“You have been at the mines some time,” I said, drawing the man into conversation.

“Ever since they were opened—­one of the first police officers here—­hard times for grub, then, let me tell you; used to eat leather, or any thing soft; horses all died for the want of water; gold plenty—­miners died with overwork—­few people here, then—­civil—­treated the police well, and made us presents.  Used to dig myself, sometimes—­didn’t like it, though—­hard work, very—­by and by a lot of d——­d furreners came here—­got drunk and made rows—­used to fire pistols at us when we arrested ’em—­got hit once, but didn’t hurt me much—­the fellow gave me ten pounds to settle the matter—­he was a Yankee, I think—­had a revolver, and used to be desperate when he got drunk—­thank God, he died one day, and I saw him buried.”

Although the subject was a grave one, we could not refrain from laughing at his summary method of disposing of a sailor who used to be known at Ballarat as “Yankee Jim,” and who was a terror to all police officers when he was drunk.  He was represented as being as strong as half a dozen ordinary men, of the courage of a lion, and perfectly reckless when under the influence of liquor.  Even his boon companions were often obliged to flee for their lives when one of his cross fits came on him:  and if he was thwarted in the most trifling particular, his rage was unbounded.  He would bite glass and chew it with his teeth, lacerating his gums in a dreadful manner; and it was at one time reported that “Yankee Jim” used to diet on tumblers whenever he felt disposed to grow fleshy.

The fellow was in the United States navy for many years, and ran away from a ship of war that was lying at Sydney when the gold mines were first discovered.  The dissipated course that he pursued soon terminated his life, and he died, after a residence of only three months at Ballarat, with delirium tremens.

There were numerous stories told of the sailor, and I was at some pains to investigate the man’s history; but beyond that he was called “Yankee Jim,” and claimed Cape Cod as his birthplace, found but little to repay me for my trouble; and perhaps a mother is now anxiously expecting a son, whose bones have long since mouldered at Ballarat.

CHAPTER XLVI.

A MARRIAGE, AND AN ELOPEMENT.

In a few minutes we reached the mine.  As there was no one in sight, the policeman concluded to give the signal at the entrance of the shaft that the owner was wanted, and as the mine was not very deep, we were not kept waiting any length of time for his appearance.  The tackle for lowering and raising the miners was worked, and first the head and then the body of a man appeared in view.

“Here’s two gentlemen—­they want to see you, Mr. Henrets,” the officer said.

“My name is Herrets,” the miner said, “and why you will persist in calling me Henrets is beyond my comprehension.”