Denis Dent: A NovelHornung, E. W. (Ernest William)
General
Denis Dent: A Novel
Hornung, E. W. (Ernest William)
Gold mines and mining -- Australia -- Ballarat (Vic.) -- Fiction
His arrangements were concluded with some abruptness, but they showed a
sound foresight in every detail. He had a draft on the Rothschilds (from
the Montefiore then in Melbourne) for his entire savings of nearly
eleven thousand pounds; one duplicate he took with him in the ship,
another was to follow in the next vessel carrying mails. And there was
now no dearth of ships, for Melbourne in these seven or eight months had
evolved from the colossal encampment into the rudimentary city.
Of course Doherty came down to see him off, which he did with the
liveliest lamentations; but already Denis had his eyes fixed on the old
world, and his chief trouble was the time that it must take to get
there.
"I'll follow ye, dear old mister!" whimpered the lad. "I'll be after you
before the year's out--unless I hear as you're on your own way back!"
He stood on the quay, but a ragged young boor--unlettered child of
felons--unshriven son of the soil--yet worth twice his weight in gold in
all senses of the homely phrase. And the troubled face, with the tears
rolling grotesquely over the tan, was the last that Denis looked on in a
land as rich in such contrasts as in the precious metal itself.
The voyage took a hundred and thirty days, and was the longest Denis had
ever made; but it must have seemed so to him in any case, for the
gold-fever had passed its crisis, and now there were more sailors than
enough to man the many ships, so that he found himself a passenger
perforce for the first time in his life. And after a fortnight of
heavenly rest, the idleness became more irksome to his temperament every
day. Instead of reveling in the luxury of seeing others staggering in
dripping oilskins, of hearing the starboard watch piped on deck, and of
turning over on the other side, Denis would sooner have paid the second
officer to change places with him. He missed the crowded hours, and the
sense of responsibility so long associated with the sea; they had made
his former ships fly their latitudes like hurdles, where this one
crawled and climbed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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