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Updated: May 20, 2025
But four days ago I was in the semi-tropical Sacramento Valley; now gaunt winter reigns supreme, and the only vegetation is the hardy pine. This afternoon I pass a small camp of Digger Indians, to whom my bicycle is as much a mystery as was the first locomotive; yet they scarcely turn their uncovered heads to look; and my cheery greeting of "How," scarce elicits a grunt and a stare in reply.
Two other men appeared at the kitchen door Mick Shanahan and Dave Boone each wearing, in defiance of regulations, some battered remnant of uniform that marked the "digger," while Mick, in addition, would walk always with a slight limp.
The individual digger, the hardy, hearty, independent man who took toll of the riches of the earth by the might of his own arm and for his own proper benefit without intermediary has gone for ever, and the soulless corporation, the boomster, and the politician have taken his place. I, for one, think that South Africa is poorer for the change.
Not for worlds would she have him guess her anxiety of the afternoon. "I wish that 'twere for always." "What can Digger Dan want of me," she evaded, thankful for the darkness which hid her blushes. "Rand, hear the wolves howling!" "They are only coyotes, dear Miss Joe, and afraid to venture into town except to the chicken roosts."
By this time the rudimentary plan of sorting the gravel on one's claim had, of necessity, been superseded. Every digger had a depositing-floor to which his ground was carted or harrowed. Of the original surface of the mine only the roadways were left standing, vast chasms of varying depth lying between.
The whitest man I ever knew, or ever shall that I say and stick to but of course people can't be expected to associate with men that have 'done time'. Well, next day was the races. I never saw such a turn-out in the colony before. Every digger on the field had dropped work for the day; all the farmers, and squatters, and country people had come in for miles round on all sides.
I reckon you allow I can't sew," she continued, "but I do heaps of mendin', as the digger squaw and Chinamen we have here do only the coarser work. I'll send it back to you, and meanwhiles you keep mine." She drew a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to him. To his great surprise it was a delicate one, beautifully embroidered, and utterly incongruous to her station.
And although rough in their manners, and not over select in their address, the digger seldom wilfully injures a woman; in fact, a regular Vandemonian will, in his way, play the gallant with as great a zest as a fashionable about town at any rate, with more sincerity of heart.
"This grave is for his wife," replied the grave digger, looking up from his occupation with a dry smile that wrinkled his sallow cheek and distorted his shrunken lips. Perceiving that his merriment was not infectious, he resumed his employment, and that so assiduously, that in a very short time he had hollowed the last resting-place of Deacon Giles's consort.
"Like enough; though some folks thought 'twas softenin' o' th' brain; but my 'pinion is he never had any brains to get soft. Still he were a good digger, but the man we got next was no good." "What was the trouble with him? More longevity?" "No; he buried everybody with their feet to the west." "Isn't that the proper thing?" "No, 'tisn't!" "Why?"
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