amused at this Hobson's choice state of affairs. "The eatables was only cold meat; and they couldn't cook nothink fresh," was the curt reply. "Can we sleep here?" "Yes—under your drays." As we literally determined to "camp out" on the journey, we passed on, without partaking of their "cold eatables," or availing ourselves of their permission to sleep under our own drays, and, leaving the road to Sydney on our right, and the one to Keilor straight before us, we turned short off to the left towards the Deep Creek.
Of the two rejected routes I will give a very brief account.
The right-hand road leads to Sydney, VIA Kilmore, and many going to the diggings prefer using this road as far as that township. The country about here is very flat, stony and destitute of timber; occasionally the journey is varied by a water-hole or surface-spring. After several miles, a public-house called the "Lady of the Lake" is reached, which is reckoned by many the best country inn on this or any other road in the colonies. The accommodation is excellent, and the rooms well arranged, and independent of the house. There are ten or twelve rooms which, on a push, could accommodate fifty or sixty people; six are arranged in pairs for the convenience of married persons, and the fashionable trip during the honey-moon (particularly for diggers' weddings) is to the "Lady of the Lake." Whether Sir Walter's poem be the origin of the sign, or whether the swamps in the rear, I cannot say, but decidedly there is no lake and no lady, though I have heard of a buxom lass, the landlord's daughter, who acts as barmaid, and is a great favourite. This spot was the scene last May of a horrible murder, which has added no little to the notoriety of the neighbourhood.
After several miles you at length arrive at Kilmore, which is a large and thriving township, containing two places of worship, several stores and inns. There is a resident magistrate with his staff of officials, and a station for a detachment of mounted police. Kilmore is on the main overland road from Melbourne to Sydney, and, although not on the confines of the two colonies, is rather an important place, from being the last main township until you reach the interior of New South Wales. The Government buildings are commodious and well arranged. There are several farms and stations in the neighbourhood, but the country round is flat and swampy.
The middle road leads you direct to Keilor, and you must cross the Deep Creek in a dangerous part, as the banks thereabouts are very steep, the stream (though narrow) very rapid, and the bottom stony. In 1851, the bridge (an ordinary log one) was washed down by the floods, and for two months all communication was cut off. Government have now put a punt, which is worked backwards and forwards every half-hour from six in the morning till six at night, at certain fares, which are doubled after these hours. These fares are: for a passenger, 6d.; a horse or bullock, 1s.; a two-wheeled vehicle, 1s. 6d.; a loaded dray, 2s. The punt is tolerably well managed, except when the man gets intoxicated—not an unfrequent occurrence. When there was neither bridge nor punt, those who wished to cross were obliged to ford it; and so strong has been the current, that horses have been carried down one or two hundred yards before they could effect a landing. Keilor is a pretty little village with a good inn, several nice cottages, and a store or two. The country round is hilly and barren—scarcely any herbage and that little is rank and coarse; the timber is very scarce. This road to the diggings is not much used.
But to return to ourselves. The rain and bad roads made travelling so very wearisome, that before we had proceeded far it was unanimously agreed that we should halt and pitch our first encampment. "Pitch our first encampment! how charming!" exclaims some romantic reader, as though it were an easily accomplished undertaking. Fixing a gipsy-tent at a FETE CHAMPETRE, with a smiling sky above, and all requisites ready to hand, is one thing, and attempting to sink poles and erect tents out of blankets and rugs in a high wind and pelting rain, is (if I may be allowed the colonialism) "a horse of quite another colour." Some sort of sheltering-places were at length completed; the horses were taken from the dray and tethered to some trees within sight, and then we made preparations for satisfying the unromantic cravings of hunger—symptoms of which we all, more or less, began to feel. With some difficulty a fire was kindled and kept alight in the hollow trunk of an old gum tree. A damper was speedily made, which, with a plentiful supply of steaks and boiled and roasted eggs, was a supper by no means to be despised. The eggs had been procured at four shillings a dozen from a farm-house we had passed.
It was certainly the most curious tea-table at which I had ever assisted. Chairs, of course, there were none, we sat or lounged upon the ground as best suited our tired limbs; tin pannicans (holding about a pint) served as tea-cups, and plates of the same metal in lieu of china; a teapot was dispensed with; but a portly substitute was there in the shape of an immense iron kettle, just taken from the fire and placed in the centre of our grand tea-service, which being new, a lively imagination might mistake for silver. Hot spirits, for those desirous of imbibing them, followed our substantial repast; but fatigue and the dreary weather had so completely damped all disposition to conviviality, that a very short space of time found all fast asleep except the three unfortunates on the watch, which was relieved every two hours.
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8.—I awoke rather early this morning, not feeling over-comfortable from having slept in my clothes all night, which it is necessary to do on the journey, so as never to be unprepared for any emergency. A small corner of my brother's tent had been partitioned off for my BED-ROOM; it was quite dark, so my first act on waking was to push aside one of the blankets, still wet, which had been my roof during the night, and thus admit air and light into my apartments. Having made my toilette—after a fashion—I joined my companions on the watch, who were deep in the mysteries of preparing something eatable for breakfast. I discovered that their efforts were concentrated on the formation of a damper, which seemed to give them no little difficulty. A damper is the legitimate, and, in fact, only bread of the bush, and should be made solely of flour and water, well mixed and kneaded into a cake, as large as you like, but not more than two inches in thickness, and then placed among the hot ashes to bake. If well-made, it is very sweet and a good substitute for bread. The rain had, however, spoiled our ashes, the dough would neither rise nor brown, so in despair we mixed a fresh batch of flour and water, and having fried some rashers of fat bacon till they were nearly melted, we poured the batter into the pan and let it fry till done. This impromptu dish gave general satisfaction and was pronounced a cross between a pancake and a heavy suet pudding.
Breakfast over, our temporary residences were pulled down, the drays loaded, and our journey recommenced.
We soon reached the Deep Creek, and crossed by means of a punt, the charges being the same as the one at Keilor. Near here is a station belonging to Mr. Ryleigh, which is a happy specimen of a squatter's home—everything being managed in a superior manner. The house itself is erected on a rise and surrounded by an extensive garden, vinery and orchard, all well stocked and kept; some beautifully enclosed paddocks reach to the Creek, and give an English park-like appearance to the whole. The view from here over the bay and Brighton is splendid; you can almost distinguish Geelong. About a quarter of a mile off is a little hamlet with a neat Swiss-looking church, built over a school-room on a rise of ground; it has a most peculiar effect, and is the more singular as the economizing the ground could not be a consideration in the colony; on the left of the church is a pretty little parsonage, whitewashed, with slate roof and green-painted window-frames.
I still fancy, though our redoubtable captain most strenuously denied it, that we had in some manner gone out of our way; however that may be, the roads seemed worse and worse as we proceeded, and our pace became more tedious as here and there it was up-hill work till at length we reached the Keilor plains. It was almost disheartening to look upon that vast expanse of flat and dreary land except where the eye lingered on the purple sides of Mount Macedon, which rose far distant in front of us. On entering the plains we passed two or three little farm-houses, coffee-shops, &c., and encountered several parties coming home for a trip to Melbourne. For ten miles we travelled on dismally enough, for it rained a great deal, and we were constantly obliged to halt to get the horses rested a little. We now passed a coffee-shop, which although only consisting of a canvas tent and little wooden shed, has been known to accommodate above forty people of a night. As there are always plenty of bad characters lounging in the neighbourhood
