“I mean a license to dig for gold.” I told him that I had paid for eighteen licenses during the last three months—in all £36; that I had sent my 30s. for another, and that my little son went for me, and had to save himself at my expense. “But,” said I, “you see there’s an air of stability about my establishment. If you have no license to sell, go your way, and if, on your return, I am not able to produce one, then deal with me accordingly.” The policeman, who was a cool, sensible fellow, went away and reported to his superior, who sent him back to say if I had no license I must follow the multitude. I put a couple of pounds in my pocket, and was marched behind two men with fixed bayonets to the camp. I asked to be taken before the Commissioner, but was taken to the watchhouse, and my name placed on the police-sheet. The watchhouse-keeper said that I might deposit £5 as bail, and appear at ten o’clock. I had only £2, but sent to my friend, Mr. Low, the Scotch minister, to borrow three; bailed myself out, and returned at ten (at least, according to my watch). I met the policeman at the court door. “Bail forfeited. Too late, sir.” “May be so,” said I, but, being a Scotchman, believed that there were “two at making a bargain.” I went into court, and when the case in hand was disposed of, asked the P.M. why my bail was forfeited. He gave me an audience, and said that he would rehear the case. He then asked what the charge was, and if I had a license. He said he did not make the law, but administered it, and that I would have to pay the Queen 30s. for not having a license, and would have to take out a new one at once.
The weather was warm, and lemonade all the rage; in fact, it was difficult to get anything else. There were no licensed publichouses nearer than Sawpit Gully (Elphinstone), a distance of seven miles, and there ale and porter were eight shillings a bottle, and brandy one shilling and sixpence per glass. A decent going Scotchman was determined to give the lemonade trade a trial. He erected a very nice tent within a few yards of my establishment, and no sooner opened his door than he opened a very good trade in soda, acid, and dirty water. I profited a little by his spec., for I had a few ounces of tartaric acid in my medicine chest, which he quickly purchased at 1s. per ounce. The first day he opened one of the few females we had about called at his counter for a shilling’s worth of “eye-water.” “Johnny Raw” said that he did not keep any, but that a doctor lived next tent.” “Oh, I don’t mean eye-water you fool. It’s a little hard stuff I mean.” A new thought flashed across his mind. The new establishment was soon visited by a wholesale sly-dealer in grog, and a supply obtained. I mentioned to him the risk he was running, not only to have his tent burnt down, but himself fined £50. The lady customer was soon aware that “Simple Sandy” had got “eye-water,” and called every morning for some
