There had been sadness and heartburnings on all these occasions of uprooting ties and friendships which more than once had struck deep into a kindly soil; but the inherited pioneer instinct had triumphed over all regrets. Sometimes the exodus had been from a country life to that of cities; then the regret was softened by the anticipation of metropolitan privileges—the meeting with friends and relatives, the enchantments of novelty and romance. Still, again, the departure from these new delights to a distant, untried region, a strange environment, an unknown society, was proportionately distasteful.
But the Bannerets were an adaptable race: they soon familiarised themselves with new surroundings. Hot or cold, plain or forest, ‘out back’ or near town, it seemed alike to them. They discovered kindred spirits in the strangers amongst whom, for the first time, they were thrown. They were sociable to the point of tolerating those whom they could not admire; being civil and friendly to all sorts and conditions of men, ready to do a kindness whenever such opportunity came in their way, while preserving, as far as in them lay, that standard of conduct and manners which had been habitual from childhood. Small wonder, then, that they never left one of the country towns, to which the exigencies of official or pastoral life guided their steps, without public regrets being expressed. A presentation in every case accompanied the address, which, in the shape of coin of the realm, was not unwelcome. Their residence in this, a fertile as well as gold-bearing district, had exceeded the usual term, and the manifestations of public sympathy were therefore more general and pronounced.
To be sure, on the following morning after the Commissioner’s arrival, when it was announced that he had decided to ask for three months’ leave of absence, and to retire at the end of that time from the Government service, there was a certain excitement, almost a commotion.
Many of the inhabitants, who had accepted the rule of the Commissioner without any particular enthusiasm, were always willing to admit that he was a man ready to work in season or out of season, whenever there was public duty to be performed—considerate and impartial—treating the Christian or the Chinaman according to the Act and Regulations in such cases made and provided, and to no other code, moral or otherwise; an official almost ceaselessly employed during the waking hours—often before sunrise, or after dark, by the journeys which his duties of inspection rendered indispensable; rarely known to be tired, ill, or discourteous; ready alike to hear as patiently the case of the humblest miner as that of the most powerful syndicate;—such was his record for the ten long years that he had lived among them in almost daily intercourse. A judge and a ruler, moreover, whose decisions, in the words of an influential local journal, ‘had been rarely appealed against, and still more rarely reversed.’