How A Computer Works Camboard Technology Ed

download

https://ebookbell.com/product/how-a-computer-works-camboard-
technology-ed-6223106

Explore and download more ebooks at ebookbell.com

Here are some recommended products that we believe you will be
interested in. You can click the link to download.

How A Computer Works Technology Camboard

https://ebookbell.com/product/how-a-computer-works-technology-
camboard-6635902

How Computers Really Work A Handson Guide To The Inner Workings Of The
Machine 1st Edition Matthew Justice

https://ebookbell.com/product/how-computers-really-work-a-handson-
guide-to-the-inner-workings-of-the-machine-1st-edition-matthew-
justice-22058824

How Computers Really Work A Handson Guide To The Inner Workings Of The
Machine Matthew Justice

https://ebookbell.com/product/how-computers-really-work-a-handson-
guide-to-the-inner-workings-of-the-machine-matthew-justice-48065174

Computers And Productivity How Firms Make A General Purpose Technology

Work 1st Edition Dr Thomas Hempell Auth

https://ebookbell.com/product/computers-and-productivity-how-firms-
make-a-general-purpose-technology-work-1st-edition-dr-thomas-hempell-
auth-4239836
The False Promises Of The Digital Revolution How Computers Transform
Education Work And International Development In Ways That Are
Ecologically Unsustainable New Ca Bowers

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-false-promises-of-the-digital-
revolution-how-computers-transform-education-work-and-international-
development-in-ways-that-are-ecologically-unsustainable-new-ca-
bowers-54209088

The Fires How A Computer Formula Burned Down New York Cityand
Determined The Future Of American Cities Joe Flood

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-fires-how-a-computer-formula-burned-
down-new-york-cityand-determined-the-future-of-american-cities-joe-
flood-10130790

Learn How To Format A Computer And Install Windows 10 And Make Money
From Home Leandro Sartore Sartore

https://ebookbell.com/product/learn-how-to-format-a-computer-and-
install-windows-10-and-make-money-from-home-leandro-sartore-
sartore-27846072

How To Make A Video Game All By Yourself 10 Steps Just You And A
Computer Matt Hackett

https://ebookbell.com/product/how-to-make-a-video-game-all-by-
yourself-10-steps-just-you-and-a-computer-matt-hackett-44975452

How Serious A Problem Is Computer Hacking Patricia D Netzley

https://ebookbell.com/product/how-serious-a-problem-is-computer-
hacking-patricia-d-netzley-5078384
How a Computer Works
Copyright © 2015 Camboard Technology

Camboard Technology
Cambridge England
www.camboard.com

Age range 11+

Learn more about how a computer works.
How a Computer Works is a colourful guide and reference tool. Packed with stunning
graphics this guide brings the inside of a Windows PC to life.
A fascinating and absorbing overview of what’s happening inside a computer.
Useful to students or those wishing to learn the mysterious operation of How a Computer
Works. The book delves into the operation of the key components of a personal computer.
The computers key processes are described in short form. Includes clear diagrams of the
main computer parts.
The heart of any computer is the CPU the book explains with clear diagrams the internal
operation of an Intel Pentium processor.
Includes comprehensive guides to the main components of your computer.
Explains the technologies that make up a computer.
Explains where all the connections on the back go to.

Because so many Schools and educational establishments use older machines, this book is
based on a Windows personal computer with an Intel Pentium processor, the boot up
sequence described is for Windows XP and earlier versions.
If you are going to take apart a computer too look inside.
DISCONNECT THE SYSTEM FROM THE MAINS ELECTRICITY FIRST!
Includes 28 chapters which explain the mystery of these technologies:-
Motherboard
PCI Bus
The power on self-test
BOOT Up
CPU
Memory
Hard Drive
CD-ROM
Modem
Printer
Interrupts
FireWire
Expansion Cards
Serial and Parallel Ports
BIOS
Plug and Play
Mouse
Keyboard
Floppy Disk
USB
Scanner
Sound
MIDI
SCSI
Monitor
Copyright © 2015 Camboard Technology

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this eBook may be reproduced, duplicated, given
away, transmitted or resold in any form without written prior permission from the
publisher.
Limit of Liability and Disclaimer of Warranty: The publisher has used its best efforts in
preparing this book, and the information provided herein is provided “as is.” Camboard
Technology makes no representation or warranties with respect to the accuracy or
completeness of the contents of this e-book and specifically disclaims any implied
warranties of merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose and shall in no event be
liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to
special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.
Trademarks: This e-book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks,
registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. They are used
throughout this e-book in an editorial fashion only. In addition, terms suspected of being
trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks have been appropriately capitalized,
although Camboard Technology cannot attest to the accuracy of this information. Use of a
term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the validity of any trademark,
registered trademark, or service mark. Camboard Technology is not associated with any
product or vendor mentioned in this book.
All trademarks acknowledged
® Microsoft Windows is a registered trademark of Microsoft Corporation.
® Pentium is a registered trademark of Intel Corporation.
Contents
1. Introduction
2. Inside the P.C
3. POST
4. BOOT UP
5. BIOS and Drivers
6. Plug and Play
7. Interrupts
8. Motherboard
9.PCI Bus
10. Expansion Cards
11. Serial and Parallel Ports
12. CPU
13. PCB
14. Memory
15. Mouse
16. Keyboard
17. Monitor
18. Hard Drive
19. CD-ROM Drive
20. Floppy Drive
21. FireWire
22. USB
23. SCSI
24. Modem
25. Printer
26. Scanner
27. Sound
28. MIDI
Glossary
Resources
1. Introduction
 Personal Computer

The P.C (Personal Computer) allows many tasks to be undertaken which would otherwise
not be possible. From typing a letter to surfing the net the computers versatility has meant
many homes and workplaces rely on the computer for everyday tasks. This book delves
into the mysterious world of how the computer actually works inside those boxes.
Although understanding the precise operation of computer hardware requires detailed
technical knowledge, understanding the basics of how a computer works does not.
System Tower

The computer system comprises of several boxes. The main computer is housed in a
rectangle box. Inside this box is the motherboard and disk drives.
The drives connect to the motherboard through special ribbon cable. The cable contains
many separate wires moulded into a flat wide cable.
 Monitor

The monitor is housed in a separate box and plugs into the main system box.
Today’s slim line monitors are a far cry from the old large cumbersome cathode ray tube
monitors.
 Keyboard

Mouse and Mat

The Keyboard and Mouse are housed in smaller boxes that connect to the main system
box.
They connect either with a cable to the main system box or by using a wireless receiver
that plugs into a USB port of the system box.
 Scanner
Additional items like a printer and scanner also connect to the main system box. They
connect either with a cable to the main system box or using a wireless receiver that plugs
into a USB port of the system box.
 Windows

Switching the power on loads the operating system (O.S). In the case of a P.C this would
usually be a version of Windows. The O.S is normally loaded from the computer’s hard
drive.
Programs and data files are stored on the hard drive. Selecting them from the Windows
Start menu starts programs.
2. Inside the P.C
 Case

To protect the fragile P.C (personal computer) against damage it is housed in a case.
Different case styles are available. A tower case is useful where desktop space is limited as
it can go on the floor. The disadvantage here is accessing the CD ROM/DVD drives to
change disks. A desktop case as its name implies sits underneath the monitor and allows
disks to be easily accessed. The case is plastic or metal.
Peripherals

Most peripherals sit inside the case. Others for practical reasons sit outside. Often when
buying additional peripherals such as a hard drive a choice is available of internal or
external types.
The internal types tend to be less expensive as the casing is less protective.
Outside of the case

On the outside of the case are the drive slots and power, reset buttons. Small l.e.ds (light
emitting diodes) light up when the power is on and the hard drive is being accessed.
Connections

The back of the case contains all the connectors for external peripherals like the mouse,
keyboard, monitor and printer.
Motherboard

Inside the case a large p.c.b (printed circuit board) called the motherboard sits. The
motherboard circuit and microchips control the computers operation.
 E-IDE

All internal and external peripherals connect to the motherboard. The connectors for these
are soldered directly to the motherboard and protrude through the rear of the case.
Memory cards are slotted into special connector strips, this enables, where permissible,
memory cards to be changed and upgraded to bigger memory cards.
E-IDE connections are made through ribbon cable to the CD-ROM/DVD and hard disks.
 Jumpers

Spare connectors enable additional internal drives to be added. Adding a new drive is just
a case of pushing a spare connector onto the drive and changing a jumper setting.
Jumper settings are small metal posts on the motherboard, which a jumper connection
connects across.
 Blanking Plates

Blanking plates on the front of tower cases are pushed out for the new drive to slot in.
 AGP Slot

The AGP slot is where the graphics card is connected. This card interfaces the
motherboard to the monitor. The monitor connector protrudes through the rear of the case.
 PCI Slots

PCI slots enable expansion cards to be fitted. Expansions cards like sound, MIDI, SCSI
(small computer systems interface).
The motherboard itself can be replaced for one with a more powerful processor; this saves
the cost of buying a new system.
Power Supply: (Not Shown) The mains lead connects to a transformer which steps down
the mains voltage to a lower voltage, 5 volts etc. Each internal component and peripheral
draws their electricity from the power supply.
Case: The case is made from metal or plastic and protects all the components and
peripherals from dirt and damage.
CD-ROM Drive

This optical drive uses a laser beam to read data bits from a CD (compact disk). Most
software programs are distributed on CD.
Music CD’s can also be played providing a sound card and speakers are in the system.
Most systems include a CD-RW that enables data to be written to CD-R and CD-RW
disks.
A DVD drive enables DVD disks to be played in systems that have the necessary video
card.
Hard Drive

Hard Drive: The operating system, programs and data files are stored on magnetic
platters. The platters spin at high speed and enable data bits to be transferred to the
computer at high speed.
E-IDE Controllers

E-IDE Controllers: Built into the motherboard these provide a standard interface for
transferring data bits between the drives and computer.
AGP Expansion slot: A 3D graphics card slots into the accelerated graphic port connector
to provide high-speed access to the computer’s memory.
Display Adapter

Display Adapter Interfaces the motherboard to the computers monitor. The Display
Adapter (Also known as the Graphics Card) contains its own memory and microchips to
display information on the monitor.
Expansion Slots

PCI Expansion slot. The PCI (Peripheral component interconnect) expansion slots are
designed for Plug and Play expansion cards.
Sound Card

The sound card maybe an expansion card or be built into the motherboard. The sound card
provides an analogue to digital converter (ADC) for converting external sounds into
digital data bits that can be saved on the hard drive.
The card also includes a digital to analogue converter for playing sound files stored on the
hard drive.
A MIDI port is also included on some cards for interfacing the computer to musical
instruments.
Memory Card

The memory card provides on-board memory for the computer.

The RAM (Random accessible memory) chips are soldered onto a small PCB that slots
into a connector on the motherboard.
 Clock

The real time clock is an electrical crystal quartz that sends out a timing signal at a certain
frequency that all the microprocessors synchronize with. The clock ensures all data bits
are transferred in step at the right time.
 BIOS and CPU

BIOS: The BIOS (basic input/output system) is an intermediary between the operating
system and the various connected peripherals.
CPU: The CPU (Central Processing Unit) is the brains of the computer. Almost all data
bits travel through the CPU as it carries out most of the computers operations.
 USB

USB Ports: Universal serial bus ports let software programs connect directly to
peripherals like the mouse, keyboard, printers and monitors without encountering resource
conflicts.
Mouse Port: The mouse connects to this port, also known as a PS2 port.
Keyboard Port: The keyboard connects to this port.
 Ports

Parallel Port: Most often used to connect a printer.

Serial Port: The modem or certain types of mouse connect to the serial port.
3. POST
 Power-On Self Test

When you first switch on your PC a test is performed inside called POST (Power-On Self
Test).
This operation tests your system to make sure everything is functioning before loading the
operating system.
 ROM BIOS

1.The test begins with a signal being sent to the CPU, which resets the internal program
counter. The address for this is Hexadecimal F000. This number tells the CPU the address
in the ROM BIOS which needs processing. The ROM BIOS contains at this start address a
boot program that consists of a series of checks. These series of checks concern testing the
CPU. Then the CPU checks the POST program by comparing the code for this in the
BIOS chip.
 System Bus

2. The CPU sends signals over the PCI system bus to ascertain that all components are
working.
3. The systems real time clock is checked by the CPU, to make sure every component is
synchronized with the clock.
 Display Adapter

4. A test is made of the display adapters memory. The display adapters BIOS code is
copied to become part of the systems BIOS.
 Memory Card

5. Depending on the type of POST your computer uses the main RAM chips on the
motherboard are tested next with data written to each memory chip.
This test is not done so much with new computers with large memories as the test would
take too long.
Keyboard

6. The keyboard is checked to make sure it’s connected.

 Drives

7. Next it’s the turn of the floppy (if fitted) and hard drives to be tested. This check
determines how many drives are available.
 NV ROM BIOS

8. If these tests are successful the results are compared in the NV ROM BIOS chip. This
keeps a record of which components are installed, even when the computer is switched off
as a battery powers the chip. It is here, in this chip, that any changes are recorded in the
system configuration.
If during the POST test new hardware is detected you can update the configuration.
SCSI Card

9. If a SCSI card is present its BIOS code will be transferred as with the display adapters
BIOS to the main system BIOS.
With Plug and Play components and peripherals the BIOS checks each one for a unique
identifier that is stored in the devices ROM.
10. The next step is to begin loading the Windows operating system.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
"We fund the hat a wee bit faurer on than the coatie," said he,
doffing his glossy headgear and gazing at it admiringly.
"If ye've ony regaird fur ma feelin's, ye'll pit them baith awa' at
aince," Stewart implored, much affected.
His compatriot gazed at him commiseratingly. "Ye've been workin'
ow'er hard the day, ma man," said he, "yer nerves are in a gey bad
state, I'm thinkin'. Hoosomever," he added sternly after brief
thought, "it's ongratefu' on your pairt tae despise the gairment, fur I
promised Phil that ye shid hae it, purvided ye had sunk aboot three
feet the day. Which," he climaxed, nonchalantly, "I hae nae doot ye
hae dune?"
Stewart beamed. "I apologeese, Mac," he said, "noo gie me the
coatie."
"Hoo muckle hae ye sunk?" demanded the generous giver, much
taken aback.
"Full five feet," came the smiling answer. "Mac, ma vera dear freen,
ye've made a ser'us mistak' this time."
Mac stood as if transfixed, gazing appealingly at Phil, who seemed
equally amazed; then he turned without a word and rushed out to
the shaft. When he came back a moment later, he stripped off the
coat and handed it to Stewart. "I'm prood o' ye, ma man," he said
with an effort; "ye're an indiveedual o' muckle strategy."
Then Phil joined in with commendable tact. "You've still got the hat,
Mac," laughed he, "it's a fair divide."
Stewart finds the ground hard.
 WE "STRIKE" GOLD
For over a week sinking operations on the Five-Mile Flat were
continued with unabated vigour, and then a hush of expectation
seemed to fall over the community, for the miners in the shallow
ground at the head of the lead were nearing bottom, and the vast
array who had pegged along the supposed course of the auriferous
wash ceased their labours and waited in tremulous eagerness for
reports from Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7, below Discovery. There was
good reason for anxiety. If these claims bottomed on pipe-clay
deposits or other barren clayey formations, little hope could be
entertained for those who had followed their line of guidance. The
direction of the golden channel certainly could not be ascertained by
judging the lie of the country on the surface, for it was almost
absolutely flat, and bore not the slightest resemblance to the original
country far beneath. Practical tracing from claim to claim was the
only method by which a miner could safely calculate, and that meant
that those a little way off the first proved shaft, and all following
claim-holders, must either be possessed of a vast amount of hope
and energy or an equal amount of patience. It is not unusual, also,
to find a deep lead suddenly "fizzle" out with little warning; and
again, it seldom fails to create consternation and disappointment at
an anxious time by shooting off at right angles, or diverging into
numerous infinitesimal leaderettes.
So it was that when the first flush of excitement had died away
attention was turned to those claims mentioned, and for the time all
work was suspended. We, at No. 7, were still several feet above the
level at which we had calculated to find bottom. Since Stewart so
peremptorily burst out the ironstone bar we had encountered
nothing but a series of sand formations, which we managed to crash
through at the rate of five feet each day, and now our shaft
measured fully forty-one feet in depth.
My companions worked like Trojans in their efforts to reach gold-
paying gravel before their neighbours. Neither Stewart nor Mac had
the slightest fear of our shaft proving a duffer, and their extreme
confidence was so infecting that Phil forswore many of his pet
geological theories in order to fall into line with their ideas. "After
all," he said to me, "geological rules seem to be flatly contradicted
by the arrangement of the formations here, and only the old adage
holds good, that an ounce of practice is worth a ton of theory."
"It looks that way," I answered, "yet I do not like the look of these
enormous bodies of sandstone. If I were to go by my experience in
other countries, I should promptly forsake this ground and look for
more promising tracts."
We were standing by the windlass pulling up the heavy buckets of
conglomerate material which Mac was picking below with much
gusto. The glare of the sun reached barely half-way down the shaft,
and the solitary worker was beyond our gaze, but well within
hearing, nevertheless, for his voice rumbled up from the depths in
strong protest.
"I'll no hae mae idees corrupted wi' sich fulish argiment. Naitur has
wyes o' her ain, an' whaur golologists think gold is, ye may be sure
there's nane; bit whaur it raelly is, there ignorant golologists insist it
insna. There's nae pleasin' some fouk."
We kept silence, and, after waiting vainly for our comment, Mac
again attacked the solid sandstone with sullen ferocity.
The air was close and sultry, and the dumps thrown up from the
many shafts around glistened in the intense light and crumbled off
into the heat haze as filmy clouds of dust. The entire landscape
seemed as a biographic picture, and affected the eyes in similar
degree. It was a typical Westralian day. Thud! thud! went Mac's pick,
and now and then came a grunt of annoyance from that perspiring
individual as an unusually refractory substance would temporarily
defy his strength.
We leaned against the windlass barrel, awaiting his call of "Bucket!"
which would intimate that further material was accumulated below,
and ready for discharge into the outer air. Few men were about,
unless at No. 2 shaft, where there was much activity. On the
adjoining lot our friend of the leathery skin—who rejoiced in the title
of "Emu Bill"—dozed under the shade of a rudely-erected wigwam.
"It's a bit warm," ventured Phil. He was not quite sure of his ground,
and did not wish to exaggerate.
"It's d—d hot!" rolled a well-known voice from the depths, and
Stewart within the tent sang gaily an adaption from "Greenland's icy
mountains."
When quiet was restored I looked again towards No. 2, and at that
moment a red handkerchief fluttered to the top of a tiny flagpole
surmounting the windlass, and hung limp. A moment later a long,
hoarse cheer swept the flat from end to end, and, as if by magic,
each claim appeared fully manned, and a sea of faces turned in our
direction. No. 2 had signalled, "On Gold."
"Staun by the windlass! I'm comin' up!" roared Mac, who had
vaguely heard the sound-waves pass overhead and was wondering
what had happened.
"Gold struck on No. 2, Mac!" I shouted, and Phil, who had not quite
understood, staggered in amazement, loosening with his feet a
quantity of sand and rubble which descended with much force on
Mac's upturned face, and interrupted a second passionate appeal to
"Staun by the windlass!"
"I'll hae yer life fur that, ye deevil!" he spluttered. "Ye did it on
purpose."
Then Stewart came upon the scene in great haste. "I tell't ye sae! I
tell't ye sae!" he cried, and for the especial benefit of his isolated
companion he bellowed down, "They've got gold at number twa,
Mac! Oceans o't!"
Mac was then half-way to the surface, with one foot resting in the
empty bucket attached to the cable, and both hands gripping the
strong wire rope, which strained and rasped as it slowly coiled on
the wooden drum. He was no light weight, and Phil and I felt our
muscles twitch as we held against the windlass arm at each dead
centre, for there was no ratchet arrangement attached to prevent a
quick rush back, and our heavy bucket-load made the safety of his
position somewhat doubtful by swaying the rope impatiently, and
indulging in other restless antics.
However, when he came near the light and saw how matters stood
he became quiet as a lamb; but the sight of his face smeared with
the grime so recently deposited upon it, and wearing an intensely
savage expression, was too much for our gravity, and our efforts
faltered.
"Hang on, ye deevils!" pathetically implored he, as he felt himself
tremble in the balance. Then seeing Stewart's face peering down
upon him, he besought his aid. "Staun by the winlass, Stewart, ma
man," he entreated, "or I'll never see auld Scotland again."
But Stewart was at that moment seized with a paroxysm of laughter.
The appeal was vain, and his comrade, being now near terra firma,
and comparatively safe, again addressed him.
"Git oot o' ma sicht, ye red-heided baboon!" said he. "Nae wuner
they couldna work the winlass wi' you staunin' aside them."
It is an unwritten law on most goldfields throughout the world where
the individual miner tries his luck that a flag be at once hoisted over
every shaft that bottoms on paying gravel. It is a pretty custom, and
a generous one to the less fortunate diggers, who judge by the
progressing line of flags whether their own remote claims may have
a chance of intercepting the golden channel. As it happened in this
case, No. 2 shaft could hardly have failed to pick up the lead, which
had been traced in its direction to the boundaries of Discovery claim.
Still, there was much rejoicing when the red symbol went up, and
for the rest of the day a renewed activity was in force to the
uttermost end of the Flat. Even "Emu Bill," as our near neighbour
was picturesquely styled, felt called upon to do a little work; but, as
he took care to explain, he did it only to satisfy mining regulations,
which demand that a certain amount of labour must be performed
each day. "You'll notice," said he, "that 3, 4, and 5 hiv tacked on
d'reckly in line—as they thought—an' you'll furrer notice thishyer
propperty, No. 6, an' yer own, No. 7, hiv not exzactly played foller
the leader." Which was true; for Emu Bill's claim had taken only a
diagonal guidance from its predecessor, and ours continued the
altered route, while those following varied considerably between the
two angles thus given.
"When you sees a flag floatin' on No. 3, boys," continued he
meditatively, "it's time to pack up your traps, an', as I said afore, I
believe in waitin' events an' jedgin' accordin'."
"Hoo lang hae you been diggin' holes in this countrie, Leatherskin?"
Stewart politely inquired. And he of the weary countenance chewed
his quid reflectively for several minutes ere he made reply.
"I reckon over a dozen years," he said at length, "in which time I
perspected Coolgardie an' Kalgoorlie wi' old Pat Hannan when there
was nothin' but niggers within' a couple of hundred miles of us."
"A'm o' the opeenion," announced Mac, "that what Mr. Leatherskin
disna ken aboot the vagaries o' his ain playgrun' is no worth
menshun."
"Seven is supposed to be a lucky number," spoke Phil, "and I think it
will prove so with us."
After which Emu Bill went back to slumber, and Phil went down to
labour in the shaft. "You've got tae mind," instructed Mac, who
manipulated his descent, "when you want the bucket jist lift up yer
voice tae that effeck, and I'll drap it doon gently on the end o' the
rope."
Phil promised, and was speedily lowered into the darkness, and Mac,
neglecting his post at once, came round into the tent, where Stewart
and myself were trying hard to find a half-hour's oblivion in the
realms of dreamland, and the myriad flies buzzing everywhere were
trying equally hard, and with greater success, to prevent our
succumbing to the soft influence. Mac's entrance at this moment
was particularly distasteful to his comrade, who was just on the
verge of sweet unconsciousness, and whose essayed snores were
beginning to alarm the flies besieging his face.
"Go awa' oot this meenit, Mac," said he, opening his eyes, "and tak'
yer big feet aff ma stummick at aince."
Just then a far-away cry of "Bucket" was vaguely heard, and calmly
ignored by the new-comer. "Stewart, ma man," he began, sitting
down on a portion of the weary one's anatomy, "I wis wantin' tae
get yer idees on one or twa maitters o' scienteefic interest."
"Get out, Mac!" I ordered. But he seemed not to hear, and another
hoarse call for "Bucket" passed unobserved.
"I wis wantin', for instance," he continued earnestly, "tae speak wi'
ye ser'usly on metapheesical quest-shuns——"
"Let me alane!" Stewart howled, writhing in torment. But his visitor
was not to be shaken off.
Five minutes later a stentorian yell from the shaft intimated that
Phil's patience was being unduly strained, and Mac reluctantly
desisted from expounding further the intricacies of science, and rose
to go. As may be understood, the bottom of a narrow and deep pit is
not the most pleasant of places in which to idle away the time, and
Phil, after digging as much as the limited area of operations would
allow, was filled with wrath at the neglect of his associate, and
cursed that worthy gentleman with fervour between his shouts.
"Bucket!" he roared, for the twentieth time, and Mac, who was then
scrambling towards the windlass, inwardly commented on the
unusual savageness of the voice. "He's a wee bit annoyed," he
murmured. "I'll better try an' propeetiate him." So he leaned his
head over the shaft mouth and whispered in winning tones, "Are ye
vera faur doon, Pheel-up?"
"Lower away the bucket, you flounder-faced mummy!" came the
prompt reply, which penetrated the darkness in sharp staccato
syllables.
Mac looked pained. "Noo, if that had been Stewart," he muttered
grimly, "I wud a kent weel what tae dae, bit being the golologist
——" He shook his head feebly, and reached for the hide bucket,
which was lying near. Then, forgetting in the flurry of the moment to
hitch it on to the rope, he let it descend at the fastest speed the law
of gravity would permit.
"Staun frae under!" he yelled, realising too late what he had done;
but in such a narrow space there was no room for dodging, and the
leathern receptacle struck the unfortunate man below with more
force than was agreeable. "Ye brocht it on yersel'," consolingly spoke
Mac. "It's a veesitation o' Providence fur miscain' me sae sairly."
The words that greeted his ears were eloquent and emphatic, and
he marched into the tent in high dudgeon. "Gang an' pull the
golologist oot o' the shaft," said he to Stewart. "He's in the position
o' a humourist, an' he canna see throo't."
Perhaps there are few who could have smiled and looked pleasant
under similar circumstances; but the "golologist" was of a forgiving
nature, and his enmity dissolved when he reached the surface.
"You'll admit, Mac," he said, after allowances had been made on
both sides, "that I had some slight cause for grumbling, and in your
magnanimity you might have spared me your last forcible addition to
the argument."
"That wis a mistak'," Mac replied apologetically. "I had the baggie in
ma haun, meanin' tae send it doon in orthodox manner; bit yer
injudishus remarks made me nervish, and doon it drappit, sudden-
like."
After these explanations peace reigned again; but Stewart's rest had
been so rudely broken that he now thought to work off his lassitude
by an hour's graft with the pick. We had arranged ourselves into
shifts, which went on and off alternately, or otherwise, as we
thought fit; but it was my plan to reach bedrock without delay, so
the shaft was never allowed to remain long unoccupied. Leaving Mac
and Phil to attend to culinary matters, I went out with Stewart, and,
after lowering him into the Stygian gloom, kept watch by the
windlass until the night closed over and Phil announced that tea was
ready.

No. 2 Claim—Just Struck Gold.

Two more days passed uneventfully. The hourly-expected bulletin of

good news from No. 3 was being long deferred, and vague fears
were beginning to be expressed that all was not satisfactory there. It
was known that Nos. 3, 4, and 5 had put on extra shifts in the last
few nights, and the depths of their sinkings must at this time have
exceeded fifty feet. We at No. 7 awaited developments with keen
interest. It was natural that we should hope for the worst at No. 3,
for, as Emu Bill had said, we were on an entirely different tack, and
might cease our labours when the gaudy emblem appeared over
that claim. In these two days progress had been very slow with us,
for a hard bar of conglomerate quartz had intervened at the 45-foot
level, and we dared not use gelignite in case the heavy discharge
might bring the upper walls inward and render our whole work
useless.
It is always precarious to use blasting powder of any description at
the deep levels of an alluvial shaft, and the more so when the upper
formations have proved to be of non-cohesive nature. So we were
compelled to laboriously pick the unyielding mass where we might,
and otherwise drill and shatter it with hammers.
On the morning of the third day after the flag had been raised at No.
2 the Emu seemed to awake from his lethargy in earnest, and set to
work with right good-will to make up for lost time.
"You wasn't wrong in takin' my advice arter all, mate," he said to
me, when I appeared to inquire the reason of his unwonted activity.
"There's no flag up at No. 3 yet," I answered tentatively.
"No, nor won't be, nuther," he returned with evident satisfaction. "I
tell you what, mate," he continued impressively, "the first flag that
goes up will be at your own shaft, No. 7, so you'd better get your
flagpole ready. The man what says I don't know this country is a liar,
every time."
Yet still the men at the shafts in question continued to dig deeper
and deeper. "We hasn't reached bottom yet," they said, in answer to
all questions, and on that point they appeared decided.
"I'll go up and pint out the evil o' their ways," Emu Bill said, coming
over to us after midday. "I don't believe in no man exartin' hissel' to
no good." Then he addressed himself to Mac far below: "I say,
Scottie, you're going to strike it first, and good luck to you, you
hard-working sinner."
"Same to you, Leatherskin, an mony o' them," a voice from the
depths replied gruffly, for the "hard-working sinner" had but
imperfectly understood.
Leaving Phil in charge of the windlass, I accompanied Emu Bill to the
shafts he now considered doomed. "Look at the stuff they're takin'
out," said he, drawing my attention to a heap of white and yellow
cement-like substance; "the beggars have gone clean through the
bedrock and don't know it."
The men at the windlass eyed us savagely as we came near, and I
experienced for a moment a malicious joy when I noticed our
uncommunicative visitor among them. "We don't want no more
opinions," one of their number cried; "we knows we hasn't struck
bottom yet."
"Mates," said Emu Bill, with dignity, "I hiv sunk more duffers than
thar be years in my life—an' I'm no chicken—an' I tells ye straight,
you've not only struck bottom, but you've gone three or four feet
past it. If you means to tunnel through to Ole England, that's your
business, but if not, you'd better give it best."
Without further words, we retraced our steps, my companion fuming
inwardly because of his brusque reception. Yet his advice must have
had due effect, for that evening the unfortunately-placed shafts
were being dismantled and late in the night the all too sanguine
owners struck their camps and departed for other fields. Their
disappointment was keen. They had missed fortune by only a few
yards.
Next morning all the Flat knew that Nos. 3, 4, and 5 had duffered
out, and, as a result, there was a great exodus of those who had
been guided by these locations; but, on the other hand, rejoicings
were the order of the day with the miners who believed Nos. 6 and 7
to mark the true continuation of the lead, which had last been
proved at the second workings.
Our claim was then the cynosure of all eyes, for the Emu's shaft was
yet barely six feet deep, and we were supposed to be close on the
dreaded bottom. I was convinced that we should know our luck
immediately the ironstone bar was penetrated, and that obstruction
was not likely to hinder us much longer.
"I'll be the man that'll see gold first," Mac announced confidently, as
he shouldered his pick after breakfast and prepared to take first
shift.
"I've got a rale bonnie flag to pit up when ye're ready," said Stewart,
displaying an imposing-looking Union Jack which had done service at
Klondike, and which he had been surreptitiously repairing for some
days past.
Phil was silent. "I sincerely hope we may not be disappointed," he
said at length. Like me, he could not understand the presence of the
refractory formation so close upon auriferous wash—if the latter
really existed in our claim.
"Geological rules don't count in this country, Phil," I suggested
hopefully; then Mac departed, grumbling loudly at what he was
pleased to call my "Job's comfortings."
For the best part of the forenoon I listened to the thudding of the
pick with an anxious interest, for any stroke now might penetrate to
the mysterious compound known as the cement wash; but the blows
still rung hard and clear, and I grew weary waiting. It was not
necessary to send the bucket below often. Though Mac smote the
flinty rock with all his strength, and a vigour which few could have
sustained, the result of his labours was almost infinitesimal. Every
half-hour Stewart would receive from his perspiring companion a
blunted pick, hoisted up on the end of the cable, while a fresh one
was provided to continue the onslaught. Mac seemed tireless, and
Stewart above, at a blazing fire, practised all his smithy art to keep
the sorely-used tools in order; while ever and anon a hoarse voice
would bellow from the underground, "Mak' them hard, Stewart, ma
man. Mind that it is no butter A'm diggin'."
"You must come up, Mac," I said, when one o'clock drew near, but
he would not hear of it. "I ken I hivna faur tae gang noo," he cried.
"I can hear the sound gettin' hollow."
Another ten minutes passed, and now I could distinctly note a
difference in the tone of the echoes ringing upwards. Thud! Thud!
Thud! went the pick, and Mac's breath came in long deep gasps,
that made Stewart rave wildly at the severe nature of his comrade's
exertions.
Then suddenly there was a crash, followed by a shout of joy. Mac
had bottomed at last.
For several moments complete silence reigned; then a subdued
scraping below indicated that Mac was collecting some of the newly-
exposed stratum for analysis.
"What does it look like?" I whispered down. There are few indeed
who could withstand a touch of the gold fever at such a critical time,
and I was impatient to know the best or the worst; either report
would have allayed the indescribable feeling that possessed me
then. The most hardened goldseeker is not immune from the thrill
created when bottom has been reached; at that moment he is at
one with the veriest novice who eagerly expects to view gold in its
rough state for the first time.
My companion did not at once gratify my longing for knowledge, and
when he replied, Phil, Stewart, and myself were peering down into
the shaft awaiting intelligence with breathless interest.
"I think," he muttered, in tones that struck upon our ears as a knell
of doom, "I raelly think—ye micht keep yer heids oot o' the licht."
"Mac!" I admonished, "remember this is no time for pleasantries."
"Weel, weel," he responded apologetically, "I wis wantin' tae gie
correct infurmashun, bit the glint aff Stewart's pow mak's a' thing
coloured." Stewart promptly drew back his head with a howl of rage.
"Mak' nae mair refleckshuns!" he cried indignantly.
There came a creak at the windlass rope as Mac put his foot into the
half-filled bucket and prepared to ascend; then his voice rolled up to
us again. "Wha's makin' refleckshuns? I was only makin' menshun o'
the bonnie auburn——"
"Shut up, Mac," Phil interrupted, and Mac obligingly cut short his
soliloquy and roared—
"Staun by the windlass, ye deevils, I'm comin' up wi' specimens!"
If he had had cause at one time to comment on the slow and
uncertain nature of his upward flight, he assuredly had no room for
complaint in that direction on this occasion. All three of us went to
the windlass and yanked our comrade to the surface at a rate that
caused him much consternation. Then I seized the bucket, which
contained a few pounds of an alarmingly white-looking deposit, and
hurried with it into the tent, where the gold-pan, freshly scrubbed,
lay waiting beside a kerosene tin half filled with muddy water. On
closer examination the samples looked decidedly more promising;
little granules of quartz were interspersed with the white cement,
and a sprinkling of ironshot particles were also in evidence. We had
struck an alluvial wash: that was clear enough, and now the
question was—would it prove to be auriferous? Without speaking we
commenced to crush the matrix into as fine a powder as possible,
and when that operation was completed, the whole was emptied
into the gold-pan.
"It looks just like sugar," Stewart broke out, "an' no near so dirty as
Klonduk gravel."
"Get your flag ready," I said, "we'll know our luck in a few minutes."
I now filled the pan with water, and began to give it that concentric
motion so familiar to those who search for the yellow metal.
Gradually, very gradually, the water was canted off, carrying with it
the bulk of the lighter sands, and finally the residue was left in the
form of some ounces of black ironstone powder, which, because of
its weight, had remained, and about an equal amount of coarse
quartz grains that had escaped crushing.
"But I don't see any gold," said Phil despondingly.
"Ye're faur too impatient," Mac reproved. "Ye didna expec' tae see it
floatin' on tap o' a' that stuff surely?"
I tilted the pan obliquely several times in order to make the contents
slide round in the circular groove provided, and as it slowly moved
under the gentle pressure of the little water remaining, it left a
glittering trail in its wake, which caused my three companions to
break out in a whoop of delight.
Some sixty seconds later the Union Jack floated bravely above our
windlass, and was hailed with a thunder of applause.
 CAMP-FIRE REMINISCENCES
For many weeks work went on merrily. One after another the various
claims reached paying gravel, and flags of all designs and colours
soon marked the course of the lead for fully half a mile, after which
distance the golden vein effectually eluded discovery; it had
apparently disappeared into the bowels of the earth. For the first few
days succeeding our location of the auriferous wash we contented
ourselves in dollying the more easily disintegrated parts of the white
conglomerate, and collecting the solid and cumbrous blocks
excavated into sacks, each of which when filled weighed over a
hundred pounds. These I meant to send to some crushing battery
when several tons had been raised.
The water for dollying as well as for all other purposes was obtained
from a deep shaft sunk near at hand by a speculative individual, who
considered that water might ultimately pay him as generously as
gold, and as he charged eightpence a gallon for the brackish fluid,
and had an unlimited demand for it at that, he probably found it a
less troublesome and much more lucrative commodity than even a
moderately wealthy claim on the Five-Mile Lead. As it so happened,
however, when other claims began to copy our tactics and dolly
portions of their wash, it was made evident that the water bore was
not equal to the strain, and once or twice it ran dry at a most critical
time. After a careful computation of its capacity we saw that it could
only be drawn upon for domestic purposes in future, and even then
there was every probability of the supply giving out if a good rainfall
did not soon occur to moisten the land and percolate to the
impervious basin tapped by the bore in question.
 Our Shaft.

At this time a public battery, owned by a limited company, was doing

yeoman service to the dwellers on an alluvial field some five miles
south of us; and after much consideration we, in common with the
most of the miners, arranged to despatch our golden gravel thither,
as being the only way out of a difficulty. Public batteries exist all over
those goldfields, for, owing to the absence of water, a prospector can
rarely do more than test samples of his find, and thereby estimate
its value; and these public crushing plants are, therefore, a very
necessary adjunct to his success.
The time passed pleasantly enough now that the trying uncertainty
of the first fortnight was no longer with us, and the auriferous
channel was being slowly and surely tunnelled and cut in every
conceivable direction. Work was pursued in matter-of-fact fashion.
The glamour of the goldseeker's life had departed with the risk.
Yet when the practical and perhaps sordid work of the day was
done, and we gathered together around one or other of the
numerous camp fires, it seemed as if a new world had descended
upon us when daylight gave place to the mystic glimmer of the
lesser stars and the steadfast radiance of the glorious Southern
Cross. Only the world-wanderer who has slept beneath all skies can
truly appreciate the grandeur of the southern constellations. The
bushman has grown to love them from his infancy; they have been
his companions on many a weary journey, and he regards them with
an almost sacrilegious familiarity. But to the traveller from other
lands these shining guide-posts in the heavens arouse a feeling akin
to reverence, and later, when he ventures into his grim desert land
and trusts his life to their constancy, his admiration, were it possible,
increases tenfold. There is, of course, one great reason for the
stranger's attachment to the sky sentinels of an Australian night
other than their calm, clear brilliance. In no other country is the
wanderer brought so close, as it were, to the luminaries of night. In
Canada, Alaska, America, India, or China, or, indeed, in any portion
of the globe, by reason of climatic or other conditions, one must
perforce sleep under canvas, and in some cases where the cold is
severe—as in Alaska—the shelter of a heavily-logged hut is almost a
necessity. But in the inland parts of Australia, where rain seldom
falls, and where no pestilence taints the atmosphere, the sky alone
usually forms the traveller's roof. Many times have I gone to sleep in
the great silent interior with only my coat for a pillow, and coaxed
myself into slumber while watching for the advent of a favourite star,
or tracing the gradual course of the Southern Cross.
To me the stars of the south have a peculiar significance. When I
gazed at them, even while divided from civilisation by over a
thousand miles of dreary arid sand plains, I felt comforted, for
though compass and sextant may fail, the stars will still show the
way.
I recall our evenings spent at the Five-Mile Camp with deepest
pleasure. There only did I meet and talk with the typical men of the
West, and the simple, true-hearted, restless spirits of the Island
Continent who have pushed the outposts of their country far into the
desert. It was my one experience of a Western Australian mining
camp, and afterwards, during our weary wanderings in the far
interior, we often longed for the company of the generous-minded
men who used to gather round our fire and review their early
experiences with such vivid effect.
Emu Bill, I have already mentioned, but there were several others
whom we came to know during the later days of our sojourn at the
golden flat, and they had all their own peculiar characteristics, with a
sterling honesty of purpose as the keynote of their lives.
"Old Tom," I remember, possessed an interest in the claim next to
ours; not much of an interest it was, either, for he was too old a man
to have come in nearly first in the rush. He had simply been
promised a percentage of returns in No. 8 for doing all the work
thereon; and as at first the presence of gold there was much
doubted, it was no great generosity on the part of the owner of the
lot to promise slight reward and no wages for labour done. Yet for
once Old Tom scored in a bargain, and his labours were not, as he
cheerfully said they had ever been, wholly vain.
Old Tom must have been a splendid specimen of manhood in his
day; now he was nearly seventy years of age, and his bent
shoulders detracted somewhat from his great stature, while his
slightly-bowed legs—whose deviation from the perpendicular, he
insisted, had been caused by much walking—gave to him a more
frail appearance than was justified.
His knowledge of his own country was extensive, but he had fallen
into the strange belief that the world began at Australia, and that
Europe, Asia, and other portions of the globe were merely remote
colonies or dependencies of his own land. "I hiv walked all over
Australia, mates," he used to say; "I know the world well."
"You ought to see London, Tom," I said, one night, after he had
been recounting his travelling experiences; but he shook his head.
"It's too far to walk," he replied sadly; "Old Tom's walking days are
nearly over. But," and he brightened considerably, "I've heard tell
that Lunnon is full o' people, an' there wouldn't be no room for an
old man like me to peg his claim."
It was one of his fixed ideas that the whole world was but a goldfield
on which all men had to try their luck. And the sea had its terrors for
him, as it has for nearly all bushmen, although most of them get
accustomed to it sooner or later. With Old Tom it would be never. "I
went on a ship once," he admitted, "when I was a young 'un, an' the
mem'ry o't will never leave me." He shuddered at the recollection of
his sufferings. "I kin walk 'bout as fast as a ship, anyway," he added
with much satisfaction, "an' a hundred miles more or less don't make
much difference when Old Tom is on the wallaby."
At another time, when news of Kitchener's brilliant successes in the
Soudan had reached us, I read out to him from an old home
newspaper details of the capture of Omdurman. There were many
around the fire that night, and all listened eagerly to the thrilling
narrative except Old Tom; he gazed listlessly into the glowing fire,
and smoked his pipe unmoved.
"Have you no interest in these things, Tom?" I asked.
"It's a long time since I've been in the Eastern Colonies," he
answered slowly, "an' I hiv lost my bearin's among them names.
Soudan is in Queensland, isn't it? Or mebbe it is west'ard in Noo
South Wales?" Poor Old Tom! he had fought the aborigines times
without number, and taken his life in his hands on many a lone trail,
yet he would have been surprised had anyone said that he was more
than usually venturesome. He knew no fear, and acted his weary
part in life nobly and well.
 Nuggety Dick and Silent Ted.

"Silent Ted" was another of our camp-fire comrades; he was, as his

name implied, not a talkative individual. Long years spent in the
bush had served to dry up the vials of his speech. Yet he was not
morose or taciturn by nature; he simply seemed too tired to give
expression to his thoughts. His eyes were ever fixed and emotionless
as the desert sands—sure evidence of the bushman who has lived in
the dreary wilderness beyond the Darling. He had been a long time
in striking gold, and we all thought his shaft was likely to prove a
duffer; but despite our gloomy prophecies he joined our evening
circle night after night, and smoked his pipe cheerful as usual,
though that was not saying much.
"I forgot to tell you, mates," he broke out one evening, to our great
surprise, "that I struck bottom yesterday."
He meant to say more, but his mouth closed with a click in spite of
himself, and in reply to our congratulations he handed round for
examination two fine specimens of alluvial gold which he had taken
from his first day's tests, and when they had been inspected by the
community and returned to him, he passed them on to his
neighbour with a sigh; he had apparently already forgotten their
existence.
The devil-may-care fossicker, also, was well represented, and his
species rejoiced in cognomens so euphonious and varied that I could
never remember the correct titles to bestow upon their several
owners, and only realised my mistakes when greeted with
reproachful glances. Among our acquaintances were, "Dead Broke
Sam," a proverbially unfortunate miner in a perpetual state of
pecuniary embarrassment; "Lucky Dave," who always "came out on
top;" "Happy Jack," who seemed to find much cause for merriment
in his rather commonplace existence; and "Nuggety Dick," who at all
times could unearth one or two specimens from some secret place in
his meagre wardrobe, and describe minutely where they had been
obtained—usually some place comprehensively indicated as "away
out back."
These gaunt, bearded men had many strange stories to tell, and in
the ruddy firelight they would trace on the sand intricate charts
emblematic of their wanderings. They were those whose roving
natures compelled them to follow up every gold rush, with the firm
belief that extraordinary fortune would one day crown their efforts.
"It's a durned hard life, boys," Dead Broke Sam, who worked with
Old Tom on similar terms of remuneration, would often say, looking
round for the sympathetic chorus that was always forthcoming, "but
if we doesn't peg out, we is bound to strike it some day."
There is no blasphemy in the speech of the Australian miner. The
most rugged-looking fossicker is gentle as a lamb, save when undue
presumption on the part of some new chum, or "furriner," arouses
his ire, and then he makes things hum generally; but his forcible
words are merely forcible, and perhaps "picturesque," but nothing
more; the inane profanity of the Yankee fortune-seeker finds no
exponent in the Australian back-blocker.
Many were the tales "pitched" on these long starlit nights, and
narratives of adventure in search of gold, and hairbreadth escapes
from the aborigines succeeded each other until the evening was far
spent, and the Southern Cross had sunk beyond the horizon. Then
we would disperse with a monosyllabic "night, boys," all round, and
seek our separate sandy couches.
My comrades, Mac and Stewart, were shining satellites at these
meetings, and weird stories from the Pampas plains and the
Klondike valley formed at intervals a pleasing change—from the
miners' point of view—to the accounts of gold-finds, and rushes, and
hostile natives, so fluently described by Nuggety Dick and Co. And
now and then a whaling anecdote would lend zest to the gathering,
faithfully told by Stewart with much dramatic effect; he was, indeed,
a past master at the art, and never failed to hold his audience
spellbound.
Emu Bill, though recognised by all as the most experienced miner
present, rarely condescended to spin a yarn, and he listened to his
confrères' tales with ill-concealed impatience, but showed a decided
liking for my two warriors' romances. One evening, however, he
broke his reserve and proceeded to give a rambling survey of his
wanderings, and as he warmed to his subject his eyes began to
glow, and his gestures became eloquent and impassioned.
"Yes, boys," said he, winding up a resumé of his exploits in various
parts of Australia, "I calc'late I hev had a fair-sized experience o'
gold mining in my time, an' as ye may guess, I hevn't allus come out
right end up, nuther, else I shouldn't be here. Thank the Lord! I've
struck something at last."
"I'm wi' ye thar, mate," grunted Old Tom in sympathy. "I guess this
is Old Tom's last rise."
Then a silence fell over the little assembly, during which Emu Bill
drew fanciful diagrams in the sand with an improvised camp poker,
and Silent Ted almost went to sleep. The rest of us gazed at Emu Bill
with a show of interest, expecting him to proceed with his
reminiscences, and soon he started again.
"Yes, boys, I've had my disappintments, as we've all had, I opine,
but I had an un-common disappintment at the time o' the Kalgoorlie
Rush——"
"Kalgoorlie Rush, Bill?" I exclaimed. "Were you in that?"
"Wur I in that?" he echoed dismally. "I wur, an' I wurn't, which is not
mebbe a very plain statement, but you kin jedge fur yourself if you
care to hear my yarn."
"Let her go, Bill," said Nuggety Dick.
"I'm listenin' wi' vera great interest," Mac spoke slowly. "Ye've been a
man o' pairts, Emoo."
After sundry expressions of approval had been elicited, Bill again
picked up the thread of his narrative.
"You've heard o' old Hannan, of course," he began, "the diskiverer o'
Kalgoorlie? The diskiverer o' Kalgoorlie!" he repeated, mimicking a
general expression often heard on the fields. "Well, boys, I kin tell
you how Kalgoorlie was diskivered.... Pat Hannan an' me had been
mates for a considerable time. We walked from South'ron Cross
together afore the railway, an' we 'specked around Coolgardie camp
wi' fairish success. There was no township at Coolgardie then, boys,
though that jumped up quick enough. One day we thought we'd jine
a party as was going out eastward to 'speck for gold furrer back in
the nigger country; an' after gettin' our water-bags filled an'
provisions for a month rolled up in our swags, we all cleared out. In
two days we camped at Kalgoorlie well. You know where that is,
boys; but there was nary a shanty within twenty-five miles of it then,
nothin' but sand an' black boys, an' hosts o' nigs. But we never
thought o' lookin' for gold there, worse luck; at least, none o' the
rest did; but old Hannan had a skirmish round' an' reported nary
sign o't, so we struck camp at oncet. But jest as we wur movin' off,
Hannan comes to me with a twist on his mug an' snickers, 'Bill, me
bhoy, phwat can I do? Me water-bag's bust!' Now that wur a ser'us
matter, for we needed all the water we could carry, not knowin'
when another well might turn up, so I voted we shid all camp again
until Pat's water-bag had been repaired, an' the rest o' the boys of
course agreed, unan'mous. But that wouldn't suit old Hannan, 'Ye'd
better go on, boys,' said he, 'an' I'll come after yez in half an hour.'
So we went on; but though we went slow, and arterards waited fur
half a day, no Hannan turned up, an' we had to continue our journey
without him. Well, boys, we came back in less'n a fortnight, arter
trampin' about in the durnedest country on God's earth in search o'
water an' findin' none. We hadn't time to look fur gold, so ye kin
guess we wur mighty miserable when we drew near to the place
where old Hannan's water-bag had busted; but the appearance o'
the camp sort o' mystified us, thar wur rows an' rows o' tents, an'
the ground was pegged fur miles. 'Howlin' tarnation!' I yelled at the
first man we came across. 'Is this a mir-adge, or what has we
struck?' 'Nary mir-adge, mate,' said he, 'this is Hannan's Find, or
Kalgoorlie if yous like that name better.' ... An' it wur a bitter fack,
boys. Old Hannan must have notised an outcrop somewheres
around, an' being allfired afeared that we, his mates, might get too
much benefit, he had ripped the water-bag on purpose so as to get
an excoose fur waitin' behind. Then, of course, he had gone back to
Coolgardie an' got the Government diskivery reward, which
otherwise would have been divided atween us. But we got nothin',
boys, nary cent, an' nary square inch o' ground. The camp had been
rushed when we wur sufferin' howlin' terrors out back.... There's
wan favour I'd ask of you, boys, don't none of you start 'God
blessin'' old Hannan for diskivering Kalgoorlie in my hearing. I can't
stand it, boys, an' you know why."
Bill ceased, and a murmur of sympathy ran round the little group.
The Kalgoorlie rush was fresh in the minds of nearly all present,
many of whom had taken part in it. Every one knew Hannan, but
who better than his one-time partner? and if his tale showed the
much-honoured finder of Kalgoorlie in a less favourable light than
that in which he was usually regarded, no one doubted Emu Bill's
version of the story; yet it was hard to dispel from the mind the
glamour of romance associated with the event from the first. One
more illustration of the difference between the real and the ideal,
but it seems almost a pity to destroy the illusions, they lend so much
colour and interest to otherwise sordid episodes.
The night was unusually dark, fleeting clouds constantly obscured
the feeble light of a slender crescent moon, and the myriad stars
glimmered fitfully. Our fire was the only cheerful object in the
darkness, and it blazed and crackled, lighting up the weather-beaten
faces of the circle around it, and illuminating our tent in the
background. For a long time no one spoke, every man seemed
gloomily affected by Bill's story, and with chins resting on their hands
they gazed into the vortex of the flaming logs long and earnestly.
Then a familiar voice interrupted their reveries. "When Stewart an'
me discovered Gold Bottom Creek——"
"Go slow, Mac," I objected wearily; "it's getting late and we'd better
turn in."
"It is wearin' on fur midnight," grunted Dead Broke Sam, surveying
the heavens for the position of his favourite reckoning star.
"What was your last battery returns, mate?" asked Emu Bill, turning
to me with a revival of practical interest.
"Fifty tons for 150 ounces," I replied.
"Not too bad," commented Nuggety Dick.
"I'm 20 tons fur 60 ounces," said my interrogator, "which is the same
ratio. I guess Nos. 6 and 7 are the best properties on the Five Mile."
"I'm 25 for 51," announced Happy Jack cheerfully.
"Thank the Lord, we've all got somethin'," Old Tom muttered
devoutly, as he rose to his feet. Then we went our several ways.
Happy Jack and Dead-Broke Sam.
 THE "SACRED" NUGGET
At this time much interest was aroused by the report that an
extraordinarily large nugget had been found within a few miles of
Kanowna, an outlying township, but as the days passed and no
confirmation of the rumour was forthcoming, the miners throughout
the whole district decided to hold a court of inquiry and elicit the
facts, or at least the foundations on which the panic-creating
statement had been based. As may be imagined, where gold is in
question no rumour, however wild, is allowed to die a natural death.
The miners will sift and probe into the matter to the bitter end—and
usually the end is bitter indeed to those who have been too eager to
join the inevitable rush, and sink the almost equally inevitable duffer
shafts.
In the present case, however, the sifting process was speedily fruitful
of results. Tangible evidence was obtained that two men had been
seen early one morning carrying what seemed to be an enormous
nugget in a blanket, some little distance from the settlement. Where
the men came from with their find no one knew, and it was not likely
that they would have given the information had it been asked; but
where they had gone afterwards promised to be an equally
mysterious question; they had vanished, leaving no trace or clue.
The warden of the district professed complete ignorance of the
entire affair, and suggested that a practical joke had been played on
the people; but this only served to make the miners unite in an
outburst of genuine indignation. Already many shafts had been sunk
in the most unlikely places by men who could ill afford to labour in
vain. The mad enthusiasm created had had dire effect. Hundreds of
men were flooding into the camp daily from every quarter; work on
all the leads had ceased in anticipation of a rush. The joke, if joke it
was, was indeed a cruel one, and its perpetrators deserved the wild
denunciations that were heaped upon them. "We'll lynch them!"
roared the miners, and they meant it; but despite the utmost
searching, the nugget-carriers—whose names were known—could
not be found.
Then just as excitement was dying out, when the people were all but
convinced that they had been hoaxed, and were preparing to return
to their various labours, confirmation of the rumour came from a
most unexpected quarter. A Roman Catholic priest publicly stated
that he was aware of the existence of the nugget, that he had been
under a promise of secrecy to the finders not to reveal its location
for ten days, but that owing to the extreme panic aroused he felt
constrained to admit its authenticity, so that one doubt might be set
at rest. As for the district in which the great find had been made, he
would give full particulars on the following Tuesday. He further gave
out that the nugget weighed something over a hundred pounds, and
was a perfect specimen of true alluvial gold.
The state of affairs after that can be better imagined than written.
There promised to be a rush unequalled in the annals of goldfields
history. Men flocked into Kanowna in their thousands; excitement
was raised to fever heat; and the whole country seemed to await the
coming of Tuesday.
We, on the Five Mile, did not escape the prevalent craze. Our various
properties were becoming worked out, and in any case who could
resist being influenced by the mention of such a large nugget? The
gold fever is, indeed, a rampant, raging disease which few can
withstand.
"It'll be a bonnie run," said Stewart, "bit I can haud ma ain wi' ony
man."
"I think Phil could gie ye a sair tussle," commented Mac, "an' as fur
masel'—I alloo naebody's sooperiority."
But it was plain to all, long before the eventful day arrived, that the
rush for the Sacred Nugget, as it was called, would be totally
different from that in which we had taken part with so much
success. And little wonder. Since Father Long's announcement,
horses and bicycles and buggies of all descriptions were being held
in readiness. No one had a notion how near or how far the rush
might lead, but all seemed determined to have the speediest means
of locomotion at their disposal. Under these circumstances my
companions' running powers could avail little, and I was not
disposed to favour their desire to try their luck in the stampede.
"We've had enough of gold-mining, boys," I said, "and after we have
finished here I think we'll prospect further out." And the thought of
journeying into the unknown back country pleased them mightily. It
had long been my wish to explore the central parts of the great
Western Colony, and I was seriously considering the feasibility of my
plans towards that purpose when the Sacred Nugget excitement
burst into prominence, and for the time being served to demoralise
my schemes.
"I don't think we ought to trouble with any new strike about here,"
Phil said wearily. The monotony of the gold-seeker's life in Western
Australia was beginning to affect even his usually buoyant nature.
"Don't go, boys," advised Emu Bill earnestly. "I is satisfied the thing
isn't straight. Father Long or no Father Long, thar's been too much
mystery about the consarn. Thar's a ser'us hoax somewheres."
It was a surprise to hear such advice from him. I thought of the time
when I first saw him leading the rush to Five Mile, and unconsciously
I smiled. "In spite of what you say, I believe you'll be there yourself,
Bill," I said. "I'm sure it would break your heart to be absent from
such an event."
"I'm not deny'n' but you're right," he replied soberly. "Wi' me it's a
sort o' madness, but that don't affeck the honesty o' my remarks
wan little bit."
"Weel," began Mac with emphasis, "if ye dinna want tae gang, ye'll
no gang. Stewart and me'll see efter that. I'll dae ye a kindness fur
aince, Emoo."
We decided at last that Phil and I should go and view the "circus"—
not to join in it by any means, but simply that we should see, and
have our curiosity gratified; and so the matter rested. But on
Tuesday morning, when Emu Bill saw the eager throngs passing
inwards in the direction of Kanowna, his resolutions began to waver,
and when the Five-Mile Flat also began to show a deserted
appearance, he came over to our tent with a mournful countenance.
"I is goin' with you arter all, mates," he said simply.
"Ye're gaun tae dae naething o' the sort, Emoo," roared Mac. "Did ye
no promise tae wait wi' Stewart an' me? No, ma man, fur yer ain
guid we'll keep ye here."
And after much eloquent argument Bill resigned himself to his fate,
almost cheerful at last to find his own views resisted so strongly. But
as Phil and I were starting out, he came to me with an eager light in
his eyes. "If you does think it's goin' to be any good," he said,
"mention my name to Tom Doyle. He'll give you anything you want.
Goodbye, boys, an'—an' good luck." And he was led away to be
regaled with stirring stories of other lands, by the masterful pair.
The momentous announcement had been advertised to take place
on Tuesday, at 3.30 p.m., from the balcony of the Criterion Hotel,
and when we reached the township about midday we found the
main thoroughfare a jostling mass of boisterous humanity; while
cyclists in hundreds, lightly garbed as if for a great race, waited
patiently in the side street leading to the post-office, and in full view
of the much-advertised balcony. The cyclist element was composed
of strangers, for the most part, who had cycled from Kalgoorlie and
other settlements within a radius of twenty miles; hence their early
arrival on the scene; they had timed themselves to be well ahead, so
as to be fully rested before the fateful signal was given.
As we forced our way through the crowd I could not help remarking
that the majority had been imbibing over-freely to ensure rapidity of
action later on. Indeed, it looked as if the Criterion Hotel, which
formed the centre of interest, was to be most benefited by the rush.
Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.

More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge

connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and

personal growth every day!

ebookbell.com