The Golden Graveyard:

WESTERN WANDERINGS.
CAMP FIRE and FOREST TRACK.
A GOLDEN GRAVEYARD.

[BY A. G. ‘Smiler’ HALES]

Michael William Kelly had thrown a seven. No one knew exactly what it was that killed him. Some of the boys at Kurnalpi, where he had worked long and well as an alluvial digger, said he had emptied too many kegs of whiskey; but others were just as positive that if Michael William had emptied a few more he would still have been on hand to hunt the festive pennyweight in the dust heaps of the west.
But whether it was whisky or the want of whisky that killed him mattered little to the gentleman himself. The fact remained that he was as dead as a drug-store dummy, and nothing remained for his mates to do but to plant him decently.

To this end a countryman named Murphy, who had, as his name implies, a good dash of fine old Spanish blood in his veins, called at Gable’s store and asked the urbane Mr Rex, who was presiding over a few tins of preserved camel and a novel, he asked for a “phew cashses ter make er coffin ter plant me mate wid.” Rex merely nodded in his good humored way and pointed to a heap of empty meat cases. Mr. Murphy thereupon selected three or four of the largest boxes and then sidled up to Rex. “”When Oi’ve mahade this divil of a coffin, Rex, O’m goin ter line it wid something nate and tasty.”
Again Rex nodded. He was a man who never wasted his words on principle. “May the divil fly away wid me if oy don’t makes poor Mick comfortable, Mr. Rex. hev yer got any fixins fer coffins—calico an lace an red ribbins, and a bit of blue cloth fer a fly flap, an a silver shield fur his name on the outside?”

Rex shook his head solemnly, paused a moment with knitted brows, and then said, “Look here Murphy, I’ll do my best for you; this Is just the thing to satisfy a decent corpse. Here’s three flannel shirts, best quality; you can line the coffin with them and here’s a first-class, brand new tin dinner plate; yon can nail that on the outside and engrave his name and pedigree on it.  It’s not the sort of thing that a Kelly might care for, but it’s my best.

Murphy took the cases, the shirts and the tin plate, and placing them in a dray, along with a bottle of whisky, drove off, and sat up all night by the body of the dead man manufacturing a coffin. The next day poor Kelly was duly installed as permanent tenant in Murphy’s box, lined with the red shirts, and then he was nailed down and the tin plate, upon which a painter had printed his name and age, was nailed on the top, Kelly was ready for planting. The box was about 7ft, long and 3ft. wide. Some of the printed matter on the coffin looked grimly humorous when the  contents were taken into consideration.-. One plank fixed about the centre read as follows:—

Murphy studied this gravely for some time in silence, and then moved away, evidently fully satisfied that It would pass muster as a sort of tribute to the  excellent  qualities of his departed comrade. Another plank resting above Kelly’s chest, just where the sleeves of the red shirt formed a cross, bore the following touching inscription which also pleased Murphy mightily.

The whiskey bottle was passed around pretty freely before the funeral procession made a move and the sun was well up when Kelly was at last lifted up into the old cart with which he had used to drag many a ton of alluvial dirt in the old days. It was afternoon when the party of 50 diggers who formed the procession, arrived at the cemetery. When they did arrive they found the grave digger dead drunk, lying like a warrior with an empty bottle in his hand and a shovel like a trident beside him and the grave only half dug. They picked him up by the head and heels and threw him into some bushes nearby where he stayed put, murmuring in whiskey sodden tones.

Then they started to dig the grave for Kelly. Murphy was throwing out the dirt when his practiced eye fell on a yellow wedge of metal 10ozs in weight. He gave a whoop which would have almost startled Kelly in his shirt lined resting place. “Whats the matter Murphy, chorused a dozen voices?”  “Thats whats the matter boys” as he brandished the nugget. “By Gawd Kelly always said he would bring me luck before he was planted, and so he has, look boys here’s another, and another.” rooting out a 10ozs and a 15ozs nugget as he spoke.

In ten seconds flat there were only two men left not pegging claims in the cemetery, the grave digger and Kelly. Before sundown a 100 fossickers were at work turning over the ground in search of rich alluvial deposits while Kelly basked serenely in the hot sun.

Gold was found in heaps.