The Parson of Jackman's Gulch

ELIAS B. HOPKINS,

THE PARSON OF JACKMAN'S GULCH.

He was known in the Gulch as the Reverend Elias B. Hopkins, but it
was generally understood that the title was an honorary one,
extorted by his many eminent qualities, and not borne out by any
legal claim which he could adduce. "The Parson" was another of his
sobriquets, which was sufficiently distinctive in a land where the
flock was scattered and the shepherds few. To do him justice, he
never pretended to have received any preliminary training for the
ministry, or any orthodox qualification to practise it. "We're all
working in the claim of the Lord," he remarked one day, "and it
don't matter a cent whether we're hired for the job or whether we
waltzes in on our own account," a piece of rough imagery which
appealed directly to the instincts of Jackman's Gulch. It is quite
certain that during the first few months his presence had a marked
effect in diminishing the excessive use both of strong drinks and
of stronger adjectives which had been characteristic of the little
mining settlement. Under his tuition, men began to understand that
the resources of their native language were less limited than they
had supposed, and that it was possible to convey their
impressions with accuracy without the aid of a gaudy halo of
profanity.

We were certainly in need of a regenerator at Jackman's Gulch about
the beginning of '53. Times were flush then over the whole colony,
but nowhere flusher than there. Our material prosperity had had a
bad effect upon our morals. The camp was a small one, lying rather
better than a hundred and twenty miles to the north of Ballarat, at
a spot where a mountain torrent finds its way down a rugged ravine
on its way to join the Arrowsmith River. History does not relate
who the original Jackman may have been, but at the time I speak of
the camp it contained a hundred or so adults, many of whom were men
who had sought an asylum there after making more civilised mining
centres too hot to hold them. They were a rough, murderous crew,
hardly leavened by the few respectable members of society who were
scattered among them.

Communication between Jackman's Gulch and the outside world was
difficult and uncertain. A portion of the bush between it and
Ballarat was infested by a redoubtable outlaw named Conky Jim, who,
with a small band as desperate as himself, made travelling a
dangerous matter. It was customary, therefore, at the Gulch, to
store up the dust and nuggets obtained from the mines in a special
store, each man's share being placed in a separate bag on which his
name was marked. A trusty man, named Woburn, was deputed to watch
over this primitive bank. When the amount deposited became
considerable, a