collected; and by degrees
he had sufficient for a patch of four or five yards square. This he
planted; and with the refuse made more manure; and in the course of a
few months, by incessant activity and assisted by me, he had a very
tolerable patch of ground covered with this manure and the alluvial
soil washed out by the diamond-seeking, mixed up together. We then
obtained seeds, and grew vegetables like the rest, and this proved a
great increase to our comforts--that is our bodily wants; but my mind
was far away. Amy Trevannion was never out of my thoughts, and I fell
into a deep melancholy. I worked hard at my vocation, and was
fortunate enough to find some good diamonds, long before I had been a
year at the mines. Having acquired the Portuguese language, I was soon
after raised to the office of superintendent. I now no longer worked,
but overlooked others, with a cane in my hand to administer punishment
to those who neglected their business. I cannot say that I liked the
change, I was not so miserable when I was employed, but I did my duty
with diligence. Ingram was in my gang, and another Englishman, an old
man,--I should think not less than seventy years old. He told me that
he belonged to a merchant vessel, and in a drunken brawl a Portuguese
had been killed; he and two others had been condemned to the mines,
but the others were dead long ago. About a month after my elevation,
this old man, who was very feeble, and whom I treated with great
kindness on account of his age--exacting no more than I thought he
could well perform--fell sick. I reported him as being really ill, and
Ingram, who was by no means a bad doctor, told me that he would die.
A few hours before his death he sent for me to his hut, and after
thanking me for my kindness to him, he said that he knew he was dying,
and that he wished to leave me all his property (which the slaves are
permitted to do), that is, he left me his garden, which was the best
on the Sierra, his hut, which also was a very good one, and then
putting his hand under the leaves which formed his bed, he pulled out
a tattered, thumbed book, which he told me was a Bible.

"At first I read," said he, "to pass away time, in this melancholy
place, but of late I have read it I hope to a better purpose."

I thanked the poor man for his present, and wished him good-bye. A few
hours afterwards he was dead, and Ingram and I buried him by the side
of the mountain. Shortly afterwards our insp