'What did I mean by that?' said the old man, who had now drawn nearer, in stern and strident tones. 'Why, what I say. It's God's truth, as I stand here, and the whole five of 'em's now in their graves—as fine a lot of men, too, as ever you see—all along of one blasted mare, worth about two fivers, and be hanged to her!'
The old man's speech had a sort of rude eloquence born of earnestness, which chained the attention of the variously composed crowd; and when Mr. Macdonald, the overseer, said, 'Come, Bill, let's have it. It's a lost day, and we may as well hear your yarn as anything else before turn-in time,' the old man, thus adjured, took his pipe out of his mouth, and seating himself upon a three-legged stool, prepared to deliver himself of a singular and tragic experience.
William James, chiefly referred to as 'old Bill,' was a true type of the veritable 'old hand' of pre-auriferous Australia. Concerning an early voyage to Tasmania he was reticent. He referred to the period ambiguously as 'them old times,' when he related tales of mystery and fear, such as could have only found place under the régime of forced colonisation. No hirsute ornament adorned his countenance. Deeply wrinkled, but ever clean-shaved, it was a face furrowed and graven, as with a life-record of the darker passions and such various suffering as the human animal alone can endure and live. Out of this furnace of tribulation old Bill had emerged, in a manner purified and reformed. He gave one the impression of a retired pirate—convinced of the defects of the profession, but regretful of its pleasing episodes. Considered as a bush labourer, a more useful individual to a colony did not live. Bill could do everything well, and do twice as much of it as the less indurated industrialist of a later day. Hardy, resourceful, tireless, true to his salt, old Bill had often been considered by the sanguine or inexperienced employer an invaluable servant. And so in truth he was, until the fatal day arrived when the 'cheque fever' assailed him. Then, alas! 'he was neither to haud nor to bind.' No reason, interest, promise or principle had power to restrain him from the mad debauch, when for days—perhaps for weeks—all semblance of manhood was lost.
However, he was now in the healthful stage of constant work—well fed, paid and sheltered. Cooking was one of his
