Dead Men Tell No Tales | Page 4

ears (I thought we
were to have that mode again?) in sunny ripples; and a soul greater than
the mind, and a heart greater than either, lay sleeping somewhere in the
depths of her grave, gray eyes.
We were at sea together so many weeks. I cannot think what I was
made of then!
It was in the brave old days of Ballarat and Bendigo, when ship after
ship went out black with passengers and deep with stores, to bounce
home with a bale or two of wool, and hardly hands enough to reef
topsails in a gale. Nor was this the worst; for not the crew only, but, in
many cases, captain and officers as well, would join in the stampede to
the diggings; and we found Hobson's Bay the congested asylum of all
manner of masterless and deserted vessels. I have a lively recollection
of our skipper's indignation when the pilot informed him of this
disgraceful fact. Within a fortnight, however, I met the good man face
to face upon the diggings. It is but fair to add that the Lady Jermyn lost
every officer and man in the same way, and that the captain did obey
tradition to the extent of being the last to quit his ship. Nevertheless, of
all who sailed by her in January, I alone was ready to return at the
beginning of the following July.
I had been to Ballarat. I had given the thing a trial. For the most odious
weeks I had been a licensed digger on Black Hill Flats; and I had
actually failed to make running expenses. That, however, will surprise
you the less when I pause to declare that I have paid as much as four
shillings and sixpence for half a loaf of execrable bread; that my mate
and I, between us, seldom took more than a few pennyweights of

gold-dust in any one day; and never once struck pick into nugget, big or
little, though we had the mortification of inspecting the "mammoth
masses" of which we found the papers full on landing, and which had
brought the gold-fever to its height during our very voyage. With me,
however, as with many a young fellow who had turned his back on
better things, the malady was short-lived. We expected to make our
fortunes out of hand, and we had reckoned without the vermin and the
villainy which rendered us more than ever impatient of delay. In my
fly-blown blankets I dreamt of London until I hankered after my
chambers and my club more than after much fine gold. Never shall I
forget my first hot bath on getting back to Melbourne; it cost five
shillings, but it was worth five pounds, and is altogether my pleasantest
reminiscence of Australia.
There was, however, one slice of luck in store for me. I found the dear
old Lady Jermyn on the very eve of sailing, with a new captain, a new
crew, a handful of passengers (chiefly steerage), and nominally no
cargo at all. I felt none the less at home when I stepped over her
familiar side.
In the cuddy we were only five, but a more uneven quintette I defy you
to convene. There was a young fellow named Ready, packed out for his
health, and hurrying home to die among friends. There was an
outrageously lucky digger, another invalid, for he would drink nothing
but champagne with every meal and at any minute of the day, and I
have seen him pitch raw gold at the sea-birds by the hour together.
Miss Denison was our only lady, and her step-father, with whom she
was travelling, was the one man of distinction on board. He was a
Portuguese of sixty or thereabouts, Senhor Joaquin Santos by name; at
first it was incredible to me that he had no title, so noble was his
bearing; but very soon I realized that he was one of those to whom
adventitious honors can add no lustre. He treated Miss Denison as no
parent ever treated a child, with a gallantry and a courtliness quite
beautiful to watch, and not a little touching in the light of the
circumstances under which they were travelling together. The girl had
gone straight from school to her step-father's estate on the Zambesi,
where, a few months later, her mother had died of the malaria. Unable

to endure the place after his wife's death, Senhor Santos had taken ship
to Victoria, there to seek fresh fortune with results as indifferent as my
own. He was now taking Miss Denison back to England, to make her
home with other relatives, before he himself returned to Africa (as he
once told me) to lay his bones beside those of his wife. I hardly know
which of the