their emerging. I should say that from thirty to forty men
lined the pathway on each side. Nearly every one had provided himself
with an old boot for the occasion. After the knot had been tied the
happy couple passed down the hill between the lines of their cheering
friends. Then, at a given signal, we all let fly the boots in a volley
taking care, of course, that neither bride nor bridegroom was hit. Then
one man picked up a fairly heavy boot from where it had fallen and
deliberately hurled it at the bride, striking her on the back. The
perpetrator of this outrage was, needless to say, a discarded suitor.

The bridegroom turned round, took off his coat which he handed to the
bride to hold and rolled up his sleeves. He knew quite well who had
thrown the missile. A ring was at once formed, and the fight began. It
only lasted, however, for three rounds. The bridegroom was victorious;
he escaped without a scratch. The other man was, as he richly deserved
to be, severely punished. It was, however, just as well for him that
this was the case, otherwise we would have ducked him in the muddiest
tail race within reach. As the victor marched off with his proud mate
he received an immense ovation. I regret to have to record the fact
that the officiating parson was taken down to Tom Craddock's bar and
there made very drunk indeed.

When I camped near the Big Rock on Slater's Claim there lived, on the
flat where the creek widened out under Gardiner's Point, an American
named Knox. He was a tall, swarthy man of immensely powerful physique.
Originally a sailor from, I think, Martha's Vineyard, he had deserted
from his ship in the early days of the diamond-fields.

Knox was a quiet, inoffensive man, except when under the influence of
drink. Then he was, in local parlance, "a holy terror." He would get a
keg of Mauritius rum, a most ferocious intoxicant, open it, fasten up
his tent, and go to bed. For several days thereafter Knox would not be
dangerous, unless you tripped over the tent-ropes or tried to open the
tent. However, he eventually reached a stage during which if he heard
footsteps anywhere in his vicinity he would fire his revolver in the
direction of the sound. The canvas sides of his tent were riddled with
bullet-holes, I only remember one case in which damage actually
resulted, it was that of a native who got a bullet through the calf of
his leg.

After a time people "in the know" avoided the vicinity of Knox's tent
wh