked week after week, and hardly enough fell to supply us with drinking and cooking water, and what we had did not resemble in purity "Krystallen den fina." It was, however, a great comfort to be associated with such excellent companions. Some of them were capital singers, and we often passed the evenings in warbling part-songs for our own pleasure and for the benefit of our neighbors, one of whom persuaded us one evening to appear on a platform in his trading tent and perform before a large audience, which testified its intense satisfaction by "thunders of applause and waving of short pipes," and shouts for encores. If I gained nothing in a pecuniary sense from my sojourn at Wood's Creek, I at any rate learned all those exquisite nigger melodies (and also "Napoleon's Grave") with which I have so often charmed you and many other appreciative audiences!
    One event occurred while I was there which was highly illustrative of life in California. At a neighboring township a miner and a gambler had a quarrel one night over a game of monte, and next morning, when the miner was washing his face at the door of a tent, the gambler came up behind him, and sent a bullet through his head. This act he might have performed with impunity in another day, but he made a sad mistake in doing it on a Sunday, when many of the miners came to the township to buy supplies, to drink, and to gamble, and on that day they generally outnumbered the professional gamblers ten to one. Such was the case on this occasion. The miners warmed up, seized the gambler, formed a jury, tried him, and--the deed having been witnessed by many people--he was found guilty, and at once hanged on the limb of a tree, where he was dead ere his victim with the bullet through his head had expired! This free and easy mode of administering justice "sans ceremonie" was the only thing that made California habitable for reputable and peacefully disposed people. Even in San Francisco I have seen thousands of people besiege the jail, break down the door in the face of the police, and (under the direction of the "Vigilance Committee") drag out a notorious murderer, and hang him on a gallows erected in the Plaza. This was by no means an uncommon event, and in some cases quite justifiable, as the police had the reputation of being too prone--under certain  circumstances--to let criminals escape.
    And now--as "open confession is good for the soul"--I must, to keep up the character of this veracious narrative, confess the commission of a deed of abject want of endurance unworthy of a member of our distinguished family; and thus it came about. One day, when I was busy pitching the "pay dirt" to the top of a bank at least 8 ft. high, a man came up to me with a pair of new digger's boots under his arm, which he offered for sale, and, finding that they were large enough to contain my somewhat well-developed feet, I bought them. A few days after, one of my companions asked me to walk with him down to the lower ferry, about twenty miles off, where he had some business, and wishing, I suppose, to "do the swell" in my new boots, I consented. Cutting short our working day, we started about 4 p.m., and with a bright moon overhead arrived at our destination about 11, by which time I was suffering acutely, as the folds round the ankles of my boots had chafed and skinned my ankles all round. Next morning my friend wanted me to return with him to Wood's, but so cowed and so abjectly downhearted was I from the pain I had suffered through the night and was still suffering, that I point blank refused to return, and told him that if he and my other partners would pay my share of the debt we had incurred for supplies, amounting to about 100 dollars each, I would leave to them my share of the gold they might get out of the huge heap of earth we had collected, and also my bedding, my clothes, and all my belongings. My friend laughed heartily at first, thinking I was "taking a rise" out of him, but on finding that I was quite serious, he first attempted to argue me out of the folly of such conduct; then, finding argument in vain, he agreed to my proposal, provided I would make it to him in writing. This I did, and, climbing to the top of an empty mule wagon on its way to Stockton, I bade a final farewell to the now historic Stanislaus and Table Mountain. At the flourishing port of Stockton I arrived that evening, paid the wagoner his fare, and taking a deck passage in a steamer to 'Frisco, landed there next morning about 8 o'clock.
    My whole means were now reduced to about one-half ounce of gold, all that remained of several ounces of "specimens" I had collected at Scorpion Gulch, and which I had fortunately put in my pocket on leaving Wood's Camp. A very frugal breakfast reduced my capital to about one-quarter ounce (four dollars), so, starvation staring me in the face, I set off in search of a shipping agent, intending to ask him to get me a berth in a sailing ship on which I could work my passage to Honolulu, where Uncle Archie was then a coffee or tobacco planter; I meant to honor him with a visit, and persuade him to "raise the wind" sufficiently to carry me back to Australia. While sauntering about with this object in view, I turned a corner out of Montgomery Street, and nearly ran against a little man, who looked up in my face and exclaimed: "Hullo, Archer, what on earth are you up to?" This was my friend Henry Hort, who has been mentioned before as a Sydney acquaintance whom I had met when last in 'Frisco. On my telling him what I was in quest of, he answered: "All right, just go to my house in ------ Street, and there you will find Joe Montefiore. Stay there till I come back, and then we'll see what can be done for you," and to this kind proposal I cheerfully assented. I had seen a good deal of Montefiore when last in Sydney, and when Hort returned they both insisted on my staying with them, which I graciously agreed to do.
    I have dwelt upon the "boot" episode in some detail, as it shows on what small and apparently unimportant things one's fate often depends. My buying these boots, and my wretched want of endurance in bearing the pain they caused me in walking to the ferry, was the direct cause of my Californian adventures entering upon a new and more successful phase, instead of causing my ruin, as I richly deserved. About a year after, three of my Wood's Creek partners, then on their way home to the States, kindly looked me up in 'Frisco, and I asked them how the heap of "pay dirt" I left on their hands had turned out? The smile on their faces when they "reckoned it had not done badly" convinced me that no great loss had been inflicted on them when they paid my proportion of our debt to the storekeeper, Mr. Turner, out of my share of the proceeds of the heap.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XXI.

    There was another guest in Hort and Montefiore's house, a young Englishman named Charles Edward Fogg, a very handsome and gentlemanly young fellow, with whom I soon became intimate. He was, like me, a disappointed and "broken" digger, lately come from the mines, and also, like me, had lost everything he brought with him. He had left it on board the ship on which he made the passage from Buenos Aires, where he had lived for some years. The ship had been anchored among the hundreds that almost covered the waters of 'Frisco Bay, and like most of them, she was deserted by her crew, and left to swing to her anchors. Unluckily she swung against some of the others, or they against her, and, being a rotten old English tub, down she went to the bottom, and only her topgallants were now visible above water. Fogg was, of course, somewhat disappointed when, on returning penniless from the mines, he found that all he possessed on earth save the garments he wore had been engulfed into "Davy Jones' Locker." We, being the only "idle men i' the hoose," passed a good deal of time in discussing the ups and downs of our past, and the hopes and prospects of our future. My fit of depression having passed, thanks to the generous hospitality of my friends, Hort and Montefiore, we at last agreed to go into partnership, and set off for a splendid and (of course) grandly rich mining district lately discovered near Mount Shasta, some 250 miles northeast of San Francisco. Both of us being "stony broke," I could hardly see how we were to raise the "needful" to pay for our outfit, but Hort soon settled that by offering to advance the money required if I gave him a bill on my brothers for the amount. This I at once generously agreed to do, and in a few days we were ready for the road.
    It was now, however, midwinter (1850-51), and the road to Mount Shasta, which led up the valley of the Sacramento to its head, and thence across a range of mountains 1000 ft. high, was then completely blocked by masses of snow. Our only way, therefore, of reaching these mines was to take ship to the Columbia River (far north of Shasta), and thence turn back southward, because on the north side of these mines there were no high and snow-covered mountains to cross. In a few days we found ourselves, therefore, on board the American barque Ocean Bird, of some 250 tons, commanded by Captain Lewis, coasting along the grand shores of Northern California. In about six days we were off the twelve-mile-wide mouth of the Columbia River, but dared not enter, as a furious gale from the northwest (just such a one as is described in the same spot in "Three Years Before the Mast," by Dana) had raised a terrific sea on the river bar, and we were obliged to lie hove to for a couple of days under a close-reefed maintopsail and fore topmast staysail. On the afternoon of the second day, when sitting in the cabin, we heard a crack like the report of a pistol, and rushing on deck I found our close-reefed maintopsail split from yard to foot-leech, and streaming to leeward in graceful tatters. Made as it was of cotton canvas, and nearly new, this showed that our northwester was a pretty stiff one. On the third day "rude Boreas, blustering railer," slackened the force of his breath, and we bore up for the river bar, I thought a little too soon, as the waves were "combing" in grand style over it from end to end; but the little Ocean Bird carried her beam well aft, and, gracefully raising her stern to the pursuing waves, shipped scarcely a drop of water over her taffrail. Inside the bar the river narrowed to about four miles, and we anchored in smooth water at Astoria, then a small hamlet of half a dozen shanties and one good boarding house, soon after a large and flourishing city.
    On this Ocean Bird passage I noticed for the first time a good deal of tension between Northern and Southern American fellow passengers. They were divided into separate groups, and had very little intercourse with each other, but confided to Fogg and me the grievances prevailing between North and South. A few years later this unhappy tension developed into the dreadful Civil War that raged between the two sections, and ended in the defeat of the South.
    Next day Fogg and I and some of our fellow passengers proceeded up the Columbia in a small steamer to the Willamette River, which joins the Columbia from the south, and steamed up it about ten miles to Portland, then the capital of American Oregon. Here we were welcomed by George Burgoyne, an old bush and Brisbane chum of mine, who had come from 'Frisco to start a branch business in connection with the firm of Hort and Montefiore. Burgoyne was a fine little fellow, square-built and strong, with a capital bass voice, spoke French like a native, and was a relation (great-grandnephew, I think) of the celebrated General of that name, of whom our national poet sings :
    In plain prose he was beaten, and had to surrender at Saratoga with his whole army to the Americans, led by Washington.
    Finding that the winter rains had not yet ceased, and that the roads were consequently almost impassable, we had to stay at Portland for several weeks, which was rather a severe strain on our slender finances. The time hung somewhat heavy on our hands, so, by way of passing it more pleasantly than "loafing around" in Portland, Burgoyne, Fogg, a man named Lindo (a friend of Hort's who had joined us), Walker, a fellow passenger on the Ocean Bird, a wounded hero of the Mexican War, and a remarkably nice Southerner and I hired a small rowing and sailing boat, and early one morning started on a visit to Fort Vancouver, a place situated on the north bank of the Columbia, a few miles above the junction of the Willamette with that river. We arrived there in the afternoon, and were very kindly received by an acquaintance of Burgoyne's, Lieutenant Russell, of the Oregon Rifles, the regiment that garrisoned the fort, which had been erected many years before by the Hudson Bay Company, but was ceded to the Americans, along with thousands of square miles of magnificent country and all the lower part of the Columbia River, by our "peace at any price" government, alarmed by the Yankee threat, "Forty-five fifty, or fight." Fort Vancouver, being within that latitude, was handed over with the rest, but the Hudson Bay Company had the privilege conceded to it of keeping a Governor and a small staff of trappers and Indians there for a certain number of years, and the time having not yet expired, we found his excellency and staff occupying one side of the Fort, and the Oregon Rifles the other side. Lieutenant Russell took us all to his quarters, gave us dinner, and invited us to a garrison ball that was to come off that night. Being attired in the roughest boating costumes, and having no dress clothes, we protested most vigorously, but in vain. Fogg, who wore a pair of high and not very clean top-boots, declared that nothing would induce him to go to the ball, but Russell called in two negro servants, and said, pointing to Fogg, "You see that gentleman ?" "Yas, sar," was the answer. "Then seize him, pull off his boots, brush them, and pull them on again." The command was instantly obeyed, and seeing that there was no escape, we all went to the ball, where Russell introduced us to his brother officers and the few ladies, their wives and daughters, who represented the fair sex in that far outlying border garrison. A most cordial reception we had, and a very pleasant night we spent, though the contrast between our hosts in uniform and us in our besmirched and bedraggled garments was ludicrous and (to me) rather painful. At this moment I can see Fogg, with his heavy boots and rough pilot coat, guiding his partners through the hazy quadrille and elegant country dance, but all the time looking "every inch the gintleman." The officer in command was Major Kearny, a fine-looking and distinguished soldier, who had lost an arm in the Mexican War, which had ended a few years before by the cession of California and other grand territories to the United States. Major (afterwards General Kearny) fell in the American Civil War, and sorry I was to notice his name among those of the many heroes who fell in that sanguinary contest. The only other Vancouver man, besides Kearny and Russell, whose name I can remember, was Captain Stuart, a Carolinian, also a fine-looking young officer. Of those three I shall have more to say by and by.
    Burgoyne had an introduction to the Governor from a nephew of his excellency, who lived in Portland. He was a fine old man (I forget his name), and he received me with much kindness and hospitality, which I put rather severely to the test, as I was seized next day with a violent attack of fever and ague, and had to remain a day and night in the Residency, under the care of a doctor in the Hudson Bay Service, who administered copious doses of quinine, and furnished me "free, gratis, and for nothing," with a supply of that incomparable anti-febrile to take with me, when we bade adieu to the imposing wooden stockade walls of Fort Vancouver, and its kind and hospitable inhabitants, and returned to our humble lodgings at Portland. Shortly after this a man named Sinclair, an acquaintance of Hort and Montefiore, arrived from 'Frisco. He was a Hudson Bay Company man of high standing, who had traveled over and from the Red River to Oregon, and taken up a block of country on the Upper Vancouver, which had been kindly left in our possession by our "American cousins." Sinclair had brought with him from Canada six half-caste Indians, and was now, like ourselves, on his way to the Shasta mines, and so we arranged to travel together. A brother-in-law of Sinclair's named Mackay, a true-blue old Caledonian, had a farm on the prairies, about ten miles inland from Portland, where Sinclair's men were staying, and where Fogg, Lindo, and I were also invited to take up our quarters, and here we remained for some weeks making preparations for our start. We bought at Portland five Indian horses (mustangs) and a mule, a quantity of provisions, a tent, and other articles too numerous to mention, and, the month of March having come and brought fine, sunny weather, the roads improved, and we, as well as Sinclair and his men, were ready to start on our long and toilsome journey. But before we left, our host Mackay gave a grand ball in our honor, at which Sinclair's half-breeds cut the most conspicuous figure. One of them played dance music on a fiddle, and "hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, put life and mettle in our heels." Our partners were nearly all daughters of our host and their friends, gathered from neighboring farms, and most of them, though they had a pronounced dash of Indian blood in their veins, were handsome girls, and danced remarkably well. But to me the most amusing part of the performance was watching the fiddler, who called out all the figures he had to perform, thus: "Honor your partners," which we obeyed with a low bow. Then: "Cross over, right hand to partner, swing round; down the middle and back"; and then, with a loud voice, "Balance all." All this was done without interfering in the least with the music, which was played in very good time. Towards the small hours "the mirth and fun grew fast and furious," the Indians retired, and the entertainment ended in a free fight, which, after much impressive language from our host, backed by some vigorous blows from a cudgel, was quelled, and the festivities ended by our host driving his Indian-bred guests out of the house. A too lavish use of "fire water" was the cause of this grand finale. These men were, when sober, obedient to their employer, and kindness and civility itself to everyone; but when drunk (as they generally were when they had a chance), their Indian nature rose to the surface, and many of them became perfect demons. The musician was, however, a happy exception. He, though he had imbibed pretty freely, continued to "gar his elbow jink and diddle" more vigorously than ever, and looked down on the disturbance from his elevated seat with a face beaming all over with good-natured smiles. He was the man I liked best of all the yellowskins, and Mr. Sinclair placed more reliance on him than on any of the others.
    Shortly after this jollification we loaded our pack animals, bade farewell to our hospitable entertainer and his fine family, and started on our way to Shasta, following up the Willamette Valley to the south. We were never near enough to see that fine stream, but crossed many of its tributaries, coming out of a range of hills bounding the valley on the west, and separating it from the coast country. Our road wound through hills and rich prairies of rich, undulating country, reminding me of Darling Downs, with this important difference, that here nearly every valley was watered by a running brook of pure, limpid water, some of these streams being so large that crossing them with our heavily laden animals was very difficult, and involved a considerable amount of wading and mudlarking. When traveling along the bank of one of these streams a man of our party shot a beaver, and though I pitied the poor, innocent little animal, I could not resist the temptation of eating a slice of his roasted tail, which tasted well, and, though richer in flavor, reminded me of kangaroo tail. This was the only beaver I saw in all my American travels.
    During the first ten days after starting, we could see, whenever we ascended a hill, a range of high mountains bounding the valley on the east, some thirty miles off, called the Cascade Mountains, with Mount Jefferson and several other peaks towering thousands of feet above the line of the hills, and covered with snow. The country during the first fifty miles was sparsely occupied by farms, generally five to ten miles apart, and a few cattle were occasionally to be seen around them, residing on the rich grasses, green and succulent, and of closer growth than those of Australia. The next fifty miles of country was equally fine, but more hilly, and almost unoccupied, a great advantage to us, as it enabled us to "bag" an occasional deer or two, which kept us well supplied with venison, a pleasant change from the "pickled pork," the usual animal food of a traveler in the American wilderness. The valley soon becoming narrow, the road ascended the hills on our right, and quitted the lovely Willamette country, which, looking back, we saw spread out before us in all its richness and grandeur, and this was but a trifling part of what we Britishers had abandoned to the Americans.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XXI.--(Continued.)

    We now descended into the valley of the Umpqua River, which rises in the Cascade Mountains, and runs westward into the Pacific. It was necessary, therefore, for us to cross it, and a rather difficult undertaking it was, the river being 10 ft. deep and about fifty yards wide at the crossing place, where the water was still; but both above and below there were rapid torrents. Fortunately, Mr. Sinclair was well versed in such matters, and had provided himself with a sheet of stout canvas about 8 ft. by 6 ft. A lot of willow twigs were cut, and the canvas was stretched upon them, forming a canoe capable of carrying about 2 cwt. Into this frail craft all belongings were put, and shoved across to the other side by a man swimming behind it--a process that had to be repeated at least twenty times, and occupied nearly two days, during which we camped on the river bank. Being a good swimmer, I took my share in the work, and found it a rather chilly job, the water being bitterly cold, coming as it did out of a snowy range of hills within fifty miles of us. When reposing that night, not "on a pallet of straw," but on our tent floor, on a deerskin, wrapped in my cozy blanket, I was, about midnight, rather disagreeably surprised to wake up and find myself shaking like an aspen leaf, and my teeth chattering with a violent fit of ague. Rousing Fogg out of his lair, I got him to strike a light, and supply me with a good-sized allopathic dose of the Fort Vancouver doctor's quinine, and, rolling myself in a heavy topcoat and an extra blanket, again dozed off, and dozed and shivered for several hours till near daylight. Being tolerably tired, I must have slept through the fever part of the attack without its waking me, but "the shivers" soon roused me into consciousness. Next morning I repeated the dose, then breakfasted, and in a couple of hours was again taking my turn in pushing the canoe across the river. Fogg was a poor swimmer, and Lindo not greatly addicted to cold water in any shape, so I had to "do any possible" so as to perform our share of the rather chilly business. Those who could not swim had, like the goods, to be ferried across in the canoe, and the last of those was our fiddler. The man who had charge of the canoe when he was crossing (one of the other half-castes) somehow got frightened, and, leaving the canoe in midstream, swam to the bank. The canoe with its occupant swam down into the torrent below, where it was at once toppled over by the rough water, and had there not been an island below the torrent, onto which our musician scrambled half drowned, we should have seen him "never, never more." The water between the island and the further shore was luckily shallow enough to let him wade through it with the help of a pole to support him. Sinclair and I walked down the river in our moccasins, which we always wore, scrambling over numerous gulches and huge boulders, in search of the canoe, and at last we found her cast up on the side of a sloping rock; but a large rent was in her side, which made her useless, and we "left her alone in her glory."
    Next morning we again loaded up and started on our way.  I continued my course of quinine for some days, lessening the doses to homeopathic dimensions, and gradually the fever and ague toned down and left me for a time. Luckily we had no more swimming to do, and managed very well without the canoe. In a few days we had to cross another river, but the water was not very deep, so we hoisted the loads high up on the pack saddles, and the horses carried them across dry, while we, by kneeling on the top of our saddles, also escaped a wetting. The name of that river I cannot remember, but the river itself is distinctly impressed on my memory, for on its banks we came upon a camp of about a dozen Indians (the first we had seen since leaving Portland), and from them we bought a beautiful salmon, fresh run from the sea. That salmon was the first I had tasted since leaving "Gammie Norge," and very delicious I thought it. Sinclair was the negotiator of the purchase, and I was rather surprised at the brusqueness of his manner towards the vendors, and their surly and almost defiant attitude to him. At one time I thought it would end in a "scrimmage," which would have been disagreeable, as Sinclair and I were by ourselves. I was unarmed, and our party had gone to camp some distance from us. But fortunately the dispute toned down, and after closing the bargain, we rode on to our camp with the salmon dangling down from the high pommel of my Mexican saddle. I thought these Indians or their ancestors must have had some intercourse with Frenchmen in former days, as they called themselves "sauvage," and French words were frequently mixed up by them in the broken vernacular which they used in speaking to whites. I cannot remember having read or heard that the French ever possessed any territory in that part of America, but perhaps the enterprising French Canadian trapper may have penetrated so far south, in days of yore, "when time was young," ere Wolfe, "that warrior stout and bold, who won the battle of Quebec and gained a ton of gold," had appeared on the scene. A few days after this salmo ferox transaction, we arrived on the banks of the Rogue River, a tributary of the Klamath. (The name Rogue, in my opinion, is a corruption of "rouge" [It is not.], as the hills and banks abutting on them were generally formed of red soil.) Here we came upon a stockade made of saplings, with their ends stuck in the ground, standing about 12 ft. high. Inside this stockade was a wooden hut, occupied by white men, who had built a "scow" for ferrying across the river the numerous travelers, now on their way from Oregon to the Shasta mines, for which service they did not omit to make a somewhat heavy charge. On riding up to this fortress, we were surprised to see, at the foot of a mountain on the other side of the river, an immense camp of whites, extending for half a mile along the river, with oxen, horses, and mules in hundreds grazing around, and watched by armed and mounted men. We crossed in the scow, and, joining the camp, soon found out the cause of this great gathering. It appeared that men on their way back from Shasta to Oregon reported that the Indians had become hostile, and, a few miles further on, had attacked some trains of wagons, horses, and pack mules, killed some men, wounded others, and carried off into the mountains great quantities of goods, and the animals that bore them. This news created a kind of panic in the camp, and a few days after our arrival scores of men, with their wagons and pack horses, recrossed the river, and, considering discretion the better part of valor, wended their way back to Oregon, rather than face the dangers of an Indian campaign. Among them was a son of our Scottish friend and host Mackay, a tall, handsome young fellow, only one-quarter Indian bred, who had accompanied us so far, but was now obliged to return, on account of pressing business in Portland, or on his father's farm, I forget which. Our loads having now considerably diminished, we could spare one of our horses, and so handed it to young Mackay to give to his father with our thanks for all the kindness he had shown us while staying at his farm. It was not very long ere I had reason to regret this generous act.
    After some days' detention at the big ferry camp, we again saddled up, and, skirting along the Rogue River towards its head for ten miles, again camped on its bank. As we had now entered on the territory peopled by hostile Indians, a new system had to be adopted. The day's journey was shortened by our stopping to camp three or four hours before sunset, during which time the horses were turned out to graze, guarded by two armed and mounted men. At sunset they were brought into camp, and tied in a circle round it, with short ropes fastened to stakes driven into the ground, their heads inwards facing the camp, and their tails outwards towards the foe, and two men walked sentry outside the circle all night, rifle on shoulder and revolver in belt. These men were relieved about every three hours, and at daybreak the horses were loosed and turned out to graze for some hours, when "saddle up and start" was the word of command. Not being provided with arms, I had to borrow one of Sinclair's spare rifles and a revolver when my turn came to mount guard. As I had been determined never to carry arms when amongst white men (much to the surprise of my American friends), and not being aware that we would have to make our way amongst hostile Indians, I had neglected to provide myself with any weapon more formidable than a clasp knife. Fortunately Sinclair was well provided with "shooting tools," and willingly lent them to me when I required them.
    Next day we quitted the Rogue River, turned southwards, and again emerged upon beautiful prairie country, where we camped near a spring, which was surrounded by dense underwood. We camped in the open, and the horses had to be watered at the spring, under the escort of half a dozen armed guard; and all night we kept constant watch, lest we should be surprised and attacked by our tawny foe.
    Next morning, as we were wending our way through the fine open country stretching for miles in front of us, Sinclair and I were riding some distance from the road, between our party and the range of hills bounding the prairies on the west, which Sinclair thought might shelter Indians, when suddenly I heard a "dirring" sound, like that made by our Australian locusts, and said to Sinclair; "I did not know that you had locusts in America." "Locusts!" was the reply, "just look behind you." I did so, and there was a rattlesnake, writhing and twisting in the agonies of death, and sounding his own dirge with the rattle attached to his tail. My horse had trodden upon him, and broken his back. The chief danger of the rattlesnake is his dozy and lethargic nature. Compared with our lively and graceful Australian snakes, he is a thick, clumsy reptile, and does not, like them, seek safety in flight when anyone approaches, but lies calm and serene, and perhaps asleep, until one gets to within a few feet of him, when up goes his head, facing towards you with gleaming eyes, and forked tongue protruding, and fortunately up also goes his tail, quivering, and sounding the rattle attached to it. This event reminded me then, and reminds me now, of my first interview with a rattlesnake. It occurred on one of my prospecting trips in the Stanislaus, when climbing up the rocky side of a low terrace, where I had to use my hands to assist in the ascent, on my face rising a couple of feet above the edge of the terrace I heard a sound that I had never heard before. Casting my eyes in front of me, there was the head of a snake within 3 ft. of my face, with his neck bent back, ready to dart at me. But this privilege I did not allow him. My descent from that terrace was much more speedy than the ascent had been, being performed by one bound down to its foot. Luckily its height was only some 10 ft. or 12 ft., so I did not hurt myself, and, getting hold of a supple oak bough, I again climbed the terrace at another part, and, sneaking quietly round, hoped to avenge the disgrace of my undignified retreat by taking my reptile foe in flank or rear and ending his existence. But no such fortune was mine. He had disappeared, and was probably gazing at me placidly from between two of the numerous boulders that formed the summit of the terrace. On several other occasions, when rambling round the sides, or crossing the summit, of Table Mountain, I have nearly stepped upon these torpid reptiles, but the rattle gave me timely warning, and enabled me to avoid their delicate attentions. Their habits resemble those of the Australian death adder, in their not getting out of people's way, but they cannot plead the poor death adder's excuse, as the rattlesnake is gifted with a sharp sense of hearing. For some time I feared that my horse would show symptoms of having been bitten, but he did not, and had a marvellous escape.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XXI.--(Continued.)

    On the morning of the second day after quitting the spring, as we were following our course through the prairie, we saw on the horizon ahead of us a band of horsemen coming towards us, and were somewhat relieved when, on getting nearer, we found that they were white men. On entering into conversation with them we were told that they had left Shasta in search of a band of Indians that had attacked an overland train of immigrants from the States, had killed several of the men, driven off the horses (laden with a great quantity of goods), and massacred several women and children. So shocked and exasperated was I at this recital of horrors that I at once arranged with Sinclair, Fogg, and Lindo that I should join this band of avengers, numbering upwards of fifty men all mounted, while my companions were to camp, along with a number of other travelers, close to where we then were, and await the return of this company of irregular cavalry, which was to escort us for the rest of the journey to Shasta. This being arranged, I put some provisions into saddlebags, borrowed a rifle and revolver from Sinclair, mounted my gallant mustang, and turned towards the Rogue River Ferry, along with these "irregulars," who were commanded by a man named Long, an old backwoodsman, accustomed to Indian fighting, and who had been elected captain. The Indians had committed the outrage further to the southward, but had carried the spoils into the Rogue River Valley, and were reported to be camped some thirty miles above the ferry. Having heard that a detachment of the Oregon Mounted Rifles were some distance north of us, on march from Fort Vancouver to California, and not considering ourselves strong enough to make a successful attack on the main Indian encampment, it was decided that we should establish our headquarters at the ferry, and, joining the rifles when they arrived there, assist them in an attack on the Indians. Putting our horses for safety in the stockade at night, some of us slept on the floor of the hut, and some camped in the open, with sentries parading all round, armed to the teeth, not a very agreeable occupation, as the ground was timbered, and brushwood grew thickly to within a hundred yards of our camp. A new gold field having been discovered and taken up some twenty miles below the ferry, Captain Long thought it right to warn the miners that an Indian war had broken out, and called for six volunteers to join him and go down to the mine with that intention. Wishing to see as much as possible of "life in the woods," I made one of the party, and, crossing the river next morning in the scow, we rode down the valley, and about noon passed a cluster of deserted wigwams. In two hours more we came upon a camp of three white men, and a group of five Indians, one holding a horse, and all with axes and tomahawks, horse and all said by the white men to have been stolen from them. We at once seized the plunder and returned it to the white men, while the plunderers, boiling with rage, each drew an arrow from his quiver, placed it across his bow, and rotated it towards us in the most determined manner, and, as they were only a dozen yards off, I felt rather uncomfortable, recollecting as I did the very formidable weapons with which I had become familiar on the Stanislaus. We remained mounted, rifle in hand, ready for the fray, but fortunately our tawny foes backed from us, still facing us, bow in hand, until they got a hundred yards off, when they faced about and disappeared behind the trees of the open forest extending all round us. I could not help admiring the fine physique and manly courage of this little band of warriors. One of them, a mere lad of 19 or 20 years, wore a covering of wolfskin on his head, which was said to be a badge of honor as a son of a chief of the tribe, and well he acted up to his distinguished position by keeping nearer to us and looking more furiously determined than any of the others. It was now within a couple of hours of sunset, so, turning our horses out to graze, we joined camp with the three white men, and remained there for the night. The sky was beautifully clear, and the moon lit up the surrounding forests, and, when my turn came to mount solitary guard (which we all did by turns, owing to our small number), I took care to keep as much as possible in the shadow of the surrounding trees. Having closely studied Fenimore Cooper in my boyish days, I, of course, fully expected a representative of "Uncas, the Last of the Mohicans" to come crawling along the ground in the disguise of a bear or a wolf, spring upon and scalp me ere I had time to call up my companions, or even pull the trigger of my revolver. Nothing of the kind, however, happened to any of us, and my surprise was therefore great when, in the morning, just as we were saddling up to start for the gold diggings, a yell echoed through the forest, and, looking in the direction whence it came, we beheld a band of about twenty warriors coming down upon us in open file from tree to tree, "with bended bow and quiver full of arrows." Their shouts of defiance and gestures of contempt as they approached us were highly impressive, and we stood for several minutes, bridle in hand, facing our foes, but, somewhat to my surprise, taking no steps to check their advance. At length, when they came nearly within range, and we expected a shower of arrows to drop among us, I thought our gallant captain would issue the order "Mount and charge." But, fortunately, he was too well versed in Indian warfare to do anything so rash, and the first order was for two of the men with whom we had camped to stay and guard the horses. The next was "Go at them, boys; spread out in line, advance from tree to tree, don't fire unless you can make cock-sure." This order we obeyed, and in a minute were in the thick of the fight. Numbers of arrows came flying past the trees behind which we sheltered, answered by the occasional ping, ping of a rifle from us. Ere long I noticed with dismay that the report of rifles was not confined to our side, and a bullet hitting a small tree behind which I stood, within a few inches of my shoulder, was to me a very convincing proof that our foes were also provided with firearms, probably part of the spoils robbed from the overland immigrants murdered by them. The skirmish had not lasted more than ten or fifteen minutes before I saw the young chief and two more of our plucky foes tumble over and bite the dust. Then the rest began to change their advance into a retreat, first slowly from tree to tree, but soon the retreat ended in a rout, and they disappeared across a valley, leaving their slain comrades on the battlefield. I noticed from the beginning of the fight that the young chief with his wolfskin headgear, who had defied us so boldly the day before, took the lead, and exposed himself in the rashest manner when stepping out from behind the trees to launch his arrows at us. Indeed, the only chance one had of hitting any of them was by "snap-shooting" when they did this, and luckily some of our party were well practiced in the art, or our scalps would soon have decorated the entrances of wigwams. For my part, I never could hit anything with a bullet unless I could take steady aim at the object, so on this occasion the only service I rendered my party was helping to extend our line, and thus prevent our enemies from outflanking us by their superior numbers. It grieved me sadly to see these fine-looking and brave savages laid low, but they were the aggressors, and we had to fight to defend our lives. With the end of the affair I was somewhat disgusted. One of our backwood companions drew his bowie knife, and cut a small piece of skin, about the size of a crown piece, from the heads of the defunct "braves." These he fixed high up on the sides of his bridle, leaving the tufts of long hair waving in the breeze as he rode along. This was, I thought, closely verging on barbarism, but knowing that remonstrance would be treated with contempt, I held my tongue. That afternoon we rode on to the gold diggings, and warned the miners to be on their guard, and the next day, after fording the river across to its north side, with the water well up on our pommels, and rifles held well in air, we returned to the ferry and rejoined our main guard.
    During the next day or two expeditions which were sent out to scour the neighborhood captured some squaws and papooses, and brought them into camp, where they were well fed and kindly treated, but detained as hostages. At dusk one night, a squaw who (guarded by me and another man) went down to the river to fetch a can of water, plunged into the stream, disappeared, and was seen no more, though we rushed down the river bank for some distance, expecting to recapture her. She must have been a good diver, and I was not sorry that the poor creature managed to make her escape. Affairs were now beginning to get somewhat slow. Watching the horses by day when grazing, and the constant sentry work by night, was becoming rather monotonous, when one evening we were a good deal enlivened by the arrival of half a dozen footmen, and one man on horseback, who had an arrowhead firmly embedded in one of his legs. The story told by these men was as follows:--Three days before they had left the ferry on their way to Shasta, in charge of a large train of pack animals, and on the second night had camped about fifteen miles from the ferry, near a cluster of underwood. In the morning, when they were all busy loading the pack animals, with no one on guard, a large number of Indians had rushed out of the copse with fearful yells, and sent a shower of arrows towards them, but from such a distance that no one was hurt. The men were scattered all over the camp, and so were their rifles, so a panic seized them, and all but one made their escape on foot with all convenient speed. The one exception was the man in charge, whose horse was in his hand, and so was his rifle. Springing into the saddle, he alone charged the enemy, but the brave "sauvages" held their ground, sent several arrows at him, and one of them hit him, as related above. A good many others gave him a rather "close shave," so he faced about, and, galloping after his fugitive comrades, tried to persuade them to turn and reconquer the camp. But none of them being mounted, and nearly all of them without arms save an odd revolver or two, they point blank refused, and all scuttled back to the ferry as rapidly as their legs would carry them. Early next morning Captain Long called for twenty volunteers to go with him, and try what could be done to recover the spoils, and punish the robbers. We pushed on as quickly as possible, and on arriving at the now deserted camp I found that it was on the very spot where my party and I had camped about a fortnight before, and the copse which had sheltered the Indians surrounded the spring where we had watered our horses. The scene presented by this camp was very impressive, because the Indians, not understanding how to pack and load the goods, had contented themselves by driving off all the animals, loaded and unloaded, leaving the rest of the spoils spread round in dire confusion, bags of flour, sugar, and coffee ripped open, and their contents emptied on the ground, also cases of brandy and champagne, boxes of tobacco and cigars, tins of sardines, and other luxuries too numerous to mention, which had evidently not been appreciated by the Indians, but were very highly appreciated by us. Seating ourselves, therefore, in the midst of these tempting spoils, we indulged in the most luxurious and splendid repast that had fallen to our (or at least to my) lot for many months, and it was washed down by bumpers of the sparkling beverage, quaffed from tin pots. We then soothed our ruffled feelings by enjoying a whiff of cigar or tobacco smoke, and while these pleasing duties were being performed, our patient and somewhat weary nags were, under strict guard, enjoying an hour's rest, and feeding luxuriously on the fine prairie grass around us. I never doubted that when all this was accomplished our captain would lead us on the tracks of the robbers, endeavor to recover the spoils, and punish them for their misdeeds. But after short deliberation it was decided that, as the Indians had more than twenty-four hours' start of us, and had evidently retired into the range of mountains skirting the prairies on the west, it was useless to attempt pursuing them, and it was resolved that we should return to the ferry, which we reached at a late hour the same night. I was not proud of the result of this little episode, but the strong sense of discipline that has always been a marked trait in my character prevented me from remonstrating with our gallant leader, who had an excuse for acting as he did, in the fact that we hourly expected the arrival of the before-mentioned detachment of the Oregon Rifles, and wished to be fresh and fit to join them when they came.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XXI.--(Continued.)

    A few days after this exciting adventure we were cheered by the arrival of Lieutenant Russell, my friend and host of Fort Vancouver, who told us that the Rifles were not coming to the ferry, because Major Kearny, who was in command, had heard that the Indian plunderers and murderers were encamped in the upper valley of the Rogue River, and he had therefore quitted the road and turned off eastward, expecting, by adopting this plan, to come upon them more quickly, and take them by surprise. Lieutenant Russell informed Captain Long that the Major wished him to lead his men up the valley, and join the Rifles in their intended attack on the Indian encampment, which was reported to be occupied by a formidable host of well-armed savages. We at once cheerfully obeyed, broke up camp, and started for the upper Rogue Valley, but our progress was slow, as we took with us our prisoners, the squaws and papooses, who, poor creatures, could not travel quickly, so it was two days ere we reached the part of the valley occupied by the Rifles, and on joining them a sad tale greeted us. They had the day before suddenly dropped upon the Indian encampment, but instead of dismounting and attacking it in the skirmishing fashion of the backwoods, they charged home, drove the Indians out of camp, and followed the fugitives, scattering them in all directions. Many of the redskins, finding escape impossible, turned round, and at close quarters let fly their arrows at the pursuers, wounded several men and horses, and Captain Stuart, the second in command, who led the charge, was struck by an arrow in the side, and fell, mortally wounded. The camp and its contents, including many squaws and papooses, fell into the hands of the victors, but it was a dearly bought victory. Poor Stuart, a very handsome and gentlemanly young fellow, whom I had met at Vancouver, died in a few hours, and was buried, with a hollowed-out log for coffin, in the middle of the camp which was formed that evening, and where we joined the Rifles a day too late. A large fire was lit on top of the grave, to prevent the Indians from finding it after we left, and the body was, I believe, afterwards exhumed and removed to North Carolina, Captain Stuart's native state. On arrival at the headquarters camp we "regulars" rode up to Major Kearny's tent and reported ourselves, and for some reason, to me unknown, he selected me to act as his aide-de-camp, and keep up communication between the regulars and irregulars by carrying his commands to the latter. Probably this honor was conferred on me because I had been introduced to him at Fort Vancouver.
    Though most of the country around us was open prairie, there were a good many small streams, affluents of the Rogue River, with patches of thickly timbered country on their banks, and in these the Indians had taken refuge. Shortly after we had joined the Rifles, his excellency the Governor of Oregon, made his appearance on the scene, on horseback, and accompanied by half a dozen mounted attendants. The news of the Indian war had reached him at Oregon City, the seat of government, and he had made way to the scene of action, hoping to open negotiations with the enemy and persuade them to arrange a treaty of peace. The day after his arrival, he and Major Kearny on horseback, with about a dozen mounted attendants (I being one of them), were clustered about fifty yards from the edge of one of these thickly timbered belts, and the leaders were discussing the best way for opening friendly communication with the enemy. Not an Indian had been seen since the engagement three days before, and not a sound was audible from the thicket, until suddenly a whizzing noise reached our ears, and about a dozen arrows dropped around us, but fortunately they had been shot so high in the air to make them reach us that they fell around us nearly spent, and no one was hurt. In an instant we wheeled our steeds round with tails to the foe, and pushed them into a smart trot, until another fifty yards were added to our distance from the timber. We then wheeled round again and faced the enemy, rifle in hand, but not one of them appeared, and after waiting for them some time in vain, the Governor and our leader jogged quietly back to the Rifles' camp, followed by their retinue. In a few minutes the Major called me to his tent, and ordered me to ride to the camp of Captain Long, a quarter of a mile off, and request the gallant captain to march his force to the other side of the timber, dismount, form an open skirmishing line, charge on foot into the timber, and drive the Indians out of it, when they would be dealt with by the Mounted Rifles. Following the usages of war, when the order-bearing aide-de-camp always takes his place with the attacking force, I dismounted with the rest, and, leaving our horses in charge of a dozen men, we formed line and advanced into the thickly timbered belt, forcing our way through strips of underwood, and scrambling over huge logs, the remains of defunct pine trees, that lay scattered about. For a time all was quiet, but when we had penetrated into the cover about a hundred yards, we were enlivened by hearing the whizz of sundry arrows passing over our heads, though not an Indian could be seen by any of us. The arrows became more abundant as we advanced, and presently an immensely tall Kentuckian next to me, whose head reached above the thick underwood, was hit by one just above the temple. Luckily it struck him in a slanting direction, and did not penetrate the skull, only ripping a great gash, from which the blood flowed freely. We made him sit down on a log, and one of us tied a handkerchief tightly over the wound, and thus stanched the bleeding. While this was being done a small man, more than a head below the Kentuckian in height, remarked: "Waal, stranger, I reckon it's lucky you warn't higher, or I guess that arrow would have hit you in the throat, and hurt you a darned sight more." As the wounded man was at least 6 ft. 6 in. in height this remark was received with a hearty laugh, and then we reformed line, and again moved on. In a few minutes a man next but one from me had his powder horn smashed by an arrow. The horn was fastened to his belt, and therefore I "reckoned" that, had it not been for the horn, the arrow would have passed right through the man, and finished him off. That arrow must have made its way through a gap in the underwood. On and on we went, and as we approached the edge of the timber on the side opposite where we had entered, the arrows ceased, and we emerged on the open country close to the rifle camp, but, though there had been several narrow escapes from being hit by arrows, not an Indian had we seen, and not a shot had we fired. A dry, sandy watercourse passed through the timber belt, and the Indians must have escaped by hiding in it, and making a rush to one side or other before we reached it.
    Soon after this little affair, we were joined by another detachment of irregulars from Shasta, and, backed by them, were engaged in several skirmishes in the thickets, moving our camps from day to day in the Shasta direction, but the only result of our warfare was the capture of more squaws and papooses, of whom the numbers now reached to more than fifty, and they, as well as the camps and horses, had to be guarded every [day] and all night by men placed about twenty yards apart, and promenading backwards and forwards outside the line of camp. I noticed that Major Kearny never allowed his men to enter the wooded country on foot, but kept them mounted on the outskirts of the timber, while we irregulars stormed it, and tried to expel the Indians. This was probably because he feared that more losses would be inflicted on his men if they entered the timber, whereas in the open country, while keeping outside arrow range, though within rifle range, very small risk was incurred. The death of Captain Stuart had been a severe blow to the Major, and he seemed determined not to incur the risk of further losses among his force. All this time I was performing my "orderly aide de camp" duties, and, having sometimes to ride for miles over stony prairies, my poor little unshod mustang got very footsore, and half knocked up. As long as he could run faster than an Indian, I did not mind this much, but at last he got so used up that I was sure the Indians could easily run me down and finish me off if I happened to come across any when taking my solitary rides from camp to camp. This disagreeable reflection haunted me a good deal, and now it was that I regretted having sent away our spare horse to be given to Mackay (as relatedabove). If Major  Kearny could have lent me a fresh mount, and given me some provisions, I would have stood by him till the sauvage campaign was brought to a close, but on my making a respectful application for those two things--horse and food--he greatly regretted that not a spare horse was in his possession, and the only provisions he could give me (as he had given to us all for some time) was fresh beef, supplied from a small herd of oxen brought with his force from Oregon. My supply of flour, biscuits, and coffee was nearly exhausted, and I could not well exist on beef alone, so I had regretfully to resign my post of honor, and after bidding a cordial farewell to my kind and gallant one-armed chief and his officers, as well as Captain Long and my brother irregulars, I set off in company with about twenty others across the prairies to the Shasta road, where in two days I again joined my friends Sinclair and Fogg, and my acquaintance Lindo. This individual was absent from camp on some outpost duty when I returned. After I had received hearty greetings from Sinclair and Fogg, the latter took me aside, and asked me whether I would prefer to part with him, or Lindo. He (Fogg) had determined not to continue in partnership with Lindo one single day longer, as he had kept up a constant bickering during my absence, and that morning had indulged in very strong language, and finished by threatening assault and battery. I had noticed that, during the first part of our journey, Lindo had done all he could to prejudice me against Fogg. Failing in that, he tried in vain to set Fogg against me, and had now brought affairs to a crisis by abusing my friend, one of the best-tempered and gentlest of men. When Lindo returned to camp, I received him with cold politeness, and asked him to explain his conduct. He did so in a very unsatisfactory manner, and I at once told him of my determination to expel him from our partnership. His rage was intense, and his language emphatic, but I kept cool and firm, and at once proceeded to divide our horses and other belongings as nearly as possible into three equal parts. Of these Lindo had his choice, and then we parted, with a hope on my side that we might never meet again. I had never liked him much. He was rude and overbearing to the weak, and sneakingly subservient to the strong. He had been a sailor, in command of a trader between the Mauritius and Mozambique, and gave himself airs corresponding to the exalted position he had occupied. Soon after this Fogg-Lindo difficulty was arranged we broke up camp and resumed our march towards Shasta.
    Before proceeding further, I may as well mention what was the result of the Indian war in which I had cut so brilliant a figure! The government tried in vain to open negotiations with the savage foe, and, as Major Kearny was running short of supplies, he soon determined to continue his march towards California, taking all his squaw and papoose hostages with him. After he had passed Shasta township, he was overtaken by messengers from the Governor, who informed him that the Indians, fearing they might never again behold their wives and children, had yielded, and agreed to keep the peace in future, if their dear ones were returned to them. This wasagreed to, and Major Kearny, delighted no doubt to get rid of them, at once sent them back to their friends. This treaty of peace did not extend very far, or last very long. Murder, plunder, and outrage soon began again, and continued without intermission during my sojourn in that district, and years after I left I read in the newspapers that a fierce war still raged in these parts, the Indians having taken up a position in some broken country, full of canyons and caves, near Klamath Lake, from which the U.S. troops tried, for a long time in vain, to expel them. And now to resume our journey.
    The irregulars, who, like myself, had deserted the gallant Major, now made up our party to some fifty or sixty, and we performed the rest of our journey to Shasta in about a week, in perfect security. At our first night's camp, I heard a group of men close beside us talking loudly, and noticed that one of them spoke with a strong foreign accent, which reminded me of the Copenhagen "burr." After listening for some time with great interest, I heard the man say something like "I did go to find my horse, men I could see him novare," and presently this was followed by "I did tink there vas plenty of vater, men dere vase not von drop." This convinced me that I was listening to a Dane, so, strolling over to the group, I kept up a general conversation with the men for a while, then quietly said to the Dane "Er du Dansk?" Looking at me with surprise, he answered in English, "Yes, I am a Dane, men how did you find it out?" On telling him how I had become acquainted with his native tongue, and had recognized its tone when I heard him speak, we soon got into friendly conversation in English, and he explained to me that, though born in Copenhagen, he had been so many years in the English naval service, both man-of-war and merchant, that he had almost forgotten how to speak Danish, though he still understood it tolerably well. He had come to Oregon in an American merchantman, had deserted, bought a horse, and started for Shasta. Though he spoke with a strong Danish accent, he could express himself fluently in English, and the only peculiarity in his talk was that "men" was constantly substituted for "but." He and I became very friendly while traveling together, and after arriving at Shasta township, though our party broke up, we met occasionally in the streets. Fogg and I pitched our tent in a small valley where there were some deserted diggings, about half a mile from the township, and here we worked hard for some days, earning scarcely enough gold to pay for the bare necessaries of life.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XXII.

    It was now the beginning of the month of July, 1851. This I know, because a day or two after our arrival the air resounded with the reports of rifles, the fizzing of squibs and crackers, and the shouting and singing of American patriots, in celebration of Independence Day, the 4th of July. The numerous flagstaffs that raised their heads aloft in every Californian city and township were now gaily decorated with the "star-spangled banner," and crowds of vocalists expressed their desire that
In this patriotic ditty I had often joined most heartily, but sometimes had ventured to suggest to my American friends (when I knew them intimately, and was sure there were no revolvers and bowie knives around) that "the home of the slave" ought to be substituted for "the home of the brave." This was long before the emancipation of the Southern niggers had been accomplished, as one of the results of the war between North and South.
    On this occasion Fogg and I did not join in the independence jubilation. Owing to the poor results of our labors, we were not in a very exalted frame of mind, and in the course of a few days, when our horses had enjoyed a rest, we determined to strike camp, and once more start in quest of "diggings new." Just as we were on the point of carrying out this resolve, who should suddenly appear one fine morning but my Danish friend, mounted, and accompanied by five others, all equipped with spade, pan, and pick. With great excitement he informed me that he had just been told by a friend that splendid new diggings had been discovered eight miles from Shasta township. He went on to say that he and the others were just going to this new El Dorado on a prospecting expedition, and if I cared to join them, he would get his friends to admit me into the partnership. To this I willingly agreed, on condition that my friend Fogg should also be allowed to become a partner, and, this being arranged, I at once got hold of my mustang, seized pan and shovel, and, leaving Fogg to guard our camp, went off with the others to explore this newfound golden placer.
    Crossing a range of hills towards the west, we descended into a deep valley, through which a good-sized brook wended its way northward towards the Klamath River. The water was a foot and a half deep, and into it we stepped, shovel and pan in hand. Pushing aside the stones that lay on top of the gravel forming the bed of the brook, we dug into it, filled our pans, washed them out, and, joy of joys! there was a glorious gleam of pure gold at the bottom of almost every pan. We made this experiment in several places with the same result, and came to the conclusion that, when the prospects were so good near the surface, the gold should be very abundant on the bedrock, because the surface gold, though fine, was not flaky like that of the Stanislaus bars, and therefore had not, like it, been brought down from golden gulches near the sources of the river, miles away.
    After spending about an hour in this prospecting business, we stepped ashore, measured off a claim for eight men, extending several hundred yards along the banks of the stream, returned hastily to our camps, struck tents, and moved all our belongings to the edge of this promising placer. Early next morning we set to work with energy, dug a race along the side of the stream, built a dam across it, turned off the water, dug down to the bedrock, and the result exceeded our most sanguine expectations. The gravel became richer and richer as we got deeper, and when we reached the rock, we found the clay in its crevices and pockets teeming with the purest and coarsest gold I had ever beheld. The bedrock sometimes rose nearly to the top of the gravel, and sometimes descended 6 ft. or 8 ft. below it, and the richness of the crevices in the slopes of the rock, especially those facing downstream, was perfectly marvelous.
    Encouraged by these (literally) brilliant results, we worked and toiled on for weeks and weeks, and pretty hard work it was. Huge and heavy boulders sometimes blocked our way, and these had to be loosened, rolled backward downstream with levers, and on their top were piled masses of smaller stones, forming a barrier in our rear, reaching sometimes to a height of 4 ft. or 6 ft. When the bedrock dipped, a pool of water was formed, which had to be bailed out every morning before pick and shovel work could be begun, and the bailing often lasted a couple of hours, and had to be continued by some of us all day, often including the dinner hour. Then, at some parts of our claim, the bed of the stream was bounded on both sides by precipitous rocks, where no race to carry off the water could be dug, and then huge pine trees had to be felled with axes. Americans are grand axmen, and I never saw a crosscut saw among them. The trees were crosscut into logs, which were scooped out, elevated on a stage made of saplings, and converted into substitutes for a race to carry off the water. While this went on, the gold-digging had, of course, to be suspended, and this reduced our daily average of profits very considerably, but still they were not to be sneezed at. I, being the tallest man of the party, generally performed the "long tom" work, which suited me admirably, as it was done by standing upright at the lower end of the sloping wooden trough called by that name, and, with long-handled shovel in hand, throwing all the gravel that was too coarse to pass through the perforated iron plate at the lower end onto the top of the bank, often some 3 ft. or 4 ft. above my head, and I had to keep a bright lookout lest a golden nugget should be hidden among the gravel. It once happened that so heavy a nugget was amongst the pailful of stuff emptied into the top of the "long tom," that the jet of water was not strong enough to wash it down, so I went and picked it up, and held it triumphantly aloft in view of my toiling companions, who stopped work for a moment and gazed at it with marked satisfaction. But besides taking my share in this manual labor, I filled an honorable (and honorary) post which did not suit me nearly so well as the "skin and hair" work. By the unanimous vote of my companions I had been appointed treasurer of the company, and the duties of my exalted office consisted in taking charge of the proceeds of the day's work, which were each evening weighed in the presence of my co-mates, put into a large chamois leather bag, and placed in my charge, the amount being noted on a sheet of paper. On Sunday morning when the week's work was over, the total was added up, and each man's share was weighed out to him. On one occasion, the weight was several ounces short, and I insisted on deducting the amount from my share. Some of my American friends afterwards hinted to me quietly that "Charlie the Dane" had appropriated it, as the bag was generally left in our tent, hidden under my bedclothes, and he, being one of my tentmates, could easily get at it. But I did not believe it, and declined his generous offer to bear half of the loss. I was almost sure it was caused by a mistake in weighing the gold into the pouch at night, as this was often done in semi-darkness, with the "lantern dimly burning." I took care, however, after this lesson, to carry the pouch in my pocket when small, and deposit it during the day among the stones within easy view on the bank of the stream when too heavy to be pocketed.
    One great drawback of "Humbug Gulch" (why so called I know not) was the complete absence of grass, caused probably by the poverty of the soil, and the close growth of timber, the branches overhead nearly intercepting the sun's rays. Our horses could, therefore, not be kept near us, and were sent to a ranch several miles beyond Shasta township, near the foot of the mountain of that name, where, on payment of a weekly fee, they were herded by day, and shut up by night in a "corral," to save them from being "stampeded" by the Indians. The consequence was, that for several weeks we had to carry every ounce of provisions (save beef) from the township on our backs. The first time it fell to my lot to perform this duty, one of my co-mates and I stayed in the township all night, after having purchased our supplies, and stored them in a tent ready for removal next morning. After this was accomplished, we strolled around, and presently entered a huge gambling tent, owned by (say) Mr. Smith, the alcalde (magistrate) of the township, and here we remained for some time watching with great interest the exciting game of monte. There were about a dozen separate gambling tables, placed along the side of the tent, with a passage some ten feet wide between them. Running up the middle and across the top of this passage was "the bar," covered with bottles and glasses, and behind it, elevated on a stage, was a band of musicians, composed of two fiddlers, a flautist, and a cornet-à-pistons player. Their favorite melodies were "Hail Columbia," Star-spangled Banner," "Yankee Doodle," and other patriotic American melodies, varied occasionally by waltzes, galops, and the lively Mexican melody "Santa Anna's March," "Vamos a Santa Ana," "Chiquita Pantalona," &c. To these I stood and listened with delight for some fifteen minutes, surrounded by scores of miners, busily engaged in gambling, drinking, and boisterous conversation. Suddenly the harmony of the meeting was interrupted by a dispute carried on across one of the gambling tables by an American gambler on one side and a Mexican betting man on the other. The dispute was about some coins claimed by both men, and the Mexican clutched hold of them, and was rising to leave the table, when out came the other man's revolver, and was snapped at the Mexican's head, but missed fire. The gambler then sprang up and put his foot on the table to jump over it, when the Mexican drew his bowie knife, and thrust it through the calf of the gambler's leg, and down he fell. A rush of all the gamblers now took place, and they pulled their revolvers in various directions at the Mexican's friends and countrymen, which caused lanes to be formed in the crowd, and cries were heard of "Darn ye, don't shoot this way." At last they seized the Mexican culprit, flung him on the ground, and proceeded to knock him about, when up rushed Mr. Smith, the magistrate and owner of the tent, exclaiming in a tone of gentle remonstrance: "Say, boys, don't kill the darned greaser in my tent. If yez want to kill him, take him outside." Then, turning suddenly to the bandsmen (who had ceased playing when the row broke out), he shook his clenched fist at them, and yelled. "Darn yez, why d'ye stop playin'? Play on, or I'll bust up every one of yez." This command was at once obeyed. The band struck up "Hail, Columbia, Happy Land" (probably), and at the same moment in rushed half a dozen Mexicans, and, seizing their now insensible countryman, carried him off to one of their own tents. The gamblers (all except the bowie-knifed one) returned to their tables, and resumed their card-shuffling with perfect coolness. When darkness came on, I retired to the trading tent, where my goods and chattels were collected, and the owner making a shakedown for me on the floor, I turned in, with bags of flour piled up around me, to ward off any stray bullets that might be "coursing around" from revolvers, of which I heard several reports during the night. The Mexican, I believe, recovered, and I had the satisfaction of seeing the gambler hopping about on a crutch a month after the battle was fought. This all happened on a Sunday, the favorite trading, gambling, drinking, and fighting day in primitive California; it was the first, and I think the last, Sunday I spent in Shasta township. The professional gambler was the only class of American I detested.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XXII.--(Continued.)

    The population of Humbug Gulch soon increased when the report of its richness spread abroad; gambling and diggers' tents were pitched in dozens all round us, every inch of the Gulch was claimed by enterprising diggers, and the necessity for "humping" our supplies from the township ceased. Our existence here was agreeable enough while the fine, mild summer continued, but when October came, the temperature of both air and water began to get uncomfortably low. My poor friend, Fogg, had to cease work on account of a bad hurt to one of his hands, and he sold his share of our claim to an American doctor, and left for San Francisco. In November the nights became bitterly cold, and my Danish friend, Charlie, two of our partners, and I joined together, and invested in a log cabin that had been built near our claim. We struck our tents and moved into it in the nick of time, as a heavy fall of snow set in in a few days after, and it covered the ground to a depth of some inches. When the weather was fine, we carried on our work from dawn to dark, but the water was now bitterly cold, and wading into it in the morning, and spending an hour or more in bailing it out with tin buckets, was work that did not suit my tastes and habits, and I was not much grieved when bad weather confined us within the walls of our log hut, with a blazing fire in the the open chimney, spreading warmth and comfort around us. On these occasions our time was generally passed by my companions doing odd jobs of carpentering, mending tools, darning stockings, and patching clothes, while I read aloud to them every book we could lay our hands on. I have never forgotten the intense interest with which they listened to any of Dickens' works I could get hold of, especially David Copperfield, the reading of which, by the light of pitch-pine slips, sometimes kept them wide awake long past midnight.
    When work went on, I was always ready to take my share in it, and also of the golden harvest it produced, until a violent pain seized my side and shoulder, and so severe was it that I could not draw a long breath, and sometimes not a short one, without great pain. I had to lay up, and fight hard against this affliction for some days, but, failing to shake it off, I made up my mind to sell my share, and start for San Francisco, en route for the "auld countree," no easy thing to do, now that the spurs of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, which I had to cross on the way, were covered with a considerable depth of snow. But the refrain I had often heard sung by miners,
now rang so constantly through my brain that I determined to face, and if possible overcome, all difficulties, and so began to prepare for a start, by first disposing of my share in our claim and log cabin to my partners at a very low figure, and then getting a Swedish sailor friend to make for me a broad canvas belt and subdivide it into half a dozen different compartments, into which I put my golden store, secured in a dozen separate chamois-leather purses, carefully stitched into each compartment, the whole belt being strapped round my waist, supported from my shoulders by a pair of canvas suspenders, and the whole carefully hidden from public view by a loose-fitting blue flannel shirt, and outside all a thick, baggy, serge pea jacket. All this trouble had to be taken because no safe mode of remitting gold, or even sending letters by post, had as yet been established at this, the most outlying gold field yet opened. The full weight of gold in the belt was about 15 lbs., not all my own unfortunately, as Dr. ------, Fogg's successor, asked me as a favor to take 1 lb. to a brother of his in the United States, and Sinclair had sent me a quantity of goods from Portland to be sold on his account, and the proceeds, about [omission] lbs. of gold, had now to be carried in my belt to San Francisco, which reduced my own total to 12 lbs., besides what I pocketed in chamois purses to pay expenses on the way. Thus burdened, I mounted a borrowed horse, took cordial leave of my brother diggers, and, accompanied by two men whose acquaintance I had made, Karl Hansen, a Norwegian sailor, who had almost forgotten his native language, and an American friend of his, started through the snow for Shasta township, where we stayed overnight, stabling our horses, and feeding them liberally with hay and barley. At daylight next morning I rose, and found myself suffering from a violent attack of lumbago, so I shuffled into a tent occupied by an American druggist, to whom I stated my case. "You come back, stranger, in twenty minutes, and I reckon I'll make you all square in about no time!" I obeyed orders, and saw, on entering the tent, a large piece of basil skin, covered with a thick coating of adhesive plaster, simmering before the fire. "You strip, stranger," was the word of command. I obeyed, and in an instant felt the blazing hot application clapped on my back, with the exclamation in answer to my yell: "Waal, now I reckon you'll do." I paid my fee of half an ounce, and soon found that my medicine was quite right. In a few minutes the seething hot plaster cooled, the basil skin stiffened, and lumbago I felt no more for many a day. My two companions and I now mounted and set off through the snow for the ranch, where my horse had been left, and on asking for him and producing my receipt, I was informed that he had been taken by the owner of the ranch and a party of men to go in pursuit of a band of Indians, who had the day before made a swoop on the horse herd, and scampered off with about twenty of them to the mountains. "But," added my informant, greatly to my relief, "I have got a spare horse, and I reckon I don't want to keep you a-waitin', so you can take him instead of your own." To this I graciously consented, more especially when I noticed that my new Bucephalus was of United States breed, with English blood in his veins, and not a native mustang, like the little nags I had brought from Oregon. These are good-tempered, hardy, and enduring creatures, but destitute of the pluck and dash of the well-bred U.S. and English horse. We tied our horses in a shed and remained at the ranch all night, reposing comfortably on the floor before a huge log fire, and at daylight mounted and set off again towards Mount Shasta, which loomed before us like a gigantic snow-clad pyramid, its summit 7000 ft. above the country we traveled over, and it was 7000 ft. above sea level. Painfully (for our horses) and slowly we made our way by a tortuous and narrow track through the snow, which, as we gradually ascended the hills, increased in depth. The country was nearly quite open, and a more dismal prospect than those miles of snow-covered prairies I never beheld. On both sides of the track we often saw small heaps of snow covering dead mules, which had perished from fatigue, starvation, and cold, when bringing stores from the Sacramento Valley to these elevated regions.
    About noon we saw coming towards us a long string of pack mules, slowly shambling along and groaning piteously. We quitted the narrow track to let them pass, and made our way through the snow as best we could, no easy task for our horses. Several Mexicans and Sonorans were scattered along the line, looking after the mules and urging them forward, and at last a white man appeared bringing up the rear. What was my amazement when, on coming close to him, I recognized my friend Charles Edward Fogg! Each stared at the other, stopped, shouted "Hullo, Fogg!" "Hullo, Archer!" and shook hands most cordially. After a few queries about our mutual friends, Fogg said: "I am awfully glad we have met, as I have a big bundle of letters for you, given me by Montefiore and Burgoyne." Jumping off his horse and wading through the snow, he caught the mule that carried his personal traps, and unrolled a packet, which he handed to me. He then told me an adventure that had befallen him on his way down to 'Frisco after leaving me. He was in charge of a loose and unladen lot of mules on their way down country, belonging to a man named Stevenson, a Scotchman, who was unwell, and had stayed behind at Shasta City. Fogg had proceeded with his charge some few miles from there, when three Americans came galloping after him, rounded up the mules, seized one, which they claimed as theirs, accused Fogg of stealing it, put a lariat (leather rope) round his neck, and passed the other end over the limb of a tree, intending to lynch him. Just as they were proceeding to haul him up, he exclaimed: "Gentlemen, remember these mules are not mine, but belong to my friend Stevenson, an old hand on this road. I only took charge of them this morning; your mule I never saw before, and if you lynch me, you'll have to answer for it to Stevenson and his many friends." The effect of this harangue was that one of the men exclaimed: "Waal, boys, I reckon av it be so as them mules belong to Stevenson, we'd better wait hanging this man, and take him back to Shasta City to see if it be true as he says." This was done. On their arrival, Stevenson called on the alcalde and his many friends to hold a meeting, and the case was tried, with the result that some wanted to flog Fogg's assailants, and some only to banish them from the diggings. The latter sentence was carried out; the men were banished at an hour's notice. Fogg returned in triumph to the mules, and went on his way with them to the head of navigation of the Sacramento, where he left them, and took steamer for 'Frisco. Stevenson's illness continued, and it was the same band of mules Fogg had charge of when I met him. After the recital of this little adventure we parted with mutual regret, and never met again. Some twenty years later I saw two sisters of his at Gracemere, who told me that he had been killed in a fight in California, and they thought, therefore, that he was ill-tempered and quarrelsome. I was glad to be able to assure them that I had never known a better-tempered and more gentlemanly man in all my experience. Fogg had been in Buenos Aires for some years before he went to California, so his sisters had not seen him since they were children.
    That night we camped in the snow, close to the base of Mount Shasta, which in the twilight loomed above us like a huge Alpine glacier, until darkness came on, when it and all else outside the glare of our great log fire vanished from our view. By the firelight I opened and read the letters, the first home or colonial ones I had received for nearly a year, so I need hardly say that I devoured their contents with intense interest and enjoyment. The only ones I now recollect were one from my brother Colin, announcing his arrival at 'Frisco, and one from Charlie, telling me that nothing had been heard of me for many months, and ordering me to return at once to Australia. Enclosed in it was a draft bill for £50, to pay my fare and expenses, and this, coming as it did from my firm of C. and T.A., I gratefully accepted, and on arrival at 'Frisco cashed it, and added its value to the proceeds of my golden store.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XXIII.--(Continued.)

    Around the camp our poor nags, nearly up to their knees in snow, were tied to trees, their only food being two or three quarts of barley, supplied to each of them from a bag of that article brought with us on our pack horse. We slept comfortably on a waterproof sheet spread on the snow, and the only anxiety we felt was lest another heavy fall should descend from the gloomy mass overhead. This, had it occurred, would have placed us in a very awkward predicament, but dawn came without that misfortune befalling us, and after partaking of a frugal breakfast of biscuit, jerky, and coffee, made with water produced by melting the snow, we saddled up and proceeded on our way, generally tramping on foot along the narrow track, and leading the horses. Heavy masses of clouds still loomed overhead, so, fearing a fresh fall, we trudged along without camping until towards evening, when to our great relief we began to descend, and at dark found ourselves halfway down the steep range of hills forming one side of the Sacramento Valley. Here, thanks to our having reached a lower altitude, the snow had begun to melt, and lay in great patches on the mountainside, and between two of these we camped on dear old mother earth, which, though cold and rather damp to sleep on, was pleasant to behold, after having been for a month invisible to us. I rather regretted, however, before morning, that we had not camped on the snow instead of beside it, for mother earth, besides being cold and damp, was rather hard to rest on, with only a waterproof and rug between her and the canvas belt full of lumpy gold bags that encircled my waist. But there I was determined it should remain day and night while on this road, as Indians were known to be prowling around, and a report had reached us that on a rainy and pitch-dark night, when, owing to the wet, Indian bows are useless, and people in camp are therefore apt to be careless in mounting guard, an Indian had sneaked quietly up to a sleeping man, and snatched from under his head a valise containing all his money, letters, and the invoices of his goods, and vanished with it into the darkness profound. This I was determined should not happen to my golden store, so I kept the belt strapped round me, only indulging in the luxury of easing the straps a little when lying down.
    At noon next day, after descending about a thousand feet, and gladly quitting the snow line, we arrived on the bank of the Sacramento, here a small but very rapid stream, which we crossed, the water reaching to our horses' knees. The track now led along the river, which wound its way through a deep and narrow gorge, bounded by high, rocky, and almost precipitous mountains. Soon the river ran close under one of these precipices, and we had again to cross it, the water being now broader, deeper, and still very rapid. The same feat had to be performed when we got a few miles further on, and this time it was somewhat risky, as the river was here much broader and deeper than above, and the bottom was full of large, slippery boulders, over which the water rushed with great force, and our horses scrambled and slid over them in a manner neither safe nor pleasant. I was greatly relieved when we found ourselves once more on dry land, as I knew very well that it would have been all over with me if my horse had fallen and launched me over his head, with the weight I carried, into the river, which, close below the crossing, rushed foaming over a rapid formed by huge rocks and boulders.
    We now camped, and while our nags were enjoying a pull at the coarse, tufty grass that grew straggling around us, we discussed matters, and determined to quit the valley and descend the range of mountains that formed its western boundary, thus avoiding the necessity of crossing the river again, which we would have to do several times if we followed it further. Besides, we had been told that the Indians had attacked and plundered some camps further down the valley, where mule trains were waiting for a fall in the river to enable them to cross it. To avoid these risks, we saddled up towards evening, and, leading our horses, continued to scramble up the mountains till dark, when we tied our nags to trees, and gave them their allowance of barley, but did not ourselves indulge in anything save a gnaw at dry biscuits, washed down with water from a sparkling brook that came bounding down the mountain, as we dared not light a fire to boil our "billy" lest the Indians should see it and favor us with a nocturnal visit. So steep was the mountainside on which we camped that each lay with our feet against a tree stem to prevent our sliding "doun the brae." At peep of day we again proceeded on our way, and, after a climb of about four hours, arrived at the mountaintop, where we came upon an old trail, and, turning to the south, followed it for a couple of days, skirting along the edge of the Sacramento Valley, and crossing numerous steep spurs and deep gulches, each of the latter conveying a stream of water into the river on our left. These two nights we camped without the luxury of a fire, for fear of the Indians. On the third day we ascended and followed a spur that gradually sloped down into the main valley, which had now become broader, and here we again struck the main mule track, which continued down the valley without crossing the river. Our unfortunate pack horse was by this time completely used up, so, transferring his load, now greatly reduced, in equal proportions to our own horses, we left the poor beast to his fate, which would probably be capture by the Indians, though not instant death, as he was too miserably scraggy to be tempting food.
    The road now led through a close undergrowth of chaparral, and while slowly winding our way through it, we caught several glimpses of the heads of Indians peering down upon us from the side of a hill some three hundred yards off. Bringing our arms to "the ready," we continued jogging slowly along without taking any notice of them, and the fact of their allowing us to see them showed that they were not intending to attack us. After passing through a thickly peopled gold-digging placer, we arrived late that night at Shasta City, and glad we were to exchange our weary journeyings by day, and sentry work by night, for a comfortable turn-in under the shelter of a large tent, pitched for the accommodation of travelers, and it was also very pleasant to see our wearied and jaded nags reveling in barley and abundance of prairie-grass hay. We now considered ourselves perfectly safe from Indian attacks, although we were told that a short time before an Indian had crept up one very dark night, and driven an arrow through the tent into the back of a man who was sitting inside with his face to the light and his shadow on the tent wall.
    Shasta City (why so called when situated so far from Mount Shasta, I know not) was a lively and populous place, and was the terminus of a wagon road leading to the head of navigation of the Sacramento River. After a day's rest I climbed onto the top of a four-horse, four-wheeled spring wagon, and started for a small township at the head of the Sacramento, after persuading my comrades, who preferred continuing the journey on horseback, to bring my horse with them down to Sacramento City. To this day I have not forgotten the delightful sensation of bowling along behind four fresh nags, driven by a first-rate coachman (as all Californian coachmen were). The contrast between this mode of progression and working one's way along on a wretched weary nag, or trudging on foot over snowy hills, precipitous mountains, swollen rivers, and deserts covered by dense underwood, was very striking and agreeable. In a couple of days we arrived at our destination, and here I stepped on board a small sternwheel steamer, which, drawing only about 2 ft. of water, carried us safely over various rapids and sand banks, until we passed the junction of the Yuba River, coming from the Sierra Nevada on the east, when the Sacramento developed into a wide river, and carried us through fine scenery rapidly down to Sacramento City. From here I took a paddlewheeled steamer which, running a neck-and-neck race with an opposition boat, brought us in about ten hours, at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, to the long wooden pier of San Francisco. This was the greatest speed at which I had ever traveled by water, as no colonial steamer could in those remote times (nor now, "I guess") be compared for speed to an American river boat.
    I lost no time in making my way to the office of my friends, Joe Montefiore and George Burgoyne, and the relief, both mental and bodily, that I experienced in unstrapping my canvas gold belt and depositing it in their gold safe, was intense. Then the enjoyment of taking a warm bath, and donning a complete suit of clean apparel, purchased at a slop-shop, can be appreciated only by those who, during a fortnight or more, have not indulged in such luxuries.
    Finding that my friends, Montefiore and Burgoyne, had mislaid the address of my brother, Colin, and not venturing to go home and face my parents without having seen him, I wrote to him, addressing the letter to Marysville, the post town to which he had desired his letters to be sent. After waiting a fortnight for an answer, and waiting in vain, I took a steamer to Sacramento, and proceeded thence to Marysville, situated on the Mary River, some distance above Sacramento. Here I inquired at the post office if the address of a person named Colin Archer was known to them. The postmaster "reckoned" that he knew nothing about such a person, "but here," he continued, "is a letter that has been waiting here for him these ten days." I at once recognized my own handwriting on it, and begged the postmaster, as a great favor, that he would look up his address book six months back, and see if such a name was not in it. He did so very carefully, and exclaimed, "Waal, stranger, I see a name here like Colin Archer, and if it be he, his address is ------ Diggings, about forty miles from here." The afternoon was well advanced, but in less than half an hour I was astride a hired horse and Mexican saddle, cantering gaily along the road leading to these diggings, and at dark I put up in a roadside shanty. Next day I pushed smartly on, and in the evening, after ascending a range of hills skirting the beautiful prairies across which the road led, I arrived at a trading tent, pitched in the midst of numerous digging claims, and was told by the man in charge that he reckoned I would find "Collins" in a striped tent, half a mile down the gulch. I at once tied up my horse, walked down to the tent indicated, and peeping slyly round the entrance flap, beheld a young man sitting alone and enjoying a luxurious repast, probably consisting of beans, bacon, biscuits, and coffee or tea, who, on seeing me, got up and stared at me, with wonder and (I hope) admiration in his glance. His garments and hat were somewhat besprinkled with mud, but the glance of the eyes and the expression of the face convinced me that the "burly chiel" I saw before me was the same individual that I had left nearly fifteen years ago in Larvik, a four-year-old boy. The night we passed together in the trading tent, and I tried to persuade him to quit the diggings, and leave at once for Australia, but he had invested some money or gold dust in a mining company, and did not care to leave until the results were known. What these results were, I have now forgotten. Next morning Colin accompanied me some distance down the Marysville road, he riding ahead on my horse (the first time, I think, he had ever mounted one), and I bringing up the rear on foot. It was very amusing to watch the swaying to and fro, and the vigorous bumping in the saddle, whenever the horse broke into a trot, and little did I then anticipate that the youthful performer would ere long become the best rider of the family, and the greatest expert of us all in sitting a buckjumper. Next day we parted, he returning to the diggings and I continuing my way to Marysviile, Sacramento, and 'Frisco. Before long Colin left for Australia, calling at the Sandwich Islands to visit our brother Archie.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XXIII.

    Soon after my return to 'Frisco, I was joined by my two fellow travelers from Humbug Gulch, Karl Hansen, the Norwegian sailor, and Thomson, the American. The former handed me the receipt for my horse, which he had left at a ranch near Benicia, close to the scene of our wreck. The receipt, with an order for delivery of the horse, I presented to my friend Montefiore, who had him brought down to 'Frisco, and there disported himself on the handsome and spirited animal. Karl Hansen tried hard to persuade me to join him in the purchase of a schooner, and start a very profitable trade with South America in corn, jerky, roots, and vegetables, articles then almost unprocurable in California, except at exorbitant prices. I was much tempted by this offer, and also by an offer that had been made me by Sinclair, to join him in taking up a large block of country in the Upper Columbia Valley, and become a cattle ranch man. But I resisted both these tempting offers. The refrain of "Home, dearie home, and 'tis home I must be," still rang in my ears, which was perhaps fortunate, as I heard long after that Sinclair had been killed in an Indian scrimmage when he returned to these northern regions, my informant being the great Arctic explorer, Dr. Rae, whom I met at the Colonial Institute in London. I accepted, however, an offer made me by Montefiore and Burgoyne that I should join them in the speculation of purchasing a quantity of provisions, wines, molasses, vino dulce, and numerous other goods, and shipping them, together with Burgoyne and myself, on board the good full-rigged ship Brutus, of Boston, 500 tons, Captain Mitchell, bound for Panama. It was then early spring, about March, and I did not care to arrive in Europe until well on in May, so consented to the proposal, and invested a large proportion of my golden store in this promising venture. Handing Sinclair's bag of gold to Montefiore to be forwarded to Oregon, and investing Dr. Gardiner's gold dust in bills of exchange, drawn by Rothschild's Branch Bank in San Francisco on their house in New York, I embarked with Burgoyne and our goods in the Brutus. With a light and fair breeze we slowly passed through the beautiful Golden Gate, which vanished in the gloom of night, and I never saw it more.
    Though our ship was a fast sailer and well handled, we made, owing to a succession of calm and light head winds, a long and tedious passage. We often lay becalmed for days in view of the grand scenery of the Mexican coast, when our only amusement was catching sharks, which swarmed round us, and singing part songs, Burgoyne having a fine bass voice, which had often charmed me when we were together in "the beautiful bush of Australia." "When other lips and other hearts," "There is a flower that bloometh," or "We may be happy yet," by the poet Bunn (see "Punch" of about half a century ago:
were the songs that often gathered round us our fellow passengers, lost in admiration!
    So scant became our fresh provisions that we were often glad to take a tempting slice from under the dorsal fin of a young shark (the big ones were too tough). This, cut in thin strips, and stewed with a mixture of potatoes and onions, was not to be despised. The steerage passengers became greatly discontented with their food, and a report reached the captain that they intended to seize our cabin fare when on its way from the galley to the poop cabin. But our gallant little skipper was not to be daunted by such threats. Placing the bowie knife inside his waistcoat, with the handle in full view, he stepped forward to the galley and promenaded the deck, "looking daggers," while our food was being carried aft. These precautions were crowned with success in preventing a raid on our cabin fare.
    Soon after this little difficulty, we fortunately caught a fine breeze from the northeast, which soon brought us abreast of the Gulf of Nicaragua, and a deputation from the steerage told the captain that they all (save one) wished to land there, if he would call and put them ashore. To this he cheerfully consented, and we beat to windward into the Nicaragua roadstead, anchored, and in a few hours our ship was cleared of that rough lot of men, principally diggers like myself, returning to their homes with their pockets full of gold. All our cabin fellows also landed, and I was sorry to part with two of them, one a Switzer, whose name I have forgotten, and the other an American named Allen, who give me his address, and invited me to visit him when I reached the States.
    After remaining here for a day, strolling about among the scattered houses and native huts--principally inhabited by people of negro descent--and investing largely in delicious tropical fruit, Burgoyne and I re-embarked, and at daylight next morning the anchor was weighed, and we bore away for Panama with a fine breeze about abeam. After a lively run of four days, we were again becalmed near a group of uninhabited islands at the entrance to the Gulf of Panama and, seeing a cluster of coconut palms on the beach of the nearest one, Burgoyne and I persuaded the captain to lower a boat and lend us a couple of hands to accompany us ashore and help us to gather some nuts. The distance to the beach was about three miles, and we found on approaching it that a heavy surf was breaking on it, which would have prevented us from landing if we had not brought with us a small anchor, with a thin rope made fast to it. Dropping the anchor, we backed the boat stern first into the surf, a young German sailor lad standing in the bow and paying out the rope. When we got within twenty yards of the beach, we watched our chance, and jumping overboard up to our waists in the water, forced our way to land against the receding surf, leaving the young sailor in the boat to haul in and pay out the rope as required. None of us caring to "shin up" one of the lofty palms, we selected the one that bore most nuts, cut it down with a tomahawk, and watching our chance when the waves receded, rushed in and threw the nuts one by one into the boat, to the number of about twenty of all ages and sizes. This was just accomplished when suddenly a huge breaker came roaring in, struck the boat on the bow, and half-swamped her, and the sailor, clinging to the rope with German tenacity, was jerked overboard and disappeared. The boat now turned broadside on, and in another minute would have been forced up on the beach high and dry, had not the other sailor and I rushed into the surf, struck out for her, and scrambling on board, seized the rope and hauled her round facing the waves. By this time the German sailor's head had appeared above the briny deep, so, edging the boat towards him, we shoved a boat hook into his hands and hauled him on board, fortunately before the sharks had discovered him. I now took charge of the rope, and slacked it, while the two sailors backed the boat towards the beach to pick up Burgoyne, who, active as a cat, and a capital swimmer, made a couple of plunges, and was pulled on board. I now hauled vigorously at the rope, the men gave way with the oars, and in less than a minute we were outside the surf and making our way back to the gallant Brutus, still lying becalmed, and bowing gracefully to the waves. On the milk of these nuts, sometimes qualified with a dash of rum, we reveled for three or four days, when we arrived in Panama Bay, and dropped anchor about a mile outside the frowning fort and earthwork fortifications.
    The captain, Burgoyne, and I landed at once, and looked up some business men, friends of M. and B., who informed us that we had brought our goods to a profitable market, as Panama was then crowded with thousands of people on their way from the States to California. Many of them had paid their passages to San Francisco, but had to wait here for ships to take them on, and too often these ships never appeared. Numbers of these deluded people could not obtain accommodations, or could not afford to pay for it, and had to camp out in dozens all over the earthworks bounding the town on its sea front, and many lay huddled together in the verandas facing the streets. They were nearly all young, able-bodied men, and the nights were mild, so I did not pity them, and, thanks to their excellent appetites, our provision speculation brought us a handsome profit.
    It took me, however, more than a month to settle my little transactions with Burgoyne's agent, and being determined not to leave till all my accounts were squared up and paid in hard cash, I spent so much time (and money) in this extravagant place that my profits had, I fear, nearly vanished ere I could get away, and "like the baseless fabric of a vision," left not a cent (of profit) behind.
    The heat was so oppressive that ice was considered a necessary of life by those who could afford to pay for it, and as it had been brought from Boston to Aspinwall or Colon, and carried thence, wrapped in blankets, across the Isthmus on mules, the price was something exorbitant. So great was the demand, that early in the morning I have seen a long string of people gradually advancing into a large liquor bar, which held the ice monopoly, order and pay for a lump of ice, or more frequently, I fear, a glass of iced mint julep or gin sling or sherry cobbler, which they imbibed at the bar, and then filed out by another door. I joined the procession occasionally, but though great was my "lowan drouth," of course I did so only to procure ice! At any rate, I am sure I never walked round and again joined on to the tail of the procession, as did many of my fellow tipplers.
    One thing I saw in Panama which I never beheld before nor since--namely, an enormous mass of silver bars, piled up open and uncovered on the pavement in front of the English Consulate, ready to be loaded on pack mules for transmission across the Isthmus to Aspinwall, and thence by steamer to England.
    After settling my accounts and investing the proceeds in New York Bank bills, I sent off my slender store of baggage by muleteer, and, saying goodbye to Burgoyne (who had not yet finished his business), I mounted a mule, and, accompanied by an American ship's captain, with whom I had become acquainted in Panama, set off for Aspinwall, starting about 4 p.m., to avoid the terrible heat. In a couple of hours we entered upon a rocky and tortuous mountain path, which often wound along the sides of hills. Luckily the moon was full, and shed a brilliant light, or we could not have traveled on such a road without considerable risk. So many centuries had this road been traversed by pack animals bearing the gold and silver treasures of Chile and Peru, that their feet had worn deep dents in the rock, and our animals had often to step across a ledge from dent to dent in the most careful manner, with their heads down, and their noses snuffling their way as they went. When passing one of the places I was a few yards behind my companion, and heard a sound of "chink, chink," on the stones below. Looking down, I saw the bright gleam of an atom shining in the moon's rays. "Hullo, Jones," I shouted, "you are dropping coins on the road, so you had better stop." Jones did so, and found that a waist belt in which he was carrying a large amount of gold coin (part of the payment for a vessel he had sold in Panama) had become slightly torn, just enough to allow a coin to find its way out, and on they came, steadily and perseveringly as he moved along. It was lucky that the road was so full of rocky depressions, into which the coins rolled, instead of finding their way down the side of the hill into the gorge below. I took charge of the captain's mule while he returned along the path picking up his precious coins, until his loss only amounted to one or two ten-dollar pieces. I was more unlucky. A revolver, which I had bought when leaving San Francisco, the only one I ever possessed, and which, on leaving Panama, I had strapped round my waist, loaded and ready for action, burst the sewing that fastened it to the belt, and, quite unknown to me, disappeared, and I saw it no more. Having been warned that robbers were not altogether unknown on this desolate track, I thought it right to be prepared for them, and this was the result.
    The range of hills we crossed that night was that from which our gallant Admiral and buccaneer Drake first caught sight of the Pacific Ocean, and I venerated them accordingly, though his arrival in these parts did lead to his storming and plundering Panama, according to the manners and customs of those primitive times.

(To be continued.)

RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAMBLING LIFE.
PIONEERING IN QUEENSLAND.
By THOMAS ARCHER.
(Published by arrangement with the author.)
CHAPTER XXIII.--(Continued.)

    About midnight my friend and I arrived at Gorgona, a desolate and dirty native town, at the head of navigation of the Chagres River. Here we had to sleep in a large bell tent, containing about fifty men, in which the atmosphere was not as pure as I could wish. I would gladly have camped out under the bright moon, but was told that doing so would cause fever, ague, and all kinds of evils, so I abstained. Next morning we embarked with about a dozen others in a huge "dugout" canoe, manned by a Jamaica nigger captain, who freely indulged in strong English expletives to his crew, consisting of one native, nearly as black as himself. Gaily we drifted downstream, navigation being carried on by the use of long poles, to fend off collision with the banks when the current carried us too close to them. These banks were generally covered with dense masses of foliage, harboring monkeys and malaria, which latter had in olden days killed scores of my enterprising countrymen, engaged in paying exploring and buccaneering visits to these pestilent regions (see "Life of Drake," and others). I was not sorry, therefore, when towards evening the canoe lay in beside a small wooden pier on the south side, and there we landed and scrambled up a steep bank to a railway platform three boards broad, which then formed the terminus of the railway which had recently been begun at Aspinwall, for opening traffic across the Isthmus. Here we joined a great many other passengers, who had preceded us on their way to Aspinwall. There were a good many women and some children among them, and with the kindness and sympathy always displayed by Americans to women and children, the only passenger car at the station was set apart for them and their husbands, sons, and brothers, while we rough and tumble single men scrambled onto a row of ballast trucks, where, seated on our scant luggage, we performed the journey of about eight miles to Aspinwall. This was my first railway journey, and very pleasant I thought it, though crossing various deep gulches and ravines on very narrow and slim wooden bridges without any barrier between us and the gorge below looked at first somewhat perilous. Several of the trucks were occupied by railway navvies suffering from malarial fever, which killed a large proportion of the men engaged in constructing the line. It was afterwards reported that "every sleeper cost a man," but that was probably based on the exaggeration often displayed by the imaginative Yankee. Fifteen years later, when I returned from Australia and New Zealand via Panama, the journey across the Isthmus was performed rather more quickly and comfortably, thanks to the then long completed railway, which, owing to monopoly, was one of the most profitable lines ever constructed.
    At Aspinwall we embarked on an American steamer for New York, calling only at the mouth of the Chagres River. Skirting along the west coast of Cuba and the south coast of Florida, we arrived at our destination in about ten days, after a delightful passage. Our captain was an officer of the American navy, a most friendly, gentlemanly, and pleasant man, with whom I soon became intimate. He furnished me with our latitude and longitude every noon for entry in my journal, which I of course lost a day or two before reaching England. The same man was in command of the ship which a few years later brought a cargo of corn, sent by the American government, for the relief of the then real Irish famine, but his name, alas! I have long since forgotten. In New York I stayed about a week, and met my old Larvik boy companion, John Schlytter, who was acting as foreman in the service of the eminent Swedish engineer officer, Captain Ericsson, then engaged in building a ship to be propelled by atmospheric pressure instead of steam. John took me down to see her on the stocks, and while I was inspecting her model, and the machinery scattered around, Captain Ericsson appeared, and beckoned to John, who at once went to him. When John returned he told me that the gallant captain has asked him if he was quite sure that I was not an engineering spy! This question John was able to answer conscientiously in the affirmative. The atmospheric invention turned out a failure, as sufficient speed could not be secured to compete with steam, but Captain Ericsson afterwards attained a worldwide reputation by inventing and constructing the ironclad Monitor, which completely (and I think unfortunately for us), revolutionized the grand art of naval construction.
    I explored the fine city of New York a good deal, took an occasional cruise to the magnificent harbor, and was greatly pleased to see the handsome models, neat rig, and beautifully cut sails, standing flat as boards, of the American yachts and coasters, things in which, to this day, we have not succeeded in rivaling them. Not only were their mainsails generally lashed to the boom, but the jibs also were frequently stretched on a light spar, lashed along their foot.
    From New York I again took steamer, and proceeded through the romantic and expressively named Hell Gate, forming the passage northward between Long Island and the mainland. Arriving at the town of Providence, I found out the address of the brother of my Humbug Gulch friend, Dr. ------, who had a farm about eight miles from the town. Hiring a buggy, I drove out to visit him and tell him of the money for him that Dr. ------ had entrusted me with. On arriving at the door of his somewhat humble abode, I was told Mr. ------ was working in his fields, so sent a young son of his with a message requesting him to favor me with an interview. Presently the lad returned, saying that his father "reckoned" he was too busy to come, and I must go to him if I wanted to see him. Leaving horse and buggy in charge of the lad, I trudged off, and after some search found the man I sought, striding along between the stilts of his plow, to which was yoked a pair of fine, well-conditioned horses. On hearing my errand and my request that he should come with me to the bank in Providence and receive the cash sent by his brother, he "reckoned" he was very busy, and thought I might as well send it to him then and there. This I respectfully declined to do, and after some trouble persuaded him to unyoke his horses, get into my buggy, and let me drive him to the bank, where I endorsed the bill, took his receipt, transferred the bill to his credit, and then we parted on very friendly terms. About two years later I casually met in Pitt Street, Sydney, my old friend "Charlie the Dane," who informed me that Dr. ------ had suffered intense anxiety lest his brother should never receive the cash, since such a long time had passed without his having heard anything about it. His remarks on the subject were often somewhat uncomplimentary to me, but when at last the news reached him that every dollar had been handed to his brother without any deduction for commission or expense, he became almost frantic with delight, danced and jumped up and down in the log hut, snapped his fingers, sang my praises most eloquently, and actually invited his co-partners to join him in drinking my health, an honor I could never have anticipated from Dr. ------, one of the most close-fisted men I ever met. Danish Charlie also informed me that he had stayed at Humbug Gulch all the winter, and part of next summer after I had left; that he and my old partners had continued to prosper, and gathered a considerable store of golden dust; that he had taken it to 'Frisco and the Southern Islands, and there lost and spent it all, and then come to Sydney as mate of a vessel, which was the exalted post he occupied when we met. I pitied the poor fellow very sincerely, but domestic responsibilities had then been assumed by me, and pity was all I could bestow on him. With this he seemed satisfied, and we parted, never to meet again.
    But to resume my United States adventures, I now went from Providence by rail to Boston, and booked my passage to Liverpool by the British paddleboat America, to sail in about a week. To pass that time agreeably, I set off by rail to visit Mr. Allen, my former fellow passenger in the Brutus, who had asked me to visit him in his home at Manchester, near Boston. Here I arrived by rail in the evening, and found it to be a small, ancient, and straggling village, and, taking up my quarters at a rather rough and primitive hotel, I asked mine host to direct me to Mr. Allen's abode. After considerable reflection and consultation with others, the conclusion was arrived at that no one bearing that name inhabited this ancient town, "But," added the landlord, "maybe you should have gone to Manchester, Mass., instead of Manchester, Vermont." Vastly disappointed, I took train next morning for Boston, and after having been detained a couple of hours on the way, owing to the engine boiler springing a leak several miles from any station, and all the water running out of it, I arrived in the evening at that highly interesting and (for the United States) venerable northern capital, which I found in a state of great bustle, owing to the expected arrival next morning of Kossuth, the great Hungarian patriot, who was then making a tour through the States. Next morning I found the streets thronged with people, and companies of volunteer soldiers marching in from various quarters, with bands playing and banners flying. I took up my position with the throng on Boston Common, a fine park near the center of the town, and about noon the exalted stranger appeared, escorted by a company of fine-looking troops, and greeted by enthusiastic cheers from the thousands of people around him. Standing up in his carriage he delivered a long and eloquent harangue, but I was too far off to make out its meaning. Judging, however, from the enthusiastic applause with which it was received, it must have been highly appreciated by the audience, mainly composed of intelligent-looking, clean, and well-dressed people, who formed a striking contrast to the unruly and begrimed mob that would have gathered on such an occasion in London or New York. Kossuth was a handsome man, moderate in height, with dark hair and complexion, and an impressive and attractive manner.
    When this interesting scene was ended, and the crowd began to disperse, I set off on a stroll through the crowded streets, and, greatly to my surprise and pleasure, ran up against my friend Allen of Manchester. We greeted each other with the greatest cordiality, and when I told him of my trip to the wrong Manchester, he gave expression to the greatest annoyance, and blamed himself, in expressive American phraseology, for not having told me in which Manchester I would find him. "But the fact is," he continued, "that horrid little hole you went to is hardly known to anyone." He then tried to persuade me to accompany him home in a day or two, when his business in Boston would be finished, but my day of departure was drawing too near, and I had to decline. He then insisted on staying in Boston till I left, bestowing on me all his spare time, and showing me all the Bostonian attractions, including Bunker's Hill, the Navy Yard, and the historic Statehouse, all of very great interest to me. When my hour of embarkation arrived, he accompanied me on board the America, and we parted with mutual regret. I was particularly sorry to have missed this opportunity of seeing family life in the States, for, though I had kept a promise I made to a nephew of the Governor of Fort Vancouver to visit his family in Boston if I was ever there, yet, as two members of that family were handsome young ladies, my natural shyness prevented me from visiting as often as I ought that hospitable mansion, situated in the most fashionable part of Boston.
    About noon the America weighed anchor, and in a few hours I lost sight of the grand North American continent, on which I had passed more than two years, and had invariably been treated with great kindness by its manly and most enterprising people. The only serious difference I ever had in America was with an Irish Australian, who, on my insisting on his paying a debt he owed me, drew a knife, and gave me a stab, the scar of which I still have on my collarbone. As I never use personal violence to enforce even a just and legal claim, my assailant, a diminutive and elderly man, whom I could have knocked over with one blow, marched off in triumph, and I never saw him or my money again. There was no magistrate or police to appeal to, and my adversary had, therefore, every advantage over me, and freely used it. No native of America I have ever known would have been guilty of such cowardice, and greatly would I have regretted leaving this attractive land, had there not been another still more attractive to which I was now voyaging at the rate of ten to twelve knots, then considered a high rate of speed.
    After calling at Halifax to embark mails and passengers, we paddled along very comfortably across the Atlantic (for comfort and steadiness, I prefer the old paddleboats), and after coasting along the south of Ireland, entered the Irish Channel, about the tenth day from Halifax. I had become well acquainted with several American fellow passengers, and a noble Scotch lord, an officer on his way home from Halifax, and a very pleasant and jovial time we had on the passage.
    My pleasure when we first came in sight of British land amused my fellow voyagers very much, especially when I enthusiastically recited these well-known lines of Scott's: "Breathes there a man with soul so dead who never to himself hath said this is mine own my native land," &c.
    Late at night we approached the mouth of the Mersey, and the glare of light on the sky over Liverpool was so attractive that I remained on deck nearly all night, gazing at it. Early next morning we landed, and, the day being Sunday, my friends and I passed the greater part of it exploring the town and the surrounding country, which filled me with admiration and delight. Next morning, I took train for London, and on arriving there I completed my first circumnavigation of the globe, a feat that had taken nearly fifteen years to accomplish--namely, from August, 1837, to June, 1852.
    I stayed about a fortnight in our grand old capital, parading the streets, sometimes guided by Mr. Archibald Walker, formerly a merchant in Sydney, but then a London merchant. On these occasions I was surprised to find that all public buildings, the Mansion House, the Bank of England, the Horse Guards Barracks, and the palaces and parks, seemed to me to have shrunk in size, and did not appear nearly so grand and imposing as they did when I had visited them in "days of yore, when (my) time was young."
    From London I took train to Perth to visit my aunt and my brother Sandy, then a clerk in Messrs. J. and R. Morison's office, afterwards a bank manager and inspector in Queensland. Sandy had then made up his mind to migrate to Australia, after paying a farewell visit to Tollerodden, and we agreed to "cross the briny" together from Hull to Kristiania in a small and slow but comfortable paddleboat, then the only steamer carrying passengers and cargo between the two countries. She did not in those days call at Kristiansand, but took us direct to Kristiania, and from there we had to return by steamer to Fredriksvern and drive to Larvik (no railway line in Norway in those days), and at Tollerodden were received with a most affectionate welcome by my father, mother, sisters, and brother (Jamie), and the Jorgensen family, then all residing at 'Odden. And here I will end these recollections of the first and most adventurous period of my rambling life.

(To be continued.)