From the anchorage, St. Kilda showed through the telescope as a small cluster of cottages, whilst across the bay a few match-boarding huts on the beach stood opposite some wooden jetties. Williamstown, indeed, possessed some stone buildings and a stone pierhead, but in order to get ashore the unhappy emigrant had to hire a boat. Then when he at last succeeded in getting his baggage on the quay, he had to guard it himself, or it would mysteriously disappear. Rather than do this, many a newly arrived emigrant put his outfit up to auction—acting as his own auctioneer on the pierhead itself. And as an outfit purchased in England for the Colonies is usually more remarkable for its weight than its suitability, those who did this generally profited by their astuteness. Melbourne itself could either be reached by a river steamboat up the Yarra Yarra, which at that time was not more than 25 feet wide in places; or by ferry boat across the bay and a two-mile walk from the beach by a rough trail through sand, scrub and marsh. When emigrants began to arrive in such numbers as to overflow Melbourne, the beach became covered with tents and shacks and was known as “canvas town.” There were only 23,000 inhabitants in Melbourne at the time of the gold discovery. Its houses were mostly of wood and but one story high. With the exception of Collins, Bourke and Elizabeth Streets, which were paved, the streets were merely narrow muddy lanes, and there were no foot pavements. In the wet weather these lanes became torrents of water and many a carter reaped a harvest taking people across the road at sixpence a time. Lucky diggers, down on the spree, easily distinguishable by their plaid or chequered jumpers, cabbage tree hats, moleskin trousers, and bearded, swarthy faces were to be seen everywhere. Many of them spent their time driving about in gaily decorated carriages accompanied by flashily dressed women covered with cheap jewellery. Amongst these charioteers, the uproarious British tar could always be picked out. He disliked driving at a slower pace than a gallop, and as often as not, instead of handling the ribbons, he would insist on riding postillion—and he was also unhappy unless his craft flew a huge Union Jack. As usual with gold so easily come by, the lucky digger made every effort to get rid of his dust. Just as the buccaneer in the days of the Spanish Main, when back from a successful cruise, would pour his arrack and rum into the streets of Port Royal and invite all and sundry to drink at his expense, so in Melbourne the Australian digger stood champagne to every passer-by. It was being done across the Pacific in California. It was done on the Rand. It was done in the Klondyke. And some day it will be done again.