"No, you can't count me in, boys; I'm off it - 
   I'm jack o' them practical jokes; 
They ain't neither pleasure ner profit, 
   An' th' fellers that plays 'em is mokes. 
I've got sense, but I once was a duffer, 
   An' I fooled up my share, I allow, 
But since conscience hes made me to suffer - 
   She's peggin away et me now. 


"You notice I've aged rather early, 
   An' th' wrinkles are deep on my face? 
That's sorrer - I'm sixty-nine, barely. 
   Jes' camp, and I'll tell yeh my case. 
It was here on The Springs in the Sixties, 
   We was working the lead on this spot - 
An' we was, I admit it betwixt yes, 
   A rather unprincipled lot. 


"We was drunk most th' day on th' Sundays - 
   Thet licker is hell, I insist - 
An' our exercise mostly on Mondays 
   Was feats of endoorance with fists. 
See, the wash wasn't what we'd call wealthy - 
   Ten pennyweight stuff, there about - 
An' we took matters easy an' healthy; 
   Tho' we'd rush for the same now, I've no doubt. 


"Well, one mornin', from over th' border 
   Two Mongols moved inter th' camp, 
Which we voted a thing out of order - 
   The climate for Chows was too damp. 
But it happened a couple of troopers 
   Arrived on The Springs that same week, 
So the Chinks, in their opium stoopors, 
   Didn't wander down inter th' creek, 


"Or get drowned in th' dam at The Crescent, 
   As we reckoned might happen somehow; 
But they settled down, easy an' pleasant, 
   An' there wasn't th' smell of a row. 
Howsomever, we wasn't long twigging 
   Th' Chows were an ignerent pair, 
An' knew nothin' at all about diggin', 
   An' that was our chance t' get square. 


"It was 'cording t' Bastow's directions, 
   Tho' I volunteered for the game, 
Fer t' collar th'heathens' affections, 
   An' lay them right on to a claim 
Round th' bend where we'd bottomed a duffer - 
   Myself an' Pat Foley - right there, 
Where th' sinkin' is deep an' tougher 
   Than th' hobs of Gehennar, I swear. 


"That shaft was a reg'lar clinker -
   I was cursin' it on'y t'day - 
Quite a fortni't it took us t' sink her, 
   An' then we came through on th' clay - 
Not the ghost of a han'ful of gravel. 
   Well, we dropped it without any fuss, 
On th' hill pegged the best we could snavel, 
   An' th' devil could prospect, fer us. 


"Course the Pagans was not a bit wiser, 
   An' I counted it pretty fair game 
To put up es their friend an' adviser, 
   An' induce 'em t' take up that claim, 
By a-crackin' th' lay an' position, 
   So's t' get 'em t' sink on th' clay, 
Till they struck a hot shop in Perdition 
   Or tapped water in Europe some day. 


"But th' monkeys was mighty suspicious, 
   Wouldn't have it I cared for their sakes - 
Here, I think thet all Chinkies is vicious 
   An' I hate 'em like fever an' snakes. 
Then I tried a new system of dealin', 
   An' offered advice at a fee, 
An' they caught on immedjit. Fine feelin' 
   Is wasted on any Chinee. 


"So they pegged out our cast-off, th' duffer. 
   Their 'rights' they had took out exact, 
An' Ah Kit, who was boss, wouldn't suffer 
   Not th' smallest neglect of the Act, 
An' I put in their pegs to a fraction, 
   Es grave es a brick on a hob, 
Rigged up things t' their full satisfaction, 
   An' charged 'em five quid for the job. 


"Well, th' heathens soon set their pegs goin', 
   An' they seemed rather fond o' th' graft, 
Tho' th' boys hed took trouble in stowin' 
   A heap o' dead things in th' shaft, 
An' we chuckled an' thought we had got 'em: 
   I knew I could tickle th' pair 
T' keep sinkin' on inter th' bottom 
   For gravel that never was there. 


"Next night a most harrowin' rumour 
   Went round, an' th' camp was half daft: 
It wus said thet a nugget - a boomer - 
   Had been took by th' Chows from our shaft. 
Point of fact, thet th' Pagans had struck it, 
   Hed knocked down a sample o' wash 
Thet looked good for a pound t' th' bucket, 
   An' our joke hed gone hopelessly squash. 


"It was c'rect, boys, by all that is holy! 
   We'd struck a false bottom,* sure's fate, 
An' th' fortune of self an' of Foley 
   Was scooped by Ah Kit an' his mate. 
We resolved thet these Chinese was sappin' 
   Th' wealth o' th' land, an' agreed 
Somethin' serious was goin' t' happen, 
   When th' troopers rode on t' th' lead. 


"Yes, we scrambled fer claims all around 'em, 
   And we made th' foam fly for a week, 
But th' Chows hed th' gilt edge. Confound 'em, 
   They'd lobbed right on top o' th' streak! 
No, your joke, boys, I reckon is risky, 
   An' somewhat ridic'lus, I doubt, 
But I'm with you fer frien'ship an' whisky 
   If one of ye's game nuf t' shout." 

* It has happened in sinking on alluvial fields that a streak of the strata (the "bottom") which usually underlies the wash has been found immediately above it, the result of a geological freak. This has occasionally deceived even diggers of some experience, and led them to abandon claims as duffers which, when subsequently sunk a little further, have proved to be golden holes.

"Edward Dyson"
The Bulletin, 10 December 1892, p24