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Transcriber’s Note:
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Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s #note:endnote# at the end of this text
for details regarding the handling of any textual issues encountered
during its preparation.
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BABES IN THE BUSH
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BABES IN THE BUSH
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BY
ROLF BOLDREWOOD
AUTHOR OF
‘ROBBERY UNDER ARMS,’ ‘THE MINER’S RIGHT,’ ‘THE SQUATTER’S DREAM,’
‘A COLONIAL REFORMER,’ ETC.
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London
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1900
All rights reserved
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CONTENTS
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CHAPTER I
| PAGE
‘Fresh Fields—and Pastures New’ | #1#
CHAPTER II
The First Camp | #21#
CHAPTER III
The New Home | #43#
CHAPTER IV
Mr. Henry O’Desmond of Badajos | #59#
CHAPTER V
‘Called on by the County’ | #77#
CHAPTER VI
An Australian Yeoman | #93#
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CHAPTER VII
Tom Glendinning, Stock-rider | #111#
CHAPTER VIII
Mr. William Rockley of Yass | #125#
CHAPTER IX
Hubert Warleigh, Yr., of Warbrok | #139#
CHAPTER X
A Provincial Carnival | #149#
CHAPTER XI
Mr. Bob Clarke schools King of the Valley | #161#
CHAPTER XII
Steeplechase Day | #173#
CHAPTER XIII
Miss Vera Fane of Black Mountain | #189#
CHAPTER XIV
The Duel | #204#
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CHAPTER XV
The Life Story of Tom Glendinning | #220#
CHAPTER XVI
‘So we’ll all go a-hunting to-day’ | #238#
CHAPTER XVII
The First Meet of the Lake William Hunt Club | #251#
CHAPTER XVIII
The Major discovers his Relative | #265#
CHAPTER XIX
Black Thursday | #282#
CHAPTER XX
An Unexpected Development | #296#
CHAPTER XXI
A Green Hand | #312#
CHAPTER XXII
Injun Sign | #328#
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CHAPTER XXIII
The Battle of Rocky Creek | #339#
CHAPTER XXIV
Gyp’s Land | #352#
CHAPTER XXV
Bob Clarke once more wins on the Post | #366#
CHAPTER XXVI
The Return from Palestine | #387#
CHAPTER XXVII
The Duel in the Snow | #401#
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CHAPTER I | ‘FRESH FIELDS AND PASTURES NEW’
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‘What letter are you holding in your hand all this time, my
dear?’ said Captain Howard Effingham to his wife during a
certain family council.
‘Really, I had almost forgotten it. A foreign postmark—I
suppose it is from your friend Mr. Sternworth, in Australia
or New Zealand.’
‘Sternworth lives in New South Wales, not New Zealand,’
returned he rather testily. ‘I have told you more than once
that the two places are a thousand miles apart by sea. Yes!
it is from old Harley. When he was chaplain to our regiment
he was always hankering after a change from routine duty.
Now he has got it with a vengeance. He was slightly eccentric,
but a better fellow, a stauncher friend, never stepped.’
‘Don’t people go to Australia to make money?’ asked
Rosamond Effingham, a girl of twenty, with ‘eldest daughter’
plainly inscribed upon her thoughtful features. ‘I saw in a
newspaper that some one had come home after making a
fortune, or it may have been that he died there and left it to
his relatives.’
‘Sternworth has not made a fortune. He is not the man
to want one. Still, he seems wonderfully contented and raves
about the beauty of the climate and the progress of his colony.’
‘Let me read his letter out,’ pleaded the anxious wife
softly, and, with a gesture of assent, the father and daughter
sat expectant.
Mrs. Effingham had the gift of reading aloud with effect,
which, with that of facile, clear-cut composition, came to her
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as naturally as the notes of a song-bird, which indeed her
tuneful voice resembled.
‘The letter is dated from Yass—(what a funny name! a
native one, I suppose)—in New South Wales, and June the
20th, 1834. Nearly six months ago! Does it take all
that time to come? What a long, long way off it must be.
Now then for the contents.
.pm start_quote
‘My dear Effingham—I have not written for an age—though
I had your last in reply to mine in due course—partly
because, after my first acknowledgment, I had nothing
particular to say, nor any counsel to offer you, suitable for
the situation in which you appear to have landed yourself.
When you were in the old regiment you were always a bad
manager of your money, and the Yorkshireman had to come
to your assistance with his hard head more than once. I
thought all that sort of thing was over when you succeeded
to a settled position and a good estate. I was much put out
to find by your last letter that you had again got among the
shallows of debt. I doubt it is chronic with you. But it is
a serious matter for the family. If I were near you I would
scold you roundly, but I am too far off to do it effectually.
‘My reason for writing now—for I am too busy a man to
send the compliments of the season across the globe—is that
a tempting investment in land—a perfect gift, as the phrase
is—has come to my knowledge.
‘Now, I am not hard-natured enough to tempt you to
come here with your amiable wife, whose praises, not always
from yourself, I have often heard—[really, my dear, I had no
idea you paid me compliments in your letters to your friends]—and
your tenderly nurtured family; that is, if you can retain
your position, or one in any way approaching it. But I know
that the loss of fortune in the old country entails a more
complete stripping of all that men hold dear, than in this new
land, where aristocratic poverty, or rather, scantiness of money,
is the rule, and wealth, as yet, the exception.
‘I cannot believe that you are totally without means.
Here, cash is at a premium. Therefore, if you have but the
shreds and fragments of your fortune left, you may still have
capital available from the wreck sufficient to make a modest
venture, which I shall explain.
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‘A family long resident near this rising town—say forty
or fifty miles distant—have been compelled, like you, to offer
their estate for sale. I will not enter into the circumstances
or the causes of the step. The fact that we are concerned
with is, that a valuable property—as fair judges consider
it—comprising a decent house and several thousand acres
of good land, may be bought for three or four thousand
pounds.
‘I do not hide from you that many people consider that
the present bad times are likely to last, even to become more
pressing. I fully expect a reaction. If you can do better
in any way I do not ask you for one moment to consider this
matter, much as I should like to see my old comrade and his
family here.
‘But if otherwise, and the melancholy life of the ruined
middle-aged Briton stares you in the face, I say boldly, do
not go to Boulogne, or other refuge for the shady destitute,
where a man simply counts the days which he must linger
out in cheap lodgings and cheese-paring idleness, but come
to Australia and try a more wholesome, more manly, if
occasionally ruder life. I know what you home-keeping
English think of a colony. But you may find here a career
for your boys—even suitable marriages for your girls, whose
virtues and accomplishments would doubtless invest them
with distinction.
‘If you can get this sum together, and a few hundreds to
have in your pocket at landing, I can guarantee you a
livelihood—you know my caution of old—with many of the
essentials, God forbid I should say all, of “the gentle life.”
Still, you may come to these by and by. The worst of my
adopted country is that there is a cruel uncertainty of
seasons, at times sore on man and beast. That you must
risk, like other people. If you come, you will have one friend
here in old Harley Sternworth, who, without chick or child,
will be proud to pour out whatever feelings of affection God
has given him, into the lap of your family. If you decide on
coming, send a draft for three thousand pounds payable to my
order at once. I will manage the rest, and have Warbrok
ready to receive you in some plain way on your arrival. So
farewell for the present. God bless you and yours, says
your old friend,
.rj
Harley Sternworth.’
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As the letter disclosed this positive invitation and plan of
emigration which, whether possible or impossible, was now
brought into tangible form, the clasp in which lay the father’s
hand and the daughter’s slightly tightened. Their eyes met,
their faces gradually softened from the expression of pained
endurance which had characterised them, and as the clear
tones of the reader came to an end, Rosamond, rising to her
feet, exclaimed, ‘God has sent us a friend in our need. If
we go to this far land we may work together and live and
love undivided. But oh, mother, it breaks my heart to
think of you. We are young, it should matter little to us;
but how will you bear to be taken away from this pleasant
home to a rude, waste country, such as Australia must be?’
‘My darling,’ said the matron, as she folded the letter
with an instinctive habit of neatness, and handed it to her
husband, ‘the sacrifice to me will be great, far greater than
at one time I should have thought it possible to bear. But
with my husband and children are my life and my true
dwelling-place. Where they are, I abide thankfully to life’s
close. Strength, I cannot doubt, will be given to us all to
bear our—our——’
Here the thought, the inevitable, unimaginable woe of
quitting the loved home of youth, the atmosphere of early
friendship, the intertwining ties of relationship, completely
overcame the courage of the speaker. Her eyes overflowed
as, burying her face in her husband’s arms, which were
opened to receive her, she wept long and silently.
‘How could we think of such a thing, my darling, for one
moment?’ said Effingham. ‘It would kill you to part, at
one blow, from a whole previous existence. I hardly foresaw
what a living death it would be for you, more than all, to
leave England for ever. There is a world of agony in that
thought alone! I certainly gave Sternworth a full account
of my position in my last letters. It was a relief. He has
always been a true friend. But he has rashly concluded that
we were prepared to go to his wild country. It would be your
death-blow, darling wife; and then, what good would our
lives be to us? Some of our friends will help us, surely.
Let us live quietly for a year or two. I may get some
appointment.’
‘It relieves my bursting heart to weep; yet it will fit me
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for future duty. No, Howard, we must not falter or draw
back. You can trust, I know, in Mr. Sternworth’s practical
wisdom, for you have a hundred times told me how far-seeing,
shrewd, and yet kindly he was. In his plan there is the
certainty of independence; together we can cheer each other
when the day’s work is done. As for living in England,
trusting to the assistance of friends, and the lingering uncertainty
of a provision from the Government, I have seen
too many families pitiably drifting towards a lower level.
There is no middle course. No! Our path has been
chosen for us. Let us go where a merciful Providence would
seem to lead us.’
The fateful conference was ended. A council, not much
bruited about, but fraught with momentous results to those
yet unborn, in the Effingham family, and it may be to other
races and sections of humanity. Who may limit the effects
produced in the coming time, by the transplantation of but
one rarely endowed family of our upward-striving race?
Nothing remained but to communicate the decision of the
high contracting parties of the little state to the remaining
members. The heir was absent. To him would have been
accorded, as a right, a place in the parliament. But he was
in Ireland visiting a college chum, for whom he had formed
one of the ardent friendships characteristic of early manhood.
Wilfred Effingham was an enthusiast—sanguine and
impulsive—whose impulses, chiefly, took a good direction.
His heart was warm, his principles fixed. Still, so sensitive
was he to the impressions of the hour, that only by the
sternest consciousness of responsibility could he remain faithful
to the call of duty.
Devoted primarily to art and literature; sport, travel, and
social intercourse likewise put in claims to his attention and
mingled in his nature the impulses of a refined Greek with
the energy and self-denial of his northern race.
It must be confessed that these latter qualities were
chiefly in the embryonic stage. So latent and undeveloped
were they, indeed, that no one but his fond mother had fully
credited his possession of them.
But as the rounded limbs of the Antinous conceal the
muscles which after-years develop and harden, so in the
graceful physique and sensitive mind of Wilfred Effingham
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lay hidden powers, which, could he have foreseen their future
exercise, would have astonished no one more than himself.
Such was the youth recalled from his joyous revel in the
Green Isle, where he had been shooting and fishing to his
heart’s content.
A letter from his mother first told that his destiny had
been changed. In a moment he was transformed. No
longer was he to be an enjoyer of the hoarded wealth of
art, letters, science, sitting on high and choosing what he
would, as one of the gods of Olympus. His lot, henceforth,
would be that of a toiler for the necessaries of life! It was
a shrewd blow. Small wonder had he reeled before it! It
met him without warning, unsoftened, save by the tender
pity and loving counsel so long associated with his mother’s
handwriting. The well-remembered characters, so fair in
delicate regularity, which since earliest schooldays had
cheered and comforted him. Never had they failed him;
steadfast ever as a mother’s faith, unfailing as a mother’s love!
Grown to manhood, still, as of old, he looked, almost at
weekly intervals, for the missive, ever the harbinger of home
love, the herald of joy, the bearer of wise counsel—never
once of sharp rebuke or untempered anger.
And now—to the spoiled child of affection, of endowment—had
come this message fraught with woe.
A meaner mind, so softly nurtured, might have shrunk
from the ordeal. To the chivalrous soul of Wilfred Effingham
the vision was but the summons to the fray, which bids
the knight quit the tourney and the banquet for the stern
joys of battle.
His nature, one of those complex organisms having the
dreamy poetic side much developed, yet held room for
physical demonstration. Preferring for the most part contemplation
to action, he had ever passed, apparently without
effort, from unchecked reverie and study to tireless bodily
toil in the quest of sport, travel, or adventure. Possessed of a
constitution originally vigorous, and unworn by dissipation,
from which a sensitive nature joined with deference to a
lofty ideal had hitherto preserved him, Wilfred Effingham
approached that rare combination which has ere now resulted,
under pressure of circumstance, in the hero, the poet, the
warrior, or the statesman.
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He braced himself to withstand the shock. It was a
shrewd buffet. Yet, after realising its force, he was conscious,
much to his surprise, of a distinct feeling of exaltation.
‘I shall suffer for it afterwards,’ he told his friend Gerald
O’More, half unconsciously, as they sat together over a turf
fire which glowed in the enormous chimney of a rude but
comfortable shooting lodge; ‘but, for the soul of me, I can’t
help feeling agreeably acted upon.’
‘Acted upon by what?’ said his companion and college
chum, with whom he had sworn eternal friendship. ‘Is it
the whisky hot? It’s equal to John Jameson, and yet it
never bothered an exciseman! Sure that same is amaylioratin’
my lot to a degree I should have never believed
possible. Take another glass. Defy Fate and tell me all
about it. Has your father, honest man, discovered another
Roman tile or Julius Cæsar’s tobacco-pouch? [the elder
Effingham was an antiquarian of great perseverance], or have
ministers gone out, to the ruin of the country, and the
triumph of those villains the radicals? ’Tis little that ever
happens in that stagnant existence that you Saxons call
country life, barring a trifle of make-believe hunting and
shooting. Sure, didn’t me uncle Phelim blaze away into a
farmer’s poultry-yard in Kent for half-an-hour, and swear (it
was after lunch) that he never saw pheasants so hard to rise
before.’
Thus the light-hearted Irishman rattled on, well divining,
for all his apparent mirth, that something more than common
had come in the letter, that had the power to drive the
blood from Wilfred’s cheek and set Care’s seal upon his brow.
That impress remained indelible, even when he smiled, and
affected to resume his ordinary cheerfulness.
At length he spoke: ‘Gerald, old fellow! there is news
from home which most people would call bad. It is distinct
of its kind. We have lost everything; are ruined utterly.
Not a chance of recovery, it seems. My dear mother bids
me understand that most clearly; warns me to have no hope
of anything otherwise. The governor has been hard hit,
it seems, in foreign bonds; Central African Railways, or
Kamschatka telegraph lines,—some of the infernal traps for
English capital at any rate. The Chase is mortgaged and
will have to go. The family must emigrate. Australia is to
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be the future home of the Effinghams. This appears to be
settled. That’s a good deal to be hid in two sheets of note-paper,
isn’t it?’ And he tossed up the carefully directed
letter, caught it as it fell, and placed it in his pocket.
‘My breath is taken away; reach me the whisky, if you
wish to save my life, or else it will be——’ (prompt measures
were taken to relieve the unfortunate gentleman, but without
success). ‘Wilfred, me dear fellow, do you tell me that
you’re serious? What will ye do at all, at all?’
‘Do? What better men have had to do before now.
Face the old foe of mortals, Anagkaia, and see what she can
do when a man stands up to her. I don’t like the idea any
the worse for having to cross the sea to a new world, to find
a lost fortune. After all, one was getting tired of this sing-song,
nineteenth century life of fashionable learning, fashionable
play, fashionable work—everything, in fact, regulated by
dame Fashion. I shall be glad to stretch my limbs in
a hunter’s hammock, and bid adieu to the whole unreal
pageant.’
‘Bedad! I don’t know. I’d say the reality was nearer
where we are, with all the disadvantages of good dinners,
good sport, good books, and good company. But you’re
right, me dear fellow, to put a bold face on it; and if you
have to take the shilling in the divil’s regiment, sure ye’ll die
a hero, or rise to Commander-in-Chief, if I know ye. But
your mother, and poor Miss Effingham, and the Captain—without
his turnips and his justice-room and his pointers and
his poachers, his fibulæ and amphoræ—whatever will he do
among blackfellows and kangaroos? My heart aches for ye
all, Wilfred. Sure ye know it does. If ye won’t take any
more potheen, let us sleep on it; and we’ll have a great day
among the cocks, if we live, and talk it over afterwards.
There never was that sorrow yet that ye didn’t lighten it if
ye tired your legs well between sun and sun!’
With the morrow’s sun came an unwonted calm and settled
resolve to the soul of Wilfred Effingham. Together, gay, staunch
Gerald O’More and he took the last day’s sport they were likely
to have for many a day. The shooting was rather above than
under the average, as if the ruined heir was willing to show
that his nerves had not been affected by his prospects.
‘I must take out the old gun,’ he said, ‘and keep up my
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shooting. Who knows but that we may depend upon it for a
meal now and then in this New Atlantis that we are bound
for. But one thing is fixed, old fellow, as far as a changeable
nature will permit. I shall have to be the mainstay of my
father’s house. I must play the man, if it’s in me. No more
dilettantism, no more mediæval treasures, no more tall copies.
The present, not the past, is what we must stand or fall by.
The governor is shaken by all this trouble; not the best
man of business at any time. My dear mother is a saint en
habit de Cour; she will have to suffer a sea-change that might
break the hearts of ordinary worldlings. Upon Rosamond
and myself will fall the brunt of the battle. She has prepared
herself for it, happily, by years of unselfish care and thought.
I have been an idler and a loiterer. Now the time has come
to show of what stuff I am made. It will mean good-bye to
you, Gerald O’More, fast friend and bon camarade. We shall
have no more shooting and fishing together, no more talk
about art and poetry, no more vacation tours, no more
rambles, for long years—let us not say for ever. Good-bye to
my old life, my old Self! God speed us all; we must arm
and away.’
‘I’d say you might have a worse life, Wilfred, though it
will come hard on you at first to be shooting kangaroos and
bushrangers, instead of grouse and partridges, like a Christian.
But we get used to everything, I am told, even to being a
land-agent, with every boy in the barony wondering if he
could tumble ye at sixty paces with the ould duck gun.
When a thing’s to be done—marrying or burying, standing
out on the sod on a foggy morning with a nate shot opposite
ye, or studying for the law—there’s nothing like facing it cool
and steady. You’ll write me and Hallam a line after you’re
landed; and we’ll think of ye often enough, never fear. God
speed ye, my boy! Sure, it’s Miss Annabel that will make
the illigant colonist entirely.’
The friends parted. Wilfred lost no time in reaching
home, where his presence comforted the family in the midst
of that most discouraging state of change for the worse, the
packing and preparing for departure.
But he had utilised the interval since he left his friend by
stern self-examination, ending in a fixed, unalterable resolve.
His mother, his sisters, and his father were alike surprised at
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his changed bearing. He had grown years older in a week.
He listened to the explanation of their misfortune from his
father with respectful silence or short, undoubting comment.
He confirmed the decision to which the family counsel had
arrived. Emigration to Australia was, under the circumstances,
the only path which promised reparation of the fortunes of the
house. He carefully read the letter from Mr. Sternworth, upon
which their fate seemed to hang. He cheered his mother by
expressing regret for his previous desultory life, asking her to
believe that his future existence should be devoted to the
welfare of all whom both held so dear.
‘You have never doubted, my dearest mother,’ he said,
‘but that your heedless son would one day do credit to his
early teaching? I stand pledged to make your words good.’
The arrival of the heir, who had taken his place at his
father’s right hand in so worthy a spirit, seemed to infuse
confidence into the other members of the family. Each and
all appeared to recognise the fact that their expatriation was
decided upon, and while lamenting their loved home, they
commenced to gather information about their new abode,
and to dwell upon the more cheering probabilities.
The family was not a small one. Guy Effingham was a high-spirited
schoolboy of fourteen, whose cricket and football engagements
had hitherto, with that amount of the humanities
which an English public schoolboy is compelled to master, under
penalties too dire for endurance, been sufficient to fill up his irresponsible
life. It was arranged that he was to remain at school
until the week previous to their departure. His presence at
home was not necessary, while his mother wished him to utilise
the last effective teaching which he was likely to have. To her
was committed the task of preparing him for his altered position.
Two younger daughters, with a boy and girl of tender years,
the darlings of the family, completed the number of the
Effinghams. The third daughter, Annabel, was the beauty
of the family. A natural pride in her unquestioned loveliness
had always mingled with the maternal repression of all save
the higher aims and qualities which it had been the fond
mother’s life-long duty to inculcate. Annabel Effingham had
received from nature the revival of the loveliness of some
ancestress, heightened and intensified by admixture of family
type. She was fair, with the bright colouring, the silken hair,
.bn 019.png
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the delicate roseate glow which had long been the boast of
the women of her mother’s family—of ancient Saxon blood—for
many generations. But she had superadded to these
elements of beauty a classical delicacy of outline, a darker
shade of blue in the somewhat prouder eye, a figure almost
regal in the nobility of carriage and unconscious dignity of
motion, which told of a diverse lineage. Beatrice, the second
daughter of the house, had up to the present time exhibited
neither the strong altruistic bias which, along with the faculty
of organisation, characterised Rosamond, nor the universally
confessed fascination which rendered Annabel’s path a species
of royal progress. Refined, distinguished in appearance, as
indeed were all the members of the family, she had not as
yet developed any special vocation. In her appearance one
saw but the ordinary traits which stamp a highly cultured girl
of the upper classes. She was, perhaps, more distinctly
literary in her tastes than either of her sisters, but her reserved
habits concealed her attainments. For the rest, she appeared
to have made up her mind to the inevitable with less apparent
effort than the other members of the family.
‘What can it avail—all this grieving and lamenting?’ she
would say. ‘I feel parting with The Chase, with our relations
and friends—with all our old life, in fact—deeply and bitterly.
But that once admitted, what good end is served by repeating
the thought and renewing the tears? Other people are ruined
in England, and have to go to Boulogne and horrid continental
towns, where they lead sham lives, and potter about, unreal in
everything but dulness and poverty, till they die. We shall
go to Australia to do something—or not to do it. Both are
good in their way. Next to honest effort I like a frank
failure.’
‘But suppose we do fail, and lose all our money, and have
nothing to eat in a horrid new country,’ said Annabel, ‘what
will become of us?’
‘Just what would become of us here, I suppose; we should
have to work—become teachers at a school, or governesses,
or hospital nurses; only, as young women are not so plentiful
in Australia as in England, why, we should be better paid.’
‘Oh, but here we know so many people, and they would
help us to find pleasant places to live in,’ pleaded Annabel
piteously. ‘It does seem so dreadful to be ten thousand
.bn 020.png
.pn +1
miles away from your own country. I am sure we shall
starve!’
‘Don’t be a goose, Annabel. How can we starve? First,
we have the chance of making money and living in plenty, if
not in refinement, on this estate that papa is going to buy.
And if that does not turn out a success, we must find you a
place as companion to the Governor-General’s wife, or as
nursery governess for very young children. I’ll become a
“school marm” at Yass—that’s the name—and Rosamond
will turn dressmaker, she has such a talent for a good fit.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear! don’t talk of such dreadful things.
Are we to go all over the world only to become drudges and
work-women? We may as well drown ourselves at once.’
‘My child! my child!’ said a gentle voice. ‘What folly
is this? What are we, that we should be absolved from the
trials that others have to bear? God has chosen, for His
own good purpose, to bring this misfortune upon us. He
will give us strength to bear it in a chastened spirit. If we
do not bear it in a resigned and chastened spirit, we are untrue
to the teaching which we have all our lives affected to
believe in. We have all our part to perform. Let us have
no repining, my dearest Annabel. Our way is clear, and we
have others to think of who require support.’
‘But you like to be miserable, you know, mother; you
think it is God’s hand that afflicts you,’ sobbed the desponding
spoiled child. ‘I can’t feel that way. I haven’t your
faith. And it breaks my heart; I shall die, I shall die, I
know.’
‘Pray, my darling, pray for help and grace from on high,’
continued the sweet, sad tones of the mother, as she drew
her child’s fair head upon her lap, and passed her hand amid
‘the clustering ringlets rich and rare,’ while Beatrice sat
rather unsympathetically by. ‘You will have me and your
sisters to cheer you.’ Here the fair disconsolate looked distrustfully
at Beatrice.
By degrees the half-mesmeric, instinctive influence of the
loved mother’s pitying tones overcame the unwonted fit of
unreason.
‘I will try and be good,’ she murmured, looking up with
a soft light in her lovely eyes, ‘but you know I am a poor
creature at best. You must bear with me, and I will help as
.bn 021.png
.pn +1
much as I can, and try to keep from repining. But, oh, my
home, my home, the dear old place where I was born. How
dark and dreary do this long voyage and journey seem!’
‘Have we not a yet longer voyage, a more distant journey
to make, my own one?’ whispered the mother, in accents
soft as those with which in times gone by she had lulled the
complaining babe. ‘We know not the time, nor the hour.
Think! If we do not prepare ourselves by prayer and faith,
how dark that departure will appear!’
‘You are always good and kind, always right, mother,’
said the girl, recovering her composure and assuming a more
steadfast air. ‘Pray for me, that I may find strength; but
do I not know that you pray for all of us incessantly? We
ought—that is—I ought to be better than I am.’
Among the lesser trials which, at the time of his great
sorrow, oppressed Howard Effingham, not the least was the
necessity for parting with old servants and retainers. He was
a man prone to become attached to attendants long used to
his ways. Partly from kindly feeling, partly from indolence,
he much disliked changing domestics or farm labourers.
Accustomed to lean against a more readily available if not a
stronger support than his own, he was, in most relations of
life, more dependent than most men upon his confidential
servants.
In this instance, therefore, he had taken it much to heart
that his Scotch land-steward, a man of exceptional capacity
and absolute personal fidelity, having a wife also, of rare
excellence in her own department, should be torn from him
by fate.
Backed up by his trusty Andrew, with his admirable wife,
he felt as if he could have faced all ordinary colonial perils.
While under Jeanie Cargill’s care, his wife and daughters
might have defied the ills of any climate, and risked the
absence of the whole College of Physicians.
Andrew Cargill was one of those individuals of strongly
marked idiosyncrasy, a majority of whom appear to have been
placed, by some mysterious arrangement of nature, on the north
side of the Tweed. Originally the under-gardener at The Chase,
he had risen slowly but irresistibly through the gradations of
upper-gardener and under-bailiff to the limited order of land-steward
required by a moderate property. He had been a
.bn 022.png
.pn +1
newly-married man when he formed the resolution of testing
the high wages of the Southron lairds. His family, as also
his rate of wages, had increased. His expenses he had
uniformly restricted, with the thoroughness of his economical
forefathers. He despised all wasteful ways. He managed
his master’s affairs, as committed to his charge, with more
than the rigorous exactitude he was wont to apply to his own.
Gaining authority, by the steady pressure of unrelaxing forecast
habit of life, he was permitted a certain license as to advice
and implied rebuke. Had Andrew Cargill been permitted to
exercise the same control over the extra-rural affairs that he
was wont to use over the farm-servants and the plough-teams,
the tenants and the trespassers, the crops and the orchards,
the under-gardeners and the pineries, no failure, financial or
otherwise, would have occurred at The Chase.
When the dread disaster could no longer be concealed, it
is questionable whether Mr. Effingham felt anything more
acutely than the necessity which existed of explaining to this
faithful follower the extent, or worse, the cause of his misfortune.
He anticipated the unbroken silence, the incredulous
expression, with which all attempts at favourable explanation
would be received. Open condemnation, of course, was out
of the question. But the mute reproach or guarded reference
to his master’s inconceivable imbecility, which on this occasion
might be more strongly accented than usual, would be
hard to endure.
Mr. Effingham could not depute his wife, or one of the
girls, to convey the information to the formidable Andrew.
So he was fain to pull himself together one morning, and go
forth to this uncompromising logician. Having briefly related
the eventful tale, he concluded by dispensing with his faithful
servant, as they were going to a new country, and very probably
would never be able to employ servants again.
Having thrown down the bombshell, the ‘lost leader’
looked fixedly at Andrew’s unmoved countenance, and awaited
the particular kind of concentrated contempt which he
doubted not would issue forth.
His astonishment was great when, after the hurried conclusion,
‘I shall miss you, Andrew, you may be sure,
more than I say; and as for Jeanie, I don’t know how the
young ladies and the mistress will get on without her,’ the
.bn 023.png
.pn +1
following words issued slowly and oracularly from Andrew’s
lips:—
‘Ye’ll no miss me ava, Maister Effingham. Dinna ye
think that it’s a’ news ye’re tellin’ me. I behoved just to
speer a bit what garred the puir mistress look sae dowie and
wae. And the upshot o’ matters is that I’m gaun wi’ ye.’
‘And your wife and children?’
‘Ye didna threep I was to leave them ahint? Andra’
Cargill isna ane o’ thae kind o’ folk, sae just tak’ heart, and
for a’ that’s come and gane ye may lift up your heid ance
mair; it’s nae great things o’ a heid, as the auld wife said o’
the Deuk’s, but if Botany Bay is the gra-and country they ca’ it,
and the book-writers and the agents haena been tellin’ the
maist unco-omon set o’ lees, a’ may gang weel yet.’
‘But what’s put this in your head, of all people in the
world, Andrew?’ queried his master, becoming bold, like individuals,
or corporate bodies, of purely defensive ideas, after
observing tokens of weakness in the besieging force.
‘Weel, aweel, first and foremost, Laird, ye’ll no say that
we haena eaten your bread and saut this mony a year;
there’s been neither stint nor stay till’t. I hae naething to say
against the wage; aiblins a man weel instructed in his profession
should aye be worthy o’ his hire. Jeanie has been
just spoiled by the mistress—my heart’s sairvice to her and
the young leddies—till ilka land they were no in, wad
be strange eneugh to her, puir body. And the lang and
short o’ the hail matter is, that we loe ye and your bonnie
lads and lassies, Laird, sae weel that we winna be pairted
frae ye.’
As Mr. Effingham grasped the hand of the staunch, true
servitor, who thus stood by him in his need, under whose
gnarled bark of natural roughness lay hid so tender and true
a core, the tears stood in his eyes.
‘I shall never forget this, Andrew,’ said he; ‘you and
Jeanie, old friend, will be the comfort of our lives in the
land over-sea, and I cannot say what fresh courage your
determination has given me. But are you sure it will be for
your own advantage? You must have saved money, and
might take a farm and live snugly here.’
‘I was aboot to acquent ye, Laird,’ said the conscientious
Scot, too faithful to his religious principles to take credit for
.bn 024.png
.pn +1
a disinterestedness to which he felt but partially entitled.
‘Ye’ll see, Laird, for ye’re weel acquent wi’ the Word, that the
battle’s no always to the strong, nor the race to the swift. Ye’ll
ken that, frae your ain experience—aweel, I winna just say
that neither’—proceeded Andrew, getting slightly involved
between his quotations and his determination to be ‘faithful’
to his erring master, and by no means cloaking his sins of
omission. ‘I’ll no say but what ye’ve been lettin’ ither
folks lead ye, and throw dust in ye’re een in no the maist
wiselike fashion, as nae doot ye wad hae dune wi’ the tenants,
puir bodies, gin I had letten ye. But touchin’ my ain affairs,
I haena sae muckle cause to brag; for maybe I was unco
stiff-necked, and it behoved to chasten me, as weel’s yersell;
I hae tint—just flung awa’—my sma’ scrapin’s and savin’s,
these saxteen years and mair, in siccan a senseless daft-like
way too!’
Here Andrew could not forbear a groan, which was echoed
by an exclamation from his master.
‘I am sincerely grieved—astonished beyond expression!
Why, Andrew, surely you have not been dabbling in stocks
and foreign loans?’
‘Na—nae ga-amblin’ for me, Laird!’ replied Andrew
sourly, and with an accentuation which implied speedy
return to his ordinary critical state of mind; ‘but if I had
minded the Scripture, I wadna hae lost money and faith at
one blow. “Strike not hands for a surety,”’ it saith, ‘but I
trusted Geordie Ballantyne like a brither; my ain cousin,
twice removed. He was aboot to be roupit oot, stock and
lock, and him wi’ a hoosefu’ o’ weans. I just gaed surety to
him for three hunder pound!’
‘You were never so mad—a prudent man like you?’
‘And he just flitted to America, fled frae his ain land, his
plighted word, and left me to bear the wyte o’t. It’s nae
use greetin’ ower spilt brose. The money’s a’ paid, and
Andra’ Cargill’s as puir a man’s when he cam’ to The Chase,
saxteen years last Michaelmas. Sae, between the heart-break
it wad be to pairt wi’ the family, and the sair heart I hae
gotten at pairtin’ wi’ my siller, the loss o’ a friend—“mine
own familiar freend,” as the Psawmist says—as weel’s
the earnings o’ the maist feck o’ my days, at ae blast,
I hae settled to gang oot, Laird, to Austra-alia, and maybe
.bn 025.png
.pn +1
lay oot a wheen straight furrows for ye, as I did lang syne on
the bonnie holms o’ Ettrick.’
Here Andrew’s voice faltered, and the momentous unprecedented
conversation ended abruptly.
The unfeigned delight with which his wife and daughters
received the news did much to reconcile Mr. Effingham to
his expatriation, and even went far to persuade him that he
had, in some way, originated the whole idea. Nor was their
satisfaction unfounded. Andrew, with all his apparent sternness
and occasional incivility, was shrewd, capable, and even
versatile, in the application of his industry and unerring
common sense to a wide range of occupations. He was the
ideal colonist of his order, as certain to succeed in his own
person as to be the most helpful and trustworthy of retainers.
As for Jeanie, she differed from her husband in almost
every respect, except in the cardinal virtues. She had been
a rustic celebrity in her youth, and Andrew occasionally
referred still, in moments of unbending, to the difficulties of
his courtship, and the victory gained over a host of rival
suitors. She still retained the softness of manner and tenderness
of nature which no doubt had originally led to the
fascination of her masterful, rugged-natured husband.
For the rest, Jean Cargill had always been one of those
servants, rare even in England, the land of peerless domestics,
whose loving, unselfish service knew no abatement in sickness
and in health, good fortune or evil hap. Her perceptive
tastes and strong sense of propriety rendered her, as years
rolled on, a trusted friend; an infinitely more suitable companion
for the mistress and her children, as she always called
them, than many a woman of higher culture. A tireless
nurse in time of sickness; a brave, clear-headed, but withal
modest and cautious, aid to the physician in the hour of
peril. She had stood by the bedstead of more than one
member of the family, in the dark hour, when the angel of
death waited on the threshold of the chamber. Never had
she slackened or faltered, by night or day, careless of food or
repose till the crisis had passed, and the ‘whisper of wings
in the air’ faded away.
.sp 2
Mrs. Effingham, with all her maternal fondness and
.bn 026.png
.pn +1
devotion, had been physically unable at times to bear up
against the fatigue of protracted watching and anxiety. She
had more than once, from sheer bodily weakness, been
compelled to abandon her post. But to Jeanie Cargill, sustained
by matchless love and devotion, such a thing had
never occurred. At noon or midnight, her hand was ever
ready to offer the needful food, the vital draught; her ear
ever watchful to catch the faint murmur of request; her eye,
sleepless as a star, was ever undimmed, vigilant to detect the
slightest change of symptom. Many nurses had been heard
of, seen, and even read of, in the domestic circles of Reigate,
but in the estimation of every matron capable of giving an
opinion, Jeanie Cargill, by countless degrees of comparison,
outshone them all.
That night, when Mrs. Effingham, as was her wont, sought
relief from the burden of her daily cares, and the crowding
anxieties of the morrow, ‘meekly kneeling upon her knees,’
it appeared to her as if in literal truth the wind had been
tempered to the shorn lamb. That terrible travel into the
unknown, the discomforts and dangers of the melancholy
main, with the dreary waste of colonial life, would be quite
different adventures, softened by the aid and companionship
of everybody’s ‘dear old Jeanie.’ Her patient industry, her
helpful sympathy, her matchless loyalty and self-denial, would
be well-springs of heaven-sent water in that desert. Andrew’s
company, though not socially exhilarating, was also an invigorating
fact. Altogether, Mrs. Effingham’s spirits improved,
and her hopes arose freshly strengthened.
No sooner was it settled that Andrew and his fortunes
were to be wafted o’er the main, in the vessel which bore the
Effingham family, than, with characteristic energy, he had
constituted himself Grand Vizier and responsible adviser.
He definitely approved of much that had been done, and
counselled still further additions to the outfit. Prime and
invincible was his objection to leave behind a certain pet
‘Jersey coo,’ ‘a maist extraordinar’ milker, and for butter,
juist unco-omon. If she could be ta’en oot to thae parts,
she wad be a sma’ fortune—that is, in ony Christian land
where butter and cheese were used. Maybe the sea-captain
wad let her gang for the value o’ her milk; she
was juist in the height o’t the noo. It wad be a sin and a
.bn 027.png
.pn +1
shame to let her be roupit for half price, like the ither kye,
puir things.’
Persistent advocacy secured his point. Daisy had been
morally abandoned to her fate; but Wilfred, goaded by
Andrew’s appeals, had an interview with the shipping clerk,
and arranged that Daisy, if approved of, should fill the place
of the proverbial milch cow, so invariably bracketed with the
‘experienced surgeon’ in the advertisements of the Commercial
Marine. Her calf also, being old enough to eat hay,
was permitted to accompany her.
Andrew also combated the idea that the greyhounds, or
at least a pair, should be left behind, still less the guns or
fishing-rods.
‘Wasna the Laird the best judge of a dog in the haill
country-side, and no that far frae the best shot? What for
suld he walk aboot the woods in Australia waesome and
disjaskit like, when there might be kangaroos, or whatna
kind o’ ootlandish game, to be had for the killing? Hoot,
hoot, puir Page and Damsel couldna be left ahint, nor the
wee terrier Vennie.’
There was more trouble with the greyhounds’ passage
than the cows, but in consideration of the large amount of
freight and passage-money paid by the family, the aristocratic
long-tails were franked. Andrew, with his own hands, packed
up the fowling-pieces and fishing-rods, which, with the exaggerated
prudence of youth, Wilfred had been minded to
leave behind, considering nothing worthy of removal that
would not be likely to add to their material gains in the ‘new
settlement.’ He had yet to learn that recreation can never
be advantageously disregarded, whether the community be
a young or an old one.
Little by little, a chain of slow yet subtle advances, by
which, equally with geologic alterations of the earth’s surface,
its ephemeral living tenants proceed or retrograde, effected
the translation of Howard Effingham, with wife and children,
retainers and household goods. Averse by nature to all
exertion which savoured of detail, reserving his energy for
what he was pleased to dignify with the title of great occasions,
as he looked back over the series of multitudinous
necessary arrangements, Howard Effingham wondered, in his
secret soul, at the transference of his household. Left to himself,
.bn 028.png
.pn +1
he was candid enough to admit, such a result could never
have been achieved. But the ceaseless ministration of Jeanie
and Andrew, the calm forethought of Mrs. Effingham, the
unsparing personal labour of Wilfred, had, in due time,
worked the miracle.
.bn 029.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER II | THE FIRST CAMP
.sp 2
Whatever may be the loss or injury inseparable from misfortune,
no one of experience denies that the pain is lightened
when the blow has fallen. The shuddering terror, the harrowing
doubts, which precede an operation, far outrun the torture
of the knife. Worse a thousandfold to endure than actual
misery, poverty and disgrace, is the dull sense of impending
doom, the daily anxiety, the secret dread, the formless, unhasting,
unsparing terror, which each day brings nearer to the
victim.
Howard Effingham had, for weeks past, suffered the
torments of the lost. An unwise concealment of the coming
ruin which his reserved temperament forbade him to announce,
had stretched him upon the rack. The acute agony was
now past, and he felt unspeakably relieved as, with increasing
completeness, the preparations for departure were accomplished.
After the shock of the disaster he commenced the necessary
duties with an unwontedly tranquil mind. He had despatched
a bank draft for the amount mentioned by his friend and
counsellor the Rev. Harley Sternworth. Prior to this needful
act, he held various conferences with the trustees of Mrs.
Effingham’s settlement. In many instances such authorities
are difficult, even impracticable, to deal with, preferring the
minimum interest which can be safely procured in the matter
of trust money, to the slightest risk. In this instance, the
arbiter of destiny was an old gentleman, at once prudent yet
liberal-minded, who did not disdain to examine the arguments
in favour of the Australian plan. After reading Mr. Sternworth’s
.bn 030.png
.pn +1
letter, and comparing the facts therein stated with
colonial securities, to which he had access, he gave in his
adhesion to the investment, and converted his coadjutor, a
mild, obstinate personage, who could with difficulty be induced
to see any other investment legally open to them but the
‘sweet simplicity of the three per cents.’
Long was the last day in coming, but it came at last.
Their stay in the old home was protracted until only time
was given for the journey to Southampton, where the staunch,
old-fashioned wool-ship lay, which was to receive their condensed
personal effects and, as it seemed to them, shrivelled-up
personalities.
Adieus were said, some with sore weeping and many
tears; some with moderate but sincere regret; some with
the half-veiled indifference with which any action not affecting
their own comfort, interest, or reputation is regarded by a large
class of acquaintances. The minor possessions—the carriages,
the horses, the library, the furniture—were sold. A selection
of the plainest articles of this last requisite, which, the freight
being wonderfully low, their chief adviser had counselled them
to carry with them, was alone retained.
‘It will sell for next to nothing,’ his last letter had said,
‘judging from my experience after the regiment had “got the
route,” and you will have it landed here for less than the price
of very ordinary substitutes. Bring all the small matters you
can, that may be useful; and don’t leave the piano behind.
I must have a tune when I come to see you at Warbrok, and
hear Mrs. Effingham sing “Auld Robin Gray” again. You
recollect how our old Colonel broke down, with tears rolling
over his wrinkled cheeks, when she sang it?’
All was now over. The terrible wrench had been endured,
tearing apart those living fibres which in early life are entwined
around hearth and home. They had gazed in mournful
farewell upon each familiar thing which from childhood’s
hour had seemed a portion of their sheltered life. Like
plants and flowerets, no denizens of hothouse or simulated
tropic clime, but not the less carefully tended from harmful
extremes, climatic or social, had the Effingham family grown
and flourished. Now they were about to be abandoned to
the elemental forces. Who should say whether they would
wither under rude blasts and a fiercer sun, or, from natural
.bn 031.png
.pn +1
vigour and inherent vitality, burgeon and bloom beneath the
Southern heavens?
Of the whole party, she who showed less outward token of
sorrow, felt in her heart the most unresting anguish. To a
woman like Mrs. Effingham, reared from infancy in the
exclusive tenets of English county life, the idea of so comprehensive
a change, of a semi-barbarous migration, had been
well-nigh more bitter than death—but for one source of aid
and spiritual support, unendurable.
Her reliance had a twofold foundation. The undoubting
faith in a Supreme Being, who ordered aright all the ways of
His creatures, even when apparently remote from happiness,
remained unshaken. Firmly had she ever trusted in that God
by whom her former life had been guided. Events might
take a mysteriously doubtful course. But, in the wilderness,
under leafy forest-arches, beneath the shadow of the gathering
tempest, on land or ocean, she would trust in God and her
Redeemer. Steadfast and brave of mien, though with trembling
lip and sickened heart, she marshalled her little troop and
led them on board the stout ship, which only awaited the
morrow’s dawn to spread her wings and sweep southward—ever
southward—amid unknown seas, until the great island
continent should arise from out the sky-line, telling of a land
which was to provide them with a home, with friends, even
perhaps a fortune. What a mockery in that hour of utter
wretchedness did such hope promptings appear!
After protracted mental conflict, no more perfect system of
rest can be devised than that afforded by a sea-voyage. Anxiety,
however mordant, must be lulled to rest under the fixed conditions
of a journey, before the termination of which no battle
of life can be commenced, no campaign resumed.
Toil and strife, privation and poverty, labour and luck, all
the contending forces of life are hushed as in a trance. As
in hibernation, the physical and mental attributes appear to
rally, to recruit fresh stores of energy. ‘The dead past buries
its dead’—sorrowfully perchance, and with silent weeping.
But the clouds which have gathered around the spirit disperse
and flee heavenwards, as from a snow-robed Alp at morning
light. Then the roseate hues of dawn steal slowly o’er the
silver-pure peaks and glaciers. The sun gilds anew the dark
pine forest, the purple hills. Once more hope springs forth
.bn 032.png
.pn +1
ardent and unfettered. Endeavour presses onward to victory
or to death.
To the Effingham family came a natural surprise, that,
under their circumstances of exile and misfortune, any
cheerfulness could occur. The parents possessed an air of
decent resignation. But the younger members of the family,
after the first days of unalloyed wretchedness, commenced to
exhibit the elastic temperament of youth.
The seamanship displayed on the staunch sailing ship
commenced to interest them. The changing aspects of sea
and sky, the still noon, the gathering storm-cloud, the starry
midnight, the phosphorescent fire-trail following the night-path
of their bark—all these had power to move the sad hearts of the
exiles. And, in youth, to move the heart is to lighten the spirit.
Wilfred Effingham, true to his determination to deliver
himself over to every practical duty which might grow out of
their life, had procured books professing to give information
with regard to all the Australian colonies.
With difficulty he managed, after an extended literary tour
involving Tasmania, Swan River, and New Zealand, to distinguish
the colony to which they were bound, though he failed
to gather precise information regarding the district in which
their land was situated. He made out that the climate was
mild, and favourable to the Anglo-Saxon constitution; that
in mid-winter, flowering shrubs and delicate plants bloomed in
spite of the pretended rigour of the season; that the heat in
summer was considerable, as far as shown by the reading of
the thermometer, but that from the extreme dryness of atmosphere
no greater oppressiveness followed than in apparently
cooler days in other climates.
‘Here, mother,’ he said, having mastered the latter fact,
‘we have been unconsciously coming to the exact country
suited to your health and pursuits. You know how fond of
flowers you are. Well, you can have a winter garden now,
without the expense of glass or the trouble of hothouse flues;
while you can cheat the season by abstaining from colds, which
you could never do in England, you know.’
‘I shall be happy to have a little garden of my own, my
son,’ she replied, ‘but who is to work in it? We have done
for ever, I suppose, with head and under gardeners. You and
Guy and everybody will always, I suppose, be at farm-work,
.bn 033.png
.pn +1
or herding cattle and sheep, busy from morning to dark.
How glad we shall be to see your faces at night!’
‘It does not follow,’ replied Wilfred, ‘that we shall never
have a moment to spare. Listen to what this author says:
“The colonist who has previously been accustomed to lead a
life, where intervals of leisure and intellectual recreation hold
an acknowledged place, must not consider that, in choosing
Australia for his home, he has forfeited all right to such
indulgences. Let him not think that he has pledged himself
to a life of unbroken toil and unremitting manual labour. On
the contrary, he will discover that the avocations of an
Australian country gentleman chiefly demand the exercise of
ordinary prudence and of those rudimentary business habits
which are easily acquired. Intelligent supervision, rather
than manual labour, is the special qualification for colonial
success; and we do not err in saying that by its exercise
more fortunes have been made than by the rude toils which
are supposed to be indispensable in the life of an Australian
settler.”
‘There, mother!’ said the ardent adventurer. ‘That writer
is a very sensible fellow. He knows what he is talking about,
for he has been ever so many years in Australia, and has been
over every part of it.’
‘Well, there certainly seems permission given to us to have
a flower-garden for mamma without ruining ourselves or
neglecting our business,’ said Rosamond. ‘And if the climate
is so beautiful as they say, these dreadful February neuralgia-martyrdoms
will be things of the past with you, dearest old
lady.’
‘There, mother, what do you say to that? Why, you will
grow so young and beautiful that you will be taken for our
elder sister, and papa would be ashamed to say you are his
wife, only that old gentlemen generally marry young girls
nowadays. Then, fancy what a garden we shall have at The
Chase—we must call it The Chase, no matter what its present
name is. It wouldn’t feel natural for us to live anywhere but
at a Chase. It would be like changing our name.’
.tb
On board ship there is always abundant leisure for talk and
recreation, especially in low latitudes and half calms. The
Effinghams, after they had been a month out, began to feel
.bn 034.png
.pn +1
sensibly the cheering effects of total change of scene—the
life-breathing atmosphere of the unbounded sea. The demons
of Regret and Fear, for the most part, shun the blue wave and
lie in wait on land for unwary mortals. The ship was seaworthy
and spacious, the officers capable, the few passengers
passably agreeable. Gradually the tone was restored of
Captain Effingham’s nervous system. He ceased to repine
and regret. He even beheld some grains of hope in the
future, black as the outlook had until now appeared. While
the expression of sweet serenity and calm resignation which
ever dwelt upon the features of Mrs. Effingham became
heightened and assured under the concomitants of the voyage,
until she appeared to radiate peace and goodwill sufficient to
affect beneficially the whole ship’s company. As for the two
little ones, Selden and Blanche, they appeared to have been
accustomed since infancy to a seafaring life. They ran about
unchecked, and were in everybody’s way and every one’s affections.
They were the youngest children on board, and many
a rough sailor turned to look, with something like a glistening
in his eye, on the saucy brown-eyed boy, and the delicate
little five-year-old fairy, whose masses of fair hair floated in
the breeze, or were temporarily confined with an unwilling
ribbon.
It seemed but the lengthening limit of a dream when the
seaman at the good ship’s bow was commanded to keep a lookout
for land; when, yet another bright blue day, fading into
eve, and a low coast-line is seen, rising like an evening cloud
from out a summer sea.
‘Hurrah!’ said Wilfred Effingham, as the second mate
pointed out the land of promise, ‘now our life begins. We
shall belong to ourselves again, instead of being the indulgently
treated slaves—very well treated, I confess—but still the
unquestionable bond-slaves of that enlightened taskmaster,
Captain Henry Fleetby of the Marlshire.’
‘We have been very happy, my dear,’ said Mrs. Effingham,
‘happier than I should have thought possible in a ship, under
any circumstances. Let us hope our good fortune will continue
on land. I shall always look back to this voyage as the
most wonderful rest that our poor wounded hearts could have
enjoyed. Your papa looks quite himself again, and I feel
better than I have done for years. I shall remember our
.bn 035.png
.pn +1
captain, his officers, and his ship, with gratitude, as long as I
live.’
‘I feel quite attached to the dear old vessel,’ said Annabel,
‘but we can’t go sailing about the world all our lives, like
respectable Flying Dutchmen. I suppose the captain must
turn us out to-morrow. Who would have thought we should
regret coming to the end of the voyage?’
How calm was that last day of the long, but not too long,
voyage, when they glided for hours on a waveless sea, by a
great wall of sandstone cliffs, which finally opened, as if by
magic, and discovered the portal of an Enchanted Haven!
Surely the prospect could not all be real, of this wondrous
nook, stolen from the vast, the limitless Pacific, in which
they discerned, through the empurpling eve, villas, cottages,
mansions, churches, white-walled and fantastic to their
eyes, girt with strange shrubs and stately forest trees of unknown
aspect. As the Marlshire floated to her anchorage,
threading a fleet of skiffs, which made the waters gay with
many a sail, the full heart of the mother and the wife overflowed.
Involuntarily a fervent prayer of thanksgiving went up to
that Being who had safely guarded them o’er the waste of
ocean; had permitted their entrance into this good land,
which lay ready to receive them in their need.
Passengers concluding a short voyage are nervously anxious
to land, and commence the frantic enjoyment of existence
on terra firma. Not so with the denizens of the good ship
Marlshire, which had been their home and dwelling-place for
more than a quarter of a year. Having grown, with the
strange adaptiveness of our nature, to love the gallant bark,
you revere the captain, respect the first officer, and believe in
the second. Even the crew is above the average of the
mercantile Jack-tar novel. You will always swear by the old
tub; and you will not go on shore till to-morrow morning, if
then.
All things considered, the family decided to stay quietly
on board the Marlshire that night, so as to disembark in a
leisurely way in the morning, when they would have the day
before them in which to make arrangements.
They talked of staying quietly on board, but the excitement
of being so near the land was too much for them. The
.bn 036.png
.pn +1
unnatural quietude of the ship, the calm water of the bay,
the glancing lights, which denoted the thousand homes of
the city, the cries and sounds of the massed population of a
seaport, the warm midnight air, the woods and white beaches
which denoted the shore-line, the gliding harbour-boats, all
seemed to sound in one strangely distinct chorus: ‘Land,
land, land at last.’ All magically exciting, these sounds and
scenes forbade sleep. Long after the other members of the
family had gone below for the night, Wilfred and Rosamond
paced the deck, eagerly discussing plans for the future, and,
with the sanguine temper of youth, rapidly following each
freshly-formed track to fortune.
No one was likely to indulge in slumber after sunrise. A
babel of sounds announced that the unlading of cargo had
commenced. Their last ship breakfast prefaced the actual
stepping upon the friendly gangway, which now alone divided
them from the other side of the world. Before that feat was
performed, a squarely-built, grey-headed personage, in clerical
garb, but withal of a somewhat secular manner, walked
rapidly from the wharf to the deck and confronted the party.
‘Here you are at last, all safe and sound, Howard, my
dear fellow!’ said he, shaking hands warmly with Mr.
Effingham. ‘Not so much changed either; too easy-going
for that. Pray present me to Mrs. Effingham and the young
ladies. Your eldest son looking after the luggage?—proper
place for him. Allow me to take your arm, my dear madam,
and to conduct you to the hotel, where I have engaged
rooms for you. May as well set off—talk as we go along.
Only heard of the Marlshire being signalled the day before
yesterday. Came a long journey—slightly knocked up this
morning, but soon recovered—splendid climate—make a
young man of you, Earl Percy, in a year or two. We always
called him Earl Percy in the regiment, Mrs. Effingham.
Perhaps he told you. And all this fine family too—two,
four, six, seven. I can hardly credit my senses. Plenty of
room for them in this country—plenty of room—that’s one
thing.’
‘We have every reason to be thankful for the comfortable
way in which we have voyaged here,’ said Mrs. Effingham;
‘and now that you have so kindly come to meet us, I feel as
if half our troubles were over.’
.bn 037.png
.pn +1
‘Your troubles are just commencing, my dear madam, but
with Harley Sternworth’s help something may be done to
lighten them. Still I feel sure that these young ladies will
look upon difficulties in a sensible way, not expecting too
much, or being discouraged—just at first, you know.’
‘Your country, my old friend, will have to look bad
indeed if my wife cannot find a good word to say for it,’
said Mr. Effingham, roused to unwonted cheerfulness. ‘At
any rate, it suits you well; you look as hard as a west country
drover.’
‘Never was better. Haven’t had a dose of medicine for
years. Ride fifty miles a day if necessary. Finest climate—finest
country—under the sun. Lots of parish work and
travelling, with a dash of botanising, and a pinch of geology
to fill up spare time. Wouldn’t go back and live in a country
town for the world. Mope to death.’
All this time the reverend gentleman was pressing forward
up a gentle incline, towards the lower end of George Street,
and after walking up that noble thoroughfare, and discreetly
refraining from mention of the buildings which ornament that
part of it, he turned again towards the water and piloted his
party successfully to Batty’s Hotel.
‘Here, my dear madam, you will find that I have secured
you pleasant apartments for a week or ten days, during which
time you will be able to recruit after the voyage, and do
justice to the beauties of the city. You are not going up
country at once. A few days’ leisure will be economy in the
end.’
‘So we are not to start off hundreds of miles at once, in a
bullock dray, as the captain told us?’ said Rosamond.
‘No, my dear young lady, neither now nor, I hope, at
any time will such a mode of travelling be necessary. I
cannot say too much for your conveyance, but it will be fairly
comfortable and take you to your destination safely. After
that will commence what you will doubtless consider to be a
tolerably rough life. Yes—a rough life.’
‘These young people have made up their minds to anything
short of living like Esquimaux,’ said Mr. Effingham.
‘I don’t think you will frighten them. You and I saw
curious backwoods places when we were quartered in Canada,
didn’t we? You will hardly match them in Australia.’
.bn 038.png
.pn +1
‘Nothing to be compared to it,’ said Mr. Sternworth
earnestly. ‘We have no winter here, to begin with; that is,
none worth speaking about for cold. Moreover, the people
are intensely British in their manners and customs, in an
old-fashioned way. But I am not going to explain everything.
You will have to live the explanation, which is far
better than hearing it, and is sure to be retained by the
memory.’
It was decided that no move was to be made for the
interior until the baggage was landed, and arrangements made
for its safe carriage by dray.
‘If you leave before all is ready,’ said their mentor, ‘you
run risk of the loss of a portion, by mistake or negligence;
and this loss may never be repaired. You will find your
furniture of immense value in the new abode, and will congratulate
yourself upon having brought it. It is astonishing
with what different eyes you look upon a table or sideboard
here and in England.’
‘I was anxious to bring out some of our old possessions,’
said Mrs. Effingham. ‘But I had hard work to persuade my
husband that we might not be able to procure such here.
Your advice was most opportune. I feel more pleased than
I can say that we were able to act upon it.’
At lunch they were joined by Wilfred, who had discovered
that there was no chance of all the furniture coming ashore
that day. He had arranged with the captain that Andrew
and his family should remain on board, as also Daisy the
cow, until everything was ready to load the drays with the
heavy baggage.
Andrew had expressed himself much pleased with the
arrangement, regarding the ship as ‘mair hamelike’ than the
busy foreign-looking city, to the inhabitants of which he did
not take kindly, particularly after an exploring stroll, which
happened to be on the Sunday after arrival.
‘A maist freevolous folk, given up to mammon-worship
and pleesure-huntin’,—walkin’ in thae gairdens—no that
they’re no just by-ordinar’ for shrubs and floorin’ plants
frae a’ lands—walkin’ and haverin’ in the gairdens on the
Sawbath day, a’ smilin’ and heedless, just on the vairge o’
happiness. Saw ye ever the like? It’s juist fearsome.’
Upon the lady portion of the family, the city with its
.bn 039.png
.pn +1
shops, parks, and inhabitants made a more favourable impression.
Mr. Sternworth was untiring in showing them, in the
excursions which Mrs. Effingham and the girls made under
his guidance, the beauties of the city. They wandered much
in the lovely public gardens, to Mrs. Effingham’s intense
delight, whose love of flowers was, perhaps, her strongest
taste. They drove out on the South Head road, and duly
noted the white-walled mansions, plunged deeply in such
luxuriant flower-growth as the Northern strangers had rarely
yet beheld. Wonderfully gracious seemed the weather. It
was the Australian spring with air as soft and balmy as that
of Italy in her fairest hours.
How enjoyable was that halt between two stages of
existence! Daily, as they rose from the morning meal, they
devoted themselves to fresh rambles around the city, under the
chaperonage of the worthy person. They commenced to feel
an involuntary exhilaration. The pure air, the bright days,
the glowing sun, the pleasant sea-breeze, combined to cause
an indefinable conviction that they had found a region formed
for aid and consolation.
The streets, the equipages, the people, presented, it is
true, few of the contrasts, to their English experience, which a
foreign town would have afforded. Yet was there the excitement,
strong and vivid, which arises from the first sight of a
strange land and an unfamiliar people.
‘This town has a great look of Marseilles,’ said Wilfred,
as they loitered, pleasantly fatigued, towards their temporary
home in the deepening twilight. ‘The same white, balconied,
terraced houses of pale freestone; the southern climate, the
same polyglot water-side population, only the Marseilles quay
might be stowed away in a hundred corners of this wonderful
harbour; and the people—only look at them—have a Parisian
tendency to spend their evenings in the streets. I suppose
the mildness of the climate tends to it.’
‘This kind of thing, I suppose, strikes you sharply at first,’
said Mr. Sternworth; ‘but my eyes have become so accustomed
to all the aspects of my little world, that I cannot see
much difference between it and many English places I have
known in my day. The variations noted at first have long
since disappeared; and I feel as much at home as I used
.bn 040.png
.pn +1
to do at Bideford, when I was quartered there with the old
regiment.’
‘But surely the people must be different from what they
are in England,’ said Beatrice. ‘The country is different,
the trees, the plants—how beautiful many of them are!—and
the climate; surely all this must tend to alter the character or
the appearance of the people.’
‘It may in a few centuries have that effect, my dear young
lady,’ said the old gentleman, ‘but such changes are after the
fashion of nature’s workings, imperceptibly slow. You will
agree with me in another year, that many old acquaintances
in men and manners are to be met with out here, and the
rest present only outward points of divergence.’
The days of restful peace had passed. The valuable
freight—to them invaluable—having been safely loaded, Mr.
Sternworth unfolded the plan which he had arranged for
their journey.
‘You are aware,’ he said, ‘that Warbrok Chase, as the
young ladies have decided to call your estate, is more than 200
miles from Sydney. It lies 40 miles beyond Yass, which town
is distant 180 miles from the Metropolis. Now, although we
shall have railways in good time, there is nothing of the sort
yet, and the roads are chiefly in their natural state. I would
therefore suggest that you should travel in a roomy horse-waggon,
comfortably fitted up, taking a tent with you in
which to sleep at night. I have procured a driver well
acquainted with the country, who knows all the camps and
stopping-places, and may be depended upon to take you
safely to your journey’s end.’
‘No railways, no coaches,’ said Mr. Effingham; ‘yours is
rather a primitive country, Harley, it must be confessed; but
you know what is best for us all, and the weather is so mild
that none of us can suffer from the bivouac.’
‘I should not have hazarded it if there had been any risk
to health,’ said the old gentleman, bowing courteously. ‘There
are coaches, however, and you might reach your destination in
four days, after hurried travelling. But the tariff is expensive
for so large a party; you would be crowded, or meet unsuitable
fellow-travellers, while you could take but little of your
luggage with you.’
‘I vote for the overland journey,’ said Rosamond. ‘I am
.bn 041.png
.pn +1
sure it will be quite refreshingly eastern. I suppose Andrew
and Jeanie and poor dear Daisy and the dogs and everything
can go.’
‘Everything and everybody you please but the heavy
luggage. Your servants will be able to sleep under a part of
the waggon-tilt, which will be comfortable enough at night.
The cow will give you milk for your tea. Even the greyhounds
may catch you a wallaby or two, which will come
in for soup.’
‘There could not be a better scheme,’ said Wilfred
exultingly. ‘My dear sir, you are a second father to us.
How long do you think it will take us to get to Warbrok
altogether?’
‘You will have to make up your minds to ten or twelve
days’ travelling, I am afraid—say, twenty miles a day. I really
believe you will not find it tedious, but, as with your water
journey, get quite to like it. Besides, there is one grand
advantage, as far as the young ladies are concerned.’
‘What is that?’ said Annabel, with added interest, but
somewhat doleful countenance. ‘Is there any advantage in
travelling like gipsies?’
‘It is this, then, my dear girls,’ said the old man, bending
upon them his clear, kindly beaming eyes, ‘that you will
make acquaintance with the rougher habitudes (and yet not
unduly so) of country life in Australia by this primitive
forest journeying. When you arrive at your destination you
will therefore be proportionately satisfied with your new
residence, because it will represent a settled home. Your daily
journey will by that time have become a task, so that you
will hail the prospect of repose with thankfulness.’
‘Is that all?’ asked Annabel with a disappointed air.
‘Then we are to undergo something dreadful, in order that
something only disagreeable may not look so bad after it.
Is all Australian life like that? But I daresay I shall die
young, and so it won’t matter much. Is the lunch nearly
ready? I declare I am famishing.’
Every one laughed at this characteristic sequence to Annabel’s
prophecy, and the matter of the march having been
settled, their friend promised to send up the waggon-driver
next morning, in order that the proper fittings and the lamps—indispensable
articles—and luggage might be arranged
.bn 042.png
.pn +1
and packed. A tent also was purchased, and bedding,
cooking utensils, provisions, etc., secured.
‘You will find Dick Evans an original character,’ said the
parson, ‘but I do not know any man in the district so well
suited for this particular service. He has been twenty years
in Australia, and knows everything, both good and evil, that
can be known of the country and people. He is an old
soldier, and in the 50th Regiment saw plenty of service. He
has his faults, but they don’t appear on the surface, and I
know him well enough to guarantee that you will be wholly
ignorant of them. His manners—with a dash of soldier
servant—are not to be surpassed.’
At an hour next morning so soon after dawn that Andrew
Cargill, the most incorruptible of early birds, was nearly caught
napping, Mr. Dick Evans arrived with two horses and his
waggon. The rest of the team, not being wanted, he had
left in their paddock at Homebush. He immediately placed
the waggon in the most convenient position for general
reference, took out his horses, which he accommodated with
nose-bags, and with an air of almost suspicious deference
inquired of Andrew what he could commence to do in the
way of packing.
The two men, as if foreseeing that possible encounters
might henceforth take place between them, looked keenly at
each other. Richard Evans had the erect bearing of which
the recipient of early drill can rarely divest himself. His wiry
figure but slightly above the middle height, his clean-shaved,
ruddy cheek, his keen grey eye, hardly denoted the fifty years
and more which he carried so lightly.
A faultless constitution, an open-air occupation with habits
of great bodily activity, had borne him scatheless through a
life of hardship and risk.
This personage commenced with a request to be shown
the whole of the articles intended to be taken, gently but
firmly withstanding any opinion of Andrew’s to the contrary,
and replying to his protests with the mild superiority of the
attendant in a lunatic asylum. After the whole of the light
luggage had been displayed, he addressed himself to the task
of loading and securing it with so much economy of space
and advantage of position, that Andrew readily yielded to
him the right to such leadership in future.
.bn 043.png
.pn +1
‘Nae doot,’ he said, ‘the auld graceless sworder that he
is, has had muckle experience in guiding his team through
thae pathless wildernesses, and it behoves a wise man to
“jouk and let the jaw gae by.” But wae’s me, it’s dwelling
i’ the tents o’ Kedar!’
Dick Evans, who was a man of few words and strong in
the heat of argument, was by no means given to mixing up
discussion with work. He therefore kept on steadily with
his packing until evening, only requiring from Andrew such
help and information as were indispensable.
‘There,’ said he, as he removed the low-crowned straw
hat from his heated brow, and prepared to fill his pipe, ‘I
think that will about do. The ladies can sit there in the
middle, where I’ve put the tent loose, and use it as a
sofy, if they’ve a mind to. I can pitch it in five minutes at
night, and they can sleep in it as snug as if they had a
cottage with them. You and your wife can have the body
of the waggon to yourselves at night, and I’ll sleep under
the shafts. The captain and the young gentlemen can have
all the room between the wheels, and nobody can want
more than that. I suppose your missis can do what cooking’s
wanted?’
‘Nae doot,’ Andrew replied with dignity, ‘Mistress Cargill
wad provide a few bits o’ plain victual. A wheen parritch,
a thocht brose, wad serve a’ hands better than flesh meat,
and tea or coffee, or siccan trash.’
‘Porridge won’t do for me,’ said the veteran firmly, ‘not
if I know it. Oatmeal’s right enough for you Scotchmen,
and not bad stuff either, in your own country, but beef and
mutton’s our tack in Australia.’
‘And will ye find a flesher in this “bush,” as they ca’ it,
that we’ve to push through?’ demanded Andrew. ‘Wad it no
be mair wiselike to keep to victual that we can carry in our
sacks?’
‘Get plenty of beef and mutton and everything else on the
road,’ said Mr. Evans, lighting his pipe and declining further
argument. ‘Don’t you forget to bring a frying-pan. I’ll take
the horses back to the paddock now and be here by daylight,
so as we can make a good start.’
It had been arranged by Mr. Sternworth that the boys, as
he called them, should set forth in the morning with Evans
.bn 044.png
.pn +1
and the waggon, as also Andrew and Jeanie, taking with
them the cow, the dogs, and the smaller matters which the
family had brought. No necessity for Captain Effingham
and the ladies to leave Sydney until the second day. He
would drive them in a hired carriage as far as the first camp,
which Evans had described to him.
They would thus avoid the two days’ travel, and commence
their journey after the expedition had performed its trial trip,
so to speak.
‘What should we have done without your kind care of
us?’ said Mrs. Effingham. ‘Everything up to this time has
been a pleasure trip. When is the hard life that we heard
so much of to begin?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Rosamond, ‘Mr. Sternworth is going to
be like the brigand in the romances, who used to lure
persons from their homes. I have no doubt but that there
are “hard times” awaiting us somewhere or somehow.’
‘My dear young lady, let me compliment you on your
good sense in taking that view of the future. It will save
you from disappointment, and fill your mind with a wholesome
strength to resist adversity. You may need all your
philosophy, and I counsel you to keep it, like armour,
well burnished. I do not know of any evil likely to befall
you, but that you will have trouble and toil may be taken
as certain. Only, after a time, I predict that you will
overcome your difficulties, and find yourselves permanently
benefited.’
The old gentleman, whose arrangements were as successfully
carried out as if he had been the commissary instead of
the chaplain of his former regiment, made his appearance on
the following day in a neat barouche drawn by a pair of
good-looking bay horses, and driven by a highly presentable
coachman.
‘Why, it might pass muster for a private carriage,’ said
Annabel. ‘And I can see a crest on the panels. I suppose
we shall never own a carriage again as long as we live.’
‘This is a private carriage, or rather was, once upon a
time,’ said Mr. Sternworth; ‘the horses and the coachman
belonged to it. Many carriages were put down last year,
owing to a scarcity of money, and my old friend Watkins here,
having saved his wages, like a prudent man, bought his
.bn 045.png
.pn +1
master’s carriage and horses, and commenced as cab
proprietor. He has a large connection among his former
master’s friends, and is much in demand at balls and other
festivities.’
The ex-coachman drove them at a lively pace, but steadily,
along a macadamised turnpike road, not so very different
from a country lane in Surrey, though wider, and not confined
by hedges. The day was fine. On either side, after the
town was left behind, were large enclosures, wherein grazed
sheep, cattle, and horses. Sometimes they passed an orangery,
and the girls were charmed with the rows of dark green trees,
upon which the golden fruit was ripe. Then an old-fashioned
house, in an orchard, surrounded by a wall—wall and house
coloured red, and rusty with the stains of age—much like a
farmhouse in Hertfordshire. One town they passed was so
manifestly old-fashioned, having even ruins, to their delight
and astonishment, that they could hardly believe they were
in a new country.
‘Some one has been playing Rip Van Winkle tricks upon
us,’ said Rosamond. ‘We have been asleep a hundred years,
and are come back finding all things grown old and in
decay.’
‘You must not forget that the colony has been established
nearly fifty years,’ said Mr. Sternworth, ‘and that these are
some of the earliest settlements. They were not always
placed in the most judicious sites; wherefore, as newer towns
have passed them in the race for trade, these have submitted
to become, as you see them, “grey with the rime of
years,” and simulating decay as well as circumstances will
permit.’
‘Well, I think much more highly of Australia, now that I
have seen a real ruin or two,’ said Annabel decisively. ‘I
always pictured the country full of hideous houses of boards,
painted white, with spinach green doors and windows.’
The afternoon was well advanced as the inmates of the
carriage descried the encampment which Mr. Evans had
ordered, with some assistance from his military experience.
So complete in all arrangements for comfort was it—not
wholly disregarding the element of romantic scenery—that
the girls cried aloud in admiration.
The streamlet (or creek) which afforded the needful water
.bn 046.png
.pn +1
meandered round the base of a crag, jutting out from a
forest-clothed hill. The water-hole (or basin) in the channel
of the creek was larger than such generally are, and reflected
brightly the rays of the declining sun. The meadow, which
afforded space for the encampment, was green, and fertile of
appearance. The waggon stood near the water; the four
horses were peacefully grazing. At a short distance, under a
spreading tree, the tent had been pitched, while before it
was a wood fire, upon which Jeanie was cooking something
appetising. Wilfred and his brother were strolling, gun in
hand, up the creek; the cow was feeding among the rushes
with great contentment; Andrew was seated, meditating, upon
a box which he had brought forth from the recesses of the
waggon; while Dick Evans, not far from a small fire, upon
which stood a camp-kettle at boiling-point, was smoking with
an air of conscious pride, as if not only the picturesque
beauty, but the personages pertaining to the landscape,
belonged to him individually.
‘I could not leave you more comfortably provided for,’
said their ‘guide, philosopher, and friend.’ ‘Old Dick may be
trusted in all such matters as implicitly as the Duke of
Wellington. I never knew him at fault yet in this kind of
life.’
‘You must positively stay and have afternoon tea with
us,’ exclaimed Annabel. ‘It is exactly five, and there is Dick
putting a tin cupful of tea into the teapot. What extravagant
people you colonists are! I never drank tea in the
open air before, but it seems quite the right thing to do. I
see Jeanie has made griddle-cakes, like a dear old thing.
And I know there is butter. I am so hungry. You will
stay, won’t you?’
‘I think, sir,’ said the ex-family coachman, looking
indulgently at the special pleader, ‘that we shall have time
to get back to the Red Cow Inn to-night, after a cup of
tea, as the young lady wishes it. I’ll run you into town
bright and early to-morrow.’
‘Very well then, Miss Annabel, I shall have the honour to
accept your invitation,’ bowed the old man. ‘I go away
more cheerfully than I expected, now that I leave you all so
comparatively snug. It will not be for long. Be sure that I
shall meet you on the threshold of Warbrok.’
.bn 047.png
.pn +1
The al fresco meal was partaken of with much relish,
even gaiety, after which civilisation—as personified by the
reverend gentleman and the carriage—departed. Annabel
looked after it ruefully, while Jeanie and Mrs. Effingham
took counsel together for the night. It was for the first time
in the family history. Never before had the Effinghams slept,
so to speak, in the open air. It was a novel adventure in
their uneventful lives—a marked commencement of their
colonial career. It affected them differently, according to
their idiosyncrasies. Rosamond was calmly resolute, Annabel
apprehensive, and Beatrice indifferent; the boys in high spirits;
Mr. Effingham half in disapproval, despondently self-accusing;
while Mrs. Effingham and Jeanie were so fully absorbed in
the great bedding question that they had no emotions to
spare for any abstract consideration whatever.
The moon, in her second quarter, had arisen lustrous in
the pure, dark blue firmament, fire-besprinkled with ‘patines
of bright gold,’ before this important matter (and supper) was
concluded. Then it was formally announced that the tent
was fully furnished, and had turned out wonderfully commodious.
The mattresses were placed upon a layer of ‘bush-feathers,’
as Dick Evans called them, and which (the small
twigs and leaf-shoots of the eucalyptus) he had impressed
Wilfred and his brother to gather. There was a lantern
secured to the tent-pole, which lighted up the apartment;
and sheets, blankets, coverlets being brought forth, Annabel
declared that she was sure they would all sleep like tops, that
for her part she must insist on going to bed at once as the
keen air had made her quite drowsy. A dressing-table had
been improvised, chiefly with the aid of Mr. Evans’ mechanical
skill. When the matron and her daughters made their
farewell for the night, and closed their canvas portal, every one
was of the opinion that a high degree of comfort and effective
lodging had been reached.
Mr. and Mrs. Cargill and family retired to the inmost
recesses of the upper waggon, where the ends of the tilt,
fastened together, protected them. Mr. Effingham and his
sons joined Dick Evans at his briskly burning fire, where the
old man was smoking and occasionally indulging in a
refresher of tea as if he had no intention of going to bed till
he reached Warbrok.
.bn 048.png
.pn +1
‘We are having glorious weather to travel in, Evans,’ said
Mr. Effingham. ‘You have been in the service, Mr. Sternworth
tells me; what regiment?’
‘I was in the old 50th for many a year, Captain,’ he
said, unconsciously standing erect and giving the salute. ‘I
served under Sir Hugh Gough in India, where I got this
slash from a Mahratta sabre. Didn’t seem a hard cut
neither; the fellow just seemed to swing his wrist, careless-like,
as he rode by, but it was nigh deep enough to take the
“wick” out of me. Their swords was a deal sharper than
ours, and their wooden scabbards kept ’em from getting
blunt again. I had a great argument with my sergeant about
it once,’ continued the old man. ‘I couldn’t a-bear to see
our poor chaps sliced up by them razor-edged tulwars, while
our regulation swords was a’most too dull to cut through a
quilted cotton helment. Ah! them was fine times,’ said the
old soldier, with so genuine a regret in his tones that
Howard Effingham almost believed he had, for the first time
in his life, fallen across a noble private, pleased with his
profession, and anxious to return to it.
‘I have rarely heard a soldier regret the army,’ said he.
‘But you still retain zeal for the service, I am pleased to
find.’
‘Well, sir, that’s all very well,’ said the philosophical man-at-arms;
‘but what I was a-thinking of was the “loot.” It’s
enough to bring tears into a man’s eyes that served his Queen
and country, to think of the things as we passed over. Didn’t
Jimmy O’Hara and two or three more men of my company
get together once and made bold to stick up the priest of one
of them temples. No great things either—gold earrings and
bangles, and a trifle of gold mohurs, the priest’s own. There
was a copper-coloured, bronze-looking idol—regular heathen
god, or some such cretur—which the priest kept calling out
“Sammy” to, or “Swammi.” The ugly thing had bright glittering
eyes, and Jim wanted to get ’em out badly, but the priest
said, “Feringhee wantee like this?” and he picked up a bit of
glass, and smiled contempshus like. At last we left him and
“Swammi,” eyes and all. I don’t ever deserve to have a
day’s luck, sir, agin, as long as I live.’
‘Why so?’ said Mr. Effingham, astonished at the high
moral tone, which he had not been used to associate with the
.bn 049.png
.pn +1
light infantry man of the period. ‘Not for taking the image
away, surely?’
‘No!’ shouted the old man, roused from his ordinary
respectful tone. ‘But for leavin’ him behind! That Sammy,
sir, was pure gold, and his eyes was di’monds, di’monds!
Think o’ that. We left a thousand pound a man behind, because
we didn’t know gold when we seen it. It will haunt
me, sir, to my dying day.’
The boys laughed at the unsentimental conclusion of the
veteran’s tale. Their father looked grave.
‘I cannot approve of the plunder of religious edifices,
Evans; though the temptation was too great for soldiers, and
indeed for others in those days.’
The chief personages having retired, Mr. Effingham and
his sons essayed to make their couch under the waggon.
‘It is many a year since I had any experience in this kind
of thing,’ said he; ‘but, if I remember rightly, it was in Spain
that I bivouacked last. This locality is not unlike Estramadura.
That rocky ravine, with the track running down it, is
just where you would have expected to see the muleteer stepping
gaily along beside his mules singing or swearing, as the
case might be; and they do both with great vigour.’
‘I remember Don Pedro, Captain,’ said Dick. ‘I mind
the wine-skins putty well too. It wasn’t bad stuff; but I
don’t know as dark brandy doesn’t come handier if ye wants
a stir up. But there’s one thing you can’t have forgot,
Captain, that beats this country holler.’
‘You must mean the fleas,’ said Effingham; ‘they certainly
could not be surpassed. I hope you don’t mean to rival
them here.’
‘Well, I don’t deny, Captain, that in some huts, where the
people aren’t particular, in a sandy country, in summer you
will find a few, and likewise them other reptiles, ’specially
where there’s pine slabs, but in a general way we’re pretty
clean in this country, and you’ve no call to be afeard to
tackle your blankets.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, Evans,’ said Effingham, yawning. ‘I
have no doubt that your camp is always fit for inspection.
I think we may say good-night.’
Between the keen air of the forest, and the unwonted
exercise, a tendency to drowsiness now set in, which Mr.
.bn 050.png
.pn +1
Effingham and his sons discovered by the time that the
blankets were drawn over them. The sides of their apartment,
represented by the wheels of the waggon, were covered
by the canvas tilt, the ceiling was low but sufficient. It was
the ideal chamber in one respect. Ventilation was unimpeded,
while shelter was secured.
.bn 051.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER III | THE NEW HOME
.sp 2
When Wilfred awoke from deep untroubled slumber, the sun
seemed gazing at the encampment with haughty, fixed regard,
as of a monarch, enthroned upon the summit of the purple
mountain range.
Unwitting of the lengths (fortunately) to which the unsparing
archer could go in Southern lands, he essayed to
commence dressing.
Rising hurriedly, he was reminded by a tap on the head
from the axle-tree that he was in a bedroom of restricted
accommodation. More guarded in his after-movements he
crawled outside, first placing on the dewy grass a rug upon
which to stand. He commenced his toilette, and cast a comprehensive
glance around.
The first thing he saw was the upright form of Richard
Evans, who, returning from a search after his hobbled
horses, drove them before him towards the camp, at the
same time smoking his pipe with a serene and satisfied air.
The morning was chilly, but he had not thought a coat
necessary, and in a check shirt and moleskin trousers
calmly braved an atmosphere not much above forty degrees
Fahrenheit.
‘This must be a fine climate,’ said Wilfred to his father.
‘We shall be well wrapped up till breakfast time, at any rate,
and yet that old buffer is wandering about in his shirt-sleeves
as if he were in Naples.’
‘He is pretty hard-bitten, you may depend,’ said Mr.
Effingham. ‘I think some of our old “die-hards” are as
tough samples of humanity as could anywhere be met. I do
.bn 052.png
.pn +1
not uphold the British soldier as a model, but they were men
in my time, beyond any manner of doubt.’
Dick marched up his team to the waggon, whence the
lodgers had by this time issued—Andrew to make a fire
near the tent, and Jeanie to penetrate that sacred enclosure,
and presumably to act as tire-woman in the interior.
The shafts, which had served Dick as a sleeping apartment
during the night, aided by a shroud of tarpaulin, were
uplifted, and bagging being thereon stretched, were converted
into a manger for the chaff and maize, which the horses
quickly commenced to consume.
Presently Jeanie issued from the tent, and finding the
camp-kettle boiling, proceeded to make tea. Andrew, in the
meantime, milked the cow. The gridiron was brought into
requisition, and certain mutton chops broiled. Eventually
Mrs. Effingham and her daughters issued from the tent,
fresh and dainty of aspect as if they had just left their bedrooms
at The Chase. Then the day commenced, and also
breakfast.
‘Good-morning, O mother! Hail, O tender maidens!
What do you think of camping out?’ was Wilfred’s greeting,
‘Have you been sitting up weeping, or did you forget everything
till daylight, as we did?’
‘We all slept like tops,’ said Annabel. ‘I never was
so sleepy in my life. I was almost off before I could undress.
I think it’s splendid. And oh! what is there for
breakfast?’
Grilled chops, smoking cups of tea, with bread and butter,
constituted the repast. Worse meals have been eaten. The
appetites were, like the travellers, highly respectable. By
the time the meal was finished, Mr. Richard Evans had
harnessed his team, and bringing himself up to the attitude
of ‘attention,’ requested to know when the ladies would like
to make a start.
After consultation, it was notified to their guide and
courier that as soon as the tent was struck and the baggage
packed, every one would be ready.
The troops being in high health and spirits, in a comparatively
short space of time the march was resumed.
Wilfred and Guy walked ahead, fowling-piece in hand.
Andrew drove the cow, which followed quietly in the rear.
.bn 053.png
.pn +1
The coupled greyhounds looked eagerly around, as if sensible
that they were now in hunting country. They were with
difficulty restrained when a wallaby, in two bounds, crossed
the road and disappeared in an adjoining scrub.
The dry air was pure and fresh, the unclouded sky blue
as a sapphire dome, the winding forest road free from all
impediment but an occasional ledge of sandstone. If there
is any portion of the day ‘when the poor are rich in spirits
and health,’ when the heart of youth stirs, when age is
soothed with dreams of happiness, it is in that sweetest hour
which follows the early morning meal in rural Australia.
Dawn is austere, mid-day often sultry, but nowhere will he,
whose heart and intelligence respond alike gratefully to that
charmed time, find its inspirations more invigorating than
in the early summer of Australia. Then the fortunate
traveller experiences coolness without cold, and warmth
without the heat which produces lassitude.
As the waggon rolled easily along, the horses stepping
cheerily on the track, the wayfarers paced over the unwonted
herbage with an alertness of mien which would have suggested
a very different history.
‘How lovely the shrubs are that we see in all directions!’
said Mrs. Effingham. ‘What should we have given for that
golden flowering mimosa at The Chase, or this blue-leaved, pink
pointed tree, which I suppose must be a young eucalyptus.
Here they are so common that no one heeds them, and yet
there are rare plants enough to set up a dozen greenhouses.’
‘Everything is so utterly different,’ said Rosamond. ‘I
am most agreeably surprised at the landscape. What
erroneous ideas one has of far countries! I suppose it is
because we seldom feel sufficient interest to learn about
them thoroughly. I pictured Australia a sandy waste, with
burned-up reedy grass, and a general air of the desert. Now,
here we have woods, a pretty little brook rippling by, rocks
and hills, and in the distance a mountain. I could make
quite an effective sketch.’
‘The country isn’t all like this, Miss,’ said Dick Evans,
with a deferential air. ‘If you was to go two or three
hundred miles into the bush, there’s no timber at all; you’ld
find it all sand and salt-bushes—the curiousest place ever
you see.’
.bn 054.png
.pn +1
‘How can it be the “bush,”’ inquired Wilfred, ‘if there
are no trees? But we are not going so far, at any rate.’
‘Finest grazing land out,’ said Richard the experienced.
‘All the stock rolling fat—no trouble in looking after ’em.
If I was a young gentleman, that’s the place I’d make for.
Not but what Warbrok’s a pleasant spot, and maybe the
young ladies will like it better than the plains.’
‘I fancy we all shall, Richard,’ said Rosamond. ‘The
plains may be very well for sheep and cattle, but I prefer a
woodland country like this. I suppose we can have a garden
there?’
‘Used to be the best garden in all the country-side, Miss,
but the Warleighs were a wild lot; they let everything go to
wrack. The trees and bushes is mostly wore out, but the
sile’s that good, as a handy man would soon make it ship-shape
again.’
‘What are we to do for lunch?’ said Annabel, with some
appearance of anxiety. ‘If we are to go on roaming over
the land from sunrise to sunset without stopping, I shall die
of hunger—I’m sure I shall. I keep thinking about those
cakes of Jeanie’s.’
‘My dear child,’ said her mother, ‘I daresay we shall
manage to feed you and the rest of the flock. I am pleased
to find that you have such a famous appetite. To be sure,
you have not stopped growing yet, and this fresh air acts as
a tonic. So far, we must not complain of the climate.’
‘It’s only a few miles furder on, ma’am, to the King
Parrot Waterhole, where we can stop in the middle of the
day, and have a bit to eat if the young ladies is sharp-set. I
always stop on the road and feed my horses about twelve
o’clock. And if the young gentlemen was to walk on, they
might shoot a pair of ducks at the waterhole, as would come
in handy for the pot.’
When about mid-day they reached the King Parrot Waterhole,
a reed-fringed pool, about as large as their English
horse-pond, they found Wilfred in possession of a pair of the
beautiful grey-breasted wood-ducks (Anas Boscha), a teal,
with chestnut and black feathers and a brilliant green neck,
also a dark-furred kangaroo, which Dick pronounced to be a
rock wallaby.
‘Australia isn’t such a bad place for game,’ said Guy.
.bn 055.png
.pn +1
‘We found the ducks swimming in the pool, three brace
altogether, and “Damsel” caught this two-legged hare, as she
thought it, as it was making up that stony hill. I like it
better than Surrey.’
‘We shall find out ever so many interesting things,’ said
Rosamond. ‘I shall never feel thankful enough to that good
old Professor Muste for teaching me the small bit of botany
that I know. Now, look at this lovely Clianthus, is it not
enough to warm the heart of a Trappist? And here is that
exquisite purple Kennedya, which ought, in an Australian
novel, to be wreathed round the heroine’s hat. Do my eyes
deceive me, or is not that a white heath? I must dig it up.’
‘I believe, Rosamond, that you could comfort yourself on
Mount Ararat,’ said Annabel. ‘Why, it will be ages before
those ducks can be picked and roasted. Oh, Jeanie, Jeanie,
can’t we have them before tea-time? I wish I had never
seen them.’
‘If you like, you can help me take off the feathers, and
spare Jeanie’s everlastingly busy fingers,’ said Beatrice.
Here Annabel looked ruefully at her tiny, delicate hands,
with a child’s pout.
‘Oh, it’s no use looking at your pretty hands,’ said the
more practical Beatrice. ‘This is the land of work, and all
who can’t make themselves useful will be treated like the
foolish virgins in the parable. It always makes me smile
when that chapter is read. I can fancy Annabel holding out
her lamp, with an injured expression, saying, “Well, nobody
told me it was time to get ready.”’
‘Beatrice, my daughter,’ said Mrs. Effingham gravely,
‘sacred subjects are not befitting matter for idle talking ; dispositions
vary, and you may remember that Martha was not
praised for her anxiety to serve.’
At mid-day the kettle bubbled on the fire, kindled by the
ever-ready Richard, cakes and sandwiches were handed round,
the tea—thanks to Daisy—was gratefully sipped.
The sun shone brightly on the green flat, where the horses
grazed in peace and plenty. The birds chirped and called at
intervals; all Nature seemed glad and responsive to the joyous
season of the southern spring.
Thus their days wore on, in peaceful progression, alike free
from toil, anxiety, or adventure. The daily stage was accomplished,
.bn 056.png
.pn +1
under Dick’s experienced direction, without mistake
or misadventure. The evening meal was a time of rest and
cheerful enjoyment, the night’s slumbers refreshing and unbroken.
‘What a delightful country this is! I feel quite a new
creature, especially after breakfast,’ exclaimed Annabel one
morning. ‘I could go on like this for months, till we
reached the other side of the continent, if there is any other
side. Will it be as nice as this, I wonder, at Malbrook, or
Warbrok, or whatever they call it? Warbrok Chase won’t
look so bad on our letters, when we write home. I must send
a sketch of it to cousin Elizabeth, with a bark cabin, of
course. She will never believe that we have a real house to
live in among the backwoods. What sort of a house is it,
Dick? Is it thatched and gabled and damp and delightful,
with dear little diamond casements like the keeper’s lodge,
or is it a horrid wooden barn? Tell me now, there’s a dear
old man!’
‘We shall be there, Miss, the day after to-morrer, please
God,’ responded Dick with respectful solemnity. ‘Parson
Sternworth said I was to say nought about the place, but let
it come on you suddent-like. And I’m a man as is used to
obey orders.’
‘Very well, you disagreeable old soldier,’ said the playful
maiden. ‘I’ll be even with you and the parson, as you call
him. See if I don’t.’
‘Sorry to disobleege you, Miss Anniebell,’ said the
veteran, ‘but if my old General, Sir Hugh Gough, was to
come and say, “Corporal Richard Evans, hand me over the
chart of the country,” I should have to tell him that he
hadn’t got the counter-sign.’
‘And quite right too, Evans,’ interposed Mr. Effingham,
‘to keep up your good old habits in a new country.
Discipline is the soul of the army.’
‘I was allers taught that, sir,’ replied Dick, with an air of
military reminiscence which would have befitted a veteran of
the Great Frederick. ‘But when we reaches Warbrok my
agreement’s out with the Parson, and Miss can order me
about all day.’
In spite of Annabel’s asseverations that the party would
never reach the spot indicated, and that she believed there
.bn 057.png
.pn +1
never was any such place, but that Dick would lead them
into a trackless forest and abandon them, the journey ended
about the time specified. A rugged track, indeed, one afternoon
tried their patience. The horses laboured, the docile
cow limped and lagged, the girls complained, while Andrew’s
countenance became visibly elongated.
At length Dick Evans’s wooden facial muscles relaxed, as
halting on the hardly-gained hill-top he pointed with his
whip-handle, saying simply, ‘There’s Warbrok! So the
young ladies and gentlemen can see for theirselves.’
How eagerly did the whole party gaze upon the landscape,
which now, in the clear light of the Southern eve, lay softly
in repose before them!
The character of the scenery had changed with the
wondrous suddenness peculiar to the land in which they had
come to dwell. A picture set in a frame of forest and
unfriendly thickets! Now before their eyes came with
magical abruptness a vision of green slopes, tall groves, and
verdurous meadows. It was one of nature’s forest parks.
Traces of the imperfect operations of a new country were
visible, in felled timber, in naked, girdled trees, in unsightly
fences. But nature was in bounteous mood, and had
heightened the contrast with the barren region they had over-passed,
by a flushed abundance of summer vegetation.
This lavish profusion of herb and leaf imparted a richness of
colouring, a clearness of tone, which in a less favourable
season of the year Warbrok must perceptibly have lacked.
‘Oh, what a lovely, lovely place!’ cried Annabel, transported
beyond herself as she stood on tip-toe and gazed
rapturously at the scene. ‘Those must be the Delectable
Mountains. Dick, you are a Christian hero [the old man
smiled deprecatingly], I forgive you on the spot. And there
is the house, a real house with two storeys—actually two—I
thought there were only cottages up the country—and an
orchard; and is that a blue cloud or the sea? We must
have turned round again. Surely it can’t be our lake?
That would be too heavenly, and those glorious mountains
beyond!’
‘That’s Lake William, miss, called after His Gracious
Majesty King William the Fourth,’ explained Dick, accurate
and reverential. ‘Fourteen miles long and seven broad.
.bn 058.png
.pn +1
You’ll find the house big enough, but it’s a long way from
being in good order; and it’s a mercy there’s a tree alive in
the orchard.’
‘Oh, never mind, we’ll soon put things to rights, won’t
we, mamma? And what splendid creatures those old trees
will be when they come out in leaf. I suppose it’s too early
in the spring yet?’ continued she.
‘Dead—every one of ’em, miss,’ explained their conductor.
‘They’ve been ring-barked, more’s the pity. They
was beauties when I knowed ’em fust, before the blessed
tenants was let ruinate everything about the place. I
wonder there’s a stone of the house standing, that I do.
And now, sir, we’ll get on, and the young ladies can
have tea in their own parlour, if my old woman’s made a
fire, accordin’ to orders.’
The hearts of the more reflective portion of the party
were too full for comment, so Annabel’s chatter was allowed
to run on unchecked. A feeling of despondency had been
gradually stealing over Howard Effingham and his wife, as
for the two last stages they had pictured to themselves the
toil of building up a home amid the barren solitudes, such
as, in their innocence, they thought their new property
might resemble. Now, here was a spot in which they
might live out their lives with cheerful and contented minds,
thankful that ‘their lines had fallen in pleasant places’;
having reason to hope that their children might dwell in
peace and prosperity after them.
‘We can never be sufficiently grateful to your dear old
friend,’ said Mrs. Effingham. ‘If he had not in the first place
written you that letter, Howard, and afterwards acted upon
his opinion so boldly, what might have been our fate?’
‘He always used to look after me when we were in the
regiment,’ said her husband acquiescingly; ‘I daresay he’ll
find a similar pleasure in taking charge of us now.
Fortunately for you and the girls, he never married.’
A few miles only needed to be traversed before Mr. Evans
triumphantly drove his team through the gate of the
dilapidated garden fence surrounding the front of a large
old-fashioned stone mansion, with wide verandah and lofty
balcony, supported upon freestone pillars. A stout, elderly
woman of decided aspect opened the creaking hall door,
.bn 059.png
.pn +1
and casting a searching glance at Mr. R. Evans, made the
strangers welcome.
‘I’m sure I’m very glad to see you, my lady,’ said she,
bobbing an antiquated curtsey, ‘and you, sir, and the young
ladies and gentlemen. I’ve done all I could to clean up the
old barrack of a house; it was that lonesome, and made me
frighted with ghosts, as I thought I’d never live to see you
all; and Dick here, I knew there was no certainty of, as
might have gone to Timor, or the Indies, and never let on a
word about it. Please you to come in, my lady.’
‘My old woman’s temper is none of the best, Captain,’
said Dick, stating the fact with philosophical calmness, ‘but
I’ll warrant she’s cleaned up as much as any two, and very
bad it wanted it when Parson Sternworth brought us over.’
Now that a nearer view was afforded of the demesne and
dwelling, it was evident that the place had been long
abandoned to natural decay and sordid neglect. The fences
were rotten, gapped, or fallen; the orchard, though the aged
trees were high out of the reach of browsing cattle, had been
used as a convenient species of stock paddock; the climbers,
including a magnificent bignonia and a wistaria, the great
laterals of which had erstwhile clothed the verandah pillars
with beauty and bloom, were broken and twisted. In the
rear of the building all the broken bottles and bones of the
land appeared to be collected; while, with windows broken,
shutters hanging on a single hinge, doors closing with difficulty,
or impossible to open, all things told of the recklessness
of ruined owners.
Still, in despite of all deficiencies, the essentials of value
could not be overlooked. The house, though naked and
desolate of aspect, was large and commodious, promising in
its shingled roof and massive stone walls protection against
the heat of summer, the cold of winter. The deep black
mould needed but ordinary culture to respond generously.
The offices might be mouldering and valueless, but the land
was there, thinly timbered, richly grassed, well adapted for
stock of all kinds. And though the gaunt limbs of the
girdled trees looked sadly unpicturesque between the front of
the house and the lake shore, some had been left untouched,
and the grass was all the more richly swarded. The lake
itself was a grand indisputable fact. It was deep and fresh,
.bn 060.png
.pn +1
abounding in water-fowl, a priceless boon to dwellers in a
climate wherein a lack of rivers and permanent reservoirs is
unhappily a distinguishing characteristic.
Let it not be supposed that Wilfred and his mother, the
girls and Jeanie were outside the house all this time. Very
promptly had Dick unloaded the household stores, pressing
all able-bodied persons, including his wife, into the service,
until the commissariat was safely bestowed under shelter.
His waggon was taken to the rear, his horses unharnessed,
and he himself in a marvellously short space of time enjoying
a well-earned pipe, and advising Andrew to bestow Daisy’s
calf in a dilapidated but still convertible calf-pen, so that his
mother might graze at ease, and yet be available for the family
breakfast table in the morning.
‘The grass here is fust-rate,’ he said, in a tone of explanation
to Andrew. ‘There’s been a lot of rain in spring. It’s
a pity but we had a few good cows to milk. It would be
just play for you and me and the young master in the
mornings. Teach him to catch hold like and learn him the
use of his hands.’
‘Him milk!’ exclaimed Andrew, in a tone of horrified
contempt. ‘And yet—I dinna say but if it’s the Lord’s will
the family should ha’ been brocht to this strange land, it may
be no that wrang that he should labour, like the apostles,
“working with his hauns.” There’s guid warrant for’t.’
Meanwhile, inside the house important arrangements were
proceeding. The sitting-room, a great, bare apartment, had
an ample fireplace, which threw out a genial warmth from
glowing logs. There was a large, solid cedar table, which
Mrs. Evans had rubbed and polished till the dark red grain
of the noble wood was clearly visible. Also a dozen real
chairs, as Annabel delightedly observed, stood around, upon
which it was possible to enjoy the long-disused comfort of
sitting down. Of this privilege she promptly availed herself.
The night-draperies were disposed in the chief bedchamber,
though until the arrival of the furniture it was apparent that
the primitive sleeping accommodation of the road would
need to be continued. Mr. Effingham and his sons were
luxuriously billeted in another apartment, where, after their
axle-tree experiences, they did not pity themselves.
Andrew and his family were disposed of in the divisions
.bn 061.png
.pn +1
of the kitchen, which, in colonial fashion, was a detached
building in the rear. Mr. and Mrs. Evans had, on their
previous entry on the premises, located themselves in an
outlying cottage (or hut, as they called it), formerly the abode
of the dairyman, where their possessions had no need of
rearrangement. Even the dogs had quarters allotted to them,
in the long range of stabling formerly tenanted by many a
gallant steed in the old extravagant days of the colony, when
unstinted hospitality and claret had been the proverbial rule
at Warbrok.
‘Oh dear!’ exclaimed Annabel from her chair, ‘what a
luxurious feeling it is to be once more in a home of one’s
own! Though it’s a funny old place and must have been
a tempting refuge for ghosts wandering in search of quarters.
And then to think that to-morrow morning we shall not have
to move on, for ever and ever. I was beginning to get the
least bit tired of it; were not you, mamma? Though I
would have died sooner than confess it.’
‘Words cannot describe how thankful I am, my dear
child,’ said her mother, ‘that we have had the good
fortune to end this land journey so well. It is the first one
of the kind I ever undertook, and I trust it will be the last.
But let us remember in our prayers to-night whose hand has
shielded us from the perils of the deep, and whatever
dangers we may have escaped upon the land.’
‘I feel as if we had all been acting a charade or
an extended tableau vivant,’ said Rosamond. ‘Like you,
Annabel, dear, I am not sorry that the theatricals are over,
though the play has been a success so far. It has no more
nights to run, fortunately for the performers. Our everyday
life will commence to-morrow. We must enter upon it in a
cheerful, determined spirit.’
‘I cannot help fancying,’ said Beatrice, ‘that colonial
travellers enjoy an unnecessary amount of prestige, or some
experiences must differ from ours. We might have had
a Dick who would have lost his horses or overturned the
waggon, and bushrangers (there are bushrangers, for I saw
in a paper that Donohoe and his gang had “stuck-up,”
whatever that means, Mr. Icely’s drays and robbed them)
might have taken us captive. We have missed the romance
of Australian life evidently.’
.bn 062.png
.pn +1
Howard Effingham felt strangely moved as he walked
slowly forth at dawn. He watched the majestic orb irradiate
the mist-shrouded turrets of the great mountain range which
lay to the eastward. Endless wealth of colour was evoked
by the day-god’s kiss, softly, stealingly, suffusing the neutral-tinted
dome, then with magical completeness flashing into
supernal splendour. The dew glistened upon the vernal
greensward. The pied warbler rolled his richest notes in
flute-like carol. The wild-fowl, on the glistening mirror of
the lake, swam, dived, or flew in playful pursuit. The
bracing air was unspeakably grateful to Howard Effingham’s
rurally attuned senses. Amid this bounty of nature in her
less sophisticated aspects, his heart swelled with the thought
that much of the wide champaign, the woodland, and the
water, over which his eye roamed wonderingly, called him
master. He saw, with the quick projection of a sanguine
spirit, his family domiciled once more with comfort and
security. And not without befitting dignity, so long
despaired of. He prized the ability to indulge again the
disused pursuits of a country life. Though in a far land,
among strange people, separated by a whole ocean from the
scenes of his youth and manhood, he now felt for the first
time since the great disaster that contentment, even happiness,
was possible. Once more he felt himself a country
gentleman, or at the least an Australian squire. With
the thought he recalled the village chimes in their lost
home, and his wife’s reference of every circumstance of life
to the special dispensation of a benign, overruling Providence
occurred to him. With unconscious soliloquy he exclaimed,
‘I have not deserved this; God be merciful to me a sinner!’
Dick Evans, with his horses, now appeared upon the scene,
bells, hobbles, and all. He bore every appearance of having
been up at least two hours.
‘What a wonderful old fellow that is!’ said Wilfred, who
had joined his father; ‘day or night seems alike to him.
He is always hard at work at something or other—always
helpful and civil, apparently good at a score of trades, yet
military as a pipe-clayed belt. Mr. Sternworth admitted that
he had faults, but up to this time we have never discovered
them.’
‘If he has none, he is such an old soldier as I have never
.bn 063.png
.pn +1
met,’ said his father mildly. ‘Longer acquaintance will, I
suppose, abate his unnatural perfection. But, in any case,
we must keep him on until we are sufficiently acclimatised to
set up for ourselves.’
‘Quite so, sir! We cannot have our reverend mentor
always at beck and call. We want some one here who knows
the country and its ways. Guy and I will soon pick up the
lie of the land, as he calls it, but at present we are all raw
and ignorant together.’
‘Then we had better engage him at once. I suppose he
can tell us the proper wages.’
‘Very possibly; but now I think of it, sir, hadn’t you
better delegate the executive department to me? Of course
to carry out your instructions, but you might do worse than
appoint me your responsible minister.’
‘My boy!’ said Effingham, grasping his son’s hand, ‘I
should have made the suggestion if you had not anticipated
me. I cheerfully yield the management to you, as you will
have the laborious part of the work. Many things will need
to be done, for which I am unfit, but which you will
gradually master. I fully trust you, both as an example to
Guy and Selden, and the guardian of your mother and sisters.’
‘As God will help me in my need, they will need no
other,’ replied the eldest son. ‘So far I have led a self-indulgent
life. But the spur of necessity (you must admit)
has been wanting. Now the hour has come. You never
refused me a pleasure; trust me to fulfil every duty.’
‘I never have doubted it, my boy! I always knew that
higher qualities were latent in your nature. As you say, the
hour has come. We were never laggards when the trumpet-call
sounded. And now, let us join the family party.’
As they reached the house, from which they had rambled
some distance, the sun was two hours high, and the smoke
issuing from the kitchen chimney denoted that culinary
operations were in progress. At that moment a serviceable-looking
dogcart, drawn by a wiry, roan horse, trotted briskly
along the track from the main road, and in drawing up,
displayed in the driver the welcome presentment of the Rev.
Harley Sternworth.
‘How do, Howard? How are you, Wilfred, my boy?
Welcome to Warbrok—to Warbrok Chase, that is. I shall
.bn 064.png
.pn +1
learn it in time. Very proper addendum; suits the country,
and gratifies the young ladies’ taste. Thought I’d catch
you at your first breakfast. Here, Dick, you old rascal—that
is, you deserving veteran—take Roanoke.’
The somewhat decided features of the old army chaplain
softened visibly as, entering the bare uncarpeted apartment,
he descried Mrs. Effingham and her daughters sitting near
the breakfast table, evidently awaiting the master of the
house. His quick eye noticed at once the progress of
feminine adaptation, as well as the marked air of comfort
produced with such scanty material.
He must surely have been gratified by the sensation he
produced. The girls embraced him, hanging upon his
words with eagerness, as on the accents of the recovered
relative of the melodrama. Mrs. Effingham greeted him with
an amount of warmth foreign to her usual demeanour. The
little ones held up their faces to be kissed by ‘Uncle Harley.’
‘We are just going to have our first breakfast,’ said
Annabel. ‘Sit down this very minute. Haven’t we done
wonders?’
Indeed, by the fresh, morning light, the parlour already
looked homelike and attractive. The breakfast table,
‘decored with napery,’ as Caleb Balderstone phrased it,
had a delicately clean and appetising appearance. A
brimming milk jug showed that the herbage of Warbrok
had not been without its effect upon their fellow-passenger
from the Channel Islands. A goodly round of beef, their
last roadside purchase, constituted the pièce de résistance.
A dish of eggs and bacon, supplied by Mrs. Evans, whose
poultry travelled with her everywhere, and looked upon the
waggon as their home, added to the glory of the repast. A
large loaf of fresh bread, baked by the same useful matron,
stood proudly upon a plate, near the roadside tea equipage,
and a kettle like a Russian samovar. Nor was artistic ornamentation
wholly absent. Annabel had fished up a broken
vase from a lumber room, which, filled with the poor remnants
of the borders, ‘where once a garden smiled,’ and supplemented
with ‘wild buttercups and very nearly daisies,’
as she described the native flora, made an harmonious
contribution.
Before commencing the meal, as Mr. Effingham took his
.bn 065.png
.pn +1
seat at the head of his own table once more, humble as were
the surroundings, his wife glanced at the youngest darling,
Blanche. She ran across to a smaller table covered with a
rug, and thence lifting off a volume of some weight, brought
it to their guest. His eyes met those of his old comrade
and of her his life’s faithful companion. The chaplain’s
eyes were moistened, in despite of his efforts at composure.
What recollections were not summoned up by the recurrence
of that simple household observance? His voice faltering,
at first, with genuine emotion, Harley Sternworth took the
sacred volume, and read a portion, before praying in simple
phrase, that the Great Being who had been pleased to lead
the steps of His servants to this far land, would guide them
in all their ways, and prosper the work of their hands in
their new home. ‘May His blessing be upon you all, and
upon your children’s children after you, in this the land of
our adoption,’ said the good priest, as he arose in the midst
of the universal amen.
‘Do you know that it was by no means too warm when I
left Yass at daylight this morning? This is called a hot
climate. But in our early summer we have frosts sometimes
worthy of Yorkshire. Yesterday there was rather a
sharp one. We shall have rain again soon.’
‘Oh, I hope not,’ said Annabel. ‘This is such lovely,
charming weather. So clear and bright, and not at all too
warm. I should like it to last for months.’
‘Then, my dear young lady, we should all be ruined.
Rain rarely does harm in this country. Sometimes there
are floods, and people who live on meadowlands suffer.
But the more rain the merrier, in this country at least. It
is a land of contradictions, you know. Your Lake William,
here, will never overflow, so you may be easy in your minds,
if it rains ever so hard.’
‘And what does my thoughtful young friend, Rosamond,
think of the new home?’ inquired the old gentleman, looking
at her with affectionate eyes.
‘She thinks, Uncle Sternworth, that nothing better for
us all could have been devised in the wide world, unless
the Queen had ordered her Ministers to turn out Sir Percy
de Warrenne and put us in possession of Old Court. Even
that, though Sir Percy is a graceless kinsman, might not
.bn 066.png
.pn +1
have been so good for us, as making a home for ourselves
here, out of our own heads, as the children say.’
‘And you are quite satisfied, my dear?’
‘More than satisfied. I am exulting and eager to begin
work. In England I suffered sometimes from want of
occupation. Here, every moment of the day will be well
and usefully employed.’
‘And Miss Beatrice also approves?’
‘Miss Beatrice says,’ replied that more difficult damsel,
who was generally held to be reserved, if not proud, ‘she
would not have come to Australia if it could have been
helped. But having come, supposes she will not make more
useless lament than other people.’
‘Beatrice secretly hates the country, I know she does,’
exclaimed Annabel, ‘and it is ungrateful of her, particularly
when we have such a lovely place, with a garden, and a
lake, and mountains and sunsets, and everything we can
possibly want.’
‘I am not so imaginative as to expect to live on mountains
and sunsets, and I must confess it will take me a long
time to become accustomed to the want of nearly all the
pleasures of life, but I suppose I shall manage to bear up my
share of the family burdens.’
‘You have always done so hitherto, my dear,’ said Mrs.
Effingham ; ‘but you are not fond of putting forward your
good deeds—hardly sufficiently so, as I tell you.’
‘Some one has run away with Beatrice’s share of vanity,’
said Rosamond. ‘But we must not stay talking all the morning.
I am chief butler, and shall have to be chief baker too,
perhaps, some day. I must break up the meeting, as every
one has apparently breakfasted.’
‘And I must have a serious business conversation with
your father and Wilfred,’ said Mr. Sternworth. ‘Where is
the study—the library, I mean? Not furnished yet! Well,
suppose we adjourn to the ex-drawing-room. It’s a spacious
apartment, where the late tenant, a practical man, used to
store his maize. There is a deal table, for I put it there
myself. Guy, you may as well ask Dick Evans to show you
the most likely place for wild-fowl. Better bring chairs,
Wilfred. We are going to have a “sederunt,” as they say in
Scotland.’
.bn 067.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IV | MR HENRY O’DESMOND OF BADAJOS
.sp 2
‘Now, Howard, my young friend!’ said the worthy man, as
they settled themselves at a small table, near a noble mantelpiece
of Australian gray marble, curiously marked with the
imprints of the fossil encrinite, ‘I address you as I used to do
in our army days, for, with regard to money matters, I feel
sure you are as young as ever. In the first place, I must
render an account of my stewardship. Observe, here is the
conveyance to you and your heirs for ever of the estate of Warbrok,
a Crown grant to Colonel Rupert Falkland Warleigh, late
of Her Majesty’s 80th Regiment, dated as far back as 1805,
comprising 5174 acres, 1 rood, 3 perches, by him devised in
equal shares to his sons—Randal, Clement, and Hubert. It
was not entailed, as were most of the early grants. They fell
away from the traditions of the family, and lived reckless,
dissipated lives. Their education was neglected—perhaps
not the best example exhibited to them by the old Colonel—he
was always a gentleman though—what wonder the poor
boys went wrong? They came to be called the “Wild Warleighs
of Warbrok.” At last the end came. Hopelessly in
debt, they were forced to sell. Here are their signatures,
duly attested. Your purchase money, at the rate of 10s. per
acre—a low price, but ready money was very scarce in the
colony at the time—amounted to £2587:5s., mentioned as
the consideration. Out of your draft for £3000 remained,
therefore, £412:15s.; expenses and necessary farm work
done, with wages to Dick Evans and his wife, have amounted
to £62:7s. This includes the ploughing and sowing of a
paddock—a field you would call it—of 20 acres of wheat, as
.bn 068.png
.pn +1
the season had to be availed of. I hand you a deposit
receipt for £350:8s., lodged to your credit in the Bank of
New Holland, at Yass, where I advise you to place the rest
of your capital, and I thereby wash my hands of you, pecuniarily,
for the present.’
‘My dear old friend,’ said Effingham, ‘it is not for the
first time that you have pulled me through a difficulty,
though never before did we face one like this. But how
comes it that I have money to receive? I thought the draft
of £3000 would barely suffice to pay for the estate.’
‘You must know that I transacted this piece of business
through a solicitor, a shrewd man of business, who kept my
counsel, making no sign until the property was put up to
auction. The terms being cash, he had a decided advantage,
and it was not known until after the sale, for whom he had
purchased. So the Warleighs having retired, we must see
what the Effinghams will make of it.’
‘There will be no riotous living, at any rate,’ said Wilfred;
‘and now, as you have done with the Governor, please advise
me as to our future course. I am the duly-appointed overseer—I
believe that is the proper title—and intend to begin
work this very day.’
‘Couldn’t do better. We may as well call Dick Evans
into council. He was hired by me at 18s. per week, with
board and lodging. For this wage he engaged to give his
own and wife’s services, also those of his team and waggon.
The wages are under the ordinary rate, but he explained that
his horses would get fat here, and that he liked being
employed on a place like Warbrok, and under an ex-officer in
Her Majesty’s service. I should continue the engagement
for a few months, at all events; you will find him most
useful.’
‘Up to this time he has been simply perfect,’ said Wilfred.
‘It’s a pleasure to look at such an active worker—so respectful,
too, in his manner.’
‘Our experience of the Light Infantry man, Howard,’ said
Mr. Sternworth, ‘must prevent us from fully endorsing Wilfred’s
opinion, but Dick Evans is a good man; at all country
work better, indeed, than most of his class. Let us hear
what he says.’
Probably anticipating some such summons he was not far
.bn 069.png
.pn +1
off, having returned from showing Guy a flock of wild-fowl.
He walked into the room and, saluting, stood at ease, as if
such a thing as a chair had never been by him encountered
in the whole course of existence.
‘Corporal Evans!—pshaw! that is, Dick,’ said the worthy
ex-military priest, ‘I have sent for you to speak to Captain
Effingham, and Mr. Wilfred, who is to be farm manager and
stock overseer. I have told them that you are the very man
for the place, when you behave yourself.’ Here the keen
grey eyes looked somewhat sternly at Mr. Evans, who put on
a look of mild surprise. ‘Are you willing to hire for six
months at the same rate of wages, with two rations, at which
I engaged you? You will work your team, I know, reasonably;
and Mrs. Evans will wash and help the ladies in any
way she can?’
‘Well, Mr. Chaplain, the wages is not too high,’ replied
Evans, ‘but I like the place, and my horses knows the run,
and does well here. You know I like to serve a gentleman,
’specially one that’s been in the service. I’ll stay on at the
same rate for six months.’
‘Well, that’s settled. Now, let us have a talk about requirements.
How to use the grass to the best advantage?’
‘There’s no better place in the country-side for dairying,’
said Dick, addressing himself to his clerical employer, as alone
capable of understanding the bearings of the case; ‘it’s a
wonderful fine season, and there’s a deal of grass going to
waste. There’s stray cattle between here and the other end
of the lake as will want nothing better than to clear it
all off, as they’re used to do, if we’re soft enough to let ’em.
Many a good pick they’ve had over these Warbrok flats, and
they naturally looks for it again, ’specially as there’s a new
gentleman come as don’t know the ways of the country.
Now, what I should do, if I was the master, would be to buy
two or three hundred mixed cattle—there’s a plenty for sale
just now about Yass—and start a dairy. We might make as
much butter between now and Christmas as would pay
middlin’ well, and keep other people’s cattle from coming on
the place and eating us out of house and home, in a manner
of speakin’.’
‘Good idea, Richard,’ said Mr. Sternworth; ‘but how about
the yard and cowshed? It’s nearly all down, and half-rotten.
.bn 070.png
.pn +1
Mr. Effingham doesn’t want to engage fencers and splitters,
and have all the country coming here for employment.’
‘There’s no call for that, sir,’ said the many-sided veteran.
‘I had a look at the yard this morning. If I had a man to
help me for a fortnight I’ll be bound to make it cattle-proof
with a load of posts and rails, that I could run out myself,
only we want a maul and wedges.’
‘I’ll be your man,’ said Wilfred, ‘if that’s all that’s necessary.
I may as well learn a trade without delay. Andrew
can help, too, I daresay.’
‘He’s not much account,’ quoth Dick disdainfully. ‘He
thinks he knows too much already. These new hands—no
offence to you, sir—is more in the way than anything else.
But if you’ll buckle to, sir, we’ll soon make a show.’
‘I know a stock agent who can get the exact cattle you
want,’ said Mr. Sternworth. ‘He told me that Mr. O’Desmond
had a hundred young cows and heifers for sale. They are
known to be a fine breed of cattle.’
‘The best in the country,’ said Dick. ‘Old Harry
O’Desmond never had any but right down good horses,
cattle, and sheep at Badajos, and if we give a little more for
them at the start it will be money saved in the end. He’s
the man to give us an extra good pick, when he knows
they’re for an officer and a gentleman.’
‘Our friend Richard has aristocratic notions, you observe,’
said the parson, smiling. ‘But Harry O’Desmond is just the
man to act as he says. You will do well to treat with him.’
‘Only too happy,’ said Effingham. ‘Everything arranges
itself with surprising ease, with your aid. Is this kind of
settling made easy to go on for ever? It was almost a pity
we took the voyage at all. You might have made our
fortunes, it seems to me, as a form of recreation, and left us
to receive the profits in England.’
‘And how am I to be paid, you heedless voluptuary, may
I ask, if not by the presence of your charming family? Since
I’ve seen them I wouldn’t have had the colony lose them for
twice the value of the investment. Besides, seriously, if the
seasons change or a decline takes place in the stock market
you’ll need all your brains and Wilfred’s to keep the ship
afloat. Never lose sight of the fact that this is an uncertain
land, with a more uncertain climate.’
.bn 071.png
.pn +1
‘It’s all right if you don’t overstock, sir,’ spoke the practical
Richard. ‘But Mr. Sternworth’s right. I mind the ’27
drought well. We was forced to live upon kangaroo soup,
rice, and maize meal, with marshmallers and “fat hen” for a
little salad. But they say the climate’s changed like, and
myster than it used to be.’
‘Climates never change in their normal conditions,’ said
Sternworth positively. ‘Any assertion to the contrary is
absurd. What has been will be again. Let us make such
provision as we can against droughts and other disasters, and
leave the rest to Providence, which has favoured this land and
its inhabitants so far.’
‘The fences seem dilapidated. Ought they not to be
repaired at once?’ said Wilfred.
‘By degrees, all in good time,’ said the old gentleman
testily. ‘We must not go deeply into “improvements,” as
they are called here, lest they run away with our money at
the commencement of affairs. Dick will explain to you that
the cattle can be kept in bounds without fencing for a time.
And now I feel half a farmer and half an exhausted parson.
So I think I must refresh myself with another look at the
lady part of the establishment, have a mouthful of lunch, and
start for home.’
‘It’s a murder you didn’t take to farming, sir, like Parson
Rocker,’ said Dick, with sincere regret in his tones. ‘You’d
ha’ showed ’em whether sojer officers can’t make money,
though the folks here don’t think so.’
‘I have my own work, Richard,’ said the old gentlemen.
‘It may be that there is occasionally rather more of the
church militant about me than is prudent. But the town
and neighbourhood of Yass will be the better for old Harley
Sternworth’s labours before we say farewell to one another.’
‘I can now leave you all with perfect confidence,’ he said
after lunch, as Dick Evans brought Roanoke and the dogcart
to the door. ‘The next time I come I must bring an old
friend to pay his respects, but that will not be till the furniture
has arrived. I foresee you will make astonishing changes,
and turn The Chase into the show mansion of the district.
I must bring you some of my “Souvenirs de Malmaison” and
“Madame Charles.” “The Cloth of Gold” and others I see
you have. I am prouder of my roses than of my sermons, I
.bn 072.png
.pn +1
think. I don’t know which require most care in pruning.
Good-bye, my dear friends!’
The roan tossed his head, and set off at such a pace along
the grass-grown track which led to the main ‘down the
country’ road, as the highway from Yass to Sydney was
provincially termed, that it was easy to see he had been making
a calculation as to the homeward route. The girls looked
after the fast-receding vehicle for a while before recommencing
their household tasks. Howard Effingham and his wife
walked to and fro along the pleasant sun-protected colonnade
of the south verandah. When they separated, little had been
said which was free from praise of their tried friend, or from
thankfulness to the Almighty Disposer of events, who had
shown them His mercy in the day of need.
This eventful colloquy concluded, settled daily employment
commenced for all the denizens of The Chase. They
rose early, and each one attended to the duties allotted by
special arrangement. Breakfast over, Wilfred shouldered an
axe and marched off with Dick Evans to some forest tree,
to be converted into posts and rails for the fast-recovering
dairy-yard.
Andrew had betaken himself to the renovation of the
orchard and garden with grateful persistence, as he recalled
his earlier feats at the English home of the family, duly
thankful for the opportunity of exercising his energies in a
direction wherein he could show himself capable.
‘It’s gra-and soil,’ he was pleased to observe, ‘and I hae
nae doot whatever that I shall be able to grow maist unco-omon
vegetables, gin I had some food—that is, manure—to gie the
puir things. The trees are sair negleckit and disjaskit, but
they’ll come round wi’ care and the knife. The spring is a
thocht advanced, as that auld carle Evans has gi’en me to
understand. I winna say he’s no auld farrand wi’ a’ the
“bush” ways, as they ca’ them, but he’s an awfu’ slave o’
Satan wi’ his tongue—just fearsome. But gin ye’ll put me a
fence round this bit park, Maister Wilfred, I’ll show yon folks
here that auld Andrew Cargill can grow prize kail in baith
hemispheres.’
‘We are going to split some palings before we are done,’
said Wilfred, smiling at the old man’s rounding off of his
sentence. ‘Then we’ll pull this old fence down and take in
.bn 073.png
.pn +1
more ground, so that you may exercise your landscape gardening
talent.’
‘This bit garden will keep my body employed and my
thochts frae unprofitable wanderings, brawly, during this season
o’ inexperience. Ye see, Maister Wilfred, it wadna become
me, as a pairson o’ reflection, to da-ash presumptuously into
a’ matters o’ practice, but they canna haud me to obsairve
and gather up the ootcome of thae bush maitters, and bide
my time a wee, till the day comes when I can take my place
at the laird’s right hand ance mair.’
‘No one will be better pleased than I shall be, Andrew,’
said Wilfred, heartily grasping the hand of his faithful servitor.
‘I’ll no deny that he kens maist things befitting a dweller
in the wilderness. The de’il’s aye guid at gifts to his ain
folk. But, wae’s me, he’s lightsome and profane abune a’
belief.’
The great event of the year, after all, was the arrival of
the drays with the heavy luggage and the furniture reserved
from sale.
Joy and thankfulness all too deep for words greeted the
welcome wains, promptly unladen, and their inestimable
contents brought into the shelter of the wide verandah
before unpacking.
‘I never could have believed,’ said Mrs. Effingham, ‘that
anything in Australia could have had the power to afford me
so much pleasure. The refurnishing of our house at The
Chase never produced half such pleasure as I now feel at
the prospect of seeing the old tables and chairs, the sideboard,
and my dear old davenport again.’
‘And the piano!’ cried Annabel. ‘What a luxury to us,
who have been tuneless and songless all these months! Even
the morning “scales” would have been better than nothing.
I shall really go in for steady practising—I know I never did
before. There is nothing like being starved a little.’
‘Starving seems to agree with you in a bodily sense,’ said
.bn 074.png
.pn +1
Rosamond, ‘if I may judge from certain alterations of dresses.
But you are right in believing that it gives a wonderful relish
for mental food. Look at these two lovely boxes of books.
The library was sold, but here are many of our old favourites.
How I shall enjoy seeing their faces again!’
‘I am certain Jeanie must have stolen a quantity of things
after the sale,’ asserted Beatrice, who had been examining
the externals of the packages; ‘bedding and curtains, and
every kind of thing likely to be useful. I expect my room
will be so like the one at the old Chase that I shall never
find out the difference of a morning, till I go downstairs and
see the verandahs.’
‘There are no verandahs in England,’ said Guy, who was
one of the ‘fatigue party,’ as Dick expressed it. ‘They
ought to take a hint from the colonies—stunning places they
make on a wet day, or a hot one, I can tell you.’
‘Where shall we tek this sideboard, mem?’ said Dick
Evans, with his ultra-respectful, family-servant intonation.
‘Into the dining-room, of course,’ screamed the delighted
Annabel. ‘Why, every room in the house will be furnished
more or less; it will be quite a palace.’
Willing hands abounded, Mr. Evans in person superintending
the opening of the cases, taking care to draw nails in
order to fit the boards for future usefulness, so that, very
shortly, the whole English shipment was transferred to its
final Australian resting-place.
Robinson Crusoe, when he had made the last successful
raft-passage and transhipment from the Guinea trader before
she went down, could not have been more grateful than our
deported friends when the litter and the cases and Dick and
Andrew were cleared off, and they were free to gloat over their
precious property.
How different the rooms looked! There was an air of
comfort and refinement about the well-preserved furniture
which was inexpressibly comforting to the ex-dwellers in tents.
The large rooms looked perhaps a shade too bare, but in
warm climates an Indian non-obtrusion of upholstering is
thought becoming. The well-remembered tones of the piano,
which glorified an unoccupied corner of the drawing-room,
echoed through that spacious apartment, now provided with
a carpet almost as good as new, which Jeanie’s provident
.bn 075.png
.pn +1
care had abstracted from the schoolroom at The Chase.
The dear old round table was there, ‘out of mother’s morning-room;
the engravings from father’s study, particularly those
favourite ones of “The fighting Temeraire” and “Talavera”—all
were here. When the climbers grew up over the verandah
pillars, shading the front windows with the purple masses of
the wistaria, there might be a prettier room in Sydney, but in
the bush they were sure it was unsurpassed.’
Nor were Andrew and Jeanie devoid of personal interest
in the arrival of the treasure-waggons. Certain garden tools
and agricultural implements, dear to Andrew’s practical soul,
now gladdened his eyes, also a collection of carefully packed
seeds. Besides all these, a rigorously select list of necessaries
in good order and preservation, once the pride of his snug
cottage, came to hand. For days after this arrival of the
Lares and Penates, the work of rearrangement proceeded
unceasingly. Mrs. Effingham and Rosamond placed and
replaced each article in every conceivable position. Annabel
played and sang unremittingly. Jeanie rubbed and polished,
with such anxious solicitude, that table and chair, wardrobe
and sideboard, shone like new mahogany. Beatrice had
possessed herself of the bookcase, and after her morning
share of housekeeping work was performed, read, save at
dinner, without stopping until it was time to go for that
evening walk which the sisters never omitted.
Once it fell upon a day that a gentleman rode up in
leisurely fashion towards the entrance gate. He was descried
before he came within a hundred yards, and some trepidation
ensued while the question was considered as to who should
take his horse, and how that valuable animal should be
provided for.
Mr. Effingham, Guy, and Wilfred were away at the stock-yard,
which by this time was reported to be nearly in a state
of efficiency. Andrew had disappeared temporarily. The
gentleman, for such plainly was his rank, was a stalwart,
distinguished-looking personage, sitting squarely, and with
something of military pose in his saddle. He was mounted
upon a handsome, carefully-groomed hackney. He reined
up at the dilapidated garden fence, and after looking about
and seeing no appearance of an entrance gate, as indeed that
portal had been long blocked up by rails, gathered up his
.bn 076.png
.pn +1
reins, and clearing the two-railed fence with practised ease,
rode along the grass-grown path to the front door of the house.
At the same moment Dick Evans, who had just arrived with
a load of palings, appeared from the rear, and took his horse.
The stranger briskly dismounted, and knocked at the hall
door with the air of a man who was thoroughly acquainted
with the locale. He bowed low to Mrs. Effingham who
opened it.
‘Permit me to make myself known as Henry O’Desmond,
one of your neighbours, my dear madam,’ said he, with the high-bred
air of a man of the world of fashion, who possesses also the
advantage of being an Irishman. ‘I presume I am addressing
Mrs. Effingham. I have anticipated the proper time for
paying my respects; but there has been a matter of business
named by my agent, in which I hope to be able to serve
Captain Effingham. He is quite well, I trust?’
Mrs. Effingham explained that her husband had been
perfectly well that morning; furthermore, if Mr. O’Desmond
would give them the pleasure of his company to lunch, he
would be enabled to make his acquaintance.
That gentleman bowed with an air of heartfelt gratitude,
and asserted that it would give him the sincerest gratification
to have such an opportunity of meeting Captain Effingham,
to which he had looked forward, since hearing of the good
fortune that was about to befall the district, from his respected
friend the Rev. Mr. Sternworth.
Being introduced to the young ladies, Mr. O’Desmond, a
handsome, well-preserved man, promptly demonstrated that
he was capable of entertaining himself and them until
his host should think fit to arrive. Indeed, when Mrs.
Effingham, who had left the room for reasons connected with
the repast, returned, having captured her husband, and
superintended his toilet, she found her daughters and their
guest considerably advanced in acquaintance.
‘Oh, papa,’ said Annabel, ‘Mr. O’Desmond says there’s
such a lovely view about ten miles from here—a ravine full
of ferns, actually full of them; and a waterfall—a real one!
It is called Fern-tree Gorge; and he has invited us all to a
picnic there some day.’
‘Very happy to make Mr. O’Desmond’s acquaintance,’
said Effingham, advancing with a recollection of old days
.bn 077.png
.pn +1
strong upon him. ‘We are hardly aware yet in what
consists the proper proportion of work and play in Australia;
and in how much of the latter struggling colonists can
indulge. We shall be very grateful for information on the
subject.’
‘And right welcome you are, my dear sir, to both,
especially to the latter. They’ll tell you that Harry O’Desmond
is not unacquainted with work during the twenty
years he has spent in this wild country. But for fun and
recreation he’ll turn his back on no man living.’
‘Here is my lieutenant, and eldest son; permit me to
introduce him. He is burning to distinguish himself in the
practical line.’
‘Then he couldn’t have a better drill instructor than my
old acquaintance, Dick Evans—wonderfully clever in all bush
work, and scrupulous after his own fashion. But, see here
now, I came partly to talk about cows, till the young ladies
put business clean out of my head. I’m told you want to
buy cattle, Mr. Wilfred; if you’ll mount your horse and take
old Dick with you to-morrow morning, he’ll show you the
way to Badajos, and I’ll pick you the best hundred cows this
day in the country.’
This was held to be an excellent arrangement, and lunch
being now proclaimed, a temporary cessation of all but
society talk took place. Every one being in the highest
spirits, it was quite a brilliant symposium. It was a novel
luxury to be again in the society of a pleasant stranger, well
read, travelled, and constitutionally agreeable. O’Desmond
sketched with humour and spirit the characteristic points of
their nearest neighbours; slightly satirised the local celebrities
in their chief town of Yass; and finally departed,
having earned for himself the reputation of an agreeable,
well-bred personage; a perfect miracle of a neighbour, when
ill-hap might have made him equally near and unchangeably
disagreeable.
‘What a delightful creature!’ said Annabel. ‘Didn’t
some one say before we left home that there were no gentlemen
in Australia—only “rough colonists”? I suppose that
English girls will call us “rough colonists” when we’ve been
here a few years. Why, he’s like—oh, I know now—he’s
the very image of the Knight of Gwynne. Fancy lighting on
.bn 078.png
.pn +1
a facsimile of that charming old dear—of course Mr. Desmond
is not nearly so old. He’s not young though, and takes
great care of himself, you can see.’
‘He’s not so very old, Annabel,’ said Beatrice mischievously.
‘That is the kind of man I should advise you to marry.
Not a foolish boy of five-and-twenty.’
‘Thank you, Beatrice,’ said Annabel, with dignity. ‘I’ll
think over it and let you know. I don’t think it’s probable I
should ever marry any one only a little older than myself.
What could he know? I should laugh at him if he was
angry. But Wilfred is going over to Badajos, or whatever is
the name of the O’Desmond’s place, to-morrow, so he can
bring us back a full, true, and particular account of everything,
and whether Rosamond, or you, dear, would be the
fitter helpmate for him. I’m too young and foolish at
present, and might be more so—that is, foolish, not young,
of course.’
‘I notice that the air of this climate seems to have a
peculiar effect upon young people’s tongues,’ said the soft
voice of Mrs. Effingham. ‘They seem to run faster here than
in England.’
Mr. Desmond’s property, Badajos, was nearly twenty
miles from Warbrok Chase. As it had been clearly settled
that Wilfred should go there on the following day, arrangements
had to be made. Dick must accompany him for the
double purpose of confirming any selection of cattle. That
veteran cheerfully endorsed the idea, averring that now the
yard was all but finished, and the fencing stuff drawn in,
leave of absence could be well afforded. He therefore put
on a clean check shirt, and buckled a pea-jacket in front of his
saddle, which he placed upon his old mare, and was ready
for the road.
Provided with a stock-whip, taken from his miscellaneous
possessions, with lighted pipe and trusty steed, his features
wore the expression of anticipated happiness, which distinguishes
the schoolboy out for a holiday. He passed
Andrew Cargill with an air of easy superiority, as that conscientious
labourer, raising his moistened brow as he delved
at the long-untilled beds, could not refrain from a look of
astonishment at this new evidence of universal capacity, as
he marked Dick’s easy seat and portentous whip.
.bn 079.png
.pn +1
He muttered, ‘I wadna doot but that the auld graceless
sorrow can ride through braes and thickets, and crack yon
muckle clothes-line they ca’ a stock-wheep like ony lad. The
de’il aye makes his peets o’ masterfu’ men, wae’s me.’
A difficulty arose as to Wilfred’s steed. Mr. Sternworth
had declined the delicate task of remount agent. Thus The
Chase was temporarily unprovided with horseflesh. However,
Dick Evans was not a man to be prevented from carrying
out a pleasant expedition for want of a horse to ride. Sallying
out early, he had run in a lot of the ownerless animals, always
to be found in the neighbourhood of unstocked pastures.
Choosing from among them a sensible-looking cob, and putting
Wilfred’s English saddle and bridle on him, he led him up to
the garden gate, where he stood with his ordinary air of deep
respectability.
‘I was just wondering how in the world I was to get a
horse,’ said Wilfred. ‘I see you have one. Did you borrow,
or buy, or steal one for my use?’
‘I’ve been many a year in this country, Mr. Wilfred,
without tekkin’ other people’s property, and I’m too old to
begin now. But there’s 2C on this chestnut pony’s near
shoulder. I’m nigh sure it’s Bill Chalker’s colt, as he lost
two years ago, and told me to keep him in hand, if ever I
came acrost him.’
‘Then I may ride him without risk of being tried for
horse-stealing, or lynched, if they affect that here,’ said
Wilfred gaily. ‘I shouldn’t care to do it in England, I
know.’
‘Things is quite different on the Sydney Side,’ said Mr.
Evans with mild dogmatism.
Wilfred did not consider this assertion to be conclusive,
but time pressing, and the ready-saddled horse inviting his
approval, he compounded with his conscience by taking it
for granted that people were not particular as to strayed
horses. The fresh and spirited animal, which had not been
ridden for months, but was (luckily for his rider) free from
vice, snorted and sidled, but proceeded steadily in the main.
He soon settled down to the hand of a fair average horseman.
Noticing fresh objects of interest in each flowering shrub,
in the birds that flew overhead, or the strange animals that
ever and again crossed their path, about each and all of
.bn 080.png
.pn +1
which his retainer had information to offer, the time did not
hang heavily on hand. They halted towards evening before
a spacious enclosure, having passed through which, they
came upon a roomy cottage, surrounded by a trim orchard,
and backed up by farm buildings.
‘Here’s Badajos, Mr. Wilfred,’ said his guide. ‘And a
better kept place there ain’t in the whole country side.’
‘Welcome to Badajos, Mr. Effingham,’ said the proprietor.
‘William, take this gentleman’s horse; you know your way,
Dick. We’ll defer business till the morning. I have had
the cattle yarded, ready for drafting; to-morrow you can
choose the nucleus of a good herd. I shall be proud to put
you in the way of cattle-farming in the only true way to
succeed—by commencing with females of the right kind.’
As Wilfred followed his entertainer into the house, he
felt unaffectedly surprised at the appearance of elegance
mingled with comfort which characterised the establishment.
The rooms were not large, but arranged with an attention of
detail which he had not expected to find in a bush dwelling.
The furniture was artistically disposed. Books and periodicals
lay around. High-class engravings, with a few oil-paintings,
which recalled Wilfred Effingham’s past life, hung
on the walls. Couches and lounges, of modern fashion,
looked inviting, while a Broadwood piano stood in the corner
of the drawing-room, into which he followed his host.
‘I am a bachelor, more’s the pity,’ said Mr. O’Desmond;
‘but there’s no law against a little comfort in the wilderness.
Will you take some refreshment now? Or would you like to
be shown to your room?’
Wilfred accepted the latter proposal. In a very comfortable
chamber he proceeded to divest himself of the traces of
the road, after a leisurely and satisfactory fashion. He had
barely regained the drawing-room, when a gong sounded with
a melodiously reminiscent clang.
The dinner was after the fashion of civilised man. Soup
and fish, fresh from a neighbouring stream, with meritorious
entrées and entremets, showed skill beyond that of an
ordinary domestic. While the host, who had sufficiently
altered his attire for comfort, without committing the bêtise
of out-dressing a guest, as he recommended a dry sherry, or
passed the undeniable claret, seemed an embodied souvenir
.bn 081.png
.pn +1
of London, Paris, Vienna, of that world of fortune and
fashion which Wilfred was vowed to forsake for ever.
Next morning the sun and Mr. W. Effingham arose simultaneously.
Dick Evans had anticipated both, and was
standing at ease near the stable.
‘This place is worth looking at, sir. You don’t see
nothing to speak of out of order—tidy as a barrack-yard.’
Wonderfully trim and orderly was the appearance of all
things. The enclosure referred to was neatly gravelled, and
showed not a vagrant straw. The garden was dug, raked,
and pruned into orderly perfection. The servants’ quarters,
masked by a climber-covered trellis, were ornamental and
unostentatious. The dog-kennels, tenanted by pointers,
greyhounds, collies, and terriers, were snug and spacious.
The stables were as neat as those of a London dealer. It
was a show establishment.
‘Mr. O’Desmond’s servants must be attached to him, to
work so well,’ said Wilfred.
‘Humph!’ replied the veteran, ‘he makes ’em toe the
line pretty smart, and quite right too,’ he added, with a grim
setting of his under jaw. ‘He was in the colony afore there
was many free men in it. Shall we walk down to the milking-yard,
sir?’
The full-uddered shorthorn cows, with their fragrant
breath and mild countenances, having been admired in their
clean, paved milking-yard, a return was made towards the
cottage. As they neared the garden, O’Desmond rode
briskly up to the stable door, and dismounting, threw the
reins to a groom, who stood ready as a sentinel.
‘The top of the morning to you, Mr. Effingham; I trust
you slept well? I have had a canter of a few miles, which
will give me an appetite for breakfast. I rode over to the
drafting-yards, to make sure that the cattle were there,
according to orders. Everything will be in readiness, so
that you can drive easily to Warbrok to-night. You can
manage that, Dick, can you not?’
‘Easy enough, if you’ll send a boy with us half-way, Mr.
O’Desmond,’ replied Dick. ‘You see, sir, Mr. Effingham’s
rather new to cattle-driving, and if the young heifers was to
break back, we might lose some of them.’
‘Quite right, Dick; you are always right where stock are
.bn 082.png
.pn +1
concerned—that is, the driving of them,’ he added. ‘I look
to you to stay with Mr. Effingham till his dairy herd is
established. I shall then have the pleasure of adding his
name to that of the many gentlemen in this district whose
fortunes I have helped to make.’
‘Quite true, sir,’ assented Dick heartily. ‘The Camden
sheep and the Badajos cattle and horses are known all over
the country by them as are judges. But you don’t want me
to be praising on ’em up—they speak for themselves.’
Breakfast over, as faultless a repast as had been the
dinner, it became apparent that Mr. O’Desmond held punctuality
nearly in as high esteem as comfort. His groom
stood ready in the yard with his own and Wilfred’s horses
saddled, the shining thorough-bred, which he called his
hackney, offering a strong contrast to the unkempt though
well-conditioned animal which his guest bestrode.
As they rode briskly along the winding forest track, Wilfred,
observing the quality of his host’s hackney, the silver
brightness of his bit and stirrup-irons, the correctness of his
general turn-out, remembering also the completeness of the
establishment and the character of the hospitality he had
enjoyed, doubted within himself whether, in course of time,
the owner of Warbrok Chase might ever attain to such a
pinnacle of colonial prosperity.
‘How incredible this would all appear to some of my
English friends!’ he thought. ‘I can hardly describe it without
the fear of being supposed to exaggerate.’
‘Here we are,’ said O’Desmond, reining up, and dismounting
at a substantial stock-yard, while a lad instantly
approached and took his horse. ‘I have ordered the heifers
and young cows to be placed in this yard. We can run them
through before you. You can make your choice, and reject
any animals below the average.’
‘They look rather confused at present,’ answered Wilfred;
‘but I suppose Dick here understands how to separate them.’
‘I’ll manage that, never you fear, sir—that is, if you and
Mr. O’Desmond have settled about the price.’
‘I may state now,’ remarked that gentleman, ‘that the
price, four pounds per head, mentioned to me on your
account by your agent is a liberal one, as markets go. I
shall endeavour to give you value in kind.’
.bn 083.png
.pn +1
‘It’s a good price,’ asserted Dick; ‘but Mr. O’Desmond’s
cattle are cheaper at four pounds all round than many
another man’s about here at fifty shillings. If he lets me
turn back any beast I don’t fancy, we’ll take away the primest
lot of cattle to begin a dairy with as has travelled the line
for years.’
‘I will give you my general idea of the sort of cattle I
prefer,’ said Wilfred, not minded to commence by leaving the
whole management in any servant’s hands, ‘then you can
select such as appear to answer the description.’
‘All right, sir,’ quoth Mr. Evans, mounting the fence. ‘I
suppose you want ’em large-framed cattle, good colours,
looking as if they’d run to milk and not to beef, not under
three, and not more than five year old, and putty quiet in
their looks and ways.’
‘That is exactly the substance of what I was going to say
to you,’ said Wilfred, with some surprise. ‘It will save me
the trouble of explaining.’
‘We may as well begin, sir,’ said Dick, addressing himself
to the proprietor. Then, in quite another tone, ‘Open the
rails, boys; look sharp, and let ’em into the drafting-yards.’
The cattle were driven through a succession of yards after
such a fashion that Wilfred was enabled to perceive how the
right of choice could be exercised. By the time the operation
was concluded he felt himself to be inducted into the
art and mystery of ‘drafting.’ Also, he respected himself as
having appreciably helped to select and separate the one
hundred prepossessing-looking kine which now stood in a
separate yard, recognised as his property.
‘You will have no reason to be dissatisfied with your
choice,’ said O’Desmond. ‘They look a nice lot. I always
brand any cattle before they leave my yard. You will not
object to a numeral being put on them before they go? It
will assist in their identification in case of any coming back.’
‘Coming back!—come back twenty miles?’ queried Wilfred,
with amazement. ‘How could they get back such a
distance?’
‘Just as you would—by walking it, and a hundred to the
back of that. So I think, say, No. 1. brand—they are A1
certainly—will be a prudent precaution.’
‘Couldn’t do a better thing,’ assented Dick. ‘We’ll brand
.bn 084.png
.pn +1
’em again when we go home, sir; but if we lost ’em anyway
near the place, they’d be all here before you could say Jack
Robinson.’
A fire was quickly lighted, the iron brands were heated,
the cows driven by a score at a time into a narrow yard, and
for the first time in his life Wilfred saw the red-hot iron
applied to the hide of the live animal. The pain, like much
evil in this world, if intense, was brief; the cows cringed
and showed disapproval, but soon appeared to forget. The
morning was not far advanced when Wilfred Effingham found
himself riding behind a drove, or ‘mob’ (as Dick phrased
it), of his own cattle.
‘There goes the best lot of heifers this day in the country,’
said the old man, ‘let the others be where they may. Mr.
O’Desmond’s a rare man for givin’ you a good beast if you
give him a fair price; you may trust him like yourself, but
he’s a hard man and bitter enough if anybody tries to take
advantage of him.’
‘And quite right too, Dick. I take Mr. O’Desmond to
be a most honourable man, with whom I shouldn’t care to
come to cross purposes.’
‘No man ever did much good that tried that game, sir.
He’s a bad man to get on the wrong side of.’
.bn 085.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER V | ‘CALLED ON BY THE COUNTY’
.sp 2
When the important drove reached Warbrok, great was the
excitement. Wilfred’s absence was the loss of Hamlet from
the play; his return the signal for joy and congratulation.
The little commonwealth was visibly agitated as the tired
cattle trailed along the track to the stock-yard, with Dick
sitting bolt upright in his saddle behind them, and Wilfred
essaying to crack the inconveniently long whip provided for
him.
The girls made their appearance upon the verandah;
Andrew looked forth as interested, yet under protest. Guy
walked behind, and much admired the vast number and
imposing appearance of the herd; while Captain and Mrs.
Effingham stood arm in arm at a safe distance appreciating
the prowess of their first-born.
‘Now, sir,’ quoth the ready Dick, ‘we’ll put ’em in the
yard and make ’em safe to-night; to-morrow, some one will
have to tail ’em.’
‘Tail them?’ said Wilfred. ‘Some of their ears have
been scolloped, I see; but surely it is not necessary to cut
their tails in a hot climate like this?’
‘S’cuse me, sir,’ said Dick respectfully, ‘I wouldn’t put
the knife to them for pounds; “tailing” means shepherdin’.’
‘And what does “shepherding” mean? I thought
shepherds were only for sheep?’
‘Well, sir, I never heerd talk of shepherdin’ at home, but
it’s a currency word for follerin’ anything that close, right
agin’ their tails, that a shepherd couldn’t be more careful
with his sheep; so we talk of shepherdin’ a s’picious c’rakter,
.bn 086.png
.pn +1
or a lot of stock, or a man that’s tossicated with notes stickin’
out of his pocket, or a young woman, or anything that wants
lookin’ after very partickler.’
‘Now I understand,’ said Wilfred. ‘It’s not a bad word,
and might be used in serious matters.’
‘No mistake about that, sir. Now the yard’s finished
off and topped up, we’ll soon be able to make a start with
the dairy. There’ll be half-a-dozen calves within the week,
and more afore the month’s out. There’s nothin’ breaks in
cows to stop like their young calves; you’ll soon see ’em
hanging about the yard as if they’d been bred here, ’specially
as the feed is so forrard. There’s no mistake, a myst season
do make everything go pleasant.’
When the cattle were in the yard, and the slip rails made
safe by having spare posts put across them, Wilfred unsaddled
his provisional mount and walked into the house in a satisfactory
mental condition.
‘So, behold you of return!’ quoted Rosamond, running
to meet him, and marching him triumphantly into the dining-room,
where all was ready for tea. ‘The time has been
rather long. Papa has been walking about, not knowing
exactly what to do, or leave undone; Guy shooting, not
over-successfully. The most steadily employed member of
the household, and the happiest, I suppose, has been Andrew,
digging without intermission the whole time.’
‘I wish we could dig too, or have some employment
found for us,’ said Annabel; ‘girls are shamefully unprovided
with real work, except stocking-mending. Jeanie won’t let
us do anything in the kitchen, and really, that is the only
place where there is any fun. The house is so large, and
echoing at night when the wind blows. And only think, we
found the mark of a pistol bullet in the dining-room wall
at one end, and there is another in the ceiling!’
‘How do you know it was a pistol shot?’ inquired Wilfred.
‘Some one threw a salt-cellar at the butler in the good old
times.’
‘Perhaps it was fired in the good old times; perhaps it
killed some one—how horrible! Perhaps he was carried out
through the passage. But we know it was a shot, because
Guy poked about and found the bullet flattened out.’
‘Well, we must ask Evans; very likely old Colonel
.bn 087.png
.pn +1
Warleigh fired pistols in his mad fits. He used to sit, they
say, night after night, drinking and cursing by himself after
his wife died and his sons left him. No one dared go near
him when his pistols were loaded. But we need not think
of these things now, Annabel. He is dead and gone, and
his sons are not in this part of the country. So I see you
have had flower-beds made while I was away. I declare
the wistaria and bignonia are breaking into flower. How
gorgeous they will look!’
‘Yes, mamma said she could not exist without flowers
any longer, so we persuaded Andrew, much against his will,—for
he said “he was just fair harassed wi’ thae early
potatoes,”—to dig these borders. Guy helped us to transplant
and sow seeds, so we shall have flowers of our own
once more.’
‘We shall have everything of our own in a few years if
we are patient,’ said Wilfred; ‘and you damsels don’t want
trips to watering-places, and so on. This life is better than
Boulogne, or the Channel Islands, though it may be a trifle
lonely.’
‘Boulogne! A thousandfold,’ said Rosamond. ‘Here we
have life and hope. Those poor families we used to see
there looked liked ghosts and apparitions of their old selves.
You remember watching them walking down drearily to see
the packet come in—the girls dowdy or shabby, the old
people hopeless and apathetic, the sons so idle and lounging?
I shudder when I think how near we were to such horrors
ourselves. The very air of Australia seems to give one fresh
life. Can anything be finer than this sunset?’
In truth, the scene upon which her eyes rested might
have cheered a sadder heart than that of the high-hearted
maiden who now, with her arm upon her brother’s shoulder,
directed his gaze to the far empurpled hills, merging their
violet cloud masses and orange-gold tints in the darkening
eve. The green pastures, relieved by clumps of heavy-foliaged
trees, glowed emerald bright against the dark-browed mountain
spur. The dying sun-rays fell in fire-flakes of burning
gold on the mirrored silver of the lake. Wrapped in soft
tremulous mist lay the hills upon the farther shore, vast with
the subtle effect of limitless distance. At such times one
could dream with the faith of older days—that Earth, the
.bn 088.png
.pn +1
universal mother, loved her children, and breathed forth in
growth of herb and flower her smiling welcome.
That night, as the Effinghams sat around their table, an
unconscious feeling of thankfulness swelled each heart. The
parents saw assurance of a well-provided suitable home for
the little troop, the probable disbanding of which had cost
such sad forebodings. The sons, strong in the faith of youth,
saw a future of adventure, well-rewarded labour, perhaps
brilliant success. The girls felt that their lives would not
be henceforth deprived of the social intercourse which had
once been an ordinary condition of existence.
‘How did you fare at Mr. O’Desmond’s, my son? What
kind of an establishment does he keep?’ inquired Mrs.
Effingham.
‘You will all be rather astonished,’ answered Wilfred
mysteriously. ‘What should you think, Annabel? You are
a good hand at guessing.’
‘Let me think. He is very aristocratic and dignified, yet
he might live in a hut. Men are so independent of rooms
or houses, almost of looking-glasses. Now a woman in a
poky little place always shows it in her dress. I should say
he lives in a comfortable cottage, and has everything very
complete.’
‘And you would be right. We shall have to mind our
manners and dinners when he comes again. He lives like a
club bachelor, and is as well lodged as—let us say—a land
steward on an absentee nobleman’s estate.’
‘You must be romancing, Wilfred,’ said Beatrice. ‘Where
could he get the luxuries that such a great man as you have
described could procure? What a wonderful difference a few
thousand miles makes! We think ourselves not so much
worse, essentially, than we were in England; but we must be
deteriorating.’
‘Don’t talk nonsense, my dear Beatrice,’ said Rosamond.
‘Is it not a little vulgar to attach so much weight to externals?
As long as we are doing our duty, why should
there be any deterioration? It will be our own fault if we
adopt a lower level of manners.’
‘Oh, but how can any one expect to be the same in
colonial society?’ exclaimed Annabel. ‘See how insignificant
even the “best people” are out here. Why, I was reading
.bn 089.png
.pn +1
yesterday about a “country baronet,” and even a “well-meaning,
unfashionable countess,” being looked down upon—positively
laughed at—in England. Now think what
tremendous potentates they would be out here! I’m sure
that proves what I say.’
‘Your propositions and proofs are worthy of one another,
my dear,’ said Wilfred. ‘But as to society, I shan’t be sorry
when more of our neighbours call.’
‘Now that the house is fit to receive them I shall be
pleased, my dear son, to see the people of the land. I am
sure I hope there are some nice ones.’
Wilfred rose early next morning to indulge himself with
another look at the new cattle. He was only just in time,
as Dick had breakfasted, caught his horse, and was about
to let out the imprisoned drove.
‘I’ll tail ’em for the first few days, sir,’ he said, ‘till I
give ’em the way of camping under them big trees near the
little swamp. It will make a first-rate camp for ’em, and
learn ’em to run handy to the place. After that we must
get some sort of a lad to foller ’em. It won’t pay you to
keep me at blackfellow’s work.’
‘What’s that?’ inquired Wilfred.
‘Why, simple work like this, that any black boy could
do, if he didn’t give his mind to ’possums. Besides, we
wants a horse-yard, and a bit of a paddock, and another
field cleared, to plough for next year.’
‘That seems a good deal of work to carry on, Richard.
Won’t it take more hands? Remember, we must go economically
to work. My father is by no means a rich man.’
‘That’s quite right, sir; no one should run themselves
out of pocket, high or low. But if we had some one to go
with these cows till the calves come, and that won’t be long,
you and I could do what work I’ve chalked out.’
‘Why should not Guy “tail” the cows, as you call it?’
suggested Wilfred, pleased with the idea that they would be
able to provide labour from their own community. ‘It would
do him no harm.’
‘Perhaps the young gentleman mightn’t like it,’ said Dick,
with deep respect. ‘It’s dull work, every day, like.’
‘Oh, he must like it!’ decided Wilfred, with the despotic
elder brother tone. ‘We have come out here to work, and
.bn 090.png
.pn +1
he must take his share. He may find it dull for a time;
but he can shoot a little and amuse himself, as long as he
doesn’t come home without them, like Little Bo-peep. What
would a boy cost?’
‘About six or eight shillings a week, and his rations, sir,
which would come to as much again. But the young master
needn’t stay out after four o’clock.’
‘Then we make a saving at once of say sixteen shillings
a week. Guy never earned so much in his life before. He
will be quite proud of his value in the labour market. You
and I can begin splitting and fencing at once.’
‘But we shall want some more cattle, sir,’ suggested Dick.
‘More cattle!’ said Wilfred in amazement, to whom a
hundred head was an awe-striking number. ‘What for?’
‘Why, to eat! It don’t do to buy meat every time you
want a roast or a steak. Cheapest to kill your own. If
we was to buy a mob of common cattle, they’d cost nothing
to speak of; the bullocks soon fatten, and the cows would
breed you up a fair mixed herd in no time.’
‘Well, but we have these cattle you have just let out,’
pleaded Wilfred, looking admiringly at the red, white, and
roan shorthorn crosses, which, spreading over the rich
meadow, were feeding quietly, as if reared there.
‘Them’s all very well, sir; but it’ll be years before you
kill a bullock out of that lot; they’ve got to come, all in
good time. But the quiet steers, and the worst of the cows,
in a mixed herd, will be fat before you can look round, in
a season like this, and your beef won’t cost you above a
penny a pound.’
It was decided that Guy was to ‘tail’ or herd the new
cows at present. Upon this duty being named to him, he
made no objection—rather seemed to like it.
‘I suppose as long as I don’t lose them I can do anything
I like,’ he said; ‘hunt ’possums, shoot, ferret out ferns
for Rosamond, or even read.’
‘The more you lets the cattle alone the better, Mr. Guy,’
said Dick. ‘As long as they don’t sneak away from you,
you can’t take it too easy. There’s fine feed all roads now,
and after the first hour or two they’ll fill theirselves and lie
down like working bullocks. But you’ll want a horse.’
‘That I shall,’ said the boy, beginning to take up the
.bn 091.png
.pn +1
fashions of the bush, and to rebel at the idea of going on
foot, as if mankind was a species of centaur.
‘Must have more horses too, sir,’ announced Dick, with
a calm air of ask and have.
‘How many?’ returned Wilfred uncomplyingly; ‘it
seems we shall want more horses—we haven’t any, certainly—more
cattle, more tillage, more yards, more paddocks;
it will soon come to wanting more money, and where to get
that I don’t know.’
‘Horses are dirt cheap, sir, just now, and can’t be done
without, nohow. You’ll want a cob for the Captain to potter
about on, a couple of hacks for yourself, one apiece for Mr.
Guy and the young ladies—they’d like a canter now and
then afore Christmas. I hear Mick Donnelly’s selling off,
to clear out for Monaro. You couldn’t do better than ride
over and see his lot; they’ll be pretty sure to live on our
grass, if any of the neighbours gets ’em, and you may as well
have that profit out of ’em yourself.’
The conversation having come to an end, Mr. Evans
was about to move after his cattle, now indulging in a
pretty wide spread, when a horseman joining them, greeted
Wilfred.
‘Good-morning, sir,’ said the stranger, with loud, peculiar,
but not unpleasant voice, having a note of culture too.
‘Glad to make your acquaintance; Mr. Effingham, I believe?
We’re neighbours, on the south, about ten miles from
Benmohr. You haven’t seen a chestnut pony about, branded
2C? He used to run here in Hunt’s time. Why, hang me!
if he isn’t coming up to show himself!’
The chestnut pony which had borne Wilfred so successfully
in the journey for the new cattle now trotted up,
having followed Evans’s mare, to which animal he had
attached himself, after the manner of horses, prone to contract
sudden friendships.
Wilfred, about to disclaim any knowledge of the strange
gentleman’s chestnut, not dreaming that the estray which
had come in so handily could be his property, and as yet not
given to reading at a glance 2C or other hieroglyph, felt
rather nonplussed, more especially when he noticed the
stranger’s eye attracted to the saddle-mark on the pony’s
fat back.
.bn 092.png
.pn +1
‘I must confess to having ridden your horse, if he be
so, a short journey. We were not aware of his ownership,
and I had no horse of my own. I trust you will forgive the
liberty.’
‘He has rather nice paces. How did you like him?’
inquired the stranger urbanely, much as if he had a favour
conferred upon him. ‘I’ll run him into the yard now with
your permission, and lead him home.’
‘Pray come in, and allow me to introduce you to my
people,’ said Wilfred, satisfied, from the stranger’s bearing,
that he was a desirable acquaintance. ‘With the exception
of Mr. O’Desmond, from whom I bought these cattle, we
have not seen a neighbour yet.’
‘Know them all in time,’ said the stranger; ‘no great
shakes, some of them, when you do know them. My name’s
Churbett, by the bye—Fred Churbett, of The Oaks; cattle
station on Banksia Creek, used to be called She-oak Flat—had
to change it. Nice cattle O’Desmond let you have;
got good stock, but makes you pay for them.’
‘How you have improved the old place!’ continued Mr.
Churbett, as they approached the house. ‘Who would
believe that so much could have been made of it? Never
saw it in the palmy days of Colonel Warleigh, though. Seems
to have run in the military line of ownership. The old boy
kept up great state. Four-in-hand always to Yass, they say.
Coachman, butler, lots of servants—convicts, of course. Awful
temper; cursed freely, drank ditto. Sons not behindhand,
improved upon the paternal sins—gambling, horse-racing, Old
Harry generally. Had to clear out and sell. Great pull for
the district having a family straight from “home” settled
in it.’
‘I trust the advantage will be mutual,’ said Wilfred. ‘We
hope to be neighbourly when we are quite settled. But you
will understand that it has taken us a little time to shake
down.’
‘Thought of that,’ said Mr. Churbett, ‘or should have
had the pleasure of calling before. Trotted over to look up
master “Traveller” for the muster, or should have waited
another week.’
Mr. Churbett’s horses having been disposed of, he was
duly introduced. He proved if anything a greater success
.bn 093.png
.pn +1
than Mr. O’Desmond. He was musical, and the sight of the
piano immediately brought up talk about the last opera he
had heard in London. He was also a great reader, and
after touching upon half a score of authors, promised to
bring over a new book which he had just got up from town.
‘Really,’ said Annabel innocently, ‘this is a surprise.
I never dreamed of getting a new book in the bush. Why,
it only came out just before we left. I was longing to read
it; but, of course, we were too miserable and worried. How
can it have got here so quickly?’
‘Just the same way that we did, I suppose,’ said Beatrice—‘in
a ship. You forget the time that has passed since we
landed.’
‘Still, it is a pleasant surprise. I shouldn’t wonder, perhaps
we may get some new music soon. But I should as
soon have thought of a book-club in the moon.’
‘Talking of book-clubs,’ said Churbett, ‘we are trying to
get up one; I hope you will join. With twelve members, and
a moderate subscription, we can import a very fair lot of books
every year. A brother of mine in London can choose them
for us; I am to be librarian. The books are divided into
sets, which each subscriber sends on in turn.’
Annabel clapped her hands. ‘How delightful! Wilfred,
of course, will join. Fancy, dear, clean new books every
month. Really, life is becoming quite intoxicating, and I
thought we should die of dulness and ennui.’
‘No; did you, though?’ echoed Mr. Churbett compassionately.
‘I confess to feeling inclined to cry when I came
up to Murson Creek and saw the hut I was to live in for the
first year. But one’s feelings get wonderfully altered after a
while.’
‘And are you quite resigned, that is contented, to give up
operas and picture galleries, clubs and travel, all the pleasant
parts of English life?’ asked Rosamond.
‘It was hard at first, Miss Effingham; but here I have
independence, with the prospect of a fortune. In England
such was not the case, particularly the independence. Operas
and other memories recall a fairy realm which I may yet
re-enter. Meantime, I ride about all day, work now and
then, smoke and read at night, and if not exactly happy, am
decently cheerful.’
.bn 094.png
.pn +1
‘What the world calls pleasure you never see, I suppose?’
said Beatrice philosophically.
‘Do we not? I forgot one compensation in our virtuous,
self-denying lives. Once a year, at least, we have races in
Yass, which is our metropolis. Then we all meet together,
as a solemn, social obligation. Pilgrimage to Mecca, and so
on. Very few true believers absent. Balls, picnics, any
amount of dancing, flirtation, what not. Enough to last for
the rest of the year. After a week or two we go home
sorrowfully, staying at each other’s houses on the way, to let
down the excitement by degrees.’
‘Where do the ladies come from?’ asked Annabel. ‘I
suppose there are very few?’
‘Very few!’ said Mr. Churbett in tones of horror. ‘Ever
so many. Is it possible you have never heard, even in
Europe, of the beautiful Miss Christabel Rockley, the
fascinating Mrs. Snowden, the talented Mrs. Porchester?
Ladies! They abound, or how should we remain civilised?
Yass is well known to be the home of all the graces. Could
O’Desmond retain his grand seigneur air but for the
advantage of refined association? I wish I could take you
round, Miss Effingham, on an introductory tour. What a
book we could write of our experiences!—“Travels and
Sketches in the Upper Strata of the Social System of the
Yass District, by Miss Annabel Effingham, illustrated by F.
Churbett, F.R.Y.A.S.S., Fellow of the Royal Yass Analytical
Squatting Society,” reads well.’
‘Quite delicious,’ said Annabel. ‘But everything that is
nice is improper, so, of course, I shouldn’t be let go. Not
even Rosamond, who is prudence personified. I’m afraid
there is no more liberty for poor women in a new country
than an old one. That is the bell—I was sure of it. Mr.
Churbett, allow me to invite you to dinner—an early one,
which is about the extent of my privileges.’
Mr. Churbett accepted the invitation, as he no doubt
would have acceded to any proposition emanating from the
speaker even less manifestly beneficial. He kept the whole
party amused, and lingered until he declared he should have
to gallop Grey Surrey all the way home to get there before
dark.
‘He’s like me,’ he explained, upon being charged with
.bn 095.png
.pn +1
cruelty; ‘he only does a day’s work now and then, and he
doesn’t mind it when it does come.’
Resisting all invitation to stop for the night, on the plea
that the effort necessary in his case must be made some
time and might as well be undergone now, he departed in
the odour of high consideration, if not of sanctity.
In order that no opportunities might be lost, Wilfred commenced
the habit of rising at dawn and joining Dick at the
stock-yard, where the old man had initiated a dairy, with the
aid of the few cows of the O’Desmond brand which had
produced calves. Here he was attended by Andrew, who
sturdily proceeded to take his share of the work, in spite of
Dick’s sarcastic attitude. He evidently considered the dairy
to be his province, and regarded Andrew as an interloper.
‘Na, na, Maister Wilfred,’ said Andrew, ‘I hae been
acquent in my time wi’ a’ manner o’ kye, and had a collie
following me these thretty years. It’s no because we’re in
a new land that I’m to turn my back on ilka occupa-ation
that will bring in profit to the laird and his bairns. Jeanie
can mak’ as sweet butter as ever a gudewife in Lothian, and
we hae to depend maistly on the butter-keggies, for what I see.’
‘You’ll find that garden of yours, when the weeds come
up, quite enough for one, I’m thinking. There’s enough of
us here, if Mr. Wilfred takes to it kind, as he seems to do.
But if you’re such a dab hand at milking, you can tek that
red cow that’s come in this morning.’
‘And a gra-and show o’ milk she has,’ quoth Andrew, ‘maist
unco-omon!’
Dick commenced, with a stolid expression, to arrange the
slip-rails, which apparently took time to adjust. Andrew,
meanwhile, proud of the opportunity of exhibiting his familiarity
with the art and science of milking, moved the red cow
into one of the bails, or stalls, in which cows are ordinarily
milked in Australia.
Sitting upon a three-legged stool, he commenced his
ancient and classical task. He had succeeded in, perhaps,
drawing a pint from the over-full udder of the red cow aforesaid,
when she suddenly raised her hind leg and caught him
with such emphasis that man and milk, pail and stool, went
clattering down into the corner of the yard.
‘Gude save us!’ exclaimed Andrew, picking himself up,
.bn 096.png
.pn +1
and rubbing his person, while he collected all that was recoverable
of the scattered properties. ‘What garred the fell
beastie act sae daft-like. I hae milket a hunner coos, and
ne’er was whummled like yon.’
‘Perhaps they was Scotch cows, and understood your talk,
Mr. Cargill,’ said Dick, with great politeness, covering a grim
enjoyment; ‘but in this country we mostly leg-ropes cows
when we bail ’em up, for fear of accidents.’
‘Weel, I winna say that these queys, being brocht up in a
mair savage fashion than in bonnie Scotland, wadna need
head and heel fastenings. But, ma certie, they would glower
in my part of the country, gin ye tied a coo’s leg like a thrawn
ox at the smithy.’
‘I suppose “we must do at Rome, etc.,” and all the rest
of it, Andrew,’ said Wilfred. ‘Here, Dick, make a beginning
with your cow, and Andrew and I will put a leg-rope
on this one. Never too late to mend. I’ll back Andrew to
hold his own yet in the milking-yard, or anywhere else.’
Old Dick, having satisfied his grudge by compassing the
downfall of Andrew, whom he had shrewdly guessed never
to have been accustomed to a leg-rope, condescended to
instruct Wilfred in the proper way to knot it. The cows were
eventually milked secundum artem, and when the full buckets,
foaming over with creamy fluid, stood on a bench outside
the yard, Wilfred saw with distinct gratification the first dividend
from the cattle investment.
‘We must calculate now, Andrew,’ he said, as they walked
over to the house, ‘how much butter can be made from the
milk of these cows. It is a small matter, of course; but
multiplied by ten—as we shall have at least fifty cows in
milk, Dick says, before Christmas—it will not be so bad.’
‘After conseederin’ the matter maist carefully,’ said
Andrew, ‘I am free to give it as ma deleeberate opeenion
that gin the pasture keeps aye green and plenteous we
may mak’ baith butter and cheese o’ the best quality. As
to price, I canna yet say, havin’ nae knowledge o’ the
mairkets.’
‘Well, we have made a beginning, Andrew, and that is a
great matter. If we can only pay current expenses, without
employing more hands, we shall be doing well, I consider.’
‘We must work gey and close at the first gang aff, Maister
.bn 097.png
.pn +1
Wilfred, and then dinna ye fear. Wi’ the Lord’s blessing,
we’ll be spared to set up our horn on high, as weel as thae
prood Amalekites, that have had the first grip o’ this gra-and
Canaan. I was doon yestreen and lookit at the field o’
victual—the paddock, as yon auld carle ca’s it. It’s maist
promising—forbye ordinar’—maist unco-omon.’
Among the list of indispensable investments which Dick
Evans had urged upon Wilfred, but which he had not at
present thought it necessary to undertake, were another lot
of cattle, a dozen horses (more or less), and some kind of
taxed cart, or light vehicle. Apparently these would be
advantageous and profitable, but Wilfred had determined to
be most sparing in all outlay, lest the reserve fund of the
family should come to a premature end.
On this day it seemed that the advanced guard of the
neighbouring gentry had commenced to lay formal siege to
Warbrok Chase. On his return to the house in the afternoon,
Wilfred descried two good-looking horses hanging up
to the garden fence, and upon entering the sitting-room beheld
their owners in amicable converse with his mother and
sisters. He was promptly introduced to Mr. Argyll and Mr.
Charles Hamilton. Both men were well, even fashionably
dressed, and bore about them the nameless air which stamps
the holder of a degree in the university of society.
‘We should have called before,’ said Mr. Argyll, a tall
fair-haired man, whose quick glancing blue eye and mobile
features betrayed natural impetuosity, kept under by training;
‘but my partner here is such an awfully hard-working
fellow, that he would not quit the engineering with which he
was busied, to visit the Queen of Sheba, if she had just
settled in the neighbourhood.’
‘I was not aware,’ said Mr. Hamilton coolly, and with an
air of settled conviction upon his regular and handsome
features, ‘of the extent of my sacrifice to duty. I may
venture to assure Mrs. Effingham that my neighbourly duties
for the future will not be neglected.’
‘I hope not,’ said Mrs. Effingham; ‘for, now that the
excitement of settling in such a very different world has
passed away, we begin to feel rather lonely—may I say
dull?’
‘No, mamma,’ said Rosamond, ‘you must not say that.
.bn 098.png
.pn +1
We are all so fully occupied, from morning to dusk, that we
have no time to be dull.’
‘Oh, but we cannot get on without society,’ remarked
Annabel. ‘I feel in the highest spirits as long as there is so
much to do, that there is no time for thinking; indeed, I
hate to have a moment to myself. But in the afternoons,
when papa and the boys are out, I begin to realise our solitary
position, and the feeling becomes oppressive.’
‘Very naturally too,’ said Mr. Argyll. ‘But as yet you
have no idea of the social resources which you will be able
to draw upon when you are acquainted with everybody.’
‘And who is everybody?’ asked Beatrice. ‘How can we be
sociable if people don’t come to see us? Suppose you tell
us who are the nice people of the district, and we shall be
able to enjoy them in anticipation.’
‘You will see most of them within the month; but I
shrink from describing them. Charles, you are afraid of
nobody, suppose you give us a catalogue raisonné.’
‘Certainly, if Miss Effingham wishes it,’ assented Mr.
Hamilton, who had the imperturbable look which goes with
a temperament difficult to surprise or intimidate. ‘I shall
have great pleasure in trotting out our friends for her information.
We have been here only three years, so in case of
mistakes you must be considerate.’
‘Oh, we shall be most discreet,’ said Annabel; ‘besides,
we have no acquaintance yet to chatter to—that’s the best
guarantee for prudence.’
‘I think I may take your solemn affirmation not to betray
me,’ said Mr. Hamilton, looking admiringly into Annabel’s
lovely eyes, ‘and even then I would face the risk. First,
there is Captain Snowden with his wife. He was in the
navy, I think; he has rather more of the sailor about him
than—what shall I say?—the courtier, though he can be very
agreeable when he likes. Madame is extremely lady-like,
clever, travelled, what not. You must see her and judge for
yourself.’
‘Are there any more ladies?’ asked Rosamond. ‘They
possess an absorbing interest for us.’
‘Ever so many more,’ laughed Hamilton. ‘Mrs. Porchester,
who is rather a “blue”; Mrs. Egremont, who is a
beauty; the Misses Carter, who are good-nature itself. The
.bn 099.png
.pn +1
others, I think, you must find out by degrees. In Yass there
are some very nice families, particularly that of Mr. Rockley.
He is the leading merchant in these parts, and rules like a
benevolent despot. His wife is hospitable and amiable
beyond compare; his daughter, Miss Christabel, dangerously
beautiful. I must leave something to the imagination.’
‘I assure you we are most grateful to you as it is,’ said
Mrs. Effingham. ‘It is really encouraging to find that there
are so many charming people in the neighbourhood. We
should hardly consider them in the same county at home;
but here they don’t seem to mind riding any distance.’
‘I am mistaken,’ said Hamilton, ‘if you do not find people
riding wonderful distances to visit Warbrok. We are less
than twenty miles away, I am thankful to say, so you will see
us as often as you care for. By the way,’ turning to Wilfred,
‘did I hear you say you were going to Donnelly’s sale?
If you buy stock there, you had better stay a night at
Benmohr on your return. It is just a fair stage.’
‘Thanks. I shall be most happy. Do you think it a good
idea to invest at Donnelly’s?’
‘If I were in your place I should buy all his cattle and a
few horses. They can’t fail to be a profitable purchase, as you
seem to have any amount of grass. But we must be going.
We shall expect you at Benmohr the day after the sale. Mrs.
Effingham, I shall do myself the honour of another visit, after
you have been able to verify my portraitures.’
‘What gentlemanlike young men!’ said Mrs. Effingham,
when the guests were fairly away. ‘I am so sorry that your
papa was out. He would have been so pleased. Mr. Argyll
seems so clever, and Mr. Hamilton is very handsome—both
wonderfully well dressed for the bush.’
‘I should say Mr. Argyll was disposed to be sarcastic,’ said
Rosamond; ‘and I am mistaken if he has not a fierce
temper. He told us he was a Highlander, which accounts
for it.’
‘Mr. Hamilton is one of the nicest-looking men I have
seen for a long time,’ said Annabel; ‘what splendid eyes he
has! He is very particular about his gloves too; gives time
and reflection to his toilet, I should say.’
‘I have heard Dick say that he is the hardest-working
squatter in the district,’ said Wilfred. ‘He is devoted to
.bn 100.png
.pn +1
ploughing, digging, navvy-work, horse-breaking—“all manner
of slavery,” as Dick says.’
‘Who would have thought it!’ exclaimed Mrs. Effingham
in tones of astonishment. ‘From his appearance I should have
thought that he was afraid to soil those white hands of his.’
‘The best-dressed people are not the most backward at
work or fighting,’ said Wilfred.
‘But how can he keep his hands white,’ inquired Annabel
with a great appearance of interest, ‘if he really works like a
labourer?’
‘Perhaps he works in gloves; a man can get through a
great deal of work in a pair of old riding-gloves, and his
hands be never the worse. There is something about those
two men that I like extremely. Mr. Argyll puts me in mind
of Fergus MʻIvor with that fiery glance; he looks as if he had
a savage temper, well held in.’
‘They are both very nice, and I hope you will make real
friends of them, Wilfred,’ said Mrs. Effingham. ‘Might I
also suggest that, as it is evidently practicable to dress like a
gentleman and work hard, a certain young man should be
more careful of his appearance?’
‘I deserve that, I know, old lady,’ said her son laughingly;
‘but really there is a temptation in the wilderness to costume
a little. I promise you to amend.’
‘Our circle of acquaintance is expanding,’ said Beatrice;
‘certainly it has the charm of variety. Mr. O’Desmond is
Irish, Mr. Churbett from London, our last visitors Scots—one
Highland, one Lowland. All differing among themselves
too. I am sure we shall be fully occupied; it will be a task
of some delicacy tenir de salon, if we ever have them here
at a party.’
‘A party!’ said Mrs. Effingham; ‘don’t think of it for
years to come, child. It would be impossible, inappropriate
in every way.’
‘But there’s no harm, mamma, surely, in thinking of it,’
pleaded Annabel. ‘It encourages one to keep alive, if
nothing else.’
.bn 101.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VI | AN AUSTRALIAN YEOMAN
.sp 2
A week of laborious work preceded the day when circumstances
permitted Wilfred and his serving-man to ride forth for
the purpose of attending the sale of Mr. Michael Donnelly’s
stock and effects. Formerly known as ‘Willoughby’s Mick,’ he
had, during an unpretending career as stock-rider for that
gentleman, accumulated a small herd of cattle and horses,
with which to commence life on a grazing farm near Yass.
Here, by exercise of the strictest economy as to personal
expenses, as well as from the natural increase of stock, he
had, during a residence of a dozen years, amassed a considerable
property. Yet on his holding there was but scant
evidence of toil or contrivance. A few straggling peach
trees represented the garden. The bark-roofed slab hut
which he found when he came had sufficed for the
lodging of himself and wife, with nearly a dozen children.
The fences, not originally good, were now ruinous. The
fields, suffered to go out of cultivation, lay fallow and
unsightly, only half-cleared of tree-stumps. The dress of this
honest yeoman had altered for the worse since the hard-riding
days of ‘Willoughby’s Mick.’ The healthy boys and
girls were more or less ragged; the younger ones barefooted.
The saddles and cart harness were patched with raw hide, or
clumsily repaired. The cow-shed was rickety; the calves
unsheltered. Yet with all this apparent decay and disorder,
any one, judging from appearances, who had put down
Michael Donnelly as an impoverished farmer, would have
been egregiously deceived. His neighbours knew that his
battered old cabbage-tree hat covered a head with an
.bn 102.png
.pn +1
unusual amount of brains. Uneducated and bush-bred,
he possessed intuitive powers of calculation and forecast
frequently denied to cultured individuals. Early in life he
had appropriated the fact, that in this land of boundless
pasturage, profitable up to a certain point, without the
necessity of one farthing of expenditure, the multiplication of
stock was possible to any conceivable extent. Once make a
commencement with a few cows, and it was a man’s own
fault if he died without more cattle than he could count.
Hadn’t Johnny Shore begun that way? Walked over to
Monaro with half-a-crown in his pocket. He saved his wages
for a few years and got the needful start.
Become a capitalist, his instincts revolted against spending
money needlessly, when every pound, often less, would buy
a cow, which cow would turn into fifty head of cattle in a
few years. ‘What could a man do that would pay him half
as well? Why employ labour that could be done without?
It was all very well for Mr. Willoughby, who had raised his
wages gradually from twenty pounds per annum and one
ration. Mr. Willoughby was a gentleman with a big station,
and threw his money about a bit; but why should he, Mick
Donnelly, go keeping and feeding men to put in crops when
farming didn’t pay? Therefore his fields might lie fallow
and go out of cultivation.’
His boys were getting big lumps of fellows, old enough to
help brand and muster. The girls could milk, and break in
the heifers, as well as all the men in the country. His wife
could cook—there wasn’t much of that; and wash—it didn’t
fatigue her; and sweep—that process was economised—as
well as ever. Any kind of duds did for working people, as
long as they went decent to chapel on Sundays. That they
had always done and would do, please God. But all other
occasions of spending money were wasteful and unnecessary.
The sole expenses, then, of this large family were in the
purchase of flour, tea, sugar, and clothes, none of which
articles came to an extravagant sum for the year. While
the sales were steady and considerable, Mick and his sons
drove many a lot of cattle, fat or store, to the neighbouring
markets. The profits of the dairy in butter and bacon, the
representatives of which latter product roamed in small herds
around the place, paid all the household expenses twice over;
.bn 103.png
.pn +1
while the amount of his credit balance at the Bank of New
Holland in Yass would have astonished many a tourist who
watched Mick smoking on his stock-yard rails, or riding an
unshod mare down the range after a mob of active cattle.
But now a more ambitious idea was evolved from the
yeoman’s slowly maturing, but accurate mental processes.
He had been noting the relative scale of outlay and income
of a neighbouring sheep-farmer. After certain cautious
comparisons, he fixed the conclusion that, other things being
equal, sheep would pay him better than cattle. He heard
from an old comrade of the forced sale of a sheep station in
the then half-explored, unstocked district of Monaro, lying
between the Great Range and the Snowy River. His offer
of cash, at a rate far from remunerative to the late owner,
had been accepted.
That part of his plan settled, he sold his freehold to a
neighbouring proprietor who was commencing to found an
estate, receiving rather more than double his original
purchase money. Stock being at a reasonable price,
Donnelly determined to sell off the whole of his possessions,
merely reserving his dray, team, and a sufficiency of
saddle-horses for the family. His herd had become too
numerous for the run. His boys and girls would make
shepherds and shepherdesses for a while—by no means a
picturesque occupation in Australia, but still profitable as
of old. He would be enabled to continue independent of
hired labour. He trusted to the duplication of stock to
do the rest. Hence the clearing-off sale, which a number
of farmers in the neighbourhood were likely to attend, and
to which Wilfred and his chief servitor were at present
wending their way.
On this occasion Wilfred had resisted the idea of mounting
any of the strayed horses, still numerous upon the enticing
pastures of Warbrok. Having unwittingly placed himself in
a false position, he was resolved not to repeat the impropriety.
‘Mr. Churbett had behaved most courteously,’ he said;
‘but it might have been otherwise. I was not aware that
it was other than a colonial custom. There must be no
more mistakes of this kind, Dick, or you and I shall quarrel.
Go to one of the nearest farmers and see if you can hire
me a decent hack.’
.bn 104.png
.pn +1
So Dick, though chafing at the over-delicacy which led
his master to pay for a mount while available steeds were
eating his grass, proceeded to obey orders, and shortly
returned with a substantial half-bred, upon which Wilfred
bestowed himself.
Dick Evans was always in good spirits at the prospect of
a cruise in foreign parts. Mrs. Evans, on the other hand,
was prone to dwell upon the unpleasant side of domestic
matters. Her habit of mind had doubtless resulted in the
philosophic calm with which her husband bore his frequent,
and occasionally protracted, absences from the conjugal
headquarters. As before, he mounted his old mare with a
distinct air of cheerfulness.
‘The dairy work will get along all right for a day or two,
sir,’ he said. ‘Old Andy begins to be a fairish milker—he
was dead slow at first—and Mr. Guy’s a great help bailin’
up. There’s nothing brisks me up like a jaunt somewheres—I
don’t care where it is, if it was to the Cannibal Islands.
God Almighty never intended me to stop long in one place,
I expect.’
‘A rolling stone gathers no moss, Dick,’ said Wilfred.
‘You’ll never save up anything if you carry out those ideas
always.’
‘I don’t want to save nothing, sir. I’ve no call to keep
money in a box; I can find work pretty well wherever I go
that will keep me and my old woman in full and plenty.
I’m safe of my wages as long as I can work, and when I
can’t work no more I shall die—suddent like. I’ve always
felt that.’
‘But why don’t you get a bit of land, Dick, and have a
place of your own? You could easily save enough money
to buy a farm.’
‘Bless your heart, sir, I wouldn’t live on a farm allers,
day in, day out, if you’d give me one. I should get that
sick of the place as I should come to hate the sight of it.
But hadn’t you better settle with yourself like, sir, what
kind of stock you’re agoin’ to bid for when we get to Mick’s?
There’ll be a lot of people there, and noise, and perhaps a
little fighting if there’s any grog goin’, so it’s best to be ready
for action, as old Sir Hugh Gough used to tell us.’
‘Mr. Churbett and Mr. Hamilton thought I should buy
.bn 105.png
.pn +1
all the mixed cattle, as many of them would be ready for
the butcher before winter.’
‘So they will, sir, or my name’s not Richard Evans, twice
corporal in the old 50th, and would have been sergeant, if
I’d been cleverer at my book, and not quite so clever at the
canteen. But that’s neither here nor there. What I look
at is, they’re all dairy-bred cattle, and broke in close to your
own run, which saves a power of trouble. If you can get
a hundred or two of ’em for thirty shillings or two pound
a head, they’ll pay it all back by next season—easy and
flippant.’
Finishing up with his favourite adjective, which he used
when desirous of showing with what ridiculous ease any given
result might be obtained, Mr. Richard Evans lighted his pipe
with an air of assurance of success which commenced to
infect his employer.
About mid-day they reached the abode of Michael Donnelly,
Esq., as such designated by the local papers, who
‘was about to submit to public competition his quiet and
well-bred herd of dairy cattle, his choice stud, his equipages,
farming implements, teams, carts, harness, etc., with other
articles too numerous to mention.’ Other articles there were
none, except he had decided to sell the olive branches.
Wilfred was shocked at the appearance of the homestead
of this thriving farmer. The falling fences, the neglected
orchard, the dilapidated hut, the curiously patched and
mended stock-yard, partly brush, partly of logs, with here
and there a gap, secured by a couple of rude tree-forks, with
a clumsy sapling laid across—all these did not look like the
surroundings of a man who could give his cheque for several
thousand pounds. However, the personal appearance of
Mick himself, an athletic, manly, full-bearded fellow, as also
that of his family, was decidedly prepossessing. They were
busily attending to the various classes of stock, with much
difficulty kept apart for purposes of sale. Whatever else
these Australian Celts lacked, they had been well nourished
in youth and infancy. A finer sample of youthful humanity,
physically considered, Wilfred had never seen. The lack of
order everywhere visible had in no way reacted upon their
faculties. All their lives they had known abundant nutriment,
unrestricted range. Healthful exercise had been theirs,
.bn 106.png
.pn +1
congenial labour, and diet unstinted in the great essentials.
Few other considerations had entered into the family councils.
And now they were about to migrate, like the world’s
elder children, to a land promising more room. Then, as
now, a higher life was possible, where the sheep and the
oxen, the camels and the asses, would enjoy a wider range.
The sale over, they would once more resume that journey
which, commencing soon after the marriage day of Michael
Donnelly and Bridget Joyce, was not ended yet.
Wilfred Effingham was soon confirmed in his opinion that
he had done well to attend. Many of the neighbouring
settlers were there, as well as farmers and townspeople from
Yass, brought together by the mysterious attraction of an
auction sale. One of the townspeople, asking first if he was
Mr. Effingham of Warbrok, put into his hand a note which
ran as follows:—
.pm start_quote
‘My dear Wilfred—I thought you were likely to be at
Donnelly’s sale, so I send you a line by a parishioner of mine.
I have made inquiries about the stock, and consider that
you could not do better than buy as many of the cattle as
you have grass for. They are known to be quiet, having
been used to dairy tending, and are certain to increase in
value and number, as you have so much grass at Warbrok.
Price about two pounds. A few horses would not be superfluous,
and there are some good ones in Donnelly’s lot, or
they would hardly have stood his work. Mention my name
to Mick, and say he is to let you down easy. I have
had a touch of rheumatism lately—et ego in Arcadia—there’s
no escape from old age and its infirmities in any
climate, however good, or I’d have looked you up before now.
Tell your father I’m coming over soon.—Always yours
sincerely,
.rj
Harley Sternworth.’
.pm end_quote
The hour of sale having arrived, and indeed passed, the
auctioneer, who had driven out from Yass for the purpose,
commenced his task, which he did by climbing on to the
‘cap’ of the stock-yard and rapping violently with a hammer-handled
hunting-crop. A broad-chested, stout-lunged, florid
personage was Mr. Crackemup, and if selling by auction
deserved to be ranked as one of the fine arts, he was no mean
professor.
.bn 107.png
.pn +1
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ he shouted. ‘I say ladies, for I
notice quite a number of the fair sex have honoured me with
their presence. Let me mention, in the first place, that the
owner of this valuable stock we see before us has resolved to
leave this part of the country. Yes, my friends, to leave
Gumbaragongara for good and all! Why do I mention this
fact—why do I dwell upon it? Because, ladies and gentlemen,
it makes all the difference as to the bona fide nature of
the sale which we are met together to-day to celebrate—that
is—a—to carry out—according to these written conditions.
My principal, Mr. Donnelly, with the shrewdness which has
characterised him through life, seized upon this view of the
case. “If I leave the country bodily,” he said to me, “and
sell the stock for what they’ll fetch, no one can say that I
went away and took the best with me.” No, ladies and
gentlemen, Mr. Donnelly departs to-morrow for Monaro,
taking only a dray and team, with a few riding-horses, so
that all his well-bred, quiet, beautiful herd of dairy cattle,
selected with great care from some of the best herds in the
colony [here divers of the audience grinned irreverently], I
shall have the honour of submitting to public competition
this day.
‘The first lot, ladies and gentlemen, is No. 1. Generally
so, isn’t it? Ha! ha! One hundred and fifty-four cows
and heifers, all broken to bail; most of them with calves at
foot, or about to—to—become mothers.’
Mr. Crackemup was a man of delicate ideas, so he
euphemised the maternal probabilities.
‘Any one buying this choice lot, with butter at a shilling,
and cheese not to be bought, buys a fortune. I will sell a
“run out” of twenty head, with the option of taking the
lot. “Fifteen shillings a head”—nonsense; one pound,
twenty-two and six, twenty-five-thank you, miss; thirty shillings,
thirty-five, thirty-seven and six-thank you, sir. One
pound seventeen and sixpence, once; one pound seventeen
and sixpence, twice; for the third and last time, one pound
seventeen shillings and sixpence. Gone! What name shall
I say, sir? “Howard Effingham, Warbrok Chase.” Twenty
head. Thank you, sir.’
At this critical moment the voice of Dick Evans was
heard by Wilfred, in close proximity to his ear: ‘Collar the
.bn 108.png
.pn +1
lot, sir; they’re dirt cheap; soon be in full milk. Don’t let
’em go.’
‘I believe,’ said Wilfred, raising his voice, ‘that I have the
option of taking the whole.’
‘Quite correct, sir; but if I might advise——’
‘I take the lot,’ said Wilfred decisively.
And though there was a murmur from the crowd, and one
stalwart dame said, ‘That’s not fair, thin; I med sure I’d get
a pen of springers myself,’ the auctioneer confirmed his right,
and the dairy lot became his property.
It turned out, as is often the case, that the first offered
stock were the most moderate in price. Many of the buyers
had been holding back, thinking they would go in lots of
twenty, and that better bargains might be obtained. When
they found that the stranger had carried off all the best dairy
cows, their disappointment was great.
‘Serves you right, boys,’ was heard in the big voice of the
proprietor; ‘if you had bid up like men, instead of keeping
dark, you’d have choked the cove off taking the lot. Serves
you all dashed well right.’
The remaining lots of cattle consisted of weaners, two and
three-year-old steers and heifers. Of fat cattle the herd had
been pretty well ‘scraped,’ as Donnelly called it, before the
sale. For most of these the bidding was so brisk and spirited
that Wilfred thought himself lucky in securing forty steers at
twenty-five shillings, which completed his drove, and were
placed in the yard with the cows.
Then came the horses; nearly a hundred all told—mares,
colts, fillies, yearlings, with aged or other riding-horses.
These last Donnelly excused himself for selling by the statement
that if he took them to Monaro half of them would be
lost trying to get back to where they had been bred, and
that between stock-riders and cattle-stealers his chance of
regaining them would be small.
‘There they are,’ he said; ‘there’s some as good blood
among them as ever was inside a horse-skin. They’re there
to be sold.’
The spirit of speculation was now aroused in Wilfred, or
he would not have bought, as he did, half-a-dozen of the
best mares, picking them by make and shape, and a general
look of breeding. They were middle-sized animals, more
.bn 109.png
.pn +1
like Arabs than the offspring of English thoroughbreds, but
with a look of caste and quality, their legs and feet being
faultless, their heads good, and shoulders fair. They fell to
a bid of less than ten pounds each, and with foals at foot,
Wilfred thought they could not be dear.
‘Them’s the old Gratis lot,’ said Mr. Donnelly. ‘I
bought ’em from Mr. Busfield when they was fillies. You
haven’t made a bad pick for a new hand, sir. I wish you
luck with ’em.’
‘I hope so,’ said Wilfred. ‘If you breed horses at all,
they may as well be good ones.’ As he turned away he
caught the query from a bystander—
‘Why, you ain’t going to sell old Barragon?’
‘Yes, I am,’ said Mick, who was evidently not a man of
sentiment; ‘all fences in the country wouldn’t keep him
away from these parts. He’s in mostly runs near the lake,
and eats more of that gentleman’s grass than mine. He
don’t owe me nothin’.’
‘You buy that horse, sir,’ said Dick, who was acting the
part of a moral Mephistopheles. ‘He’s as old as Mick, very
near, and as great a dodger after cattle. But you can’t throw
him down, and the beast don’t live that can get away from
him on a camp.’
Wilfred turned and beheld a very old, grey horse cornered
off, and standing with his ears laid back, listening apparently
to Mr. Crackemup’s commendations.
‘Here you have, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Donnelly’s
favourite riding-horse Barragon, an animal, he informs me,
that has done some of the most wonderful feats ever credited
to a horse in any country—some exploits, indeed, which he
scarcely likes to tell of. [‘I’ll be bound he don’t,’ drawled
out a long, brown-faced bystander.] You have heard the
reasons assigned for disposing of him here, rather than, as of
course he would prefer to do, still keeping him attached to
the fortunes of the family. His instinct is so strong, his intelligence
so great, ladies and gentlemen, that he would
unerringly find his way back from the farthest point of the
Monaro district. What shall I say for him?’
‘May as well have him, sir,’ said his counsellor. ‘He’ll
go cheap. He’ll always stick to the lake; and if any one else
gets him, they’ll be wanting us to run him in, half the time.’
.bn 110.png
.pn +1
Wilfred looked at the horse. The type was one to which
he had not been accustomed—neither a roadster, a hunter,
a hackney, nor a harness horse—he was sui generis, the
true Australian stock-horse, now rarely seen, and seldom up
to the feats and performances of which grizzled veterans of
the stock-whip love to tell.
No one with an eye for a horse could look at the war-worn
screw without interest. A long, low horse, partaking
more of the Arab type than the English, he possessed the
shapes which make for endurance, and more than ordinary
speed. The head was lean and well shaped, with a well-opened,
still bright eye. The neck was arched, though not
long; but the shoulder, to a lover of horses, was truly magnificent.
Muscular, fairly high in the wither, and remarkably
oblique, it permitted the freest action possible, while
the rider who sat behind such a formation might enjoy a
feeling of security far beyond the average. Battered and
worn, no doubt, were the necessary supports, by cruelly
protracted performances of headlong speed and wayfaring.
Yet the flat cannon-bones, the iron hoofs, the tough tendons,
had withstood the woeful hardships to which they had been
subjected, with less damage than might have been expected.
The knees slightly bent forward, the strained ligaments,
showed partial unsoundness, yet was there no tangible
‘break down.’ What must such a horse have been in his
colthood—in his prime?
A sudden feeling of pity arose in Wilfred’s heart as he
ran his eye critically over the scarred veteran. At a small
price he would, no doubt, be a good investment, old as he
was. He would be reasonably useful; and as a matter of
charity one might do worse alms before Heaven than save
one of the most gallant of God’s creatures from closing his
existence in toil and suffering. Mick’s neighbours not
being more sentimental than himself, Wilfred found himself
the purchaser of the historical courser at a price considerably
under five pounds.
‘By George! I’m glad you’ve got him, mister,’ said Mr.
Donnelly, with vicarious generosity. ‘I’m not rich enough
to pension him, and the money he’s fetched, put into a cow,
will be something handsome in ten years. But he’s a long
ways from broke down yet; and you’ll have your money’s
.bn 111.png
.pn +1
worth out of him, with luck, before he kicks the bucket.
You’d better ride him home, and I’ll send my boy Jack with
you as far as Benmohr. He’ll lead Bob Jones’s moke, that
you rode here, and leave him in Argyll and Hamilton’s
paddock till he’s sent for. You’d as well get off with your
mob, if you want to get to Benmohr before dark.’
Wilfred recognised the soundness of this advice, and in
a few minutes afterwards found himself upon Barragon.
While Dick Evans promptly let out the cattle, Jack Donnelly,
a brown-faced young centaur, riding a half-broken colt, and
leading his late mount, commanded two eager cattle dogs
to ‘fetch ’em up.’ The drove went off at a smart pace, and
in five minutes they were out of sight of the yard, the farm,
and the crowd, jogging freely along a well-marked track,
which Dick stated to be the road to Benmohr.
This cheerful pace was, however, not kept up. The
steers at the ‘head’ of the drove were inclined to go even
too fast. It was necessary to restrain their ardour. The
cows and calves became slow, obstinate, and disposed to
spread, needing all the shouting of Dick and young Donnelly,
as well as the personal violence of the latter’s dogs, to keep
them going. Wilfred rejoiced that he had obeyed the
impulse to possess himself of old Barragon, when he found
with what ease and comfort he was carried by the trained
stock-horse in these embarrassing circumstances. Finally
the weather changed, and it commenced to rain in the face
of the cortège. Dick once or twice alluded to the uncertainty
which would exist as to their getting all the cattle
again if anything occurred to cause their loss this night.
Lastly, just as matters began to look dark, Wilfred descried
Benmohr.
The ‘semi-detached’ cottage which did duty as a spare
bedroom had an earthen floor, and was not an ornate
apartment; still, a blazing fire gave it an air of comfort after
the chill evening air. Needful toilet requisites were provided,
and the manifest cleanliness of the bed and belongings
guaranteed a sound night’s rest.
Upon entering the cottage, along a raised stone causeway,
pointed out by Mr. Hamilton, Wilfred found his former
acquaintance Mr. Argyll, and Mr. Churbett, with a
neighbour, who was introduced as Mr. Forbes. The table
.bn 112.png
.pn +1
was already laid, and furnished with exceeding neatness for
the evening meal. A glowing fire burned in the ample stone
chimney, and as the three gentlemen rose to greet him,
Wilfred thought he had never seen a more successful union
of plainness of living, with the fullest measure of comfort.
‘You have made the port just in time,’ remarked Argyll;
‘the rain is coming down heavily, and the night is as black
as a wolf’s throat. You seem to have bought largely at
Donnelly’s sale.’
‘All the dairy cows and heifers, and a few steers for
fattening,’ answered Wilfred. ‘I suppose we might have
had some trouble in collecting them if they had got away
from us to-night.’
‘So much that you might have never seen half of them
again,’ said Mr. Churbett promptly. ‘You would have been
hunting for them for weeks, and picked them up “in twos
and threes and mobs of one,” as I did my Tumut store
cattle, that broke away the first night I got them home.’
Wilfred felt in a condition to do ample justice to the
roast chicken and home-cured ham, and even essayed a
shaving of the goodly round of beef, which graced one end
of the table. After concluding with coffee, glorified with
delicious cream, Wilfred, as they formed a circle round the
fire, came to the conclusion, either that it was the best
dinner he had eaten in the whole course of his life, or else
that he had never been quite so hungry before.
In despite of Mrs. Teviot’s admonitions, none of the party
sought their couches much before midnight. There was a
rubber of whist—perhaps two. There was much general
conversation afterwards, including literary discussion. One
of the features of the apartment was a well-filled bookcase.
Finally, when Mr. Hamilton escorted Wilfred to his chamber,
he said, ‘You needn’t bother about getting up early to-morrow.
Trust old Dick to have the cattle away at sunrise;
he and the boy can drive them easily now, till you overtake
them. We breakfast about nine o’clock, and Fred Churbett
will keep you company in lying up.’
The night was murky and drizzling; the morning would
probably resemble it. Wilfred was tired. He knew that
Dick would be up and away with the dawn. He himself
wished to consult his new friends about points of practice
.bn 113.png
.pn +1
germane to his present position. On the whole he thought
he could safely take Mr. Hamilton’s advice.
His slumbers that night, in bed-linen fragrant as Ailie
Dinmont’s, were deep and dreamless. Surely it could not
have been morning, it was so dark, and still raining, when
he heard knocking at a window, and a voice thrice repeat
the words, ‘Maister Hamilton, are ye awauk?’ but the words
melted away—a luxurious drowsiness overpowered his senses.
The rain’s measured fall and tinkling plash changed into the
mill-wheel dash of his childhood’s wonder in Surrey. When
he awoke, the sky was dark, but there was the indefinable
sensation that it was not very early. So he dressed, and
beholding a large old pair of ‘clodhoppers’ standing temptingly
near, he bestowed himself in them and cautiously made
towards the milking-yard. He looked across to the enclosure
where his cattle had been during the previous night.
It was a smooth and apparently deep sea of liquid mud, so
sincerely churned had it been during the wet night. He
felt grieved for the discomfort of the poor cattle, but relieved
to know that they had been hours before on the grass, and
were well on their way to Warbrok Chase.
At the milking-yard he saw a sight which had never
before met his eyes. The morning’s work had apparently
been just completed. Argyll was walking towards the dairy,
a pisé building with thick, earthen walls. He carried two
immense cans full to the brim with milk. Hamilton was
wading through the yard behind about sixty cows and calves,
which were stolidly ploughing through a lake of liquid mud.
As they quitted the rough stone causeway, they appeared to
drop with reluctance into a species of slough. An elderly
Scot, approaching the type of Andrew Cargill, was labouring,
nearly knee-deep, solemnly after. He and Mr. Hamilton
were splashed from head to foot; it would have been a
delicate task to recognise either. The latter, coming to a
pool of water, deliberately walked in, thus purifying both
boot and lower leg.
‘Muddy work, this milking in wet weather,’ said he
calmly, scraping a piece of caked mud about the size of a
cheese-plate from the breast of his serge shirt. ‘It would
need to pay well, for it is exceedingly disagreeable.’
‘Very much so, indeed, I should think,’ assented Wilfred,
.bn 114.png
.pn +1
rather shocked. ‘I had no idea that dairy work on a large
scale could be so unpleasant.’
‘Ours is perhaps more mud-larking than most people’s,’
said Mr. Hamilton reflectively, ‘chiefly from the richness of
the soil, so we endure it. But you must look into the cheese-room—the
bright side of the affair financially.’
Wilfred was much impressed with the dairy, a substantial,
thatched edifice, having a verandah on four sides. The
pisé walls—nearly two feet thick—were of earth, rammed in
a wooden frame after a certain formula.
‘Here is the best building on the station,’ said his guide.
‘We reared this noble pile ourselves, in the days of our
colonial inexperience, entirely by the directions contained
in a book, with the aid of old Wullie and our emigrant
labourers. After we became more “Australian” and “less
nice” we took to slabs. It was quicker work, but our
architecture suffered.’
In one portion of this building were rows of milk-vessels,
while ranged on shelves one above another, and occupying
three sides of the building, were hundreds of fair, round,
orthodox-looking cheeses, varying in colour from pale yellow
to orange. They presented an appearance more akin to
a midland county farm than an Australian cattle-station.
‘There, you see the compensation for early rising, wet
feet, and mud-plastering. We have a ready sale for twice
as many cheeses as Mrs. Teviot can turn out, at a very
paying price. Her double Stiltons are famed for their
richness and maturity. We pay a large part of the station
expenses in this way; besides, what is of more importance,
improving the cattle, by keeping the herd quiet and promoting
their aptitude to fatten.’
‘You have no sheep, I think?’ inquired Wilfred.
‘No; but we breed horses on rather a large scale. I must
show you my pet, Camerton, by and by. Now I must
dress for breakfast, for which I daresay you are quite ready.’
After a reasonable interval the partners appeared neatly
attired, though still in garments adapted for station work.
It was an exceedingly cheerful meal, the proverbial Scottish
breakfast, admitted to be unsurpassable—devilled chicken
and grilled bones, alternated with the incomparable round of
beef, which had excited Wilfred’s admiration on the preceding
.bn 115.png
.pn +1
day. Piles of boiled eggs, and such a jug of cream! fresh
butter, short-cake, and the unfailing oatmeal porridge completed
the fare, to which Wilfred, after his observations and
inquiries, felt himself fully qualified to do justice.
‘Well, Charles,’ said Mr. Churbett, desisting from a sustained
attack upon the toast and eggs, ‘how do you feel
after your day’s work? What an awful number of hours
you have been up and doing! That’s what makes you so
frightfully arrogant. It’s the comparison of yourself with
ordinary mortals like me, for instance, who lie in bed.’
‘You certainly do take it easy, Master Fred,’ returned
Hamilton, ‘to an extent I cannot hope to imitate. Every
man to his taste, you know. You have a well-grassed, well-watered,
open country at The She-oaks; once get your cattle
there and they are no trouble to look after. Nature has
done so much that I am afraid—as in South America—man
does very little.’
‘Shows his sense,’ asserted Mr. Churbett calmly. ‘Don’t
you be imposed upon, Effingham, by these people here;
they have a mania for bodily labour, and all sorts of unsuitable
employment. I didn’t come out to Australia to be a
navvy or a ploughman; I could have found similar situations
at home. I go in for the true pastoral life—an Arab steed,
a tent, cool claret, and a calm supervision of other men’s
labours.’
‘Did the Sheik Ibrahim drink claret, or go to the theatre,
leaving his flocks and herds to the Bedaween?’ said Mr.
Forbes. ‘Some people appear to be able to combine the
pleasures of all religions with the duties of none.’
‘Smart antithesis, James,’ said Churbett approvingly.
‘I’ll take another cup of tea, please, to keep. I’m going to
read Sydney Smith in the verandah after breakfast. Yes,
I am proud of that theatre exploit. Few people would have
nerve for it.’
‘You would have needed all your nerve if you had found
a hundred and fifty fat cattle scattered and gone next
morning,’ said Mr. Forbes, a quietly sarcastic personage.
‘But they were not gone, my dear fellow; what’s the use
of absurd suppositions? We got back before daylight. Not
a beast had left the camp. Now there are a great many
people who would never have thought of doing that.’
.bn 116.png
.pn +1
‘I should say not,’ said Hamilton. ‘Fred, your natural
advantages will be the death of you yet. Come with me,
Effingham, if you want to see the dam and the old horse.
They are our show exhibits, and we are rather proud of them.’
Walking through the garden to the lower end of the slope
upon which the homestead of Benmohr was built, Wilfred
saw that the course of the creek, dignified with the name of
a river, had been arrested by a wide and solid embankment,
half-way up the broad breast of which a sheet of deep, clear
water came, while for a greater distance than the eye could
reach along its winding course was a far-stretching reservoir,
lake-like, reed-bordered, and half-covered with wild-fowl.
‘Here you see our greatest difficulty, Effingham, and our
greatest triumph. When we took up this run a shallow
stream ran in winter and spring, but in summer it was
invariably dry. This exposed us to expense, even loss. So
we resolved to construct a dam. We did so, at some cost in
hired labour; a spring flood washed it away. Next year we
tried again, and the same result followed. Then the neighbours
pitied and “I told you so’d” us to such an extent that
we felt that dam must be made and rendered permanent.
We had six months’ work at it last summer; during most of
the time I did navvy work, wheeling my barrow up and down
a plank like the others. It was a stiff job. I invented
additions, and faced it with stone. That fine sheet of water
is the result of it; I believe it will stand now till the millennium,
or the alteration of the land laws.’
‘I quite envy you,’ said Wilfred. ‘A conflict with natural
forces is always exciting. I am quite of your opinion; the
great advantage of this Australian life is that a man enjoys
the permission of society to work with his hands as well as
his head.’
Leaving the water for an isolated wooden building in the
neighbourhood of the offices, Mr. Hamilton opened the
upper half of a stable-door and discovered to view a noble,
dark chestnut thoroughbred in magnificent condition.
‘Here is one of my daily tasks,’ said he, removing the
gallant animal’s sheet and patting his neck. ‘In this case
it is a labour of love, as I am passionately fond of horses,
and have a theory of my own about breeding which I am
trying to carry out. Isn’t he a beauty?’
.bn 117.png
.pn +1
Wilfred, looking at the satin skin of the grand animal
before him, thought he had rarely seen his equal.
‘You observe,’ said Hamilton, ‘in this sire, if I mistake
not, characteristics not often seen in English studs. Camerton
combines the perfect symmetry, the beauty and matchless
constitution of the desert Arab with the size and bone of the
English thoroughbred.’
‘He does give me that idea, precisely,’ said Wilfred.
‘Wonderful make and shape. His back rib has the cask-like
roundness of the true Arab; and what legs and feet!
Looking at him you see an enlarged Arab.’
‘His grand-dam was a daughter of The Sheik, an Arab
of the purest Seglawee strain of the Nejed, imported from
India many years ago by a cavalry officer, whose charger he
was. He has besides the Whisker, Gratis, and Emigrant
blood. In him we have at once the horse of the new and
of the old world—the size and strength of the Camerton
type, the symmetry of the Arab, and such legs and feet as
might have served Abdjar, the steed of Antar.’
When they re-entered the cottage they saw Mr. Churbett,
who had intended to go home that morning, but finding the
witty Canon such pleasant reading, thought he would start
in the afternoon, finally making up his mind to stay another
day and leave punctually after breakfast. There was nothing
to do—he observed—and no one to talk to, when he did get
home, so there was the less reason for haste.
‘You had better stay, Fred, and go with me to Yass,’
suggested Argyll. ‘I am going there next week, and I daresay
you have some business there.’
‘I believe I have; indeed, I know that I have been putting
off something old Billy Rockley blew me up about last month,
and I’ll go in with you and get it over. But I won’t stay
now. I’ll go to-morrow, or my stock-rider will think I’m
lost and take to embezzling my bullocks, instead of stealing
my neighbour’s calves, which is his duty to do. One must
keep up discipline.’
After lunch Wilfred mounted his ancient charger and
departed along the track to Warbrok, Mr. Churbett volunteering
to show him the way past divers snares for the unwary,
yclept ‘turn-off’ roads.
‘These two fellows,’ said he, ‘have no end of what they
.bn 118.png
.pn +1
call duties to perform before nightfall, and can’t be spared
of course; but I can spare myself easily, and give Duellist
exercise besides.’
Presently Mr. Churbett, who was a very neat figure,
having assumed breeches and boots, appeared mounted
upon a magnificent bay horse, the finest hackney, in appearance,
which Wilfred had yet seen. A bright bay with black
points, showing no white but a star in the centre of his
broad forehead; he stood at least fifteen hands three inches
in height, with all the appearance of high caste and courage.
As they started he showed signs of impatience, and then,
arching his neck, set off at a remarkably fast walk, which
caused Barragon’s stock-horse jog to appear slow and ungraceful.
‘What a glorious hackney!’ said Wilfred, half enviously.
‘Did you breed him?’
‘No, don’t breed horses; too much expense and bother.
Fools breed—that is, enthusiasts—and wise men buy. He’s
a Wanderer, bred by Rowan of Pechelbah. Got him rather
cheap about six months ago; gave five-and-twenty pounds
for him. The man that did breed him, of course, couldn’t
afford to ride him; thought he had others as good at home,
which I take leave to doubt.’
‘I should think so! What a price for a horse of his
figure—five years old, you say, and clean thoroughbred. A
gift! Is he fast?’
‘Pretty well. I shall run him for the Maiden Plate at
Yass Races. And now, do you see that turn-off road? Well,
don’t turn off; by and by you will come to another; follow
it, and you will have no further chance of losing your way.
I’ll say good-afternoon.’
His amusing friend turned, and as Duellist’s hoofs died
away in the distance, Wilfred took the old horse by the
head and sent him along at a hand-gallop, only halting
occasionally until, just as the dusk was impending, the
far-gleaming waters of the lake came into view. Dick had
arrived hours before, and had all his charge secured in the
now creditable stock-yard. The absentee was welcomed with
enthusiasm by the whole family, who appeared to think he
had been away for months, to judge by the warmth of their
greetings.
.bn 119.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VII | TOM GLENDINNING, STOCK-RIDER
.sp 2
‘Come in at once, this moment, and tell us all about everybody,’
said Annabel; ‘tea is nearly ready, and we are
hungry for news, and even just a little gossip. Have you enjoyed
yourself and seen many new people? What a fine
thing it is to be a man!’
‘I have seen all the world, like the little bird that flew
over the garden wall. I have enjoyed myself very much,
have bought a few horses and many cattle, also spent a
very pleasant evening at Benmohr. Where shall I begin?’
‘Oh, about the people of course; you can come to the
other things later on. People are the only topics of interest
to us. And oh, what do you think? We have seen
strangers too. More wonderful still, a lady. What will you
give me if I describe her to you?’
‘Don’t feel interested in a sketch of a lady visitor,’ said
Wilfred. ‘A description of a good cheese-press, if you
could find one, would be nearer the mark.’
‘You would not speak in that way if you had seen Mrs.
Snowden,’ said Rosamond, ‘unless you are very much
changed.’
‘She is a wonder, and a paragon, of course; did she
grow indigenously?’
‘She’s so sweet-looking,’ said Annabel impetuously; ‘she
rode such a nice horse too, very well turned out, as you
would say. She talks French and German; she has
travelled, and been everywhere. And yet they have only a
small station, and she sometimes has to do housework—there
now!’
.bn 120.png
.pn +1
‘What a wonderful personage! And monsieur—is he
worthy of so much perfection?’
‘He’s a gentlemanlike man, rather good-looking, who made
himself agreeable. Rosamond has been asked to go and stay
with them. Really, the place seems full of nice people. Did
you see or hear of any more?’
‘Yes; now I come to think of it, I heard of two more,
great friends of Argyll and Hamilton and of Mr. Churbett,
whom I saw there. Their names are D’Oyley; Bryson, the
younger brother, is a poet; at any rate these are some of his
verses which Mr. Churbett handed to me apropos of our lives
here, shutting out all thoughts but the austerely practical.
Yes; I haven’t lost them.’
‘So you talk of cheese-presses and bring home poetry! Is
that your idea of the practical? I vote that Rosamond reads
them out while we are having tea. Gracious! Ever so many
verses.’
‘They seem original; and not so many of one’s neighbours
could write them in any part of the world,’ said Rosamond.
‘I will read them out, if Annabel will promise not to interrupt
in the midst of the most pathetic part.’
‘I am all attention,’ said Annabel, throwing herself into an
easy-chair. ‘I wonder what sort of a man Mr. D’Oyley is,
and what coloured eyes he has. I like to know all about
authors.’
‘Never saw him; go on, Rosamond,’ said Wilfred, and the
elder sister, thus adjured, commenced—
.ce
A FRAGMENT
.pm start_poem
Deem we our waking dreams
But shadows from the deep;
And do the offspring of the mind
In barrenness descend
To an eternal sleep?
Each print of Beauty’s feet
Leads upward to her throne;
For every thought by conscience bless’d,
Benignant virtue yields
A jewel from her zone.
*\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ *\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ *\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ *\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ *
.bn 121.png
.pn +1
The rainbow hath its cloud,
The seasons gird the sphere,
We know their time and place, but thou,
Whence art thou, Child of Light,
And what thy mission here?
Like meteor stars that stream
Adown the dark obscure,
Didst thou descend from angel homes,
To bless with angel joys
Abodes less bright and pure?
Thy beauty and thy love
May mortal transports share,
Aspire with quivering wings to reach
The spirits of thy thought
That breathe celestial air.
Thou art no child of Earth.
Earth’s fairest children weep
That o’er affection’s sweetest lyre,
By phantom minstrels stirred,
Unhallowed strains will sweep.
While zephyr-wings may guard,
The rose its bloom retains;
The autumn blast o’er sere leaves wails;
Upon the naked stem
The thorn alone remains.
*\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ *\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ *\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ *\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ *
The sun-rays scattered far
Seek now the parent breast,
In gentler glory gathering o’er
The floating isles that speck
The landscape of the West.
Mute visitants! their smiles
A fleeting welcome bear,
Light on thy form the glad beams play,
And mingling with its folds
Curl down thy golden hair.
Methinks, as standing thus
Against the glowing sky,
That shadowy form, faint-tinged with gold,
And raptured face, recall
A dream of days gone by.
.bn 122.png
.pn +1
Glimpses of shadows past,
That boyhood’s mind pursued,
In curious wonder shaping forth
Its visions of the pure,
The beautiful, the good.
Till, like the moon’s full orb
Above the silent sea,
One Form expanding bright arose,
And fancy’s mirror showed
An image like to thee.
Of headlong hopes that spurned
The curb of destiny,
When my soul asked what most it craved,
Still, still, the mirror showed
An image like to thee.
.pm end_poem
‘I think they are beautiful and uncommon,’ said Annabel
decidedly; ‘only I don’t understand what he means.’
‘Obscurity is a quality he has in common with distinguished
latter-day poets,’ said Wilfred. ‘Commencing with the ideal,
he has finished with the real and personal, as happens much
in life. I think “A Fragment” is refined, thoughtful, and
truly poetic in feeling.’
‘So do I,’ agreed Rosamond. ‘Mr. Bryson D’Oyley is no
every-day squatter, I was going to say, but as all our neighbours
seem to be distinguished people, we must agree that he is fully
up to the average of cattlemen, as they call themselves.’
‘I must tell Mrs. Snowden about the cheese-press simile.
You will be ready to commit suicide after you have seen her.’
‘Then I must keep out of her way. Rosamond, suppose
you sing something. I have not heard a piano since I left.’
‘Mrs. Snowden tried it, and sang “Je n’aimerai, jamais.”
Her voice was not wonderful, but it is easy to see what
thorough training she has had.’
‘There is a forfeit for any one who mentions Mrs. Snowden
again this evening,’ said Mrs. Effingham. ‘We must not
have her spread out over our daily life, fascinating as I grant
her to be. Beatrice and Annabel have been learning a new
duet, which they will sing after Rosamond. I think you will
like it, and this is such a charming room to sing in.’
‘That’s one advantage belonging to this old house,’ said
Rosamond, ‘our music-room is perfect. It is quite a pleasure
.bn 123.png
.pn +1
to hear one’s voice in it; and when we do furnish the dining-room,
if we are ever inclined to give a party—a most unlikely
thing at present—it is large enough to hold all the people in
the district.’
.tb
During the following week the men of the family occupied
themselves in branding and regulating the new cattle. A
portion of these, having young calves at foot, were at once
amalgamated with the dairy herd. This being accomplished,
it was apparent that some division must be made between the
old and the new cattle. There were too many of them to be
mixed up in one herd, and the steers, in close quarters, were
not good for the health of the cows and smaller cattle. From
all this it resulted that the oracle (otherwise Dick), being
consulted, made response that a stock-rider must be procured
who would look after all the cattle, other than the milch kine,
and ‘break them into the Run.’
Wilfred was inclined to be opposed to this project, but
reflected that if any were lost, it would soon amount to
more than a man’s wages; also, that the labour of the dairy,
with the rapid increase of the O’Desmond cattle, was
becoming heavier, and required all Guy’s and Andrew’s
attention to keep it in order.
‘For what time would a stock-rider be required?’ he
asked.
‘Why, you see, sir,’ said Dick, ‘these here cattle, if
they’re not watched for the next three months, may give us
the slip, and be back among the ranges, at Mick’s place,
where they was bred, afore you could say Jack Robinson.
You and I couldn’t leave the dairy, and the calves coming so
fast, if we was never to see ’em again.’
‘I understand,’ said Wilfred; ‘but how are we to pick
up a stock-rider such as you describe? I suppose we shall
have to pay him forty or fifty pounds a year.’
‘I don’t know as we should, sir. There’s a man, if we
could get hold on him, as would jest do for the work and
the place. I heard of him being in Yass last week, finishing
his cheque, and if you’ll let me away to-morrow, I’ll fetch
him back with me next day, most likely. He’ll come
reasonable for wages; he used to live here, in the old
Colonel’s time, and knows every inch of the country.’
.bn 124.png
.pn +1
‘Very well, Dick, you can go. I daresay we can manage
the dairy for a day.’
On the next morning, after milking-time, Mr. Richard
Evans presented himself in review order, when, holding his
mare by the bridle, he asked for the advance of two pounds
sterling, for expenses, and so on.
‘You see, I want a pair of boots, Mr. Wilfred, and I may
as well get ’em in Yass while I’m about it.’
‘Oh, certainly,’ assented Wilfred, thinking that he never
saw the veteran look more respectable. ‘The air of
Warbrok agrees with you, Dick; I never saw you look
better.’
‘Work allers did agree with me, sir,’ he answered modestly,
unhitching his bridle with a slight appearance of haste, as
Mrs. Evans came labouring up and glanced suspiciously
at the notes which he placed in his pocket.
‘I hope he’ll look as well when he comes back,’ said she,
with a meaning glance; ‘but if he and that old rascal Tom
gets together, they’ll ——’
‘Never you mind, old woman,’ interrupted Dick, riding
off, ‘you look after them young pigs and give ’em the skim
milk reg’lar. Tom Glendinning and I’ll be here to-morrow
night, if I can find him.’
Mrs. Evans raised her hand in what might be accepted
as a warning or a threatening gesture, and Wilfred, wondering
at the old woman’s manner, betook himself to his daily
duties.
‘A grumbling old creature,’ he soliloquised. ‘I don’t
wonder that Dick is glad to get away from her tongue.
She ought to be pleased that he should have a holiday
occasionally.’
On the morning following Richard Evans’s departure,
extra exertion was entailed upon Wilfred and Guy, as also
upon Andrew Cargill, by reason of their having to divide
the milking of his proportion of the cows among them. As
Dick was a rapid and exhaustive operator, his absence was
felt, if not regretted. As they returned from the troublesome
task, a full hour later than usual, Wilfred consoled
himself by the thought that the next day would find this
indispensable personage at his post.
‘I wadna hae thocht,’ confessed Andrew, ‘that the auld,
.bn 125.png
.pn +1
rough-tongued carle’s absence could hae made siccan a
camstairy. But he’s awfu’ skeely wi’ thae wild mountain
queys, and kens brawly hoo tae daiker them. It’s no said
for naught that the children o’ the warld are wiser in their
generation than the children o’ licht. He’ll be surely back
the morn’s morn.’
Explaining Dick’s eminence in the milking-yard by this
classification, and undoubtedly including himself in the
latter category, Andrew betook himself to an outer apartment,
where the scrupulous Jeanie had provided full means
of ablution.
The next day passed without the appearance of the confidential
retainer. Another, and yet another. In default
of his aid, Wilfred exerted himself to the utmost and succeeded
in getting through the ordinary work; yet a sense
of incompleteness pervaded the establishment. Ready-witted,
tireless, and perfect in all the minor attainments of
Australian country life, Dick was a man to be missed in a
hundred ways in an establishment like Warbrok Chase.
New cows had calved and required milking for the first
time. One of them had shown unexpected ferocity; indeed,
knocking over Andrew, and disabling his right arm.
‘The old fellow may have had an accident,’ suggested
Mr. Effingham; ‘I suppose such things occur on these
wild roads; or he may have indulged in an extra glass or
two.’
‘I said as much to that old wife of his,’ said Wilfred,
‘but she grumbled something about the devil taking care of
his own; he would be back when he had had his “burst”—whatever
that means—and that he and that old villain
Tom Glendinning would turn up at the end of this week or
next, whenever their money was done.’
‘Why, if there isn’t old Dick coming along the road now,’
said Guy; ‘that’s his mare, anyhow, I know the switch of her
tail. There’s a man on a grey horse with him.’
In truth, as the two horsemen came nearer along the
undulating forest road, it became apparent that their regretted
Richard, and no other, was returning to his family
and friends. His upright seat in the saddle could be
plainly distinguished as he approached on the old bay mare.
The London dealer’s phrase of a ‘good ride and drive
.bn 126.png
.pn +1
horse’ held good in her case, as she came along at her
usual pace of a quick-stepping walk, with her head down
and her hind legs brought well under her at every stride.
The other horseman rode behind, not caring apparently to
quicken the unmistakable ‘stockman’s jog’ of his wiry, high-boned
grey horse. His lounging seat was in strong contrast
to his companion’s erect bearing, but it told of the stock-rider’s
long days and nights passed in the saddle. Not
unlike the courser of Mazeppa was his hardy steed in more
than one respect.
.pm start_poem
Shaggy and swift and strong of limb,
All Tartar-like he carried him.
.pm end_poem
The Arab blood, which old Tom’s charger displayed, prevented
any particular shagginess; but in the bright eye, the
lean head, the sure unfaltering step, as well as in the power
of withstanding every kind of climate, upon occasion, upon
severely restricted sustenance, ‘Boney’ might have vied with
the Hetman’s, or any other courser that
.pm start_poem
... grazed at ease
Beside the swift Borysthenes.
.pm end_poem
Such in appearance, and so mounted, were the horsemen
who now approached. Their mode of accost was characteristic.
Dick rode up straight till within a few paces of his
employer, when he briskly dismounted, and stood erect,
making the ordinary salute.
The effects of the week’s dissipation were plainly visible
in the veteran’s countenance, gallant as were his efforts to
combine intrepidity with the respectful demeanour of discipline.
A bruise under one eye, with other discolorations,
somewhat marred the effect of his steady gaze, while a
tremulous muscular motion could not be concealed.
‘How is this, Evans?’ said his commander; ‘you have
broken your leave, and put us to much inconvenience;
what have you been doing with yourself all this time?’
‘Got drunk, Captain!’ replied the veteran, with military
brevity, and another salute of regulation correctness.
‘I am sorry to hear it, Richard,’ said Mr. Effingham.
‘You appear to have had a skirmish also, and to have
.bn 127.png
.pn +1
suffered in engagement. I daresay it will act as a caution
to you for the future.’
‘Did me a deal of good—begging your honour’s pardon—though
I didn’t ought to have promised to come back next
day. I was that narvous at breakfast afore I went that I
couldn’t scarce abear to hear the old woman’s voice. I’ll be
as right as a Cheshire recruit till Christmas now. But I’ve
done the outpost duty I was told off for, and brought Tom
Glendinning. He’s willin’ to engage for ten shillin’ a week
and his keep, and his milkin’s worth that any day.’
The individual addressed moved up his elderly steed,
and touching his hat with a faint flavour of the gentleman’s
servant habitude long past, fixed upon the group the
gleaming eyes which surmounted his hollow cheek. The
face itself was bronzed, well-nigh blackened out of all resemblance
to that of a white man. Trousers of a kind of
fustian, buttressed with leather under the knees and other
places (apparently for resisting the friction involved by a life
in the saddle), protected his attenuated limbs. The frame
of the man was lean and shrunken. He had a worn and
haggard look, as if labour, privation, and the indulgence of
evil passions had wrecked the frail tenement of a soul. Yet
was there a wiry look about the figure—a dauntless glitter
in the keen eyes which told that their possessor could yet
play a man’s part on earth before he went to his allotted
place. A footsore dog with a rough coat and no particular
tail had by this time limped up to the party and lay down
under the horses’ feet.
‘Are you willing to engage with me on the terms mentioned
by Richard Evans?’ asked Mr. Effingham. ‘You are
acquainted with this place, I believe?’
‘I was here,’ answered the ancient stock-rider, ‘when the
Colonel first got a grant of Warbrok from the Crown. A lot
of us Government men was sent up with the overseer, Ben
Grindham, to clear a paddock for corn, where all that horehound
grows now. We had a row over the rations—he
drove us like niggers, and starved us to boot (more by
token, it’s little we had to ate)—and big Jim Baker knocked
his head in with an axe, blast him! He was always a fool.
I seen him carried to the old hut where you see them big
stones—part of the chimney, they wor.’
.bn 128.png
.pn +1
‘Good heavens!’ said Wilfred. ‘And what was done?’
‘Jim was hanged, all reg’lar, as soon as they could get
him back to Sydney. We was all “turned in to Government,”’
said the chronicler. ‘After a bit, the Colonel got me back for
groom, so I stayed here till my time was out. I know the
old place (I had ought to), every rod of it, back to the big
Bindarra.’
‘You can milk well, I believe?’
‘He can do most things, sir,’ said Dick, comprehensively
guaranteeing his friend, and mounting his mare, he motioned
to the old fellow, who had just commenced to emit a derisive
chuckle from his toothless gums, to follow him. ‘If you’ll
s’cuse us now, sir, we’ll go home and get freshened up a
bit. Tom won’t be right till he’s had a sleep. He’s
hardly had his boots off for a week. You’ll see us at the
yard in the morning all right, sir, never fear.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’ve come back, Dick,’ said Guy;
‘we’ve missed you awfully. The heifers are too much for
Andrew. However, it’s all right now, so the sooner you get
home and make yourself comfortable the better.’
This suggestion, as the ancient prodigals ambled away
together, caused old Dick to grin doubtfully. ‘I’ve got to
have it out with my old woman yet, sir.’
Whatever might have occurred in the progress of a difficult
explanation with Mrs. Evans, the result was so far
satisfactory that on the following morning, when Wilfred
went down to the milking-yard, he found the pair in full
possession of the situation, while the number of calves in
companionship with their mothers, as well as the state of
the brimming milk-cans, testified to the early hour at which
work had commenced.
Dick had regained his easy supremacy, as with a mixture
of fearlessness and diplomacy he exercised a Rarey-like influence
over the wilder cows, lately introduced to the milking-yard.
His companion, evidently free of the guild, was causing
the milk to come streaming out of the udder of a newly
calved heifer, as if by the mere touch of his fingers, the
bottom of his bucket rattling the while like a small-sized
hailstorm.
Greeting the old man cheerfully, and making him a compliment
.bn 129.png
.pn +1
on his milking, Wilfred was surprised at the alteration
in his appearance and manner.
The half-reckless, defiant tone was replaced by a quiet
bearing and respectful manner. The expression of the
face was changed. The eyes, keen and restless, had lost
their savage gleam. An alert step, a ready discharge of
every duty, with the smallest details of which he seemed
instinctively acquainted, had succeeded the lounging bearing
of the preceding day. Wilfred thought he had never seen a
man so markedly changed in so short a time.
‘You both seem improved, Dick. I suppose the morning
air has had something to do with it.’
‘Yes, sir—thank God,’ said he, ‘I’m always that fresh after a
good night’s sleep, when I’ve had a bit of a spree, that I could
begin again quite flippant. Old Tom had a goodish cheque
this time, and was at it a week afore I came in. He looked
rather shickerry. But he’s as right as a toucher now, and
you won’t lose no calves while he’s here, I’ll go bail. He
can stay in my hut. My old woman and he knowed one
another years back, and she’ll cook and wash for him, though
they do growl a bit at times.’
It soon became apparent, making due deductions for
periodical aberrations, that Mr. Effingham possessed in Dick
Evans and Tom Glendinning two rarely efficient servitors.
They knew everything, they did everything; they never
required to be reminded of any duty whatsoever, being apparently
eager to discover matters for the advantage of the
establishment, in which they appeared to take an interest not
inferior to that of the proprietor. Indeed, they not infrequently
volunteered additional services for their employer’s
benefit.
The season had now advanced, until the fervid height of
midsummer was near, and still no hint of aught but continuous
prosperity was given to the emigrant family.
Though the sun flamed high in the unspecked firmament,
yet from time to time showers of tropical suddenness kept
the earth cool and moist, refreshing the herbage, and causing
the late-growing maize to flourish greenly, in the dark
unexhausted soil. Their wheat crop had been reaped with
but little assistance from any but the members and retainers
of the family. And now a respectable stack occupied
.bn 130.png
.pn +1
jointly, with one of oaten hay, the modest stack-yard, or
haggard, as old Tom called it.
The cheese operations developed, until row upon row of
rich orange-coloured cheeses filled the shelves of the dairy.
The garden bore token of Andrew’s industry in the
pruned and renovated fruit trees, which threw out fresh
leaves and branches; while the moist open season had been
favourable to the ‘setting’ of a much more than ordinary
yield of fruit. The crops of vegetables, of potatoes, of other
more southern esculents looked, to use Andrew’s phrase,
‘just unco-omon.’ Such vegetables, Dick confessed, had not
been seen in it since the days of the Colonel, who kept two
gardeners and a spare boy or two constantly at work.
Gooseberries, currants, and the English fruits generally, were
coming on, leading to the belief that an extensive jam manufacture
would once more employ Jeanie and the well-remembered
copper stew-pan—brought all the way from
Surrey.
The verandah was once more a ‘thing of beauty’ in its
shade of ‘green gloom.’ The now protected climbers had
glorified the wreathed pillars; again gay with the purple
racemes of the Wistaria and the deep orange flowers of the
Bignonia venusta. The lawn was thickly carpeted with
grass; the gravelled paths were raked and levelled by
Andrew, whenever he could gain an hour’s respite from
dairy and cheese-room.
The increase of the cattle had been of itself considerable,
while the steers of the Donnelly contingents fattened on the
newly matured grasses, which now commenced to send forth
that sweetest of all summer perfumes, the odour of the new-mown
meadows.
The small but gay parterres, which the girls and Mrs.
Effingham kept, with some difficulty, free from weeds, were
lovely to the eye as contrasted with the bright green sward
of the lawn.
The wildfowl dived and flew upon the lake, furnishing
forth for a while—as in obedience to Mr. Effingham’s wishes
a close season was kept—unwonted supplies to the larder.
All the minor living possessions of the family appeared to
bask and revel in the sunshine of the general prosperity.
The greyhounds, comfortably housed and well fed, had
.bn 131.png
.pn +1
reared a family, and were commencing to master the science
of killing kangaroos without exposing themselves to danger.
The Jersey cow, Daisy, had produced a miniature copy of
herself, in a fawn-coloured heifer calf, while her son, ‘The
Yerl of Jersey,’ as Andrew had christened him, had become
a thick-set, pugnacious, important personage, pawing the
earth, and bellowing unnecessarily, as if sensible of the
exalted position he was destined to take, as a pure bred
Jersey bull, under two years of age, at the forthcoming Yass
Agricultural Show.
As the days grew longer, and the daily tasks of labour
became less exciting in the neighbourhood, as well as at
Warbrok Chase, much occasional visiting sprang up. The
stable was once more capable of modest entertainment, though
far from emulating the hospitalities of the past, when, in the
four-in-hand drag of the reigning regiment, the fashionables
of the day thought worth while to rattle over the unmade
roads for the pleasure of a week’s shooting on the lake by
day, with the alternative of the Colonel’s peerless claret by
night. Andrew’s boy, Duncan, a solemn lad of fourteen,
whom his occasionally impatient sire used to scold roundly,
was encouraged to be in attendance to receive the stranger
cavalry.
For one afternoon, Fred Churbett’s Grey Surrey, illustrious
as having won the Ladies’ Bag two years running at the
Yass Races, and, as such, equal in provincial turf society to a
Leger winner, would canter daintily up to the garden gate,
followed perhaps at no great interval by Charlie Hamilton’s
chestnut, Red Deer, in training for the Yass Maiden Plate,
and O’Desmond’s Wellesley, to ensure whose absolute safety
he brought his groom. On the top of all this Captain
and Mrs. Snowden would arrive, until the dining-room, half
filled with the fashion of the district, did not look too large
after all.
By degrees, rising to the exigencies of his position,
Wilfred managed to get hold of a couple of ladies’ horses,
by which sensible arrangement at least three of the family
were able to enjoy a ride together, also to return Mrs.
Snowden’s call, and edify themselves with the conversation
of that amusing woman of the world.
And the more Mr. Effingham and his sons saw of the
.bn 132.png
.pn +1
men composing the little society which shared with them
the very considerable district in which they resided, the
more they had reason to like and respect them.
.tb
The blessed Christmastide was approaching. How
different was it in appearance from the well-remembered
season in their own beloved home! A thousand reminiscences
came rushing across the fields of memory, as the
Effinghams thought of the snow-clad hedges, the loaded
roofs, the magical stillness of the frost-arrested air. Nor
were all the features of the season attractive. Heavy wraps,
closed doors, through which, in spite of heaped-up fires,
keen draught and invisible chills would intrude; the long
evenings, the dark afternoons, the protracted nights, which
needed all the frolic spirits of youth, the affection of home
life, and the traditional revelry of the season to render
endurable.
How different were all things in this strange, far land!
Such soft airs, such fresh, unclouded morns, such far-reaching
views across the purple mountains, such breeze-tossed
masses of forest greenery, such long, unclouded days
were theirs, in this the first midsummer of what Annabel
chose to call ‘Australia Felix.’
‘I should have just the same feeling,’ she said, ‘if I lived
in the desert under favourable circumstances. Not the
horrid sandy, simoomy part of it, of course. But some of
those lovely green spots, where there is a grey walled-in
town, an old, old well, thousands of years old, and such
lovely horses standing at the doors of the tents. Why can’t
we have our horses broken in to stand like that, instead
of having to send Duncan for them, who takes hours? And
then we could ride out by moonlight and feel the grand
silence of the desert; and at sunset the grey old chiefs and
the maidens and the camels and the dear little children
would come to the village well, like Rebekah or Rachel—which
was it? I shall go to Palestine some day, and be a
Princess, like Lady Hester Stanhope. This is only the first
stage.’
.bn 133.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VIII | MR. WILLIAM ROCKLEY OF YASS
.sp 2
Upon his next visit to The Chase, which took place shortly
after this conversation, the Reverend Harley Sternworth was
accompanied by a pleasant-looking, alert, middle-aged personage,
who, descending from the dog-cart with alacrity, was
introduced as Mr. William Rockley of Yass.
‘Bless my soul!’ said this gentleman, looking eagerly
around, ‘what a fine property! Never saw it look so well
before. I’m delighted to find it has got into such good
hands; neglected in Colonel Warleigh’s time, even worse
since by rascally tenants. Nearly bought it myself, but
couldn’t spare the money. Splendid investment; finest land
in the whole district, finest water, finest grass. I ought to
know.’
‘It is most gratifying to hear a gentleman of your experience
speak so highly of Warbrok,’ said Mr. Effingham.
‘Our good friend here has been the making of our fortunes.’
‘Just like him! just like him!’ said the new-comer,
lighting a cigar and puffing out smoke and sentences with
equal impetuosity. ‘Always attending to other people’s
business; might have made his own fortune, two or three
times over, if he’d taken my advice.’
‘I know some one else who is tarred with the same brush,’
returned the parson. ‘Who bought in young Harding’s
place the other day, when his mortgagee sold him up, and
re-sold it to him on the most Utopian terms? But shouldn’t
you like to walk round while you smoke your cigar this
morning? We can pay our respects to the ladies afterwards.’
‘Just the very thing. Many a time I’ve been here in the
.bn 134.png
.pn +1
old days. What a change! What a change! Bless my
soul, how well the garden looks; never expected to see it
bloom again! And the old house!—one would almost think
Mrs. Warleigh was alive.’
‘The best of wives and mothers,’ said Mr. Sternworth
with feeling. ‘What a true lady and good Christian she
was! If she had lived, there would have been a different
household.’
‘Daresay, daresay,’ said Mr. Rockley meditatively. ‘Precious
rascals, the sons; hadn’t much of a chance, perhaps.
Wild lot here in those days, eh? So I see you have had
that mound moved from the back of the cellar.’
‘We couldn’t think what it was,’ said Mr. Effingham.
‘The excavation must have been made long ago.’
‘Not heard the story, then? Wonderful how some secrets
are kept. Never mind, Sternworth, I won’t tell Captain
Effingham the other one. Randal Warleigh, the eldest son,
was one of the wildest devils that even this country ever saw.
Clever, handsome, but dissipated; reckless, unprincipled, in
fact. Old man and he constantly quarrelling. Not that the
Colonel was all that a father should have been, but he drank
like a gentleman. Never touched anything before dinner.
He finished his bottle of port then, and sometimes another,
but no morning spirit-drinking. Would as soon have smoked
a black pipe or worn a beard. It came to this at last, that
when he went away he locked up sideboard and cellar, forbidding
the housekeeper to give his sons any liquor.’
‘The Colonel left home for a week in Yass, when Randal
arrived with some cattle and two fellow-roysterers. No grog
available. Naturally savage. Swore he would burn the old
rookery down before he would submit to be treated so.
Behaved like a madman. Ordered up his men, got picks
and shovels, dug a tunnel under the cellar wall, and helped
himself, ad libitum, to wine and spirits.’
‘The governor’s a soldier,’ he said; ‘I’ve given him a
lesson in civil engineering. Here’s his health, boys!’
‘What an outrage!’ said Mr. Effingham.
‘You would have said so if you had seen Warbrok when
the old gentleman returned. Every soul on the place—all
convict servants in those days—had been drunk for a week.
Cellar half-emptied, house in confusion. Randal and his
.bn 135.png
.pn +1
friends had betaken themselves, luckily, the day before, to
the Snowy River, or there might have been murder done.
As it was——’
‘I think we may spare our friend any more chronicles of
the good old times, Rockley; let us go down and see the
dairy cows, those that Harry O’Desmond sold him.’
‘All right!’ said his friend good-humouredly, accepting
the change of subject. ‘I daresay Harry O’ had his price,
but they are the best cattle in the country.’
Mr. Rockley was equally hearty and complimentary as to
the live stock. Didn’t think he had ever seen finer cows,
finer grass; he believed Mr. Effingham, if he went on as he
was doing, would make a fortune by dairying. If old Colonel
Warleigh had not been ignorant of rural matters, and his
elder sons infernal low-lived scoundrels, a fortune would have
been made before at Warbrok. Nothing could have prevented
that family from becoming rich, with this estate for
a home farm, and two splendid stations on Monaro, but
the grossest mismanagement, incompetence, and vicious
tendencies—he might say depravity—of course, he meant
on the part of the young men. The Colonel was indiscreet—in
fact, a d—d old fool—but everybody respected him.
The three gentlemen completed the round of the establishment,
during which progress their mutual friend had
praised the stock-yard, the wheat stack, the lake, the garden,
and had pretty well exhausted his cigar-case. It was high
noon in Warbrok, and the shelter of the broad verandah,
which he eulogised by declaring it to be the finest verandah
he had ever been under in his life, was distinctly grateful.
Upon his introduction to Mrs. Effingham and the young
ladies, he was afflicted with an inability to express adequately
his respectful admiration of the whole party. Everything
elicited a cordial panegyric. It was apparent, even without
the aid of a few guarded observations from Harley Sternworth,
that Mr. Rockley’s compliments arose from no weak
intention of flattery, no foolish fondness or indiscriminate
praise. It was simply the outpouring of a spring of benevolence
which brimmed over in an important organ, which,
for greater convenience in localising the emotions, is known
as the heart. Longing to do good to all mankind, with
perceptions of rare insight and keenness, much of Mr.
.bn 136.png
.pn +1
Rockley’s philanthropy was necessarily confined to words.
But when the opportunity arrived of translating good wishes
into good deeds, few—very few—of the sons of men embarked
in that difficult negotiation with half the pleasure, patience,
and thoroughness of William Rockley.
The friends had not intended to stay the night, the time
of a business man being limited, but upon invitation being
pressingly made, first by Mrs. Effingham and then by the
young ladies, one after another, Mr. Rockley declared that
he couldn’t resist such allurements, but that they must make
a cruelly early start and get back to Yass to breakfast next
day. He believed they would see him there often. Mrs.
Rockley had not had the pleasure of calling upon Mrs.
Effingham, because she had been away in Sydney visiting
her children at school, as well as an aunt who was very ill—was
always ill, he added impatiently. But she would
drive over and see them, most likely next week; and whenever
Mrs. Effingham and the young ladies came to Yass, or
the Captain and his sons, they must make his house their
home—indeed, he would be deeply offended if he heard of
their going to an hotel.
‘Well, really I’m afraid——’
‘My dear sir,’ interrupted Mr. Rockley, ‘of course you
meant what you said about the need of recreation for young
people. Your sons have not had any since you came here,
except an odd slap at a flock of ducks—and these Lake
William birds are pretty shy. Then the ladies have hardly
seen any one in the district, except the half-dozen men that
have been to call. Don’t you suppose it’s natural that they
should like to know the world they’ve come to live in?’
‘We are such a large party, Mr. Rockley,’ said Mrs.
Effingham, who felt the necessity of being represented at
this important council. ‘It is extremely kind of you,
but——’
‘But look here, Mrs. Effingham,’ interrupted Mr. Rockley
with fiery impatience, so evidently habitual that she could
not for a moment consider it to be disrespectful, ‘don’t
you think it probable, in the nature of things, that you may
visit Yass—which is your county town, remember—at the
time of the races? All the world will be going. It’s a time
of year when there is nothing to do—as the parson here will
.bn 137.png
.pn +1
tell you. There will be balls, picnics, and parties for the
young ladies—everything, in fact. You must go, you see
that, surely? You’ll be the only family of position in the
country-side that won’t be there. And if you go and don’t
make my house your home, instead of a noisy, rackety
hotel, why—I’ll never speak to one of you again.’
Here Mr. Rockley closed his rapidly delivered address,
with a look of stern determination, which almost frightened
Mrs. Effingham.
‘You will really offend my good friend and his most
amiable and hospitable lady if you do not accept his invitation,’
said Mr. Sternworth. ‘It is hardly an ordinary
race-meeting so much as a periodical social gathering, of
which a little racing (as in most English communities, and
there never was one more thoroughly British than this) is
the ostensible raison d’être.’
‘Well, Howard, for the young people’s sake, we really
must think of it,’ said Mrs. Effingham, answering, lest her
husband, in distrust of a colonial gathering, might definitely
decline. ‘There will be time enough to apprise Mrs. Rockley
before the event.’
‘My wife will write to you when I get home,’ said Mr.
Rockley, ‘and explain matters more fully than I can do.—Everything
goes off pleasantly at our annual holiday, doesn’t
it, Harley?’
‘So much so, that in my office of priest I have never had
occasion to enter my protest. The people need a respite
from the toils and privations of their narrow home world,
almost more than we do.’
The evening passed most pleasantly. The parson and
the soldier talked over old army days. While Mr. Rockley,
who had been a squatter before finally settling down at
Yass as principal merchant and banker, gave Wilfred and
Guy practical advice. Then he assured Mrs. Effingham that
at any time when she or the young ladies required change,
they had only to write to Mrs. Rockley—or come, indeed, without
writing—and make their house a home for as long as
ever it suited them. Subsequently he declared that he had
never heard any music in the least degree to be compared
to the duet which Rosamond and Annabel executed for his
especial benefit. He charmed Mrs. Effingham by telling
.bn 138.png
.pn +1
her that her son Wilfred was the most promising and
sensible young man he had ever noticed as a beginner in
the bush, and must infallibly do great things. Lastly, he
begged that he might be provided with a cup of coffee at
daylight, as, if he and Mr. Sternworth were not at Yass by
breakfast-time, dreadful things might happen to the whole
district. Annabel declared that she would get up and make
it for him herself. Their visitors then retired for the night,
all hands being in a high state of mutual appreciation.
‘Your friend seems a most genial and sterling person,
Harley,’ said Mr. Effingham, as they indulged in a final
stroll up the verandah, after the general departure. ‘Is he
always so complimentary?’
‘He can be extremely the reverse, upon occasion; but
he is, perhaps, the man of all others in whose good feeling
I have the most undoubting faith. Under that impetuous,
explosive manner, the outcome of a fervid, uncompromising
nature, he carries an extraordinary talent for affairs, and one
of the most generous hearts ever granted to mortal man.
He has the soul of the Caliph Haroun Alraschid, and has
secretly done more good deeds, to my knowledge, in this
district than all the rest of us put together. His correct
taste has enabled him to appreciate all my dear children
here. From this time forth you may reckon upon a powerful,
untiring friend in William Rockley.’
‘I know one friend, Harley,’ said Effingham as their hands
met in a parting grasp, ‘who has been more than a brother
to me in my hour of need. We can never divide the gratitude
which is your due from me and mine.’
‘Pooh! pooh! a man wants more friends than one,
especially in Australia, where a season of adversity—which
means a dry one—may be hanging over him; and a better
one than William Rockley will be to you, henceforth, no man
ever saw or heard of. Good-night!’
So passed the happy days of the first early summer-time
at Warbrok—days which knew no change until the great
festival of Christmas approached, which closes the year in
all England’s dependencies with hallowed revelry and
honoured mirth. Christmas was imminent. The 20th of
December had arrived; a day of mingled joy and sorrow,
as more freshly, vividly came back the buried memories of
.bn 139.png
.pn +1
old days, the echo of the lost chimes of English Christmas
bells. But in spite of such natural feelings, the advent of
Christmas was not suffered to pass without tokens of gladness
and services of thanksgiving.
It had been decided to invite Messrs. Hamilton and
Argyll, with Mr. Churbett and Mr. Forbes, to join the
modest family festivities on this occasion. Old Tom had
been duly despatched with the important missives, and the
invitations were frankly accepted.
On the 24th of December, therefore, late in the afternoon,
which is the regulation hour for calling in Australian
country society, the visitor being aware that he is expected
to stay all night, and not desiring, unless he is very young, to
have more than an hour to dispose of before dinner, the
gentlemen aforesaid rode up. They had met by appointment
and made the expedition together.
.tb
‘Fancy this being Christmas Day!’ exclaimed Annabel, as—the
time-honoured greetings being uttered—the whole
party disposed themselves comfortably around the breakfast-table.
‘And what a lovely fresh morning! Not a hot-wind
day, as old Dick said it would be. It makes me shiver when
I think of how we were wrapped up this time last year.’
‘Are you certain it is Christmas, Miss Annabel?’ said
Fred Churbett; ‘I doubt it, because of the absence of holly
and snow, and old women and school children, and waits
and the parish beadle—all the belongings of our forefathers.
There must be some mistake. The sun is too fast, depend
upon it. I must write to the Times.’
‘Old Dick brought a load of scarlet-flowering bushes from
the hills yesterday,’ said Rosamond, ‘with which he solemnly
decorated his hut and our verandah pillars. He wished to
make Andrew a present of a few branches as a peace-offering,
but he declined, making some indignant remark about Prelatism
or Erastianism, which Dick did not understand.’
At eleven o’clock A.M. a parade of the ‘full strength of
the regiment,’ as Effingham phrased it, was ordered. Chairs,
with all things proper, and a reading-desk, had been arranged
on the south side of the wide verandah.
To this gathering-point the different members of the
establishment had been gradually converging, arrayed in
.bn 140.png
.pn +1
garments, which, if varying from the fashion-plates of the
day, were neat, suitable, and of perfect cleanliness. Mrs.
Evans’s skill as a laundress, which was in the inverse ratio to
her mildness of disposition, enabled Dick to appear in white
duck trousers and a shirt-front which distanced all rivalry.
They contrasted strongly with the unbroken tint of brick-dust
red presented by his face and throat, the latter encircled by
an ancient military stock. Mrs. Evans was attired with such
splendour that it was manifest she had sacrificed comfort to
fashion.
‘Old Tom’ had donned, as suitable for the grandeur and
solemnity of the occasion, a well-worn pair of cord breeches,
the gift of some employer of sporting tendencies, which, ‘a
world too wide for his shrunk shanks,’ were met at the knee
by carefully polished boots, the long-vanished tops being replaced
by moleskin caps. A drill overshirt, fastened at the
waist with a broad leather belt, from which depended a
tobacco-pouch, completed this effective costume. The iron-grey
hair was carefully combed back from his withered
countenance; his keen eyes gleamed from their hollow orbits,
imparting an appearance of mysterious vitality to the ancient
stock-rider.
Andrew and Jeanie, of course, attended, the latter dressed
with the good taste which always characterised her, and the
former having in charge the sturdy silent Duncan, with their
younger offspring. Of these, Jessie bade fair to furnish a
favourable type of the ‘fair-haired lassie’ so frequently met
with in the ballads of her native land, while Colin, the second
boy, was a clever, confident youngster, in whose intelligence
Andrew secretly felt pride, though he repressed with outward
sternness all manifestations of the same.
Andrew himself, it must be stated, appeared under protest,
holding that ‘thae Yerastian, prelatic festivals,’ in his opinion,
‘were no warranted by the General Assembly o’ the Kirk o’
Scotland, natheless, being little mair than dwellers in the
wilderness, it behoved a’ Christians, though they should be
but a scattered remnant in the clefts o’ the rocks, to agree
in bearing testimony to the Word.’
Across the broad verandah the members of the family,
with their visitors, were seated, behind them the retainers.
A table covered with a cloth was placed before Mr. Effingham,
.bn 141.png
.pn +1
with the family Bible and a prayer-book of the Church
of England.
As he made commencement, and with the words, ‘When
the wicked man turneth away,’ the congregation stood up, it
was a matter of difficulty with Mrs. Effingham to restrain her
tears. How the well-remembered sentences seemed to smite
the rock of her well-guarded emotions as with the rod of the
Prophet! She trembled lest the spring should break forth
from her o’erburdened heart, whelming alike prudence and
the sense of fitness. The eyes of the girls were dewy, as
they recalled the white-robed, long-remembered pastor, the
ivy-covered church, storied with legend and memorial of
their race, the villagers, the friends of their youth, the unquestioned
security of position, long guaranteed by habit and
usage, apparently unalterable. And now, where stood they,
while the sacred words proceeded from the lips of the head
of the household, whom they had followed to this far land?
In a ‘lodge in the wilderness,’ a speck in a ‘boundless
contiguity of shade,’ with its unfamiliar adjuncts and a
company of strangers—pilgrims and wayfarers—even as they.
For a brief interval the suddenly realised picture of distance
and isolation was so real, the momentary pang of bitterness
so keenly agonising, that more than one sob was heard, while
Annabel, whose feelings were less habitually under control,
threw her arms round Jeanie’s neck (who had nursed her as
a babe) and wept unrestrainedly.
No notice was taken of this natural outburst of emotion.
Jeanie, with unobtrusive tenderness and unfailing tact,
comforted the weeping girl. Solemnly the words of the
service sounded from her father’s lips, while the ordinary
responses concealed the occasional sobs of the mourner for
home and native land. She had unconsciously translated
the unspoken words of more disciplined hearts.
Gradually, as the service continued, the influences of the
scene exercised a healing power upon the group—the fair,
golden day, the tender azure of the sky, the wandering breeze,
the waters of the lake lapping the shore, the whispering of
the waving trees, even the hush of
.pm start_poem
Beautiful silence all around,
Save wood-bird to wood-bird calling,
.pm end_poem
.bn 142.png
.pn +1
commenced insensibly to soothe the hearts of the exiles.
Gradually their faces recovered serenity, and as the repetitions
of belief and trust, of submission to a Supreme Benevolence,
were repeated, that ‘peace which passeth all understanding,’
an indwelling guest with some, a memory, a long-forgotten
visitant with others, appeared for a space to have
enveloped the little company on that day assembled at
Warbrok.
The simply-conducted service was verging on conclusion
when a stranger appeared upon the track from the high road.
In bushman’s dress, and carrying upon his back the ordinary
knapsack (or ‘swag’) of the travelling labourer, he strode
along the path at a pace considerably higher in point of
speed than is usual with men who, as a class, being confident
of free quarters at every homestead, see no necessity for haste.
A tall, powerfully-built man, his sun-bronzed countenance
afforded no clue to his social qualification.
Halting at the garden gate, he stood suddenly arrested as
he comprehended the occupation of the assembled group.
He looked keenly around, then easing the heavy roll by a
motion of his shoulders, awaited the final benediction.
‘What is your business with me?’ said Mr. Effingham,
closing his book, and regarding with interest the stranger,
whose bold dark eyes roved around, now over the assembled
company, now over the buildings and offices, and lastly
settled with half-admiration, half-diffidence, on the bright
faces of the girls. ‘I have no employment here at present.
Perhaps you would like to stay to-night. You are heartily
welcome.’
‘Come along o’ me, young man,’ interposed Dick Evans,
as promptly divining the wayfarer’s habitudes. ‘Come along
o’ me; you’ll have a share of our Christmas dinner, and you
might come by a worse.’
‘All right,’ replied the stranger cheerfully, and with a nod
of acknowledgment to Mr. Effingham he jerked back his
personal effects into their position and strode after his interlocutor,
who, with old Tom Glendinning, quitted the party,
leaving Mrs. Evans to follow at her convenience.
‘Fine soldier that man would have made,’ said Mr.
Effingham, as he marked the well-knit frame, the elastic
step of the stranger. ‘I wonder what his occupation is?’
.bn 143.png
.pn +1
‘Horse-breaker, bullock-driver, station hand of some sort,’
said Argyll indifferently. ‘Just finished a job of splitting,
probably, or is bringing his shearing cheque to get rid of in
Yass.’
‘He appeared to have seen better days, poor fellow,’
said Mrs. Effingham, ever compassionate. ‘I noticed a
wistful expression in his eyes when he first came up.’
‘I thought he looked proud and disdainful,’ said Annabel,
‘and when old Dick said “come along,” I half expected him
to reply indignantly. But he went off readily enough. I
wonder if he’s a gentleman in disguise?’
‘Or a bushranger,’ suggested Churbett. ‘Donohoe is
“out” just now, and is said to have a new hand with him.
These gentry have been occasionally entertained, like angels,
unawares.’
‘What a shocking idea!’ exclaimed Annabel. ‘You have
no sentiment, Mr. Churbett. How would you like to be
suspected by everybody if you were reduced to poverty? He
is very handsome, at any rate.’
‘Fred would be too lazy to walk, that is one thing certain,
Miss Annabel,’ said Hamilton. ‘He would prefer to take the
situation of cook or hut-keeper at a quiet station, where there
were no children. Fancy his coming up, touching his hat
respectfully, and saying, “I suppose you haven’t a berth about
the kitchen as would suit a pore man, Miss?”’
Here the speaker gave so capital an imitation of Mr.
Churbett’s accented tone in conversation that everybody
laughed, including the subject of the joke, who said it was
just like Hamilton’s impudence, but that other people
occasionally had mistakes made as to their station in life.
What about old MʻCallum sending him and Argyll to pass
the night in the men’s hut?
‘The old ruffian!’ said Argyll, surprised out of his usual
serenity, ‘I had two minds to knock him down; another, to
tell him he was an ignorant savage; and a fourth, to camp
under a gum-tree.’
‘What did you do finally?’ asked Rosamond, much interested.
‘What an awkward position to be placed in.’
‘The night happened to be wet,’ explained Hamilton;
‘we had ridden far, and were so hungry—no other place
of abode within twenty miles; so—it was very unheroic—but
.bn 144.png
.pn +1
we had to put our pride in our pockets, and sleep, or
rather stay, in an uncomfortable hut, with half-a dozen farm-servants.’
‘What a bore!’ said Wilfred. ‘Did he know your names?
It seems inconceivable.’
‘The real truth was,’ said Mr. Churbett, volunteering an
explanation, ‘that the old man, taking umbrage somewhere
at what he considered our friend Hamilton’s superfine
manners and polite habit of banter, had vowed to serve him
and Argyll out if ever they came his way. This was how
he carried out his dark and dreadful oath.’
‘What a terrible person!’ exclaimed Annabel, opening
her eyes. ‘Were you very miserable, Mr. Hamilton?’
‘Sufficiently so, I am afraid, to have made our friend
chuckle if he had known. We had to ride twenty miles
before we saw a hair-brush again, and Argyll, I must say,
looked dishevelled.’
A simultaneous inclination to laughter seized the party, as
they gazed with one accord at Argyll’s curling locks.
‘I should think that embarrassments might arise,’ said
Mr. Effingham, ‘from the habit of claiming hospitality when
travelling here. There are inns, I suppose, but they are
infrequent.’
‘Not so many mistakes are made as one might think,’
explained Churbett. ‘Squatters’ names are widely known,
even out of their districts, and every one accepts a night’s
lodging frankly, as he expects to give one in return.’
‘But how can we know whether the stranger be a gentleman,
or even a respectable person?’ said Mrs. Effingham.
‘One would be so sorry to be unkind, and yet might be led
into entertaining undesirable guests.’
‘Every gentleman should send in his card,’ said Argyll,
‘if he wishes to be received, or give his name and address to
the servant. People who will not so comply with the usages
of society have no right to consideration.’
‘But suppose people are not well dressed,’ said Wilfred,
‘or are outwardly unlike gentlemen, what are you to do? It
would be annoying to make mistakes in either way.’
‘When people are not dressed like gentlemen,’ said
Hamilton, ‘you may take it for granted that they have
forfeited their position, or are contented to be treated as
.bn 145.png
.pn +1
steerage passengers, so to speak. In such cases the safer
plan, as far as my experience goes, is to permit them to
please themselves. I had a good look at our friend yonder,
as he came up, and I have a shrewd suspicion that he
belongs to the latter category.’
‘Poor young man!’ said Mrs. Effingham. ‘Couldn’t anything
be done for him? Think of a son of ours being placed
in that position!’
‘He is making himself comfortable with old Dick Evans,
most likely, however unromantic it may appear,’ said
Churbett. ‘He will enjoy his dinner—I daresay he hasn’t
had many good ones lately—have a great talk with Dick and
the old stock-rider, and smoke his pipe afterwards with much
contentment.’
‘But a gentleman, if he be a gentleman, never could lower
himself to such surroundings, surely?’ queried Rosamond.
‘It is not possible.’
‘Oh yes, it is,’ said Beatrice. ‘Because, you remember,
Sergeant Bothwell was more comfortable in the butler’s room
with old John Gudyill than he would have been with Lady
Bellenden and her guests, though she longed to entertain
him suitably, on account of his royal blood.’
‘Miss Beatrice, I congratulate you on your familiarity with
dear Sir Walter,’ said Argyll. ‘It is a case perfectly in point,
because Francis Stewart, otherwise Bothwell, had at one
time mixed in the society of the day, and must have had the
manners befitting his birth. Nevertheless in his lapsed
condition he preferred the sans gêne of his inferiors. There
are many such in Australia, who “have sat at good men’s
feasts,” but are now, unfortunately, more at ease in the
men’s hut.’
‘Of course you’ve heard of Carl Hotson, the man they
used to call “the Count”?’ said Hamilton. ‘No? He
lived at Carlsruhe, on the other side of the range, near the
Great South Gap, where every one was obliged to pass, and
(there being no inn) stay all night. Now “the Count” was a
fastidious person of literary tastes. He chafed against entertaining
a fresh batch of guests every night. “Respectable
persons—aw—I am informed, but—aw—I don’t keep an
hotel!” Unwilling to be bored, and yet anxious not to be
churlish, he took a middle course. He invented “the
.bn 146.png
.pn +1
stranger’s hut,” which has since obtained in other parts of
the country.’
‘Whatever was that?’ asked Guy.
‘He had a snug cottage built at a short distance from
the road. Into this dwelling every traveller, without
introduction, was ushered. A good dinner, with bed and
breakfast, was supplied. His horse was paddocked, and in
the morning the guest, suitably entertained, but ignorant of
the personnel of the proprietor, as in a castle of romance, was
free to depart.’
‘And a very good idea it was,’ said Mr. Effingham. ‘I
can imagine one becoming tired of casual guests.’
‘Some people were not of that opinion,’ said Mr. Forbes,
‘declaring it to be in contravention of the custom of the
country. One evening Dr. Portman, an elderly gentleman,
of majestic demeanour, came to Carlsruhe. He relied on
a colonial reputation to procure him unusual privileges, but
not receiving them, wrote a stiff note to Mr. Hotson, regretting
his inability to thank him personally for his peculiar hospitality,
and enclosing a cheque for a guinea in payment of
the expense incurred.’
‘What did “the Count” say to that?’
‘He was equal to the occasion. The answer was as
follows:—
.pm start_quote
‘Sir—I have received a most extraordinary letter signed
J.D. Portman, enclosing a cheque for one guinea. The latter
document I have transmitted to the Treasurer of the Lunatic
Asylum.—Obediently yours,
.rj
Carl Hotson.’
.pm end_quote
The Christmas dinner, which included a noble wild
turkey, a fillet of veal, a baron of beef, with two brace of
black duck, as well as green peas, cauliflowers, and early
potatoes from the now productive garden, was a great success.
Cheerful and contented were those who sat around the
board. Merry and well-sustained was the flow of badinage,
which kept the young people amused and amusing. In the
late afternoon the guests excused themselves, and left for
home, alleging that work commenced early on the morrow,
and that they were anxious as to the results of universal
holiday-making.
.bn 147.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IX | HUBERT WARLEIGH, YR., OF WARBROK
.sp 2
Next morning early, Mr. Effingham was enjoying the fresh,
cool air when Dick marched up to him.
‘Well, Evans,’ said Effingham, ‘Christmas Day is over.
Tell me, were you able to abstain?’
‘Believe me, I got drunk, sir,’ answered the veteran, ‘but
I’m all right now till New Year’s Day.’
‘I am afraid that your constitution will suffer, Evans, if
you continue these regular—or rather irregular—excesses.’
‘Can’t say for that, sir. Been drunk every Christmas since
the year as I ’listed in the old rigiment; but I wanted to
tell you about that young man as was in our hut last night.
Do you know who he is, sir?’
‘No, indeed, Evans! I suspected he was no ordinary
station-hand.’
‘Well, no, sir; that’s the youngest of the old Colonel’s
sons. Him as they used to call “Gyp” Warleigh. He was
allers fond of ramblin’ and campin’ out, from a boy, gipsy
fashion. When the Colonel died, he went right away to some
of the far-out stations beyond Monaro, and never turned up
for years. Old Tom knowed him at once, but didn’t let on.’
‘Poor fellow! How hard that he should have come back
to his father’s house penniless and poorly clad. I wonder if
we could find him employment here?’
‘H—m! I don’t know, sir; we haven’t much to keep
hands goin’ at this season, but you can see him yourself. I
daresay he’ll come up to thank you afore he goes.’
Dick’s conjecture proved true, inasmuch as before the
breakfast bell rang the prodigal walked up to the garden gate.
.bn 148.png
.pn +1
This time he underwent a more careful examination, the
result of which was to impress the master of the house in a
favourable manner. Though dressed much as before, there
was some improvement in his appearance. He came forward
now, with the advantage conferred by rest and good entertainment.
His regular features, as Mr. Effingham now
thought, showed plainly the marks of aristocratic lineage.
The eyes, especially, were bold and steadfast, while his figure,
hardened by the toils of a backwoods life, in its grand outline
and muscular development, aroused the admiration of a
professional connoisseur. The bronzed face had lost its
haggard expression, and it was with a frank smile that he
raised his hat slightly and said, ‘Good-morning, sir. I have
come to thank you for your kindness and hospitality.’
‘I am pleased to have been enabled to afford it,’ said the
master of the establishment; ‘but is there nothing more that
I can do for your father’s son?’
The man started; a frown set the lower part of his face
in rigid sternness. After a moment’s pause the cloud-like
expression cleared, and with softened voice he said:
‘I see they have told you. I thought the old stock-rider
knew me; he was here before we lived at Warbrok. Yes,
it is all true. I am Hubert Warleigh.’
Mr. Effingham’s impulsive heart was stirred within him,
at these words, to a degree which he himself would hardly
have admitted. The actual presentment of this cadet of an
old family—once the object of a mother’s care, a mother’s
prayers—fallen from his position and compelled to wander
over the country, meanly dressed and carrying a burden in
this hot weather, touched him to the heart. He walked up
to the speaker, and laying his hand upon his arm, said in
tones of deep feeling:
‘My dear fellow, will you let me advise you, as I should
thank any Christian man to do for my son in like need? Stay
with us for a time. I may be able to assist you indirectly, if
not otherwise. At the worst, the hospitality of this house—of
your old home—is open to you as long as you please to
accept it.’
‘You are kind—too kind, sir,’ said the wanderer, while his
bold eyes softened, and for a moment he turned his face
towards the lake. ‘The old place makes me feel like a boy
.bn 149.png
.pn +1
again. But it will never do—it’s too late. You don’t know
the ways of this country yet, and you might come to repent
being so soft—I mean so good-natured.’
‘I will take the risk,’ persisted Effingham. ‘Let me see
you restored to your proper standing in society, and following
any occupation befitting a gentleman, and I shall hold myself
fully repaid.’
The stranger smiled, half-sadly, half-humorously, as he
seated himself on a fence-rail.
‘That is not so easy as you think, sir,’ he said. ‘Though
there’s very few people in this country would bother about
trying. When a fellow’s been rambling about the bush,
working and living with the men, for years and years, it is not
so easy to turn him into a gentleman again. Worst of all
when he’s come short of education, and has half-forgotten
how to behave himself before ladies. Ladies! I swear, when
I saw your daughters, looking like rosebuds in the old
verandah, I felt like a blackfellow.’
‘That a feeling of—of rusticity—would be one of the
consequences of a roving life, I can understand; but you are
young—a mere boy yet. Believe one who has seen something
of the world, that the awkwardness you refer to would soon
disappear were you once more among your equals.’
‘Too late—too late!’ said the man gloomily. ‘Gyp
Warleigh must remain in the state he has brought himself
to. I know him better than you do, worse luck! There’s
another reason why I’m afraid to trust myself in a decent
house.’
‘Good heavens!’ said Effingham. ‘Then what is that?
You surely have not——’
‘Taken to the bush? Not yet; but it’s best to be straight.
I learned the trick of turning up my little finger too early and
too well; and though I’m right enough for months when I’m
far in the bush, or have had a spell of work, I’m helpless
when the drinking fit comes on me. I must have it, if I was
to die twenty times over. And the worst of it is, I can feel
it coming creeping on me for weeks beforehand; I can no
more fight it off than a man who’s half-way down a range can
stop himself. But it’s no use talking—I must be off. How
well the old place looks! It’s a grand season, certainly.’
‘You have had adventures here in the old days,’ said
.bn 150.png
.pn +1
Effingham, willing to lead him into conversation. ‘Had you
a fight with bush-rangers in the dining-room ever?’
‘Then the bullet-marks are there yet?’ said the stranger
carelessly. ‘Well, there was wild work at Warbrok when that
was done, but bushrangers had no say in it. It was the old
governor who blazed away there. He was always a two-bottle
man, was the governor, and after poor mother died he scarcely
ever went to bed sober. Randal and Clem were terrible wild
chaps, or they might have kept matters together. I was the
youngest, and let do pretty much as I liked. I never learned
anything except to read and write badly. Always in the men’s
huts, I picked up all the villainy going before I was fourteen.
But about those bullet-marks in the wall.’
‘I feel deeply interested, believe me; and if you would
permit me to repair the neglect you have experienced, something
may yet be done.’
‘You don’t know men of my sort, Captain, or you wouldn’t
talk in that way. Not that I haven’t a feeling towards you
that I’ve never had since poor mother died, and told me to
be a good boy, as she stroked my hair for the last time. But
how could I? What chance is there for a lad in the bush,
living as we did in those days? I remember Randal’s coming
home from Bathurst races—he’d go any distance to a race
meeting. He was like a madman. It was then that the
row came about with the governor, when they nearly shot one
another.’
‘Nearly shot one another! Good heavens! How could
that happen?’
‘After the cellar racket Randal had the sense to stay
away at Monaro and work at our station there for months.
He could work when he liked, and a smarter man among
stock never handled a slip-rail. But he had to come home
at last. The governor talked to him most polite. Hoped
he’d stay to dinner. He drank fair; they were well into the
fourth bottle when the row began. He told us afterwards
that the old man, instead of flying into a rage, as usual, was
bitter and cool, played with him a bit, but finished up by
saying that “though it was the worst day’s work he ever did
to come to this accursed country, he hardly expected his
eldest son would turn out a burglar and a thief.”
‘Randal was off his head by this time—been ‘a bit on’
.bn 151.png
.pn +1
before he came—swore he wouldn’t stand that from any man,
not even his own father. The old man glared at him like a
tiger, and fetching out the loaded duelling pistols, which
people always had handy in those days, gave him one, and
they stood up at different ends of the long room.
‘We heard the shots and rushed in. There was Randal
holding on by the wall, swaying about, and, pointing to the
ceiling, saying, as well as he could, “Fired in the air!
by ——! fired in—the—air!” Sure enough, there was the
mark of his bullet in the ceiling, but the other one had hit the
wall, barely an inch from Randal’s head.’
‘What an awful affair! How your father must have
rejoiced that he was spared the guilt of such a crime.’
‘I don’t know about that; all he said next day was, that
his hand must have been shaky, or he would have rid the
world of an infernal scoundrel, who had disgraced his family
and was no son of his. He never spoke to him again.’
‘Miserable father—lost son! What became of your
brothers, may I ask, since you have told me so much?’
‘Randal was in a vessel coming back from Adelaide with
an exploring party. He’d been lushing pretty heavy, and
they thought he must have gone overboard one night in a fit
of the horrors. Anyhow, he was never seen alive afterwards.
Poor Clem—he wasn’t half as bad as Randal, only easy
led—died at the Big River: was shepherding when we last
heard of him. I’m all that’s left of the Warleighs. Some fine
day you’ll hear of me being drowned crossing a river, or
killed by the blacks, or broke my neck off a horse; and a
good job too. I must be off now. It’s years since I’ve said
as much to any one.’
‘But why—why not stay and commence a happier career?
Scores of men have done so, years after your age. You will
have encouragement from every member of my family.’
‘Family!’ answered the outcast, with a bitter smile.
‘Am I fit to associate with ladies? Why, even while I’m
speaking to you I can hardly open my mouth without an
oath or a rough word. No! It might have been once; it’s
years too late now. But I thank you all the same; and if
ever a chance comes in my way of doing your people a good
turn, you may depend your life on Gyp Warleigh. Good-bye,
sir!’
.bn 152.png
.pn +1
As he rose to his feet, squaring his shoulders and towering
to the full height of his stature, Mr. Effingham instinctively
held out his hand. Closing his own upon it for one moment
in an iron grasp, the wanderer strode forth upon his path,
and was lost behind a turn in the timber.
Howard Effingham returned to his household filled with
sad thought. He had seen ruined men of all sorts and
kinds before; had known many who, with every social aid
and endowment, had chosen to tread the path of degradation.
But there was, to his mind, an element of unusual pathos in
this acquiescent yet resentful debasement of a noble nature.
In the hall he met Wilfred and Guy. Contrasting their frank,
untroubled countenances with that of the ill-fated son of his
predecessor his heart swelled with thankfulness.
‘What a long talk you have been having with our dark
friend,’ said Wilfred. ‘Does he want a situation as stock-rider?
or has he a project requiring the aid of a little capital?
He doesn’t look like an enthusiast.’
‘Nor is he one,’ answered the father briefly. ‘He is an
unhappy man, whom you will compassionate when I tell you
that he is Hubert Warleigh—the Colonel’s youngest son.’
‘Good heavens!’ cried Wilfred. ‘Who said there was no
romance in a new country? I thought he was a fine-looking
fellow, with something uncommon about him. What a
history!’
‘What a dreadful, what an astonishing thing!’ exclaimed
Annabel, who, having an appetite for novelty, and
seldom being so absorbed in her household duties as to
escape early notice of such, had joined the group. ‘To
think that that sunburned, roughly-dressed man, carrying a
bundle with his blanket and all kinds of things, should be a
gentleman, the son of an old officer; just like Wilfred and
Guy here! To be sure, he was handsome, in spite of his
disguise; and did you notice what splendid black eyes he had?
Poor fellow, poor fellow! Why didn’t you make him stay,
papa?’
‘My child! I did try to persuade him; I promised to see
what we could do for him. My heart yearned to the youngster,
thinking that if, in the bounds of possibility, any child of mine
was in such evil case, so might some father’s heart turn to
him in his need. But he only said it was too late, with a
.bn 153.png
.pn +1
kind of proud regret. Yet I think he was grateful, for he
wrung my hand at parting, said it had done him good to
speak with me, and if he could ever do us a service I might
count upon him.’
.tb
In the dreamy days of the late summer one and all derived
great solace and enjoyment from the Lake William Book Club,
now become, thanks to Mr. Churbett’s brother in London, a
working institution. That gentleman had forwarded a well-selected
assortment, comprising the newest publications of the
day, in various departments of literature, not forgetting a
judicious sprinkling of fiction. The books brought out by the
family, neither few nor of humble rank, had been read and
re-read until they were known by heart. This fresh storehouse
of knowledge was, for the first time in their lives, truly
appreciated.
Mr. Churbett had employed himself in his solitary hours
in covering with strong white paper and carefully entitling
each volume. These he divided into ‘sets,’ comprising, say,
a modicum of history, travel, biography, or science, with a
three-volume novel. The sets being duly numbered, a sketch
circuit was calculated, and proper arrangements made. He,
for instance, forwarded a set to Benmohr, whence they were
enjoined to forward them at the expiration of a month to The
Chase; at the same time receiving a fresh supply from headquarters.
O’Desmond sent them on to the Snowdens, to be
despatched by them to Mr. Hampden at Wangarua. So it
came to pass that when the twelfth subscriber forwarded the
first-mentioned set to its original dwelling-place at Mr. Churbett’s,
the year had completed its cycle, and each household
had had ample, but not over-abundant, time to thoroughly
master the contents of their dole of literature.
The autumn month of March was chiefly characterised by
the rural population of the district, as being the season in
which was held the Annual Yass Race Meeting. This
tournament was deservedly popular in an English-speaking
community. There was no wife, widow, or maid, irrespectively
of the male representatives, who did not feel a
mild interest in the Town Plate, the delightfully dangerous
Steeplechase, and finally in the ‘Ladies’ Bag.’ This thrilling
.bn 154.png
.pn +1
event comprised a collection of fancy-work—slippers, embroidered
smoking-caps, and gorgeous cigar-cases, suitable
for masculine use or ornament.
The coveted prize was fabricated by the fair hands of the
dames and damsels of the district. The race was confined
to amateurs, and those only were permitted to compete who
had received invitations from the Secretary of the Ladies’
Committee.
Great interest was taken, it may be supposed, in the
carrying-off of this trophy, and many a youthful aspirant
might be seen ‘brushing with hasty step the dew away,’ as
he reviewed at dawn his training arrangements with a face
of anxiety, such as might become the owner of a Derby
favourite.
By direct or devious ways the echoes of battle-cries, proper
to the approaching fray, commenced to reach The Chase.
Faintly interested as had been the family in the probable
pleasures of such an assemblage, they could not remain
wholly insensible. With each succeeding week tidings and
murmurs of the Carnival swelled into sonorous tone. One
day a couple of grooms, leading horses sheeted and hooded,
of which the satin skins and delicate limbs bore testimony
to their title to blue blood, would pass by on their way to
Yass; or Mr. Churbett would ride over with the latest
news, declaring that Grey Surrey was in such condition
that no horse in the district had a chance with him, though
Hamilton’s No Mamma had notoriously been in training
for a month longer. Also, that the truly illustrious steeplechaser,
The Cid, had been stabled at Badajos for the
night; but that, in his opinion, he could not be held at his
fences, and if so, St. Andrew would make such an exhibition
of him as would astonish his backers and the Tasmanian
division generally. Then Mrs. Snowden would arrive to
lunch, and among other items of intelligence volunteer the
information that the ball, which the Racing Club Committee
was pledged to give this year, would exceed in magnificence
all previous entertainments. Borne on the wings of the
weekly post there came a missive from Mrs. Rockley, reminding
Mrs. Effingham of her promise to come and bring
her daughters for the race week, assuring her that rooms at
Rockley Lodge awaited them, and that wilful child Christabel
.bn 155.png
.pn +1
was prepared to die of grief in the event of anything preventing
their having the pleasure of their company.
Then Bob Clarke was, after all, to ride The Cid. He
was the only man that could hold him at his fences. So
there would be such a set-to between him and St. Andrew,
with Charlie Hamilton up, as had never been seen in the
district. The western division were going to back The
Cid to the clothes on their back. Hamilton was a cool
hand across country, and a good amateur jock wherever
you put him up, but Bob Clarke, who had had his early
training among the stiff four-railers and enclosed pasture-lands
of Tasmania, was an extraordinary horseman, and had
a way of getting a beaten horse over his last fences which
stamped him as the man to put your money on.
It was not in human nature altogether to disregard current
opinions, which, in default of more important public events,
swayed the pastoral community as well as the dwellers in
the rural townships. The Effinghams gradually abandoned
themselves to the stream, and decided to accept Mrs.
Rockley’s invitation for the lady part of the family. To
this end Wilfred made a flying visit to the town, where he
had been promptly taken in custody by Mr. Rockley and
lodged in safe keeping at his hospitable mansion.
He returned with what Beatrice called a rose-coloured
description of the whole establishment; notably of the
marvellous beauty of Christabel Rockley, the only daughter.
‘Why, you haven’t seen girls for I don’t know how long,’
said Annabel, ‘except us, of course—and you don’t see any
beauty in fair people—so how can you tell? The first young
woman with a pale face and dark eyes is a vision of loveliness,
of course. Wait till we go to Yass, and you will hear
a proper description.’
‘Women are always unsympathetic about one another,’ he
retorted. ‘That’s the reason one can hardly trust the best
woman’s portrait of her friend.’
‘And men are so credulous,’ said Beatrice. ‘I wonder
any sensible woman has the patience to appropriate one.
See how they admire the merest chits with the beauty of a
china doll, and so very, very little more brains. There is a
nice woman, I admit, here and there, but a man doesn’t
know her when he sees her.’
.bn 156.png
.pn +1
‘All this is premature,’ said the assaulted brother, trying
to assume an air of philosophical serenity. ‘I know nothing
about Miss Christabel save and except that she is “beautiful
exceedingly,” like the dame in Coleridge. But you will find
Mr. Rockley’s the nicest house to stay in, or I much mistake,
that you have been in of late years, and, in a general way,
you will enjoy yourselves more than you expect.’
‘I expect great things,’ said Annabel, ‘and I intend to
enjoy myself immensely. Fancy, what a pleasure it will be
to me to see quantities of new people! Even Rosamond
confessed to me that she felt interested in our coming
glimpse of Australian society. We have been a good deal
shut up, and it will do us good; even Beatrice will fall
across a new book or a fresh character to read, which
comes to much the same thing. I prefer live characters
myself.’
‘And I prefer the books,’ said Beatrice; ‘there’s such a
dreadful amount of time lost in talking to people, very often,
about such wretched commonplaces. You can’t skip their
twaddle or gossip, and you can in a book.’
.bn 157.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER X | A PROVINCIAL CARNIVAL
.sp 2
The last week of March at length arrived, by which time the
nights had grown perceptibly colder, and the morning air
was by no means so mild as to render wraps unnecessary.
No rain had fallen for some weeks, though before that
time there had been a succession of showers; so that, there
being no dust, while the weather was simply perfect, the grass
green, and the sky cloudless, a more untoward time might
have been selected for recreation.
It was indeed the carnival of a community of uncompromising
toilers, as were, in good sooth, the majority of the inhabitants
of the town and district of Yass.
Not without misgiving did Wilfred consent to leave the
homestead entirely to itself. Yet he told himself that, while
the farm and dairy were in the hands of such capable persons
as Dick Evans, old Tom, and Andrew, without some
kind of social or physical earthquake, no damage could
occur.
Dick, in spite of his love of excitement, did not care to
attend this race meeting. Aware of his weakness, he was
unwilling to enter on a fresh bout of dissipation before the
effects of the last one had faded from recollection. ‘I looks
to have a week about Michaelmas,’ said he, as gravely as if
he had been planning a hunting or fishing excursion, ‘then
I reckon to hold on till after harvest, or just afore Christmas
comes in. Two sprees a year is about the right thing for a
man that knows himself. I don’t hold with knockin’ about
bars and shanties.’
Crede old Tom, the last Yass races had chiefly impressed
.bn 158.png
.pn +1
themselves on his mind as a festivity wherein he spent
‘thirty-seven pounds ten in six days, and broke his collar-bone
riding a hurdle race. Whether he was getting older he
could not say, but he felt as if he did not care to go in just
now. He was going to keep right till next Christmas, when,
of course, any man worth calling a man would naturally go
in for a big drink.’
For far other reasons, and in widely differing language,
did Andrew Cargill protest his disinclination to join revelries
which, based on the senseless sport of horse-racing, he felt to
be indefensible, immoral, and worthy only of the heathen,
who were so unsparingly extirpated by the children of Israel.
‘I haena words to express my scorn for thae fearless follies,
and I thocht that the laird and the mistress wad ha’ had mair
sense than to gang stravaigin’ ower the land like a wheen
player-bodies to gie their coontenance to siccan snares o’
Beelzebub. It’s juist fearsome.’
Conflict of opinion in this case resulted in similarity of
action, inasmuch as the two unregenerates, conscious that
their hour was not yet come, conducted themselves with the
immaculate propriety nowhere so apparent as in those
Australian labourers who are confessedly saving themselves
up for a ‘burst.’
Nothing could have been descried upon this lower earth
more deeply impressive than the daily walk of these two ancient
reprobates, as Andrew, in his heart, always designated them.
The sun never saw them in bed. Old Tom had his
morning smoke while tracking the nightly wandering dairy
cows long before that luminary concerned himself with the
inhabitants of the district. As day was fairly established, the
cows were in the yard, and the never-ending work of milking
commenced. Andrew’s northern perseverance was closely
taxed to keep pace in the daily duties of the farm with these
two swearing, tearing old sinners.
All preliminaries having been concluded, which Mrs.
Effingham declared fell but little short of those which preceded
their emigration, the grand departure was made for
their country town in what might justly be considered to be
high state and magnificence.
First of all rode Rosamond and Beatrice on their favourite
palfreys. Touching the stud question, Wilfred and Guy had
.bn 159.png
.pn +1
gradually developed the love of horses, which is inseparable
from Australian country life. The indifferent nags upon
which the girls had taken their early riding lessons had, by
purchase or exchange, been replaced by superior animals.
Rosamond, whose nerve was singularly good, and whose
‘hands’ had reached a finish rarely accorded to the gentler
sex, was the show horsewoman of the family, being entrusted
with the education of anything doubtful before the younger
girls were suffered to risk the mount. She rode a slight,
aristocratic-looking dark bay, of a noble equine family, which,
like themselves, had not long quitted the shores of Britain.
Discharged from a training-stable upon the charge of unfitness
to ‘stay,’ he had fallen into unprofessional hands, from which
Wilfred had rescued him, giving in exchange a fat stock-horse
and a trifle more ‘boot’ than he was ready to acknowledge.
He had been right in thinking that in the delicate head, the
light arched neck, the rarely oblique shoulder, the undeniable
look of blood, he saw sufficient guarantee for a peerless light-weight
hackney. This in despite of a general air of height rather
than stability, which caused the severe critics of Benmohr
and The She-oaks to speak of him as being unduly ‘on the
leg.’
There are some metals which compensate in quality for lack
of weight and substance; so among horses we find those which,
indomitable of spirit and tireless of muscle, are capable of
wearing out their more solidly-built compeers. To such a
class belonged ‘dear Fergus,’ as Rosamond always called the
matchless hackney with which Wilfred had presented her.
Gay and high-couraged, temperate, easy, safe, fast, with a
walk and canter utterly unapproachable, the former, indeed,
assimilating to the unfair speed of a ‘pacer,’ while the latter
was free, floating, graceful, and elastic as that of the wild
deer, he was a steed to dream of, to love and cherish in life,
to mourn over in death. Many an hour, in the gathering
twilight, by the shores of the lake, had Rosamond revelled in,
mounted upon this pink of perfection, when Wilfred jumped
upon a fresh horse after his day’s work and called upon his
sister to come for her evening ride. How anxiously, after
the lingering, glaring afternoon, did Rosamond watch for the
time which brought the chief luxury of the day, when she
lightly reined the deer-like Fergus as he sped through
.bn 160.png
.pn +1
the twilight shadows, over the greensward by the lake
shore.
Beatrice had also her favourite, which, though of different
style and fashion, was yet an undeniable celebrity. A small
iron-grey mare, scarce above pony height, was Allspice, with
a great flavour of the desert-born, from which she traced her
descent, in the wide nostril, high croup, and lavish action.
Guy picked her up at a cattle muster, where he was amazed
at seeing the ease with which she carried a thirteen-stone
stock-rider through the ceaseless galloping of a day’s ‘cutting-out.’
Asking permission to get on her back, he at once
discovered her paces, and never rested till he had got her in
exchange for a two-year-old colt of his own, which had
attracted the attention of Frank Smasher, the stock-rider in
question. Frank, returning with him to Warbrok, roped the
colt, the same day putting the breaking tackle on him, and
within a week was cutting out cattle, on the Sandy Camp,
with no apparent inferiority to the oldest stock-horse there.
Whether Allspice had been broken in after this Mexican
fashion is not known, but as she could walk nearly as fast as
Fergus, trot fourteen miles an hour, and canter ‘round a
cheese-plate,’ if you elected to perform that feat, we must
consider that she was otherwise trained in youth, or inherited
the talent which dispenses with education. The light hand
and light weight to which she was now subjected apparently
suited her taste. After a few trials she was voted by the
family and all friendly critics to be only inferior to the
inimitable Fergus.
Mr. Churbett had volunteered to come over the evening
before and accompany the young ladies, as otherwise Guy
would have been their only cavalier, Wilfred being absorbed
in the grave responsibility of the dogcart and its valuable
freight.
This sporting vehicle contained Mrs. Effingham and
Annabel, together with an amount of luggage, easily calculable
when the possibility of a few picnics, a couple of balls,
and any number of impromptu dances are mentioned. Mr.
Effingham also, and his sons, found it necessary upon
this occasion to look up portions of their English outfit,
which they had long ceased to regard as suited for familiar
wear.
.bn 161.png
.pn +1
The light harness work of the family had been hitherto
performed by a single horse, a sensible half-bred animal, and
a fair trotter withal. On this occasion Wilfred had persuaded
himself that a second horse was indispensable. After
divers secret councils among the young men, it ended in
Mr. Churbett’s Black Prince, the noted tandem leader of the
district, being sent over. He was docile, as well as distinguished-looking,
so all went well, in spite of Mrs. Effingham’s
doubts, fears, and occasional entreaties, and Annabel’s
plaintive cries when a nervous ‘sideling’ was passed, or a
deeper creek than usual forded.
.tb
‘Oh, what a pretty place Rockley Lodge is—a nice, roomy
bungalow; and how trim the garden looks!’
‘Apparently inhabited,’ said Annabel, ‘and rather affected
by visitors, I should say. I can see horses fastened to the
garden fence, a carriage at the door, and a dogcart coming
round from the back, as well as two side-saddle horses. So
this is Mr. Rockley’s place! He said it was just a little way
from the town; and there—Mr. Churbett and Rosamond
are turning in at the entrance gate.’
Duellist, having gone off in his training, thereafter not
unwillingly retained for hackney purposes, evidently knew
his way to the place, for he marched off at once, along the
track which turned to the white gate. Followed by the
tandem, with Beatrice and Guy bringing up the rear, the
whole party drew up before the hall door.
Mr. Churbett, giving his horse to a hurried groom, who
made his appearance from the offices, assisted Rosamond to
dismount, by which time a youthful-looking personage,
whom the Effinghams took to be Miss Christabel, but
who turned out to be her mother, advanced with an air of
unfeigned welcome, and greeted the visitors.
‘Mr. Churbett, introduce me at once. I am afraid you
are all very tired. Come in this moment, my dear girls, and
rest yourselves; we must have no talking or excitement until
dinner-time. Mr. Effingham, I count upon you; Mr. Rockley
charged me to tell you that he had asked Mr. Sternworth to
meet you. Mr. Churbett, of course you are to come, and
bring the two young gentlemen. Perhaps we might have a
little dance, who knows? You can go now. Mr. Rockley
.bn 162.png
.pn +1
had rooms and loose boxes kept for you at the Budgeree, or
you wouldn’t have had a hole to put your head in; what do
you think of that?’
Mr. Churbett, much affected by his narrow escape of
arriving in Yass and finding every room and stall appropriated,
with no more chance of a lodging than there is in
Doncaster on the Leger day, moved on, leading Fergus, and
murmuring something about Rockley being a minor Providence,
and Mrs. Rockley all their mothers and aunts rolled
into one. He recovered his spirits, however, as was his
wont, and caracolled ahead on Duellist, leading the way
into a large stable-yard, around which were open stalls and
loose boxes, apparently calculated for the accommodation of
a cavalry regiment.
‘This is the Budgeree Hotel, and a very fair caravanserai
it is. Jim, look alive and take off the tandem leader.
Joe, I want a box for Duellist. Bowcher, this is Captain
Effingham of Warbrok, and these young gentlemen his sons;
did Mr. Rockley order rooms for them and me?’
‘Mr. Rockley, sir. Yes, sir. He come down last week
on purpose to see if I’d kep’ rooms for Mr. Argyll and Mr.
Hamilton, as the place was that full, and like to be fuller;
and then he asked if your rooms was took, and the Captin’s
and two young gents’, and when I said they wasn’t, he went
on terrible, as it was just like you, and ordered ’em all right
off, besides four stalls and a box.’
‘Ah, well, it’s all right, Bowcher. Mr. Rockley knows my
ways. I wonder you hadn’t sense enough to keep rooms for me
and my friends, as I told you I was coming. Town very full?’
‘Never see anythink like it, sir. Horses coming from all
directions, and gents from Hadelaide, I should say. Least-ways,
from all the outside places. They’re that full at the
Star, as they have had to put half the horses in the yard,
and rig up stalls timpry like.’
‘Ha! that’s all very well; but don’t try that with Black
Prince or these ladies’ horses, or they’ll kick one another sky
high.’
While this conversation was proceeding, Mr. Effingham
and his sons had been ushered upstairs, where, at the extreme
end of a long corridor, the Captain was provided with a
reasonable bedroom, enjoying a view of the town and surrounding
.bn 163.png
.pn +1
country. Wilfred and Guy had to content themselves
with a smaller double-bedded apartment, the waiter
apologising, as everything, to the attics, was crammed full,
and visitors hourly, like crowds at the theatre, turned away
from the doors. Slight inconveniences are not dwelt upon
in the ‘brave days when we were twenty-one.’ So they
cast their modest wardrobes on the beds, and tried to realise
the situation.
This was a marked divergence from the circumstances
of their mode of life for the past year. It appeared that
every room on both sides of the corridor was tenanted by
at least one person of an emotional and vociferous nature.
Boots were carried to the staircase and hurled violently
down, accompanied by objurgations. Friendly, even confidential,
conversations were carried on by inmates of contiguous
apartments. Inquiries were made and answered as
to who were going to dine at Rockley’s or Bower’s; and one
gentleman, who had come in late, publicly tossed up as to
which place he should go uninvited, deciding by that ancient
test in favour of a certain Mr. Bower, apparently of expansive
hospitality.
In addition to the dinner-chart, much information was
afforded to such of the general public as had ears, as to the
state and prospects of the horses interested in the coming
events. Senator had a cough; and there were rumours about
the favourite for the Leger. St. Maur and the Gambiers had
come in, and brought a steeplechaser, which Alec was to ride,
which would make Bob Clarke’s Cid go down points in the
betting. Mrs. Mortimer had arrived and those pretty girls
from Bunnerong. The fair one would be the belle of the
ball. ‘No!’ (in three places) was shouted out, ‘Christabel
Rockley was worth a dozen of her,’ and so on. Mr. Effingham
began to consider what his position would be if he should
have to listen to a discussion upon the merits of his daughters.
This complication happily did not arise, the tide of mirthful
talk flowing into other congenial channels.
It must be confessed that if the company had been
charged for the noise they made, the bill would have been
considerable. But after all, the speakers were gentlemen,
and their unfettered speech and joyous abandon only reminded
Effingham of certain old barrack days, when the untrammelled
.bn 164.png
.pn +1
spirit of youth soared exultingly free, unheeding of the shadow
of debt or the prison bars of poverty.
In due time the splashing, the dressing, and the jesting
were nearly brought to an end. Leaving Fred Churbett to
follow with Guy, Mr. Effingham and his heir departed to
Rockley House.
‘There is something exhilarating, after all, in dressing
for dinner,’ said he. ‘After the day is done it is befitting
to mingle with pleasant people and drink your wine in
good society. It reminds one of old times. My blood is
stirred, and my pulses move as they have not done since
I left England. Change is the great physician, beyond all
doubt.’
‘I did not think that I should have cared half as much
about these races,’ said Wilfred. ‘I had doubts about coming
at all, and really I don’t think I should have done so but for
the girls and my mother. It is sure to do them good. But
after all, Dick and Tom, not to speak of Andrew, are equal to
more than the work they have to do at present, and I suppose
one need not be always in sight of one’s men.’
Rockley Lodge was profusely lighted. From the murmur
of voices and rustle of dresses there appeared to be a large
number of persons collected in the drawing-room, redolent of
welcome as it ever was.
As they entered the house a voice was heard, saying, in
tones not particularly modulated, ‘Order in dinner; I won’t
wait another moment for any man in Australia.’
Effingham recognised his late visitor in the speaker, who,
arrayed in correct evening costume, immediately greeted him
with much deference, mingled with that degree of welcome
usually accorded to a distinguished, long-absent relative.
‘My dear Captain Effingham, I am proud to see you.
So you’ve found your way to Yass at last. Hope to see you
here often. St. Maur, let me make you known to Captain
Effingham. I heard him mention having met your brother
in India. Bob Clarke; where’s Bob Clarke? Oh, here he
is. You’ll know one another better before the races are
over. Christabel, come here; what are you going away for?
Mr. Wilfred Effingham you know, Mr. Guy you never saw;
capital partners you’ll find them, I daresay. Is the dinner
coming in, or is it not? [this with a sudden change of voice].
.bn 165.png
.pn +1
Mr. Churbett not come? Wait for Fred Churbett, the most
unpunctual man in New South Wales! I’ll see him——’
Fortunately for Mr. Rockley’s ante-dinner eloquence the
necessity for finishing this sentence was obviated by the
appearance of the butler, who announced dinner, after which
Mr. Rockley, saying, ‘Captain Effingham, will you take in
Mrs. Rockley? I see your friend Sternworth has just made
his way in with Fred Churbett; it’s well for them they
weren’t ten minutes later,’ offered his arm to Mrs. Effingham,
and led the way with much dignity.
The room was large, and the table, handsomely laid and
decorated, looked as if it was in the habit of being furnished
for a liberal guest list. There could not have been less than
thirty people present, exclusive of the six members of Mr.
Rockley’s own family. Their friends Hamilton and Argyll
were there, as also Mr. St. Maur, a tall, aristocratic-looking
personage from the far north; Mr. Clarke, a pleasant-faced,
frank youngster, whom everybody called Bob; Mr. and Mrs.
Robert Malahyde, and other prepossessing-looking strangers,
male and female; and lastly, their old friend Harley Sternworth.
What warmth, friendliness, cordiality, pervaded the entertainment!
All apparently felt and talked like near relations,
between whom had never arisen a question of property or
precedence.
Mrs. Rockley, her daughter, and nieces were lively and
unaffected, and beyond all comparison considerately hospitable.
Rosamond and her sisters, dressed, for the first time
since their arrival, in accordance with the laws of fashion as
then promulgated, looked, to the eyes of their fond parents
and brothers, as though endowed with fresh beauty and a
distinction of air hitherto unmarked.
The dinner was in all respects a success—well served,
well cooked; and as Mr. Rockley was severe as to his taste
in wines, that department fully satisfied a fastidious critic,
as was Howard Effingham. Messrs. Churbett, Argyll, and
Hamilton, as habitués, had numberless jokes and pleasantries
in common with the young ladies, which served to elicit
laughter and general merriment; while Hampden, St. Maur,
the parson, and Mr. Rockley in turn diverged into political
argument, in which their host was exceptionally strong.
.bn 166.png
.pn +1
When they entered the drawing-room, to which Fred
Churbett, Bob Clarke, and others of the jeunesse dorée, who
cared little for port or politics, had retreated in pursuance
of a hint from Mrs. Rockley, they were surprised to find that
spacious apartment wholly denuded of its carpet and partially
of its furniture. There was but little time to express the
feeling, as a young lady seated at the piano struck up a waltz
of the most intoxicating character, and before Mr. Rockley
had time to get fairly into another argument with the parson,
the room was glorified with the rush of fluttering garments,
and the joyous inspiration of youthful sentiment.
Everybody seemed to like dancing, and no more congenial
home for the graces Terpsichorean than Rockley Lodge
could possibly be found. The host, who was not a dancing
man, smoked tranquilly in the verandah, much as if the
entertainment were in a manner got up for his benefit, and
had to be gone through with, while he from time to time
debated the question of State endowments with Sternworth,
or that of non-resident grants from the Crown with John
Hampden, who was characteristically inflexible but nonaggressive.
What with their neighbours Argyll and Hamilton, Ardmillan,
Forbes, and Neil Barrington, the ever-faithful Fred
Churbett, and divers newly-formed acquaintances who had
arrived during the evening, the Miss Effinghams found so
many partners that they scarcely sat down at all. Mr. St.
Maur, too, perhaps the handsomest man of the party, singled
out Beatrice and devoted himself to her for the greater part
of the evening. During the lulls, music was suggested by
Mrs. Rockley, who was ever at hand to prevent the slightest
contretemps during the evening. Rosamond and Beatrice
were invited to play, and finally Annabel and Beatrice to
sing.
Beatrice was one of the most finished performers upon
the pianoforte that one could fall across, outside professional
circles; many of them even might have envied her light,
free, instinctively true touch, her perfect time, her astonishing
execution. Her voice was a well-trained contralto. When
she sang a world-famed duet with Annabel, and the liquid
notes—clear, fresh, delicately pure as those of the mounting
skylark—rose in Annabel’s wondrous soprano, every one was
.bn 167.png
.pn +1
taken by storm, and a perfect chorus of admiration assured
the singers that no such performance had been heard in the
neighbourhood since a time whereof the memory of man
runneth not to the contrary.
It must not be supposed that Wilfred Effingham permitted
much time to elapse before he took measures which resulted
in an improvement of his recent acquaintance with Miss
Christabel Rockley. He had seen many girls of high claim
to beauty in many differing regions of the old world. He
had walked down Sackville Street, and sauntered through
the great Plaza of Madrid, bought gloves in Limerick, and
lace in the Strada Reale; but it instantly occurred to him
that in all his varied experiences he had never set eyes
upon so wondrously lovely a creature as Christabel Rockley.
Her complexion, not merely delicate, was wild-rose tinted
upon ivory; her large, deep-fringed eyes, dark, melting,
wondering as they opened slowly, with the half-conscious
surprise of a startled child, reminded him of nothing so
much as of the captured gazelle of the desert; her delicate,
oval face, perfect as a cameo; her wondrous sylph-like figure,
which swayed and glided in the dance like a forest nymph
in classic Arcady; her rosebud mouth, pearly teeth, her
childish pout smiling o’er gems—pearls, if not diamonds;
how should these angel-growth perfections have ripened in
this obscure outpost of Britain’s possessions? He was
startled as by a vision, amazed. He would have been hopelessly
subjugated there and then had he not been at that
time such a philosophical young person.
Lovely as was the girl, calculated as were her unstudied
graces and matchless charms to enthral the senses and drag
the very heart from out of any description of man less congenial
than a snow-drift, Wilfred Effingham escaped for the
present whole and unharmed.
At the same time he enjoyed thoroughly the gay tone and
joyous feelings which characterised the whole society, and
insensibly caught, in spite of his ever-present feeling of
responsibility, the contagion of free and careless mirth.
Dance succeeded dance, the quick yet pleasantly graduated
growth of friendly intimacy arose under the congenial conditions
of gaiety unrestrained and mingled merriment, till,
soon after midnight, the joyous groups broke up.
.bn 168.png
.pn +1
Mr. Rockley suddenly intimated that, as they would have
a long day at the races next day, and the ladies would need
all their rest after the journey some of them had made, to
withstand the necessary fatigues, he thought it would be
reasonable, yes, he would say he thought it would occur to
any one who was not utterly demented and childishly incapable
of forethought, that it was time to go to bed.
This deliverance decided the lingering revellers; adieus
were made with much reference to ‘au revoir,’ one of those
comprehensive phrases into which our Gallic friends contrive
to collect several meanings and diverse sentiments.
At the Budgeree Hotel a desultory conversation was kept
up for another hour between such choice spirits who stood
in need of the ultimate refreshment of a glass of grog and a
quiet pipe; but the wonders and experiences of the day had
so taxed the energies of Mr. Effingham and his sons that
the latter fell asleep before Fred Churbett had time to offer
six to four on St. Andrew for the steeplechase, or Hamilton
to qualify young Beanstalk’s rapturous declaration that
Christabel Rockley looked like a real thorough-bred angel,
and that there wasn’t a girl from here to Sydney fit to hold
a candle to her.
.bn 169.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XI | MR. BOB CLARKE SCHOOLS KING OF THE VALLEY
.sp 2
The eventful day at length arrived. How many hundreds
would have been disappointed if it had rained! From the
sporting squatters, who looked out of window to see if the
weather was favourable for Harlequin or Vivandière, to the
farmer’s son, busy at sunrise grooming his unaccustomed
steed, and pulling the superfluous hair from that grass-fed
charger’s mane and tail, while his sister or cousin danced
with joy, even before she donned the wide straw hat and
alpaca skirt, with the favourably disposed bow of pink or
blue ribbon, in which to be beautiful for the day.
And what more innocent pleasure? So very seldom
comes it in the long months of inland farming life, that no
moralist need grudge it to his fellow-creatures for whom fate
has not provided the proverbial silver spoon. That brown-cheeked
youngster believes that his bay Camerton colt,
broken in by himself, will make a sensation on the course;
perhaps pull off a ten-pound sweep in the Hurry-scurry Hack-race
(post entry), and he looks forward with eager anticipation
to the running for the Town Plate and the steeplechase.
Besides, he has not been in town since he took in the last
load of wheat. It is slow at home sometimes, though there
is plenty of work to do; and he has not seen a new face or
heard a new voice since he doesn’t know when.
In sister Jane’s heart, whose cheek owns a deeper glow
this morning, what unaccustomed thoughts are contending
for the mastery.
‘Will it not be a grand meeting, with ever so many more
people there than last year? And the gentlefolks and the
.bn 170.png
.pn +1
young ladies, she does like so to see how they dress and how
they look. It is worth a dozen fashion books. Such fun,
too, is a sweeping gallop round the course, and to feel the
breeze blow back her hair. Everything looks splendid, and
the lunch in the pavilion is grand, and every one so polite.
Besides, there is Ben Anderson that she knows “just to speak
to”; she saw him at a school feast last year, and he is certainly
very nice looking; he said he would be sure to be at the
Yass races. She wonders whether he will be there; nobody
wants him, of course, if he likes to stay away—but still he
might come; his father has a farm away to the westward.’
So the rhythm of human life, hope or fear, love or doubt,
curiosity or sympathy, chimes on, the same and invariable
in every land, in every age.
Thanks to the occasionally too fine climate of Australia,
‘the morning rose, a lovely sight,’ and if the sun flashed not
‘down on armour bright,’ he lit up a truly animated scene.
Grooms, who long before day had fed and watered their
precious charges, were now putting on the final polish, as if
the fate of Europe depended upon the delicate limbs and
satin-covered muscles. Owners, backers, jockeys, gentlemen
riders, all these were collecting or volunteering information;
while the ordinary business of the town—commercial, civil,
or administrative—was suffered to drift, as being comparatively
unimportant.
At an hour not far from nine o’clock the guests under the
hospitable roof of the Budgeree Hotel were assembled at the
breakfast-table. What a meal! What a feast for the gods
was that noble refection! What joyous anticipation of
pleasure was on all sides indulged in! What mirthful conversation,
unchecked, unceasing! There had been, it would
seem, a dinner and a small party at Horace Bower’s, and,
strange to say, every one had there enjoyed themselves much
after the same fashion as at Rockley’s. Bower had been in
great form—was really the cleverest, the most amusing fellow
in the world. Mrs. Bower was awfully handsome, and her
sister, just arrived from Sydney, was a regular stunner, would
cut down all before her. Mrs. Snowden had been there too—smartest
woman in the district; seen society everywhere—and
so on.
A race day owns no tremendous possibilities, yet is there
.bn 171.png
.pn +1
a savour of strife and doom mingled with the mimic warfare.
Many a backer knows that serious issues hang upon the
favourite’s speed and stamina; on even less, on chance or
accident. The steeplechase rider risks life and limb; it may
be that ‘darkness shall cover his eyes,’ that from a crushing
fall he may rise no more.
These entanglements weighed not in any wise upon the
soul of Wilfred Effingham, as he arose with a keener sense of
interest and pleasure in expectation than had for long
greeted his morning visions. His responsibilities for the
day were bounded by his vehicle and horses, so that his
family should be safely conveyed to and from the course.
Mrs. Effingham had at first thought of remaining quietly in
the house, but was reassured by being told that the course
was a roomy park, that the view of the performances was
complete, that the carriages and the aristocracy generally
would be provided with a place apart, where no annoyance
was possible; that the country people were invariably well-behaved;
and that if she did not go, her daughters would
not enjoy themselves, and indeed thought of remaining away
likewise. This last argument decided the unselfish matron,
and in due time the horses were harnessed, the side-saddles
put in requisition, and after a decent interval Black Prince
was caracolling away in the lead of the dogcart, and Fergus
exhibiting his paces among a gay troop of equestrians, which
took the unused, but all the pleasanter, road to the racecourse.
At this arena it was seen that the stewards had been
worthy of the confidence reposed in them. A portion of the
centre of the course had been set apart for the exclusive
use of the carriages and their occupants. Not that there
was any prohibition of humbler persons; but, with instinctive
propriety, they had apparently agreed to mass themselves
upon a slight eminence, which, behind the Grand Stand, a
roomy weather-board edifice, afforded a full view of the proceedings.
In the centre enclosure were shady trees and a sward of
untrampled grass, which answered admirably for an encampment
of the various vehicles, with a view to ulterior lunching
and general refreshment combinations at a later period of
the day.
.bn 172.png
.pn +1
Here all could be seen that was necessary of the actual
racing, while space was afforded for pleasant canters and
drives between the events, round the inner circle of the
course; and indeed in any direction which might suit the
mirth-inspired members of the party. The view, too, Mrs.
Effingham thought, as she sat in Mrs. Rockley’s phaeton, in
which a seat of honour had been provided for her, was well
worth a little exertion. The park-like woodlands surrounded
three sides of the little amphitheatre, with a distant dark
blue range amid the dusk green forest tints; while on the
south lay a great rolling prairie, where the eye roved
unfettered as if across the main to the far unknown of the
sky-line. Across this glorious waste the breeze, at times,
blew freshly and keen; it required but little imagination on
the part of the gazers to shadow forth the vast unbroken
grandeur, the rippling foam, the distant fairy isles of the
eternal sea.
Without more than the invariable delay, after twelve
o’clock, at which hour it had of course been advertised in
the Yass Courier of the period that the first race would
punctually commence, and after sharp remonstrance from
Mr. Rockley, who declared that if he had a horse in the
race he would start him, claim the stakes, and enter an
action against the stewards for the amount, a start was
effected for the St. Leger. This important event brought
six to the post, all well bred and well ridden. Wilfred
thought them a curiously exact reproduction of the same
class of horses in England.
His reflections on the subject were cut short by a roar
from the assemblage as the leading horses came up the
straight in a close and desperate finish. ‘Red Deer—Bungarree—no!
Red Deer!’ were shouted, as Hamilton’s
chestnut and a handsome bay colt alternately seemed to
have secured an undoubted lead. The final clamour
resolved itself into the sound of ‘Red Deer! Red Deer!!’ as
that gallant animal, answering to the last desperate effort of
his rider, landed the race by ‘a short head.’ Hamilton’s
early rising and months of sedulous training had told. It
was a triumph of condition.
Much congratulation and hand-shaking ensued upon this,
and Wilfred commenced to feel the uprising of the partisan
.bn 173.png
.pn +1
spirit, which is never far absent from trials of strength or
skill. He had more than once flushed at disparaging
observations touching the studs in his immediate neighbourhood,
at gratuitous assertions that the Benmohr horses were
not to be spoken of in the same day as So-and-so’s whatsyname
of the west, or another proprietor’s breed in the north, and
so on. Now here was a complete answer to all such, as
well as a justification of his own opinion. He had determined
not to risk a pound in the way of betting, holding the
practice inexpedient at the present time. But the thought
did cross his brain that if he had taken the odds more than
once pressed upon him, he might have paid his week’s
expenses as well as confuted the detractors of the Benmohr
stud. This deduction, ex post facto, he regarded as one of the
wiles of the enemy, and scorned accordingly.
He found the party more disposed to take a canter, after
the enforced quietude of the last hour, than to remain
stationary, so possessing himself of Guy’s hack, whom he
placed temporarily in charge of the dogcart, taking off the
leader as a precautionary measure, he rode forth among the
gay company for a stretching canter round the course, which
occasionally freshened into a hand-gallop, as the roll of
hoofs excited the well-conditioned horses.
The Town Plate—a locally important and much-discussed
event—having been run, and won, after an exciting struggle,
by Mr. O’Desmond’s Bennilong, a fine old thoroughbred,
who still retained the pace, staying power, and ability to
carry weight, which had long made him the glory of the
Badajos stud and the pride of the Yass district, preparations
for lunch on an extensive scale took place.
The horses of the different vehicles, as well as the
hackneys, were now in various ways secured, the more
provident owners having brought halters for the purpose.
Mrs. Rockley and Mrs. Bower, with other ladies, had
arranged to join forces in the commissariat department, the
result of which was a spread of such comprehensive dimensions
that it required the efforts of the younger men for
nearly half an hour to unpack and set forth the store of
edibles and the array of liquors of every kind and sort.
.pm start_poem
Rich and rare the viands were,
Diversified the plate,
.pm end_poem
.bn 174.png
.pn +1
inasmuch as each family had sent forth such articles as, while
available for immediate use, would cause less household
mourning if reported wounded or missing. But the great
requisities of an al fresco entertainment were fully secured.
An ample cold collation, with such relays of the beloved
Bass and such wines of every degree as might have served
the need of a troop of dragoons. The last adjuncts had been
forwarded by the male contingent, under a joint and several
responsibility.
Eventually the grand attack was commenced by the
impetuous Rockley, who, arming himself with a gleaming
carver, plunged the weapon into the breast of a gigantic
turkey, in the interests of Mrs. Effingham, who sat on his
right hand.
After this assaut d’armes the fray commenced in good
earnest. The ladies had been provided with seats from the
vehicles, overcoats, rugs, and all manner of envelopes, which
could be procured, down to a spare suit of horse-clothing.
Shawls and cloaks were brought into requisition, but the
genial season had left the sward in a highly available
condition, and with a cool day, a pleasant breeze, the shade
of a few noble eucalypti, fortunately spared, nothing was
wanting to the arrangements. As the devoted efforts of the
younger knights and squires provided each dame and damsel
with the necessary aliment, as the champagne corks commenced
to fusilade with the now sustained, now dropping
fire of a brisk affair of outposts, the merry interchange of
compliments, mirthful badinage, and it may be eloquent
glances become no less rapid and continuous.
.pm start_poem
Our Youth! our Youth! that spring of springs.
It surely is one of the blessedest things
By Nature ever invented!
.pm end_poem
sang Tom Hood, and who does not echo the joyous, half-regretful
sentiment. How one revelled in the$1‘$2’$3at the casual concourse of youthful spirits, where
the poetic sentiment was inevitably heightened by the mere
proximity of beauty. Surely it is well, ere the bright sky of
youth is clouded by Care or gloomed by the storm-signal of
Fate, to revel in the sunshine, to slumber in the haunted
shade. So may we gaze fondly on our chaplet of roses,
.bn 175.png
.pn +1
withered, alas! but fragrant yet, long ere the dread summons
is heard which tells that life’s summer is ended, and the
verdant alleys despoiled.
Another race or two, of inferior interest, was looked for,
and then the party would take the road for town, concluding
the day’s entertainment with a full-sized dance at the expansive
abode of Mr. Rockley, which would combine all
contingents.
The next day’s more exciting programme included the
steeplechase, to be run after lunch. In this truly memorable
event some of the best cross-country horses in Australia were
to meet, including those sensational cracks, The Cid and
St. Andrew, each representing rival stables, rival colonies.
The former with Bob Clarke up, the latter with Charles
Hamilton; each the show horseman of his district, and
backed by his party to the verge of indiscretion.
The less heroic melodramas having been acted out with
more or less contentment to performers, there was a general
return to boot and saddle, previous to the leisurely progress
homeward from the day’s festivities. This, as the hours were
passing on towards the shadowy twilight, was not one of the
least pleasant incidents of the day’s adventures.
The road skirted the great plain which bounded the
racecourse, and as the westering sun flamed gorgeous to his
pyre, fancy insensibly glided from the realism of the present
to the desert mysteries of the past.
‘Oh, what a sunset!’ said Christabel Rockley, whom
fate and the impatience of her horse had placed under
the control of Mr. Argyll. ‘How grand it is! I never see
sunset over the plains from our verandah without thinking
of the desert and the Israelites, camels, and pillared palaces.
Is it like that? How I should love to travel!’
‘The desert is not so unlike that plain, or any plain in
Australia,’ explained Argyll (who had seen the Arab’s camel
kneel, and watched the endless line of the Great Caravan
wind slowly over the wind-blown hollows), ‘inasmuch as it
is large and level; but the vast, awe-striking ruins, such as
Luxor or Palmyra—records of a vanished race—these we can
only dream of.’
‘Oh, how wonderful, how entrancing it must be,’ said
Miss Christabel, ‘to see such enchanted palaces! Fancy us
.bn 176.png
.pn +1
standing on a fallen column, in a city of the dead, with those
dear picturesque Arabs. Oh, wouldn’t it be heavenly! And
you must be there to explain it all to me, you know!’
As the girl spoke, with heightened colour, and the eager,
half-girlish tones, so full of melody in the days of early
womanhood, as the great dark eyes emitted a wondrous
gleam, raised pleadingly to her companion’s face, even the
fastidious Argyll held brief question whether life would not
be endurable in the grand solitudes of the world, ‘with one
(such) fair spirit to be his minister.’
‘My dear Miss Christabel,’ he made answer, ‘I should be
charmed to be your guide on such an expedition. But if
you will permit me to recommend you a delightful book,
called——’
Here he was interrupted by the deeply-interested fair one,
who, pointing with her whip to the advanced guard of the
party, now halted and drawn to the side of the road, said
hurriedly, ‘Whatever are they going to do, Mr. Argyll? Oh,
I see—Bob Clarke’s going to jump King of the Valley
over Dean’s fence. It’s ever so high, and the King is
such a wretch to pull. I hope he won’t get a fall.’
This seemingly abrupt transition from the land of romance
to that of reality was not perhaps so wide a departure in the
spirit as in the letter. The age of chivalry is not past;
but the knights who wear khaki suits in place of armour,
and bear the breech-loader in preference to the battle-axe,
have to resort to means of proving their prowess before their
ladies’ eyes other than by splintering of lances and hacking
at each other in the sword-play of the tournament.
The King of the Valley was a violent, speedy half-bred.
His owner was anxious to know whether he was clever enough
over rails, to have a chance for the coming steeplechase.
An unusual turn of speed he undoubtedly possessed, and, if
steadied, the superstition was that the King could jump
anything. But the question was—so hot-blooded and
reckless was he when he saw his fence—could he be
controlled so as to come safely through a course of three
miles and a half of post and rail fencing, new, stiff and
uncompromising?
To the cool request, then, that he would give him a
schooling jump over Dean’s fence, which some men might have
.bn 177.png
.pn +1
thought unreasonable, Bob Clarke, with a smile of amusement,
instantly acceded, and making over his hackney to a friend,
mounted the impatient King, shortened his stirrups, and
then and there proceeded to indulge him with the big fence.
Then had occurred the sudden halt and general attitude
of expectation which Miss Rockley had noted, and with
which she had so promptly sympathised. Bob Clarke was
a slight, graceful youngster, with regular features, dark hair
and eyes, and a mild expression, much at variance with
the dare-devilry which was his leading characteristic.
Passionately fond of field sports, he had ridden more steeplechases,
perhaps, than any man in Australia of his age. He
had been carried away ‘for dead’ more than once; had
broken an arm, several ribs, and a collar-bone—this last more
than once. These injuries had taken place after the horse
had fallen, for of an involuntary departure from the saddle
no one had ever accused him.
As he gathered up his reins and quietly took the resolute
animal a short distance back from the fence, unbroken
silence succeeded to the flow of mirthful talk. The fence
looked higher than usual; the close-grained timber of the
obstinate eucalyptus was uninviting. The heavy posts and
solid rails, ragged-edged and sharply defined, promised no
chance of yielding. As the pair had reached the moderate
distance considered to be sufficient for the purpose, Bob
turned and set the eager brute going at the big dangerous
leap. With a wild plunge the headstrong animal made as
though to race at the obstacle with his usual impetuosity.
Now was seen the science of a finished rider; with lowered
hand and closely fitting seat, making him for a time a part
of the fierce animal he rode, Bob Clarke threw the weight of
his body and the strength of his sinewy frame into such a
pull as forced the powerful brute to moderate his pace.
Such, however, was his temper when roused, that the
King still came at his fence much too fast, ‘reefing’ with
lowered head and struggling stride—an unfavourable state of
matters for measuring his distance. As he came within the
last few yards of the fence more than one lady spectator
turned pale, while a masculine one, sotto voce, growled out,
‘D—n the brute! he’ll smash himself and Bob too.’
As the last half-dozen strides were reached, however, the
.bn 178.png
.pn +1
rusé hero of many a hard fought fray ‘over the sticks,’
suddenly slackening his grasp of the reins, struck the King
sharply over the head with his whip, thus causing him to
throw up his muzzle and take a view of his task. In the
next moment the horse rose from rather a close approach,
and with a magnificent effort just cleared the fence. A cheer
from every man present showed the general relief.
‘Oh, how beautifully he rides!’ said the fair Christabel,
whose cheek had perhaps lost a shade of its wild-rose tint.
‘No one looks so well on horseback as Mr. Clarke. Don’t
you think he’s very handsome?’
‘Not a bad-looking young fellow at all, and certainly
rides well,’ said Argyll, without enthusiasm. ‘I daresay he
has done little else all his lifetime, like your friends the
Arabs. Watch him as he comes back again.’
The margin by which he had escaped a fall had been
estimated by the experienced Bob, who, taking advantage
of a field heavy from early ploughing, gave King of the
Valley a deserved breather before he brought him back.
By the time they were within a reasonable distance of the
fence, the excited animal had discovered that he had a
rider on his back. As he came on at a stretching gallop, he
was seen to be perfectly in hand. Nearing the jump, it
surprised no experienced spectator to see him shorten stride
and, ‘taking off’ at the proper distance, sail over the stiff top
rail, ‘with (as his gratified owner said) a foot to spare, and
Bob Clarke sitting on him, with his whip up, as easy as if he
was in a blooming arm-chair.’
‘There, Champion,’ said the victor as he resumed his
hackney. ‘He can jump anything you like. But if you
don’t have a man up who can hold him, he’ll come to grief
some day.’
A few trials and experiments of a like nature were indulged
in by the younger cavaliers before they reached town,
most of which were satisfactory, with one exception, in
which the horse by a sudden and wily baulk sent his rider
over the fence, and calmly surveyed the obstacle himself.
Another dance, at which everybody who had been at the
races, and who was du monde, finished worthily the day so
auspiciously commenced. Wilfred Effingham, who had
declared himself rather fatigued at the first entertainment,
.bn 179.png
.pn +1
and had at that festival asserted that it would do for a
week, now commenced to enjoy himself con amore—to sun
himself in the light of Christabel Rockley’s eyes, and to
badiner with Mrs. Snowden, as if life was henceforth to be
compounded of equal quantities of race meetings by day and
dances by night.
‘I suppose you are a little tired, Miss Rockley,’ he said,
‘after the riding and the picnic and the races; it is rather
fatiguing.’
‘Tired!’ echoed the Australian damsel in astonishment.
‘Why should I be tired? What is the use of giving in
before the week is half over? I shall have lots of time to
rest and enjoy the pleasure of one’s own society after you
have all gone. It will be dull enough then for a month or
two.’
‘But are there any more festivities in progress?’ he asked
with some surprise.
‘Any more? Why, of course, lots and quantities. You
English people must be made of sugar or salt. Why, there’s
the race ball to-morrow night, at which everybody will be
present—the band all the way from Sydney. The race
dinner the next night—only for you gentlemen, of course,
we shall go to bed early. Then Mrs. Bower’s picnic on
Saturday, with a dance here till twelve o’clock—I must get
the clock put back, I think. And Sunday——’
‘Sunday! haven’t you any entertainment provided for
Sunday?’
‘Well, no; not exactly. But everybody will go to
church in the morning, and Mr. Sternworth will preach us
one of his nice sensible sermons—they do me so much good—about
not allowing innocent pleasures to take too great
hold upon our hearts. In the afternoon we are all going for
a long, long walk to the Fern-tree Dell. You’ll come, won’t
you? It’s such a lovely place. And on Monday——’
‘Of course we shall begin all over again on Monday;
keep on dancing, racing, and innocently flirting, like inland
Flying Dutchmen, for ever and ever, as long as we hold
together. Isn’t that the intention?’
‘Now you’re beginning to laugh at me. It will be serious
for some of us when you all go away. Don’t you think so,
now?’ (Here the accompaniment was a look of such distracting
.bn 180.png
.pn +1
pathos that Wilfred was ready to deliver an address
on ‘Racing considered as the chief end of man,’ without
further notice.) ‘No; on Monday morning you are all to
pay your bills at the Budgeree—those that have money
enough, I mean; not that it matters—Bowker will wait for
ever, they say. Then you go back to your stations, and
work like good boys till the next excuse for coming into
Yass, and that finishes up the week nicely, doesn’t it?’
‘So nicely that I believe there is a month of ordinary
life compressed into it—certainly as far as enjoyment
goes. I shall never forget it as long as I live—never forget
some of the friends I have made here during the brightest,
happiest time of my life, especially——’
‘Look at that ridiculous Mr. Tarlton dancing the pas
seul!’ exclaimed Miss Christabel, not quite disposed to enter
upon Wilfred’s explanation of his sensations. ‘Do you know,
I think quadrilles are rather a mistake after all. I should
like dances to be made up of nothing but valses and galops.’
‘Life would be rather too rapid, I am afraid, if we carried
that principle out. Don’t you think Mrs. Snowden is looking
uncommonly well to-night?’
‘She always dresses so well that no one looks better.’
.bn 181.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XII | STEEPLECHASE DAY
.sp 2
In despite of the mirthful converse continued around him,
during the small hours, and the complicated condition of his
emotions, Wilfred Effingham slept so soundly that the breakfast
bell was needed to arouse him. He felt scarcely eager
for the fray; but after a shower-bath and that creditable
morning meal ever possible to youth, his feelings concerning
the problems of life and the duties of the hour underwent a
change for the better.
Charles Hamilton, Bob Clarke, and the turf contingent
generally had been out at daylight, personally inspecting the
steeds that were to bear them to victory and a modest raking
in of the odds or otherwise. How much ‘otherwise’ is there
upon the race-courses of the world! How often is the
favourite amiss or ‘nobbled,’ the rider ‘off his head,’ the
certainty a ‘boil over’! Alas, that it should be so! That
man should barter the sure rewards of industry for the
feverish joys, the heart-shaking uncertainties, the death-like
despair which the gambling element, whether in the sport
or business of life, inevitably brings in its train!
‘Why, this is life,’ sneers the cynic; ‘you are describing
what ever has been, is, and shall be, the worship of the great
god “Chance.” The warrior and the statesman, the poet
and the priest, the people especially, have from all time
placed their lives and fortunes on a cast, differently named,
it is true. And they will do so to the end.’
Such causticities scarcely apply to the modest provincial
meeting which we chronicle, inasmuch as little money changed
hands. What cash was wagered would have been treated
.bn 182.png
.pn +1
with scorn by the layers of the odds and inventors of ‘doubles,’
those turf triumphs or tragedies. Nevertheless, the legitimate
excitement of the steeplechase, three and a half miles over
a succession of three-railed fences, with the two ‘hardest’
men in the Southern District up, would be a sight to see.
Independently of the exciting nature of the race, an intercolonial
element was added. Bob Clarke and his steed were
natives of Tasmania; the cool climate and insular position
of which have been thought to be favourable to human
and equine development. Much colour for the supposition
was recognised by the eager gazers of Mr. Bob Clarke and
his gallant bay, The Cid.
The former was evidently born for a career of social
success. Chivalrous and energetic, with a bright smile, a
pleasant manner, his popularity was easy of explanation.
In a ball room, where his modesty was in the inverse ratio
to his iron-nerved performances across country, he was a
rival not to be despised. Among men he was voted ‘an out-and-out
good fellow,’ or a gentlemanlike, manly lad, from
whatever side emanated the criticism.
The Cid was a grand horse, if not quite worthy of the
exaggerated commendation which his admirers bestowed.
A handsome, upstanding animal, bright bay, with black
points, he had a commanding-looking forehand, ‘that you
could hardly see over,’ as a Tasmanian turfite observed,
besides a powerful quarter, with hips, the same critic was
pleased to observe, ‘as wide as a fire-place.’ In his trials
he was known to have taken leaps equal in height to anything
ever crossed by a horse. But a stain in his blood
occasionally showed out, in a habit of baulking. Of this
peculiarity he gave no notice whatever, sometimes indulging
it at the commencement, sometimes at the end of a race,
to the anguish of well-wishers and the dismay of backers.
A determined rider was therefore indispensable. As on
this occasion the only man in the country-side ‘who could
ride him as he ought to be ridden,’ according to popular
belief, was up, who had also trained him for this particular
race, little apprehension was felt as to the result.
Not less confident were the friends of St. Andrew, a
different animal in appearance, but of great merit in the eyes
of judges. Not so large as his celebrated antagonist, he had
.bn 183.png
.pn +1
the condensed symmetry of the racehorse. Boasting the
blue blood of Peter Fin (imported) on his mother’s side,
his Camerton pedigree on the other, entitled him to be
ticketed ‘thorough-bred as Eclipse.’ A compact and level
horse, with the iron legs of the tribe, every muscle stood out,
beautifully developed by a careful preparation. His dark
chestnut satin coat, his quiet, determined air, the unvarying
cleverness with which he performed in private, together with
the acknowledged excellence of his rider, rendered the
Benmohr division confident of victory.
The others which made up the race were fine animals,
but were not entrusted to any great extent with the cash or
the confidence of the public. Of these the most formidable
was a scarred veteran named Bargo, who had gone through
or over many a fence in many a steeplechase. His rider
being, like himself, chiefly professional, they were both undoubted
performers. But though the old chaser would
refuse nothing, his pace had declined through age. It was
understood that he was entered on the chance of the two
cracks destroying each other, in which case Bargo would
be a ‘moral.’
The remaining ones, with the exception of King of the
Valley, were chiefly indebted for their entry to the commendable
gallantry of aspiring youth. It was something to
turn out in ‘the colours’ and other requisites of costume
before an admiring crowd; something, doubtless, to see a
cherry cheek deepen or pale at the thought of the chances
of the day; something to try a local favourite in good
company. All honour to the manly and honest-hearted
feeling!
Of these, briefly, it may be stated that Currency Lass
was a handsome chestnut mare with three white legs, and
much of the same colour distributed over her countenance.
She was fast, and jumped brilliantly, if she could be prevailed
upon not to take off too near to her fences, or ridiculously
far off, or to pump all the breath out of her body by unnecessary
pulling. The regulation of these tendencies
provided a task of difficulty for the rider.
Wallaby and Cornstalk were two useful, hunter-looking
bays, which would have brought a considerably higher price
in the old land than they were ever likely to do here.
.bn 184.png
.pn +1
The course had been arranged so that the horses should
start near the stand, and going across country take a
circuitous course, but eventually finishing at the stand after
negotiating a sensational last fence. This was not thought
to be good management, but the enclosures admitted of no
other arrangement.
The morning’s racing having been got through, everybody
adjourned to lunch, it being decided that the important
event should take place at three o’clock, after which the
excitement of the day might be considered to be over. In spite
of the approaching contest, which doubtless contained an
element of danger, as it was known that the riders of the
two cracks would ‘go at each other for their lives,’ not
less than the usual amount of mirth and merriment was
observable. The two chief actors were altogether impervious
to considerations involving life and limb, although they
had seen and suffered what might have made some men
cautious.
Bob Clarke had been more than once ‘carried away for
dead’ from under a fallen horse, while Charles Hamilton had
won a steeplechase after having employed the morning in
tracking a friend who had gone out to ‘school’ a young
horse, and whom the search-party discovered lying dead
under a log fence.
The ladies exhibited a partisanship which they were at no
pains to conceal. Bets (in gloves) ran high; while the danger
of the imminent race rendered a fair cheek, here and there,
less brilliant of hue, and dimmed the sparkle of bright eyes.
‘Oh, I hope no one will get hurt,’ said Christabel Rockley;
‘these horrid fences are so high and stiff. Why can’t they
have all flat races? They’re not so exciting, certainly, but
then no one can get killed.’
‘Accidents occur in these, you know,’ said Mrs. Snowden,
philosophically; ‘and, after all, if the men like to run a little
risk while we are looking on, I don’t see why we should
grudge them the pleasure.’
‘It seems very unfeeling,’ says the tender-hearted damsel.
‘I shall feel quite guilty if any one is hurt to-day. Poor Mrs.
Malahyde, Bob Clarke’s sister, is dreadfully anxious; the
tears keep coming into her eyes. She knows how reckless
he can be when he’s determined to win.’
.bn 185.png
.pn +1
‘I fancy Mr. Hamilton’s St. Andrew will win,’ said Mrs.
Snowden; ‘he is better bred, they say, and he looks to me
so well-trained. What do you think, Mr. Effingham?’
‘I am a thick and thin supporter of the Benmohr stable,’
said Wilfred. ‘The Cid is a grand horse, but my sympathies
are with St. Andrew.’
‘I’ll bet a dozen pairs of gloves The Cid wins,’ said Miss
Christabel impetuously, looking straight at Mrs. Snowden.
‘He can beat anything in the district when he likes; Mr.
Hamilton rides beautifully, but Bob can make any horse win.’
‘My dear child, you are quite a “plunger,”’ said Mrs.
Snowden. ‘Doubtless, they will cover themselves with glory.
I’m afraid they can’t both win.’
At this moment one of the heroes joined the speakers,
sauntering up with a respectful expression of countenance,
proper to him who makes a request of a fair lady.
‘Miss Christabel, I have come to ask you to give me one
of your ribbons for luck. I see Miss Effingham has decorated
Hamilton. It’s only fair that I should have a charm too.’
‘Here it is, if you care for it, Bob!’ said the girl, hastily
detaching a ‘cerise’ knot from her dress, while her varying
colour told how the slight incident touched an unseen chord
beneath the surface; ‘only I wish you were not going to ride
at all. Somebody will be killed at these horrid steeplechases
yet, I know.’
‘Why, you’re nearly as bad as my sister,’ said the youthful
knight reassuringly, and giving his fair monitress an unnecessary
look of gratitude, as Wilfred thought. ‘I shan’t
let her come on the course next time I ride. There’s the
saddling bell. We’ll see whether the pink ribbon or the blue
goes farthest.’
The arrangements had been made with foresight, so that
beyond the customary galloping across the course for a
surcingle at the last moment by a friend in the interests of
Currency Lass, a proceeding which aroused Mr. Rockley’s
wrath, who publicly threatened her rider that he would bring
the matter before the Turf Club, little delay was caused. At
length all preliminaries were complete, and high-born St.
Andrew passed the stand, shining like a star, with Charles
Hamilton, in blue and gold, utterly point devise, on his
back. Horse and rider seemed so harmonious, indeed, that
.bn 186.png
.pn +1
a ringing cheer burst from the crowd, and all the throats
whose owners inhabited the hills and vales south of the
Great Lake shouted themselves hoarse for St. Andrew and
Mr. Hamilton.
‘He’s as fit as hands can make him,’ said one of this
division—a groom of O’Desmond’s. ‘There’s few of us can
put on the real French polish like Mr. Hamilton; he’s a
tiger to work, surely; and the little ’oss is fast. I know his
time. If that Syd, or whatever they call him, licks ’im
to-day, he’ll have his work to do. My guinea’s on St.
Andrew.’
‘He’s a good ’un, and a stayer,’ said the man who stood
next to him in the closely-packed temporary stand; ‘but
there’s a bit of chance work in a steeplechase. The Cid’s
a trimmer on the flat, or cross the sticks, but you can’t
depend on him. I wouldn’t back him for a shillin’ if young
Clarke wasn’t on him. But he’s that game and strong in the
saddle, and lucky, as my note would be on a mule if he was
up. Here he comes!’
As he spoke, The Cid came by the post at speed, ‘a pipe-opener’
having been thought necessary by his master, and
as the grand horse extended himself, showing the elastic
freedom of his magnificent proportions, with the perfection
of his rider’s seat and figure, standing jockey-like in his saddle,
moveless, and with hands down, it was a marvel of equestrian
harmony.
The roar of applause with which the crowd greeted the
exhibition showed a balance of popularity in favour of horse
and rider as the long-repeated cheers swelled and recommenced,
not ending indeed until the pair came walking
back, The Cid raising his lofty crest, and swinging his head
from side to side, as he paced forward with the air of a
conqueror.
‘Oh, what lovely, lovely creatures!’ said Annabel
Effingham, who had never been to a race meeting before.
‘I had no idea a horse could be so beautiful as St. Andrew
or The Cid. Why can’t they both win? I hope Mr. Hamilton
will, I’m sure, because he’s our neighbour; but I shall be
grieved if The Cid loses. How becoming jockey costume is!
And what a lovely jacket that is of Mr. Clarke’s! If I were
a man I should be passionately fond of racing.’
.bn 187.png
.pn +1
‘Bob’s a great deal too fond of it,’ said Mrs. Malahyde,
a bright-eyed matron of seven- or eight-and-twenty. ‘I wish
you girls would combine and make him promise to give it up.
I can’t keep away when he’s going to ride, but it’s all agony
with me till I see him come in safe.’
‘When you look at it in that way,’ assented Annabel, ‘it
certainly doesn’t seem right, and it’s unfair of us to encourage
it. What a pity so many nice things are wrong!’
‘They’re off!’ said Miss Christabel, who had been eagerly
watching the proceedings, during which the other performers
had severally displayed themselves, receiving more or less
qualified ovations, and then finally been taken in charge
severely by Mr. Rockley as far as the distance post. ‘They’re
off! Oh, don’t say a word till they’re over the first fence!’
All the horses of the little troop had sufficient self-control
to go ‘well within themselves’ from the start except King of
the Valley and Currency Lass. The mare’s nervous system
was so shaken by the thunder of the horse-hoofs and the
shouting of the crowd at her introduction to society, that she
pulled and tore, and ‘took it out of herself,’ as her rider, Billy
Day, afterwards expressed himself, to that extent, that he felt
compelled to let her have her head, with a lead over the first
fence.
This barrier she at first charged at the rate of a liberal
forty miles an hour, with her head up, her mouth open, and
such an apparently reckless disregard of the known properties
of iron-bark timber, that Billy’s friends began to cast
about for a handy vehicle, as likely to be in immediate demand
for ambulance work. But whether from the contrarieties said
to govern the female sex, or from some occult reason,
Currency Lass no sooner had her own way than she displayed
unexpected prudence. She slackened pace, and cocking her
delicately-pointed ears, rewarded her rider’s nerve and patience
by making a magnificent though theatrical jump, and being
awfully quick on her legs, was half-way to the next fence
before another had crossed the first.
‘Oh, what a lovely jump Currency Lass took!’ said one
of the young ladies, ‘and what a distance she is in front of
all the rest. Do you think she will win, Mr. Smith? How
slowly all the others are going.’
‘There’s plenty of time,’ said the critic of the sterner sex.
.bn 188.png
.pn +1
‘She’s a clever thing, but she can’t stay the distance. Ha!
very neatly done indeed. That’s what I call workmanlike.
Cornstalk baulks—well done—good jump! All over the
first fence, and no one down.’
These latter remarks were called forth by seeing St.
Andrew, The Cid, and Bargo charge the fence nearly in
line, the latter rather in the rear, and go over with as little
haste or effort as if it had been a row of hurdles. Wallaby
hit the top rail hard, but recovered himself, and Cornstalk,
after baulking once, was wheeled short, and popped over
cleverly, without losing ground.
The same style of performance was repeated with so little
variation for the next half-dozen leaps, that the eager public
began to look with favour upon the enthusiastic Currency
Lass, still sailing ahead with undiminished ardour, and flying
her leaps like a deer. The sarcastic inquiry, ‘Will they ever
catch her?’ commenced to be employed, and the provincial
prejudice in favour of a true bushman and a country-trained
horse, ‘without any nonsense about her,’ began to gather
strength.
But at this stage of the proceedings it became apparent
that the struggle between the two cracks could not longer be
postponed. With one bound, as it appeared to the spectators,
St. Andrew and The Cid were away at speed, their riders
bearing themselves as if they had only that moment started
for the race.
‘They’re at one another now,’ said Argyll to O’Desmond.
‘We shall see how the Camerton blood tells in a finish.’
‘Don’t you think Charlie’s making the pace too good?’
said Mr. Churbett. ‘I wanted him to wait till he got near
the hill, but he said he thought the pace would try The Cid’s
temper, and half a mistake would make him lose the race.’
‘They’re both going too fast now, in my opinion,’ said
Forbes. ‘One of them will have a fall soon, and then the
race is old Bargo’s, as sure as my name’s James.’
‘Oh, what a pretty sight!’ said Mrs. Snowden, as a large
fence in full view of the whole assemblage was reached.
The native damsel was still leading, but the distance had
visibly decreased which separated her from the popular
heroes. All three horses were going best pace, and as the
mare cleared the fence cleverly, but with little to spare,
.bn 189.png
.pn +1
pressed by The Cid and St. Andrew, as they took the jump
apparently in the same stride, a great cheer burst from the
crowd.
‘Well done, Bargo!’ shouted the complimentary crowd, in
high good-humour, as the old horse came up, quietly working
out his programme, and topping the fence with but little
visible effort, followed his more brilliant leaders. The others
were by this time considerably in the rear, but took their
jumps creditably still. The next fence was known to be the
most dangerous in the whole course. The ground was
broken and stony, the incline unpleasantly steep, and a small
but annoying grip caused by the winter rains interfered with
the approach. In the hunting field it would have been
simply a matter for careful riding. But here, at the speed
to which the pace had been forced, it was dangerous.
‘Why don’t they pull off there?’ muttered Mr. Rockley,
virtuously indignant. ‘No one but a madman would go over
ground like that as if they were finishing a flat race. That
fellow Hamilton is as obstinate as a mule. I know him; he
wouldn’t pull off an inch for all the judges of the Supreme
Court.’
‘I’m afraid Bob Clarke won’t,’ said John Hampden; ‘that’s
the worst of steeplechasing, the fellows will ride so jealous.
Well done, The Cid! By Jove! the mare’s down! and—yes—no!—St.
Andrew too. Don’t be frightened, anybody,’
as more than one plaintive cry arose from among the carriages
on which the ladies stood thickly clustering. ‘Both men up,
and no harm done. Hamilton’s away again, but it’s The
Cid’s race.’
These hurried observations, made for the benefit of the
visibly distressed clientèle of Hamilton, were called forth by
the most sensational proceedings which had obtained yet.
As the two rivals came down the slope at the highly
improper pace alluded to, they overtook Currency Lass at
her fence, which confused that excitable animal. Getting
her head from her rider, who had been prudently steadying
her across this unpleasant section, with the idea that he would
be unaccompanied till he was clear of it, she went at the fence
with her usual impetuosity. A gutter threw her out a little;
it may be that her wind had failed. It is certain that, taking
off too closely to the stiff fence, she struck the top rail with
.bn 190.png
.pn +1
tremendous force, the impetus casting her rolling over on her
back into the adjoining paddock, while her rider, fortunately
for him, was ‘sent rods and rods ahead of her’ (as a comrade
described it), and so saved from being crushed under the
fallen horse. The mare rose to her legs trembling and half
stunned, glared for one moment at surrounding objects, and
then went off at full speed, with flapping stirrups and trailing
reins. The Cid had sailed over the fence a yard to the left
of her, and was going at his ease, with nothing near him.
Where, then, was St. Andrew? He had also come to
grief.
Putting his foot on a rolling stone, he had been unable to
clear his leap, though he made a gallant effort. Striking
heavily, he went down on the farther side.
His rider, sitting well back, and never for one instant
losing his proverbial coolness, was able to save him as much
as, under the circumstances, a horse can be saved. Down
on nose and knee only went the good horse, his rider falling
close to his shoulder, and never relinquishing the reins.
Both were on their feet in an instant, and before the crowd
had well realised the fact, or the ‘I told you so’ division had
breath to explain why St. Andrew must fall if the pace was
kept really good, Charlie Hamilton was in the saddle and
away, with his teeth set and a determination not to lose the
race yet, if there was a chance left. Bargo came up with
calculated pace and line, and performed his exercise with the
same ease and precision as if he had been practising at a
leaping bar. Cornstalk baulked again, and this time with
sufficient determination to lose him half a mile. Wallaby
gave his rider a nasty fall, breaking his collar-bone and preventing
further efforts. While King of the Valley, going
reasonably up to this stage, overpowered his rider at last, and
hardly rising at his fence, rolled over, and did not rise. He
had broken his neck, and his rider was unconscious for twelve
hours afterwards. The race therefore lay between The Cid,
St. Andrew, and the safe and collected Bargo, coming up
pedo claudo, and with a not unreasonable chance, like Nemesis,
of appearing with effect at the close of the proceedings.
The next marked division of the course was known as ‘the
hill,’ an eminence of no great altitude between two farms, but
possessing just sufficient abruptness to make the fence a more
.bn 191.png
.pn +1
than average effort. This ‘rise,’ as the country people called
it, lay about three-quarters of a mile from home, and the horse
that first came down the long slope which led towards the
winning-post, divided from it but by several easy fences, had
a strong chance of winning the race.
Before The Cid reached the base of this landmark, still
keeping the pace good, but going comparatively at his ease,
it was apparent that Hamilton, who had been riding St.
Andrew for his life, and had indeed resolved to tax the
courage and condition of the good horse to the last gasp, was
closing in upon his leader. ‘Sitting down’ upon his horse,
Charles Hamilton extorted praise from the assemblage by the
determination with which he fought a losing race. He was
well seconded by the son of Camerton, as, extending himself
to the utmost, he flew fence after fence as if they were so
many hurdles.
‘What a pity poor St. Andrew came down at that abominable
place!’ said Annabel. ‘I really believe he might have
won the race. He was not so far behind Mr. Clarke when
he disappeared behind the hill.’
‘He’s only playing with him, I’m afraid,’ said Mr. Hampden
kindly. ‘Hamilton and his horse deserve to win, but
that fall made too great a difference between horses so evenly
matched.’
‘The Cid’s heart’s not in the right place,’ here broke in
an admirer of Miss Christabel’s, who had been cut down by
the fascinating Bob. ‘You know that, Hampden. I saw
him refuse and lose his race, which he had easy in hand, at
Casterton. He might baulk at that sidling jump behind the
hill yet. It’s a nasty place.’
‘I believe he will too,’ said Fred Churbett, staunch to
the Benmohr colours. ‘We ought to see them soon now;
they’re a long time coming. Take all the odds you can get,
Miss Annabel.’
‘Will you take seven to four, Churbett?’ said Mr. Hampden.
‘I know The Cid’s peculiarities, but I’ll back him out,
and my countryman, Bob Clarke, as long as there is a Hereford
at Wangarua.’
‘Done!’ said the friendly Fred; ‘and “done” again, Mr.
Hampden,’ said Bob’s rival.
Just as the words were finished a great shout of ‘St.
.bn 192.png
.pn +1
Andrew wins, Benmohr for ever!’ arose from the country
people as one horse was seen coming down the long, green
slope. On the rider could plainly be discovered the blue
and golden colours of Charles Hamilton.
‘Baulked, by Jove! the sidling fence was too much for
him; thought Bob was sending him along too fast. Deuced
uncertain brute; not the real thing; never could stay;
nothing like the old Whisker and Camerton strain. Here
comes Bargo! By Jove! Hurrah!’
Such comments and condemnations were freely expressed
as St. Andrew came sailing along. The concluding cheer,
however, was evoked by the apparition of a second horse
which followed St. Andrew with a flogging rider, who was
evidently making his effort. It immediately became apparent
that this was Bargo, whom his rider was ‘setting to with,’
believing that the tremendous pace which St. Andrew had
sustained for the last part of the race must now tell upon
him. Where, then, was The Cid? Where, indeed? His
admirers were dumb; his opponents jubilant. It is the way
of the world.
‘Where’s your seven to four now, Mr. Hampden?’ said
the youthful partisan.
‘Possibly quite safe; never be quite certain till the
numbers are up. Here comes The Cid at last; Bob’s not
beaten yet.’
Another sustained shout from the excited crowd showed
what a new element of interest this apparition of the lost
horseman had added to the race. Bargo, carefully saved,
and comparatively fresh, sorely pressed the gallant St.
Andrew, whose bolt was nearly shot. Still, struggling
gamely to keep his lead, and well held together, he had
crossed the third fence from home before he was challenged
by Bargo.
But down the hill, at an awful pace, ridden with the
desperation of a madman, came The Cid. Bob Clarke, with
cap off and reckless use of whip and spur, could not have
increased the pace by one single stride had he been going
for a man’s life. Had a doomed criminal been standing on
the scaffold, ready for the headsman’s axe, did the reprieve of
the old romances not be displayed in time, not another
second could The Cid have achieved.
.bn 193.png
.pn +1
‘He’ll do it yet if they’re not too close at the last fence,’
said Hampden, with his usual calmness. ‘I never knew The
Cid baulk twice in one race, and he has a terrible turn of
speed for a short finish. Bob’s in earnest, I should say.’
That fact was doubted by none who saw him that day.
His face was pale; his eyes blazed with a flame which few
had ever seen who looked upon the handsome features and
pleasant smile of Robert Clarke. The excitement became
tremendous. The ladies made emotional remarks—some of
pity for his disappointment, some of sympathy with his probable
hurts, if he had had a fall. All joined in reprobating
the unlucky Cid.
Christabel Rockley alone said no word, but her fixed eyes
and pale cheek showed the absorbing interest which the
dangerous contest, now deepening to a possible tragedy, had
for her.
The furious pace appeared not to interfere with The Cid’s
wondrous jumping powers. At the speed he was driven at
his fences he must have gone over or through them. He
seemed to prefer the former, and cheer after cheer broke the
unusual silence as high in air was seen the form of horse and
rider, as every fence was crossed but the last, and perhaps the
stiffest, a hundred yards from home.
St. Andrew and Bargo were now neck and neck, stride and
stride. The indomitable chestnut had begun to roll; the
stout but not brilliant Bargo was at his best. As they near
the last fence it is evident that The Cid, still coming up with
a ‘wet sail,’ is overhauling the pair. The question is,
whether St. Andrew is not too near home.
The anxiety of the crowd is intense, the breathless
suspense of the friends of the rival stables painful, the
fielders are at the acme of excited hope and fear, when
St. Andrew and Bargo, closely followed by The Cid, rise at
this deciding leap. The chestnut just clears it, with nothing
to spare; Bargo, overpaced, strikes heavily, and rolls in the
field beyond; Bob Clarke charges the panel on the right like
a demon, and, after a deadly neck-and-neck struggle with St.
Andrew, who still has fight left, outrides him on the post.
The conclusion of this ‘truly exciting race, covering with
glory all concerned therein,’ as the local journal phrased it,
was felt to be almost too solemn a matter for the usual hackneyed
.bn 194.png
.pn +1
congratulations. The overwrought emotions of the
young ladies rendered a prompt adjournment necessary to
side-saddles and vehicles, which, after refreshment supplied
to the protagonists, were made ready for the homeward route.
Bob Clarke received a congratulatory glance from Christabel
Rockley, which no doubt helped to console him, as did such
guerdon many a good knight of old, for the dust and dangers
of the tourney.
His sister, Mrs. Malahyde, who could hardly have been
said either to have seen or enjoyed the thrilling performance,
for ‘mamma was lying down crying in the bottom of the dogcart
all the time,’ as her little daughter testified, now arranged
her bonnet and countenance, and expressed her heartfelt
thanks for Bob’s safety.
Charles Hamilton received assurances from the ladies
generally, and particularly from his neighbours of The Chase,
that his courage and perseverance had been to them astonishing,
and beyond all praise; while St. Andrew, beaten only by
a head, after all his gallant endeavours to repair ill-luck, was
lauded to the skies.
‘Poor dear fellow!’ said Annabel. ‘I wonder if horses
ever feel disappointed. He does droop a little, and it was
wicked of you to spur him so, Mr. Hamilton. Now that
naughty Cid goes swinging his head about as if he was quite
proud of himself. How he has been spurred! Dear me!’
‘Yes, and well flogged,’ said one of the Hobart division.
‘Bob said when he baulked behind the hill he could have
killed him. However, it will do him good. He took his
last fences as if he would never refuse again as long as he
lived.’
‘I will just say this, as my calm and deliberate opinion,
and I should like to hear any man contradict me,’ said
Mr. Rockley, ‘that there never was a race better ridden
in the colony than Hamilton’s on St. Andrew. If he hadn’t
made that mistake at the stony creek he must have had the
race easily. His recovering his place was one of the best bits
of riding I ever saw.’
‘Oh, of course; but if The Cid hadn’t baulked, he would
have come in as he liked. Suppose we get them to run it
over again to-morrow as a match for a hundred. I’ll put a
tenner on The Cid.’
.bn 195.png
.pn +1
‘The race is run, Mr. Newman, and that’s enough,’ said
Rockley decisively; ‘quite enough danger for one year.
The next thing is to get back to Yass in time to dine comfortably,
and see that everything is ready for the race ball to-night.’
This sensible advice, which, like the suggestions of royal
personages, savoured somewhat of a command, was duly
acted upon, and in a short time the greater part of the
company, who intended to recompense themselves for the
fatiguing emotions of the day by the fascinations of the
night, took the homeward road, leaving ‘The Hack Stakes’
and the ‘Scurry’ (post entry) to be run without them. There
was ample time. The afternoon was mild and fair of aspect;
a friendly breeze, sighing over the plain, had come wandering
up from the south. The equestrian portion of the company
formed themselves unconsciously into knots and pairs.
Bob Clarke, having shifted into mufti, was lounging homeward
on a well-bred hackney on the offside of Christabel
Rockley’s Red King, whose arching neck he felt impelled
to pat, while he replied to the eager questioning of the fair
rider. Her cheeks were brilliant again with youth’s bright
tints, and her eyes glittered like imprisoned diamonds beneath
her tiny lace veil.
‘I hope you sympathise with me, Miss Effingham,’ said
Hamilton, as they rode in advance of the rest of the party, a
position to which Fergus’s extraordinary walking powers
generally promoted him. ‘Bob is receiving the victor’s meed
from Miss Christabel—how happy they both look!’
‘I really do, sincerely,’ said Rosamond, ignoring the
episodical matter. ‘It must be most provoking to have one’s
prize wrested away in the moment of victory. But every one
saw what a gallant struggle you and St. Andrew made. Were
you hurt at all when you fell?’
‘I shall be pretty stiff to-morrow,’ he answered carelessly;
‘but I have had no time to think about it. I thought my
arm was broken, as it was under St. Andrew’s shoulder. It
is all right, though numbed for a while. I am inwardly very
sore and disgusted, I don’t mind telling you. That tall
fellow, Champion, and Malahyde, with all the Tasmanians,
will crow so.’
‘It can’t be helped, I suppose,’ said Rosamond soothingly.
.bn 196.png
.pn +1
‘Mr. Hampden, at least, did not show any disposition to do
so, for he praised your riding and St. Andrew’s good finish
warmly. He said all steeplechases were won either by luck,
pluck, a good horse, or good riding, and that you had all but
the first requisite.’
‘Hampden is a good fellow and a gentleman,’ said the
worsted knight, rather consoled, ‘and so is Bob Clarke. If
one has done one’s best, there is no more to be said. But I
had set my heart on winning this particular race. Heigh-ho!
our pleasure week is coming to an end.’
‘Yes; to-night, the ball; to-morrow, the Ladies’ Bag and
a picnic. We are all off home on Monday. I shall not be
sorry, though I have enjoyed myself thoroughly; every one
has been so pleasant and friendly, and Mrs. Rockley kind
beyond description. I never had so much gaiety in so short
a time. But I shall be pleased to return to our quiet life
once more.’
.bn 197.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIII | MISS VERA FANE OF BLACK MOUNTAIN
.sp 2
After a due amount of dining and dressing, the former
performed by the male and the latter by the feminine portion
of the gathered social elements, ‘The great Terpsichorean
event, which marked this most harmonious Turf reunion,
was inaugurated with éclat,’ as the editor of the Yass Standard
(in happy ignorance of the illegal arrangement which divers
magnates, chiefly being Justices of the Peace, were at that very
hour transacting) described it in the following Monday’s issue.
All the bachelors, and not a few of the married men, had
quarters at the Budgeree Hotel, so that they had no unnecessary
fatigue to undergo, but were enabled to present
themselves in the grand ballroom of that imposing building
nearly as soon as it was ascertained that the Rockley contingent,
which apparently combined everybody’s favourite partner,
had arrived.
The brass band included a wandering minstrel from the
metropolis, whose aid, both instrumentally and in the selection
of dance music, proved truly valuable. The invitations,
owing to the liberal views of Mr. Rockley, had been
comprehensive, taking in all the townspeople who could by
any chance have felt aggrieved at being left out.
The ball was opened by a quadrille, in which Mrs. Rockley
and Hampden took part, while Rockley, with deferential demeanour,
led out Mrs. Effingham, who consented on that
occasion only to revive the recollections of her youth. Mrs.
Snowden and Argyll, Hamilton and Rosamond Effingham,
with other not less distinguished personages, ‘assisted’ at this
opening celebration.
.bn 198.png
.pn +1
After this ceremonious commencement the first waltz took
place, in which Wilfred found himself anticipated as to a
dance with Christabel Rockley, who, with an utterly bewildering
look, regretted that she was engaged to Bob Clarke.
That heroic personage swiftly whirled away with the goddess
in his arms, leaving Wilfred more annoyed than he liked to
confess, and divided in his resolutions whether to stay at home
and work austerely, avoiding the lighter amusements, or to
buy the best horse in the Benmohr stud, train him at The
Chase, and ride against Bob Clarke for his life at the next
meeting. He had called up sufficient presence of mind to
place his name again on Miss Christabel’s very popular card,
rather low down, it is true, but still available for a favourite
waltz, in which Fred Churbett had promised to assist with
his cornet, and Hamilton with his Sax-horn, a new instrument,
believed to be the combination of all sweet and
sonorous sounds possible to the trumpet tribe.
But all inappropriate thoughts were driven out by the
next partner, a striking-looking girl, to whom he was introduced
by Mr. Rockley, very properly doing duty as chief
steward.
This young lady’s name was stated to be Vera Fane, with
great clearness of intonation. He further volunteered the
information that she was the daughter of his old friend, Dr.
Fane, and (in what was meant to be a whisper) ‘as nice a
girl as ever you met in your life.’
The young lady smiled and blushed, but without discomposure,
at this evidence of the high value at which she was
rated.
‘Rather too good to be true, don’t you think?’ she said,
with a frank yet modest air. ‘I ought to declare myself
much honoured, and all the rest of it. But you know Mr.
Rockley’s warm-hearted way of talking, and I really think he
believes every word of it. He has known me from a child.
But I apologise, and we’ll say no more about it, please.
Very good racing there seems to have been. I was so sorry,
in despair I may say, to miss the steeplechase.’
‘Then you only came in to-day?’ asked Wilfred. ‘How
was that? I didn’t think any lady in the district could
have forgone the excitement. It seems to rank with the
miracle plays of the Middle Ages.’
.bn 199.png
.pn +1
‘Or rather the masques and tournaments of those of
chivalry. But I was away from home, and had to ride a
long way for the ball and the Ladies’ Bag to-morrow.’
‘I am afraid you must be tired. How far have you come
to-day?’
‘Really,’ said the young lady, with some hesitation, ‘I
must plead guilty to having ridden fifty miles to-day. I am
afraid it shows over-eagerness for pleasure, and dear old Mr.
Sternworth might scold me, if he was not so indulgent to
what he calls “the necessities of youth.” But our home is a
lonely spot, and I have so very little change.’
‘Fifty miles!’ said Wilfred, in astonishment. ‘And do you
really mean to say that you have ridden that immense
distance, and are going to dance afterwards? It will kill
you.’
‘You must be thinking of young ladies in England, Mr.
Effingham,’ said the girl, with an amused look; ‘not but
what some of them rode fair distances for the same reasons
a hundred years ago, papa says. I daresay I shall feel tired
on Sunday; but, as I’ve ridden ever since I could walk, it is
nothing so very wonderful. You mustn’t think me quite an
Amazon.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Wilfred, looking at the girl’s
graceful figure, and recognising that air of refinement which
tells of gentle blood, ‘I am lost in astonishment only. You
look as if you had made a start from “The Big House” with
the rest of Mrs. Rockley’s flock. But we must join this
waltz, if you don’t mind, or your journey will have been in
vain.’
Miss Fane smiled assent, and as they threaded the lively
maze, practically demonstrated that she had by no means
so overtired herself as to interfere with her dancing.
Wilfred immediately established her among the half-dozen
perfections he had discovered in that line. There was,
moreover, a frank, unconcealed enjoyment of the whole
affair, which pleased her partner. Her fresh, unpremeditated
remarks, showing original thought, interested him; so much
so, that when he led her to a seat beside her chaperon,
having previously secured a second dance at a later period
of the evening—and the very last—even Sir Roger de Coverley—the
bitterness of soul with which he had seen Christabel
.bn 200.png
.pn +1
Rockley borne off by the all-conquering Bob Clarke, was
considerably abated. He would have been incensed if any
one had quoted ‘surgit amari aliquid,’ nevertheless; if one
may so render the cheerful bard, ‘some charming person
generally turns up, with power to interest.’ It would not
have been so far inapplicable to his, or indeed to the (comparatively)
broken hearts of most of us.
By the time the dance of dances had arrived, when he
was privileged to clasp the slight waist and gaze into the
haunting eyes of the divine Christabel, he was conscious of a
more philosophical state of mind than in the beginning of
the evening. Nevertheless, the mystic glamour of beauty
came over him, fresh and resistless, as the condescending
charmer let her witching orbs fall kindly on his countenance,
smiled merrily till her pearly teeth just parted the rosy lips,
and blushed enchantingly when he accused her of permitting
Bob Clarke to monopolise her. She defended herself, however,
in such a pleading, melodious voice; said it was cruel in
people to make remarks, altogether looking so like a lovely
child, half penitent, half pouting, that he felt much minded
to take her in his arms and assure her of his forgiveness,
promising unbounded confidence in her prudence, and
obedience to her commands for the time to come.
‘There will be some more excitement, do you know, for
the Ladies’ Bag to-morrow,’ said the enchantress. ‘Mr.
Churbett’s Grey Surrey may not win it, after all. Bob told
me that a horse of Mr. Greyford’s, that nobody knows about,
has a chance. He’s suspected of having been in good company
before. Won’t it be fun if he wins, though I shall be
sorry for Mr. Churbett. Only Mr. Greyford can’t get a
gentleman rider the proper weight. What is yours?’
‘Really,’ said Wilfred, ‘I’m not sure to a few pounds.
But why do you ask?’
‘Don’t you see? If you’re not under eleven stone, you
can ride him. We can’t let any one in without an invitation
received before the race. You had one, I know.’
‘Oh yes, I believe so; but I never thought of riding.’
‘Well, but you can ride, of course. Now, if you’re the
proper weight, you might ride Mendicant for Mr. Greyford;
it would do him a service, and make the race better fun.
Besides, all the girls would like to see you ride, I know.’
.bn 201.png
.pn +1
‘Would you take any interest in my winning, Miss
Rockley? Say the word, and I will do that or anything else
in the wide world.’
‘Oh, I daresay; just as if you cared what I thought.
Now there’s Vera Fane, that papa introduced you to, she
would be charmed to see you win it. Oh, I know——’
‘But yourself? Only say the word.’
‘Then do ride—there, don’t look at me like that, or
you’ll have mamma thinking I’m ill and knocked up with
excitement; and if she begins to say I look pale, papa’s
capable of carrying me off before the ball’s over.’
Wilfred, thus adjured, veiled the ardent fire of his glances,
and then and there pledged himself to ride Mr. Greyford’s
Mendicant for the Ladies’ Bag, and to win, if Miss
Rockley would only back him, which she promised to do.
It was surprising how much more interest Wilfred took in
the coming contest, now that he was about to guide one of
the chariot racers, to disperse pulverem Olympicum in his
own person. He danced perseveringly with all the partners
suggested to him, covering himself with glory in the eyes of
Mr. Rockley. He had another and yet another dance with
Miss Fane, being much gratified at the interest she expressed
concerning the coming race. He made the acquaintance,
too, of Mr. Greyford.
‘Re Mendicant, he’s a lazy beggar,’ said that gentleman
frankly, ‘but well-bred, and can come at the finish if he
likes. I had given up the idea of starting him for want of a
jock, but I shall be happy if you will ride him for me. We’ll
go halves in this wonderful bag if Mendicant pulls it off.’
And so the great race ball was relegated to the limbo of
dead joys and pleasures, to that shadow-land where the
goblets we have quaffed, the chaplets which wreathed our
brows, the laughter that kindled our hearts, the hands that
pressed, the hearts—ah me!—that throbbed, have mostly
departed. There do they lie, fair, imperishable, awaiting
but the blast of the enchanted horn to arise, to sparkle and
glow, to thrill once more. Or has the cold earth closed
remorselessly, eternally, over our joys and those who shared
them, never again to know awakening till Time shall be no
more?
Much must be conceded to the influence of the Australian
.bn 202.png
.pn +1
climate or to the embalming influences of active pleasure-seeking,
which seems to possess an Egyptian potency for
keeping its votaries in statu quo while engaged in the worship
of the goddess. Whatever may have been the secret of unfailing
youth, most of the race meeting constituents seemed
to possess it, as they turned out after breakfast on Friday
morning, apparently ready to commence another week’s
racing by day, and dancing by night, if the gods permitted.
About a dozen horses were qualified to start for the
Ladies’ Bag. Hamilton had one, Forbes had one, Bob
Clarke (of course) another, so that the two stables would
again be well represented. O’Desmond, who did not ride
himself, had a likely young horse in, and there were several
others with some sort of provincial reputation. There was
the great Grey Surrey, and lastly that ‘dark,’ unassuming,
dangerous Mendicant of Greyford’s with Mr. Wilfred Effingham
up.
That gentleman had never ridden a race before, but was
a fair cross-country rider before he saw Australia, and since
then the riding of different sorts of horses had, of course,
tended to improve both seat and hands. He was aware of
the principles of race-riding, and though Bob Clarke,
Hamilton, Forbes, and Churbett had semi-professional skill,
he yet trusted, with the befitting courage of youth, to hold
his own in that tilt-yard.
He had borrowed a set of colours, and looking at himself
in the glass arrayed as in the traditional races of England,
was not dissatisfied with his appearance. He found himself
wondering whether he should be regarded with indulgence
by the critical eyes of Miss Christabel, or indeed the penetrating
orbs of Miss Fane. Was there a chance of his
winning? Would it not be a triumph if, in spite of the consummate
horsemanship of Hamilton and Bob Clarke, the
reputation of Grey Surrey, he should win the prize? The
thought was intoxicating. He dared not indulge it. He
partially enveloped himself in an overcoat, which concealed
the glories of his black and scarlet racing-jacket, the only
silken garment which the modern cavalier is permitted to
wear (how differently they ruffled it in the days of the second
Charles!), and hied him to the course.
Here he was met by congratulations on all sides.
.bn 203.png
.pn +1
‘Glad to see you’ve taken to the amateur jock line,
Effingham,’ said Churbett. ‘There’s a world of fun in it,
though it involves early rising. It’s awfully against the
grain with me, but I assure you I look forward to it every
year now. It compels me to take exercise.’
‘That view of racing never struck me before,’ said Wilfred.
‘But when we’re at Yass, you know, one must follow the
fashion.’
‘Especially when certain people look interested. Aha!
Effingham, you’re an awfully prudent card; but we’re all
alike, I expect.’
‘Pooh, pooh! why shouldn’t I take a turn at the pigskin
as well as you and the others?’ said Wilfred, evading the
impeachment; ‘and this sort of thing is awfully catching,
you know.’
‘Very catching, indeed,’ assented Mr. Churbett. ‘Is that
Miss Fane on the brown horse next to Mrs. Snowden?
Ladylike-looking girl, isn’t she? Suppose we go and get a
bet out of her?’
Following up this novel idea they rode over to the little
group, where Mr. Churbett was assailed with all sorts of
compliments and inquiries about the state and prospects of
Grey Surrey.
‘I think the articles should have been selected with
reference to your complexion, Mr. Churbett,’ said Mrs.
Snowden; ‘you seem so certain of carrying it off. I know
blue is your favourite colour, and I made my smoking-cap
and slippers of the last fashionable shade on purpose.’
‘Always considerate, Mrs. Snowden,’ said the object of
this compliment, as a smile became general at this allusion
to Fred’s auburn-tinted hair. ‘You must have been thinking
of Snowden, who resembles me in that way, and the
very early days when you used to work slippers for him.’
‘Really I forget whether I ever did much in that line for
Snowden. It must have been centuries ago.’
‘Oh, but I don’t agree with that at all,’ said the fair
Christabel. ‘Suppose some one with dark hair wins it,
then he would have to go about with all sorts of unbecoming
trash. Let every one be guided by their own taste.’
‘I daresay a few trifles that will look well on Bob Clarke
will be found in the bag,’ said Hamilton. ‘I heard something
.bn 204.png
.pn +1
about a gorgeous crimson and gold smoking-cap. I
wonder if anybody has been studying my complexion? If
Effingham wins, you will all be thrown out.’
‘Then you are going to ride, Mr. Effingham?’ said the
fair Christabel, with a smile so irresistible that it fully repaid
him for his troubles and misgivings. ‘I am sure I hope
you will win, though I’m afraid, between Grey Surrey, No
Mamma, and Bolivar, you haven’t a good chance.’
‘I wouldn’t be too certain about that,’ said Miss Fane,
who had recognised Wilfred with a pleasant, cordial greeting,
and whom he thought looking uncommonly well in her habit,
and indisputably well mounted. ‘Don’t be alarmed by these
great reputations. A little bird told me about Mendicant,
and I’ll take the odds (in gloves), which are eight to one, I
believe, that he’s first or second.’
This daring proposal brought rejoinders and wagers upon
the head of the fair turfite, who quietly accepting a few of
the latter, declared that her book was full, but was not to be
dislodged from her position.
Wilfred felt much encouraged, and proportionately grateful
to the fair friend who had stood by him and his unknown
steed. So he registered a vow to remember her in the future—to
like and respect and approve of her—in short, to pay
her all those guarded tributes which men in early life keep
for the benefit of women they admire, trust, and look up to,
but alas! do not love.
Among his few well-wishers must be classed Wilfred’s
sisters and mother, who, honestly pleased to see him ‘respeckit
like the lave,’ as Andrew would have said, secretly thought
that he looked handsomer and better turned out when
mounted than almost anybody else in the race—in fact,
nearly as well as Bob Clarke. But even these partial critics
could not assert to themselves, when they saw Master Bob
come sailing past the stand upon Bolivar, a dark bay thoroughbred,
looking like a brown satin angel (Bolivar, not Bob),
as one enthusiastic damsel observed, that he equalled in
appearance and get-up that inimitable workman. Still, he
looked very nice, they lovingly thought, and of Wilfred’s
clear complexion, brown hair, well-knit frame, and animated
countenance other fair spectators held a like opinion.
Grey Surrey came next, ‘terrible’ for a mile, and owing
.bn 205.png
.pn +1
to his Arab ancestry, a better stayer than might have been
thought from his violent manners. His rider’s admirably
fitting nether garments, the wrinkles of his boots, the shading
of his tops, were accurate to a degree. His bright blue
colours had many a time been in the van. Kindly and
affable in the widest sense, with a vein of irresistible comic
humour, he was the most popular squatter in his district—a
man of whom none thought evil—to whom none would
dream of doing harm more than to the unweaned child.
To a rare though not too sedulously cultivated intellect
Fred Churbett joined the joyous disposition of a moderate
viveur, the soul of a poet, and the heart of a woman. But
the gold held not the due proportion of alloy—too often,
alas! the case with the finer natures.
The comprehensive cheer which the whole assemblage
instinctively gave showed their appreciation. From the
crowd (not so many as on the previous day, but still were
the people not wholly unrepresented) rose cries of ‘Well done,
Mr. Churbett! Hope you’ll win again. Grey Surrey and
The She-oaks for ever!’
And as the silky flowing mane glistened in the sun, while
the proud favourite arched his neck and with wide nostril
and flashing eye trod the turf with impatient footstep, as
might his Arab ancestors have spurned the sands of Balk or
Tadmor, every friend he had on the course, which comprehended
all the ladies, all the gentlemen, all the respectable
and most of the disrespectable persons, thought that if Fred
Churbett and Grey Surrey did not win yet another victory,
there must be something reprehensible about turf matters
generally.
Probably, in order that the ladies might have a liberal
allowance of sport in recompense for their contributions, and
partly in compliance with the undeveloped turf science of
the day, the fashion of ‘heats’ had always been the rule of
this race. Thus, when Grey Surrey came in leading by a
length, with Bolivar and No Mamma racing desperately for
second place, every one of experience stated that the third,
or even the fourth, would be the deciding heat if Bolivar or
No Mamma was good enough to ‘pull it off’ from the
brilliant Surrey. Wilfred had adopted the advice he had
received from Mr. Greyford, and while keeping a fair place,
.bn 206.png
.pn +1
had taken care to save his sluggish steed. He nevertheless
managed to come through the ruck without apparent effort
during the last part of the running, and finished an unpretending
fifth.
On delivering over his horse to Mr. Greyford’s trainer, he
was gratified to find that he had won that official’s unqualified
approval by his style of riding. ‘There isn’t a mark on him,
sir,’ he said; ‘and that’s the way to take him for the first
couple of heats. Mendicant’s a lazy ’oss, and an uncommon
queer customer to wind up. But if Surrey don’t win the
next heat—and I think Mr. Forbes’s No Mamma will give
him all he can do to get his nose in front—it’s this old
duffer’s race, as safe as if the rest was boiled.’
‘But how about Bolivar?’
‘Well, sir, Bolivar and No Mamma are a-cuttin’ their own
throats the way they’re a-bustin’ theirselves for second place,
and if you go at whatever wins the third heat from the jump,
and take it easy the next ’un, you’ll have this ’ere bag to a
moral.’
Returning from this diplomatic colloquy to the vortex of
society, Wilfred found himself to be already an object of
interest in sporting circles. Much advice was tendered to
him, and counsels offered as to his future plan of action, but
as these were mostly contradictory, he thought himself
justified in holding his tongue and abiding by the professional
opinion of the stable.
Before the final heat he found Fireball Bill walking the
veteran up and down, with a serious and thoughtful countenance.
‘Look ’ere, sir, don’t you make too sure of this ’ere
’eat afore you’ve won it. The old ’oss seems right enough;
he’s bound to win if he stands up, but I don’t like the way he
puts down that near foreleg. It’s allers been a big anxiety
to me. He might go away as sound as a roach and crack
up half-way round. But you make the pace from the jump,
and keep ’em goin’, or else one on ’em ’ll do yer at the
bloomin’ post.’
‘What chance is there of that?’
‘Every chance, sir. You mind me. I’m a man as has
follered racing since I was the height of a corn-bin, and
I knows the ways on ’em. Mr. Clarke ain’t easy beat, nor
Mr. Hamilton neither. They’ll go off steady, yer see, as if
.bn 207.png
.pn +1
there was no use tryin’ to pass yer, along o’ their havin’
busted their ’orses in them ’eats as went afore.’
‘And a very natural idea. It seems a pity to knock them
about, after all they’ve done.’
‘We’ve got to win this race, sir, and a race ain’t won till
the numbers is up. Now, Mr. Bob Clarke’s dart is jest this.
If he sees you don’t keep the old ’orse on his top, he and Mr.
Hamilton will wait on yer, savin’ their own ’orses till they
come to the straight. Then they’ll go at you with a rush,
and there’s no hamatoor in Australia can take as much out
of a horse in the last ten strides as Bob Clarke. You’re
caught afore the old ’orse can get on to his legs, and the
race is snatched out of the fire by nothin’ but ridin’ and
head-work, and we’re—smothered!’
‘Beaten and laughed at! I understand clearly, Bill. I
shall always think you have had more to do with the winning
of the race than I have.’
‘That’s all right, sir, but keep it dark. All this is confidential-like
between the trainer and the gen’leman as rides.
There goes the bell again. I can hear Mr. Rockley cussin’
all the way from where he stands. Here’s your ’orse, sir;
you’ve got to win, or kill him!’
Delivering over the unsuspecting Mendicant with this
sound professional but scarcely humane injunction, Fireball
Bill gazed after his charge, and scrutinised the leg he
suspected him of ‘favouring.’ ‘He’s right!’ he finally exclaimed,
after anxious deliberation; ‘but if I hadn’t primed
the cove, ’e’d a’ lost that race, sure’s my name’s William
Scraper.’
Wilfred rode on his way in dignified fashion, as befitting
the position of probable winner, but in his heart a feeling of
thankfulness to the old trainer by whose advice he had
escaped a catastrophe. What a mortification it would have
been; how the vane of public opinion would have veered
round! He trembled to think of it; and as he drew up
after the others, he hardened his heart, resolved that no
artifice of the turf should mar his triumph that day.
His rivals went off with an assumption of indifference,
as if merely going round for form’s sake; but he took the
old horse by the head and sent him away as if he was riding
against Time from end to end. His two chief antagonists—for
.bn 208.png
.pn +1
O’Desmond had very properly withdrawn his colt—waited
at a reasonable rate of speed until it became apparent
that Mendicant’s rider had no intention of altering his pace.
Then they set to, and by the way they came up, showed how
accurate was Fireball Bill’s calculation.
Suddenly, and without a sign of premeditation, Bob
Clarke took his horse by the head, and with one of his
many desperate efforts, sent him up so suddenly to the flank
of Mendicant, that Wilfred thought the race was lost in good
earnest.
But as he heard the approaching hoofs, he too commenced
to ‘do the impossible,’ and found that, though
nearly level, Bolivar was unable to improve his position,
while Mendicant, answering whip and spur, gradually drew
in advance, as the winning post and the judge’s stand (and,
as it seemed to Wilfred, half Yass at gaze) came to meet him.
A few strides, a deafening shout, a rally of whips, and the
race is over. But the long, lean head had never been overlapped;
and as he pulls up, head down and distinctly
‘proppy,’ half-a-dozen men struggle for the honour of leading
Mendicant into the weighing-yard, and his rider knows
that he has won. Bolivar, with distended nostril and
heaving flank, follows next, with Bob Clarke sitting languidly
on his back, and looking nearly as exhausted as his horse;
while No Mamma, eased at the distance, drags in, as if she
had had enough of it for some time to come. Wilfred takes
his saddle and mechanically goes to scale. ‘Weight!’ says
Mr. Rockley decisively, and all is over.
In all turf contests, bitter disappointments, deep and
lasting mortifications, sharpened by loss and inconvenience,
occur. But when there comes a real triumph, the sweets
of success are rich of flavour.
Wilfred was the hero of the occasion, Fortune’s latest
favourite, impossible to be deposed until next year. No
newer victor could therefore take away the savour and
memorial of his triumph, as, to a certain extent, he had now
done from Bob Clarke.
Such is the inconsistency of human nature that, although
the steeplechase required about ten times the amount
of horsemanship, besides nerve, experience, and a host of
qualities unneeded in a flat race, Wilfred found himself the
.bn 209.png
.pn +1
observed of all observers, and could not but discern that his
rivals were temporarily in the shade.
He lost no time in bestowing himself into his ordinary
raiment and joining the homeward-bound crowd, secure of
the smiles which ladye fair never refuses to bestow upon the
knight who has worthily done his devoir.
Christabel Rockley congratulated him warmly upon his
good fortune, and then turned to console Bob Clarke, a
process which apparently involved more time and explanation,
so much so that Wilfred changed his locale, under
pretence of looking after his mother and sisters, and soon
found himself in more sympathetic company.
He saw that Miss Fane had become a great friend and
associate of his sister Rosamond, so quickly are lifelong
alliances cemented among young ladies. Mrs. Snowden was
also in the neighbourhood, and among them he was flattered
to his heart’s content.
‘I was sure you were going to win it from the first,’ said
Mrs. Snowden, as if stating an incontestable fact. ‘I said to
Mrs. Rockley, “How cool Mr. Effingham looks! Depend
upon it, he has ridden in good company before.”’
‘I never bet anything more substantial than gloves,’ said
Miss Fane, with a gleam of mischief in her eyes; ‘but I can
quite understand the gambling spirit now. I longed to put
a five-pound note papa gave me at parting on Mendicant.
Dreadfully wicked, wasn’t it? But I should have won fifty
or sixty pounds, perhaps a hundred. I have made a small
fortune, however, in gloves.’
‘I shall always think that you were the cause of my
winning, Miss Fane,’ said Wilfred, looking most grateful.
‘No one else believed in me, except these girls here,’ looking
at his sisters.
‘We are prejudiced,’ said Rosamond, ‘and will remain
so to the end of the chapter. But I thought you were
fighting against odds, with such champions as Mr. Hamilton
and Mr. Clarke. Now you have won the tilt and are the
favoured knight. Is the queen of beauty to give you the
victor’s wreath?—and who is she?’
‘Oh, Christabel the peerless, of course,’ said Miss Fane.
‘And I think her the prettiest creature in the world—that
is, for a dark beauty, of course,’ looking at Annabel, who
.bn 210.png
.pn +1
now came up. ‘It’s a case of honours divided, all the men
say.’
‘I wonder how we shall settle down in our peaceful
homes again,’ said Beatrice, ‘after all these wild excitements
and thrilling incidents. I feel as if we were leaving the first
or second volume of a novel.’
‘Why the first or second,’ said Miss Fane, ‘and not the
third?’
‘Because there’s no possibility of our story being complete
in one volume. There are materials for romances here,
but the dénouement is wanting. Every one will go home
again on Monday; the actors and actresses will throw on
their wrappers, the lights will be put out, the theatre shut
up, and no piece announced until next year. There is
something theatrical about all pleasure. This indeed is
real melodrama, with plenty of scene-shifting, comedy in
proper proportion, leading actors, and a hint of tragedy in
the last act.’
For the Effinghams this had been a completely new experience.
Without complications of the affections, except in
Wilfred’s case, a wider estimate of Australian country life had
been afforded to them. Besides the squirearchy of the land,
they had met specimens of the best of the younger sons whom
England’s ancient houses still send, year by year, to carry
her laws, her arts, her ambition, and her energy to the most
distant of her possessions. These include, literally, the
ends of the earth, where they may aid in the heroic work of
colonisation, planting the germs of nations, and raising the
foundations of empires. Such men they had among their
immediate neighbours. Still it was pleasant to know that
others of the same high nature and standard of culture, the
Conquistadors of the South, were distributed over the entire
continent.
Moreover, they had fallen across several perfect feminine
treasures, as Annabel declared them to be—friends and
acquaintances, most rare and valuable. Nothing could have
exceeded the hospitality and thoughtful kindness of the
ladies of the Rockley family. Mrs. Rockley had been
unwearied in providing for the comfort of her guests, and in
that congenial employment partaking as well in her own
person of a reasonable share of the pleasures of the continuous
.bn 211.png
.pn +1
festa, underwent such fatigue, that nothing but an unruffled
temper, with great natural advantages of constitution, prevented
her from breaking down hopelessly before the week
was over. As it was, though there was a slight look of
weariness, an air of responsibility, in the morning, the least
occasion sufficed to bring the ever-cordial smile to the kind
face, when all gravity of mien instantly disappeared.
.bn 212.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIV | THE DUEL
.sp 2
In Ireland’s good old days, before the decline of unlimited
hospitality and claret, debt, duelling, and devilment generally,
when the Court of Encumbered Estates was not, the whole
duty of man apparently being transacted with an enviable
scorn of ready-money payments, no doubt exists, that after
such a race week as we have essayed to recall, more than one
gentleman’s hackney would have gone home without him,
unless the pistol practice was worse than usual.
As it was, a contretemps did occur, which could not be
settled without the intervention of seconds. These gentlemen
decided that a meeting must take place. It chanced
after this wise. As will happen in all lands, there had arisen
a veiled but distinct antagonism between two men who
aspired to social leadership. These were William Argyll and
John Hampden.
The former, haughtily impatient of opposition, was prone
to follow out likes and dislikes, with the enthusiasm of his
Highland blood. Culture, travel, and the drill of society had
but modified his natural temperament. Under provocation it
was as untamed as that of any son of MacCallum Mohr who
had never quitted the paternal glen. He undervalued
the opinions of his Australian-born neighbours who had not,
like himself, enjoyed the advantages of travel. Hasty in
word or deed, habituated to high consideration from the
dwellers near his paternal estate, he was careless to a fault
about giving offence.
Hampden, though a proud and self-respecting man, was
singularly imperturbable of demeanour. Open-minded,
.bn 213.png
.pn +1
generous, interested in every idea calculated to advance the
welfare of his native land, his position was high and unquestioned.
In his own part of the country he was respected
by his equals and reverenced by his inferiors to a degree
uncommon, but by no means unknown in Australia. The
people were much in the habit of resorting to him for aid or
counsel in their difficulties. And whatever Mr. Hampden
said in such cases carried with it the weight and authority
of law. His decisions, indeed, were more often quoted,
more rarely disputed, than those of any bench of magistrates
in the land.
Although cautious in forming his opinions and chary of
expressing them, John Hampden was noted as one who
never gave back an inch from any position which he
assumed. This trait chafed the choleric Argyll, who had
also a considerable ‘following’—admirers of his attainments,
and dominated by his unrelaxing though generous despotism.
It therefore happened that, in public matters, Argyll and
Hampden were mostly observed to take different sides.
Before the race meeting there arose a dispute, common
enough in those days, between the stock-riders of the two
establishments as to the ownership of certain calves at the
annual muster of Mount Wangarua. Some ill-considered
remarks of Argyll’s, reflecting on Hampden’s management,
were repeated with additions. Allusion had been made to
‘indiscriminate branding,’ than which nothing could have
been more uncalled for. A scrupulously exact man in such
matters, many a poor man had reason to bless the day when
his few head of strayed cattle found their way into the herds
which bore the J.H. brand. Rarely was it placed on an
animal without satisfactory proof of ownership. However,
‘accidents will occur in the best regulated (cattle) families,’
and so had come to pass the mistake, fully explained afterwards,
upon which Argyll had commented unfavourably.
The opportunity afforded for withdrawing his hasty expressions
was not availed of. So after a formal interview, the
alternative was reached which, by the laws of society in
that early day, compelled a resort to the pistol.
Of course, this ultimatum, though known to a few
intimate friends, was carefully concealed from the general
public. The rivals met without suspicious coldness, were
.bn 214.png
.pn +1
seen at the ordinary gatherings, and bore themselves as
became the average pleasure-seekers of the hour. But the
meeting had been fixed for the Monday following the race
week, and it was agreed that the principals, with their seconds,
should visit a certain secluded spot on the homeward route
of Hampden’s party, and there arrange their difficulty.
Both men were known to be good shots; with rifle and
pistol (not yet had Colonel Colt impressed his revolving
signet on the age) Hampden was known to have few equals.
But no surprise was manifested when it was announced on
the eventful Monday that Hampden and his friend Neville,
together with Forbes, Argyll, and Churbett, had departed at
daylight and taken the same road. Every one was in the
confused state of mind which is prone to succeed a season
of indulgence. There were bills to pay, clothes to pack,
resolutions as to improvement to be made by those who had
exceeded their usual limit in love, loo, or liquor. So that,
except an expression of astonishment that any reason whatever
should have had power to take Fred Churbett out of
his bed at such an abnormal hour, little was said.
As they rode through the silent streets of the sleepy town,
a moaning breeze betokened that the exceptionally fine
weather they had enjoyed was about to change for the
worse.
To Fred Churbett, as he rode along with a young surgeon
impressed in case of accident, the day seemed chilly, the
fitful wind boding, the darkening sky gloomy and drear.
‘What if one of these men, in all the pride of manhood, so
lately rejoicing in the sport in which they had been jointly
engaged, should never leave the Granite Glen alive?
What a mockery was this life of ours! And for what? for
a careless word—a hasty jest—for this might a man go down
to the dark unknown, with all his sins upon his head.
A melancholy ending to their pleasant days and joyous
nights!’
These cheerless meditations were probably compounded
in equal proportions of bilious indigestion and natural regret.
Fred’s inner man had come off indifferently under a regimen
of late hours and mixed refreshments; so much so, that he
had professed his intention, when he returned to the peaceful
shades of The She-oaks, ‘to lie on his back for a month
.bn 215.png
.pn +1
and live on blue-pill.’ Such thoughts would not have
occurred to him had he been engaged as principal. But as
a mere spectator of a mortal combat they were impressively
urgent.
Besides all this, Hampden was a married man—had a
wife and half-a-dozen boys and girls at Mount Wangarua.
When he thought that a messenger might ride up through
the far-famed meadows, where the white-faced Herefords lay
thick on the clover sward the summer through, to tell the
expectant wife that the husband—the father, the pattern
country gentleman—would return no more! Fred felt as if
he must strike up everybody’s sword, as in old melodramas,
and call upon them in the name of God and man to desist
from a deed at once puerile and immoral.
But like a dream when morning breaks, and princess
and noble, castle and dragon flee into the shadow-land,
whence they came, so his purpose vanished into thin air, as
they suddenly debouched upon the Granite Glen, and he
saw by the set faces of the men, as they dismounted, how
unavailing would be all interference.
With sudden revulsion of feeling, he prepared to act his
part. Motioning the young surgeon to follow him to the little
creek which rippled plaintively over the grey blocks, shaded
by the funereal, sighing casuarina, they took charge of the
horses of the combatants. Forbes and Neville each produced
one of the oblong cases ‘which no gentleman could be without’
in those days. Twelve paces were stepped by Forbes,
in deference to his similar experiences. The principals took
their ground.
Fred Churbett scanned narrowly, at the moment, the
faces he knew so well. On Argyll’s he saw the look of
vehement resolve which he had seen a hundred times
before, while his eyes glowed with angry light. Fred knew
that whenever any one alluded to Hampden’s alleged expression,
‘that he was a hot-blooded Highlander, accustomed
to rule semi-savages, and who did not know how to conduct
himself among gentlemen,’ or words to that effect, Argyll
could not be held accountable for his actions. When the
passion fit was over, a more accomplished, courteous gentleman
did not live—generous to a fault, winning, nay, fascinating,
of manner to all with whom he came into contact.
.bn 216.png
.pn +1
Hampden’s face, on the other hand, bore its usual serious
expression, with no shadow of change o’er the mild, contemplative
gaze. He looked, as he always appeared to those
who knew him, as if he were thinking out the subject
on hand with painstaking earnestness in the interests of
truth.
Duels were always rare in Australia. Now they are unknown.
Society appears to manage without them in disputes
affecting the honour of individuals. Whether manners
have suffered in consequence, is a point upon which opinions
have differed. It had so chanced that Hampden had never
stood ‘on the ground’ before, although in skirmishes with
the wild tribes of his native land it was well known that his
cool intrepidity and unerring aim had more than once saved
life.
On this occasion an observer of character might have
believed that he was more closely occupied in analysing his
own and his adversary’s sensations than in attending to his
personal interest.
That opinion would have been modified, when the critic
observed him raise his hand with quiet precision at the
signal. He fired with instinctive rapidity, and at the falling
handkerchief two reports rang out.
As each man preserved his position unaltered, a sigh of
relief broke from Fred Churbett. The features of Hampden
had not in the slightest degree altered their expression. The
eager observer even thought he detected a tendency to the
slow, humorous smile which was wont to be his substitute
for laughter, as Argyll threw down his weapon with a hasty
exclamation, while a red line on his pistol arm showed that
the accuracy of Hampden’s aim had not been altered by the
nature of his target.
‘You are hit, Argyll?’ said Churbett, starting forward.
‘For God’s sake, stop this mummery! I know Hampden
regrets anything inconsiderate he may have said.’
The brow of Argyll was black with suppressed fury.
‘A d—d graze, can’t you see, sir?’ he said, as he
reluctantly pulled up his coat-sleeve for the inspection of the
surgeon. ‘The matter cannot stop here. An apology at this
stage would be absurd. I am in Mr. Forbes’s hands, I
believe.’
.bn 217.png
.pn +1
That gentleman had already walked gravely forward to
meet Mr. Neville, who, with equal seriousness of demeanour,
conferred with his antagonistic diplomate. Words were exchanged,
ending with an ominous shaking of the head on
Forbes’s part. The seconds, having courteously bowed, departed
to their former positions. There they placed pistols
in the hands of the opponents, and took their stations.
Even at this stage the manner of the two men remained
as essentially apart as their constitutions. Argyll stood
chafing with impatience, while Hampden’s eyes wandered
calmly over the whole scene—the valley, the little stream, the
threatening sky—as if considering the chances of the season.
As the pistols were handed to them, Argyll took his
weapon with a quick gleam of the eye, which spoke of inward
strife, while Hampden accepted his mechanically and proceeded
to gaze fixedly at Argyll, as if prepared to give the
matter his serious attention.
At the signal he raised his hand as before, but one report
only startled the birds on the adjacent tree-tops. Hampden
held his pistol in the steady hand which so few had ever
known to swerve from a deadly aim, and then, elevating the
muzzle, fired carelessly into space.
‘We should have improved in our shooting,’ he said, ‘as
we went on; Argyll’s second shot was not so wide as the
first. He has spoiled my coat collar.’
‘By Jove!’ ejaculated Neville, ‘rather a near thing. This
must end the matter; I’ll be no party to another shot.’
‘I have no objection to state now,’ said Hampden, ‘that
I regret the expressions used by me. I beg unreservedly to
withdraw them.’
After a short colloquy between Argyll and Forbes, the
latter came forward, and with great precision of intonation
thus delivered himself.
‘I have much pleasure in stating, on the part of my
principal, that while accepting Mr. Hampden’s handsome
apology and retractation, he desires to recognise cordially his
generous behaviour.’
Only the Spartan laws of the duello, inexorably binding
upon all men soever of a certain rank in society, prevented
Fred Churbett from throwing his hat into the air at this
termination of the affair.
.bn 218.png
.pn +1
As each party moved off in opposite directions, after
Argyll had, rather against his will, submitted to having his
arm bandaged, secundum artem, Hampden said to Neville:
‘What mockeries these affairs are! I could have shot
Argyll “as dead as a herring.” It’s better as it is, though.’
‘It’s a good thing his last shot wasn’t an inch or two
inside your collar instead of out,’ said Neville gravely.
‘After all, as you say, these things are mockeries, and worse.
Suppose he had drilled you, and I was on my way to tell Mrs.
Hampden that her husband would never return to her?’
‘But you wouldn’t be able to have given the sad intelligence,
old fellow,’ said Hampden; ‘you would have been
fleeing from justice, or surrendering yourself. Deuced troublesome
affair to all concerned, except the departed. But a
man must live or die, in accordance with the rules of society.
After all, there’s nearly as much chance of breaking one’s
neck mustering over that lava country of ours as being
snuffed out in this way. Life’s a queer lottery at best.’
‘H—m, ha!’ said Neville, ‘great deal to be got out of
the subject; don’t feel in the humour for enlarging on it
just now. What a good fellow that Churbett is! He had
a mind to read the Riot Act himself.’
.pm start_poem
An angry man ye may opine,
Was he, the proud Count Palatine!
.pm end_poem
And dire would have been the wrath of our provincial
potentate, William Rockley, had he but known on Sunday
morning what deeds were about to be enacted within his
social and magisterial jurisdiction.
No sympathy had he, a man of strictly modern ideas, with
what he called the mediæval humbug of duelling. He looked
upon the policeman as the proper exponent of such proceedings.
Could he have but guessed where this discreditable
anachronism, according to his principles, was being perpetrated,
all concerned would have found themselves in the
body of Yass gaol, in default of sufficient sureties to keep
the peace. The news, however, did not leak out until afterwards,
owing to the discretion of the persons concerned, and
the fortunate absence of serious results. When it did become
matter of public comment, his imperial majesty was furious.
He abused every one concerned in unmeasured terms; swore
.bn 219.png
.pn +1
he would never speak to Argyll or Forbes again, and would
have Hampden struck off the Commission of the Peace. As
for Fred Churbett, he considered him the worst of the lot,
because of his deceitful, diabolical amiability, which permitted
him to assist in such infamous bloodthirsty designs unsuspectedly.
Not one of them should ever darken his doors
again. He would never subscribe another shilling to the
Yass Races; indeed, he believed he would sell out, wind up
his business, and leave that part of the colony altogether.
However, not receiving intimation of this infraction of the
law until matters were somewhat stale, the status in quo was
undisturbed. The whole of the company, with the exception
of the few who were in the secret, were similarly innocent;
so the air remained unclouded. An afternoon walk to
Fern-tree Hollow, a shady defile which lay a couple of miles
from the town, was the accepted Sunday stroll.
Every one turned up to say farewell, thinking it a more
suitable time than on the hurried, packing, saddling, harnessing-up,
bill-paying morrow. Then once more the work of
the hard world would recommence. The idyll had been
sung to the last stanza. The nymphs would seek their
forest retreats, the listening fauns would disappear amid the
leaves. The rites of that old world deity ‘Leisure,’ now
sadly circumscribed, had been honoured and ended. This
was the last day, almost the last hour, when Phyllis could be
expected to listen to soft sighings, or Neæra to be seen in
proximity to the favouring shade.
As they strolled homewards, in the evening, with a troubled
sunset and a cooler breeze, as if in sympathy with the imminent
farewell, the scraps of conversation which might have
been gathered were characteristic. Something more than
half-confidences were occasionally interchanged, and semi-sentimental
speculations not wholly wanting.
At the close of the evening, and the end of the stroll,
every one, of course, went to the Maison Rockley, and comforted
their souls with supper, Sunday being an early dinner
day, as in all well-regulated British families. Conversations
which had not been satisfactorily concluded had here a
chance of definite ending, as the guests somehow seemed
unwilling to separate when the probability of meeting again
was uncertain or remote.
.bn 220.png
.pn +1
With the exception of a little music, there was no attempt
at other than conversational occupation, which indeed appeared
to suffice fully for the majority of the guests. And
though ordinary topics gradually introduced themselves, and
Rockley, in the freedom of the verandah, reiterated his
opinions to Mr. Effingham upon the iniquities of the land
law, a subdued tone pervaded, half unconsciously, the various
groups, as of members of one family about to separate for a
hazardous expedition.
‘I feel terribly demoralised,’ said Mrs. Snowden, ‘after all
this dissipation; it is like a visit to Paris must have been to
Madame Sevigné, after a summer in the provinces. Like
her, we shall have to take to letter-writing when we go home
to keep ourselves alive. The poultry are my great stand-by
for virtuous occupation. They suffer, I admit, from these
fascinating trips to Yass; for the last time I returned I
found two hens sitting upon forty-five eggs. Now what
philosophy could support that?’
‘Whose philosophy, that of the hens?’ inquired Hamilton,
who, with his observant companion, had been mildly reviewing
the confidentially occupied couples. ‘It looks to me
like a case of overweening feminine ambition on their part.’
‘It was all the fault of that careless Charlotte Lodore
who was staying with me—a cousin of mine, and a dreadful
girl to read. She was so deeply interested in some new book
that she left the poor fowls to their own devices, and never
thought about adjusting their “clutches”—that’s the expression—until
I returned. If you could have seen our two
faces as we gazed at the pile of addled eggs you would have
been awed. I was so angry.’
As for Wilfred, he concluded an æsthetic conversation with
Miss Fane by trusting that she would be enabled to accept
his mother’s invitation, and pay them a visit at Warbrok
Chase before the winter set in.
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, really,’ said she,
‘but I seldom manage to leave home, except to see a relation
in Sydney, or when our good friends Mr. and Mrs.
Rockley insist on my coming here. But for them, papa
would hardly consent to my visiting in the country at all.’
There was evidently some constraint in the manner of
the girl’s explanation, and Wilfred did not press for the
.bn 221.png
.pn +1
solution, trusting to time and the frank candour with which
every one discussed every other person’s affairs in the neighbourhood.
Miss Fane took an opportunity of quitting her seat and
joining Mrs. Effingham and Beatrice, with whom, much to
Wilfred’s satisfaction, she maintained a friendly and confidential
talk until the little party commenced to disperse.
He discovered at the same time that Christabel Rockley and
Bob Clarke had exhausted their powers of mutual fascination
for the present, so he could not forgo the temptation
of hastening, after the manner of moths of all ages, to
singe his wings in a farewell flutter round the fatal Christabel.
That enchantress smiled upon him, and rekindled his regrets
with a spare gleam or two from out her wondrous eyes, large
as must have been the consumption of soul-felt glances
during the evening; yet such is the insatiable desire for
conquest that she listened responsively to his warm acknowledgments
of the pleasure they had enjoyed during the
week, nearly all of which was attributable to the great kindness
of Mrs. Rockley and the hospitality of her father. ‘He
should never forget it. The remembrance would last him all
his life,’ and so on, and so on.
.tb
On Monday morning business in its severest sense set
in for the world of Yass, its belongings, and dependencies.
Before dawn all professionals connected with race-horses
were hard at work with the silent energy which characterises
the breed. Jockeys and trainers, helpers and boys, were
steadily employed, each in his own department, strapping,
packing, or saddling up with a taciturn solemnity of mien,
as if racing had been abolished by Act of Parliament, and
no further rational enjoyment was to be hoped for in a
ruined world. Correspondingly, the tide of labour and rural
commerce swelled and deepened. Long teams of bullocks
slowly traversed the main street, with the heavy, indestructible
dray of the period, filled with loads of hay, wheat,
maize, oats, or flour. Farmers jogged along in spring-carts,
or on rough nags; the shops were open and busy, while the
miscellaneous establishment of Rockley and Company, which
accommodated with equal ease an order for a ton of sugar or
a pound of nails, a hundred palings, or sawn timber for a
.bn 222.png
.pn +1
bridge, was, as usual, crowded with every sort of client and
customer, in need of every kind of merchandise, advice, or
accommodation.
Shortly after breakfast, therefore, Black Prince pranced
proudly up before his wheeler to the door of Rockley House,
looking—but by no means likely to carry out that impropriety—as
if he was bent upon running away every mile of
the homeward journey. Portmanteaus and, it must be admitted,
parcels of unknown size and number (for when did
women ever travel forth, much less return, without supplementary
packages?) were at length conveniently bestowed.
Adieus and last words—the very last—were exchanged
with their kind hostess and her angelic daughter, who had
vowed and promised to visit The Chase at an early period.
Rockley had betaken himself to his counting-house hours
before. Fergus and Allspice were once more honoured with
the weight of their respective mistresses, and the little
cortège departed. Our cavalier had, we know, been prevented
by a pressing engagement from accompanying them
on the homeward route; but it was not to be supposed that
two young ladies like Rosamond and Beatrice were to be
permitted to ride through the forest glades escorted merely
by relations. Most fortunately Mr. St. Maur happened to
be visiting his friend O’Desmond, combining business and
pleasure, for a few days. As his road lay past The Chase,
he was, of course, only too happy to join their party.
Annabel Effingham thought that Bertram St. Maur was
perhaps the prince and seigneur of their by no means undistinguished
circle of acquaintances. A tall, handsome
man, with a natural air of command, he was by Blanche and
Selden, immediately after they had set eyes on him, declared
to be the image of a Norman King in their History of England,
and invested accordingly with grand and mysterious
attributes. A well-known explorer, in the first days of his residence
in Australia he had preferred the hazards of discovery
to the slower gains of ordinary station life. He was therefore
looked upon as the natural chief and leader in his own
border district, a position which, with head and hand, he was
well qualified to support.
The homeward journey was quickly performed, a natural
impatience causing the whole party to linger as little as
.bn 223.png
.pn +1
possible on the road. Once more they reached the ascent
above their home, from which they could look down upon the
green slopes, the tranquil lake, the purple hills, of the well-known
landscape. The afternoon had kept fine; the change
from the busy town, the late scene of their dissipation, was
not unpleasing.
‘I am pleased to think that you young people have enjoyed
yourselves,’ said Mrs. Effingham, ‘and so, I am sure, has papa.
It has been a change for him; but, oh, if you knew how
delighted I am to see home again!’
‘So am I; so are we all,’ said Annabel. ‘I for one will
never say a word against pleasure, for I have enjoyed myself
tremendously. But “enough is as good as a feast.” We
have had a grand holiday, and like good children we shall go
back cheerfully to our lessons—that is, to our housekeeping,
and dear old Jeanie.’
‘Your mother is right in thinking that I enjoyed myself,’
said Mr. Effingham. ‘I found most pleasant acquaintances,
and had much interesting talk about affairs generally. It
does a man good, when he is no longer young, to meet men
of the same age and to exchange ideas. But I must say that
the pleasure was of an intense and compressed description; it
ought to last you young people for a year.’
‘Half a year,’ said Annabel, ‘I really think it might. We
met improving acquaintances too,—though I am popularly
supposed not to care about sensible conversation,—Miss Fane,
for instance. We shared a room, and I thought her a delightful,
original, clever creature, and so good too. Can’t we
have her over here, mamma? She lives at a place called
Black Mountain, ever so far away, and can hardly ever leave
home, because she has little brothers to teach, and all the
housekeeping to do. I am sorry she is so far off.’
‘So am I, Annabel. We should all like to see more of
her.’
‘I think that there were an unusual number of pretty girls,’
continued Annabel. ‘As for Christabel Rockley, I could
rave about her as much as if I were a man. She is a lovely
creature, and as good-natured and unselfish as a child.’
‘I must say,’ said Mr. Effingham, ‘that for hospitality in
the largest sense of the word, I never saw anything to surpass
that of our friends. I knew Ireland well when I was young,
.bn 224.png
.pn +1
but even that proverbially generous land seems to me to be
outdone by our Australian friends.’
‘I hope Jeanie will have a nice dinner for us,’ said
Annabel. ‘But we need never be afraid of the dear old
thing not doing everything she ought to have done. She
knew we were coming home to-day, and she will be ready and
prepared for a prince, if we had picked up a stray one at Yass.
Home, sweet home! How glad I am! There is nothing
like dissipation for making one feel truly virtuous.’
Of a truth, there is always something sacred and precious
connected in the minds of the widely scattered families of the
Anglo-Saxon race about the very name of ‘home!’ There
was no one of the Effinghams whose heart was not stirred as
they rode and drove up to the hall door, and saw the kindly,
loving face of Jeanie, the seriously satisfied countenance of
Andrew, and even the silent Duncan, quite excited for him,
as he stood ready to assist with the horses. The garden in
the neighbourhood of the entrance gate was trim and neat,
while showers had preserved the far-stretching verdure which
glorifies the country in whatever hemisphere. No great time
was consumed in unsaddling. Guy personally superintended
the stabling of St. Maur’s horse, while Wilfred conducted
him to one of the spare rooms. Dick Evans, always handy
in emergencies, turned up in time to dispose of the tandem.
And in less than half an hour Effingham and his new
acquaintance were walking up and down the verandah awaiting
the dinner-bell, much refreshed and comforted, and in a
state of mind fitted for admiring the landscape.
‘How fortunate you seem to have been in falling across
such a family residence,’ said St. Maur. ‘You might have
been for years in the country and never heard of anything
half so good. What a lovely view of the lake; and first-class
land, too, it seems to be.’
‘We owe our good fortune in great part, or I may say
altogether, to my old friend Sternworth. But for him we
should never have seen Australia, or have been stumbling
about in the dark after we did come here. And if it were
possible to need any other aid or advice, I feel certain Mr.
Rockley would insist on giving it. I must say that the soil
of Australia produces more friends in need to the square mile
than any other I know.’
.bn 225.png
.pn +1
‘It may be overrated in that respect,’ said St. Maur,
smiling; ‘but you are in no danger of overrating Rockley’s
benevolence or his miraculous ways and means of carrying
out his intentions. As for Mr. Sternworth, he is the “Man
of Ross”—or rather of Yass—
.pm start_poem
To all the country dear,
.pm end_poem
and passing rich on not exactly ‘forty pounds a year,’ but
the Australian equivalent. If he introduces any more such
desirable colonists we must have him made rural Dean. You
are satisfied with your investment, I take it?’
‘So much so, that I look forward with the keenest relish
to the many changes and improvements [here his visitor gave
a slight involuntary motion of dissent] which I trust to carry
out during the next few years. Everything is reassuring in
a money-making aspect, so I trust not to be indiscreet in
developing the property.’
‘My dear sir, nothing can be more proper than that we
should carry out plans for the improvement of our estates,
after they have shown annual profit balances for years. But to
spend money on improvements in Australia before you have
a reserve fund is—pardon my frankness—held to be imprudent.’
‘But surely a property well improved must pay eventually
better than one where, as at present, all the stock are permitted
to roam almost in a state of nature?’
‘When you come to talk of stock paying, my dear sir, you
must bear in mind that it is not the finest animal that yields
the most profit, but the one on which, at a saleable age, you
have expended the least money.’
The evening passed most pleasantly, with just sufficient
reference to the experiences of the week to render the conversation
entertaining. In the morning their guest departed,
and with him the last associations of the memorable race
meeting, leaving the family free to pursue the calm pursuits
of their ordinary life.
Wilfred found himself freshly invigorated and eager to take
up again occupations connected with the policy of the
establishment. He praised Dick Evans and old Tom warmly
for the exact order in which he found all departments, not
forgetting a word of approval for Andrew, of whose good
.bn 226.png
.pn +1
conduct, however, he was assured under all possible circumstances.
As the season passed on, it seemed as though the family
of the Effinghams had migrated to one of the poets’ isles—
.pm start_poem
Happy with orchard lawns,
Where never wind doth blow or tempest rave—
.pm end_poem
so flawless were all the climatic conditions, upon which their
well-being depended.
Pleasant it was, after the day’s work was done, when the
family gathered round the substantial fire which, red-glowing
with piled-up logs, thoroughly warmed but did not oppressively
heat the lofty room. Then came truly the season of
.pm start_poem
Rest, and affection, and stillness.
.pm end_poem
Although a certain reaction was apparent after the
stupendous adventures and experiences of the race meeting,
yet moderate social intercourse survived. Mr. Churbett
was the first of the personages from the outer world who
presented himself, and the historiette of the duel having
leaked out, he had to undergo a grave lecture and remonstrance
from Mrs. Effingham, which, as he said afterwards,
reminded him so of his own mother that it brought the
tears into his eyes.
Mr. Argyll, luckily for his peace of mind, had occasion to
go to Sydney, otherwise, not to mention chance reviewers
and critics, it is hard to imagine how he could have protected
himself against the uncompromising testimony which
Mrs. Teviot felt herself compelled to take up against him.
‘Spillin’ the bluid o’ the Lord’s anointed; no that Maister
Hampden was mair than a magistrate, but still it is written,
‘they bear not the sword in vain.’ And oh, it’s wae to
think if Hampden’s bullet had juist gane thro’ the heart o’
Maister Argyll, and his mither, that gracious lady, wearyin’
for him by the bonny hills o’ Tarbert! And that Maister
Churbett, I wadna hae thocht it. I could fell him.’
Howard Effingham, in a general way, disapproved of
duelling, but as a soldier and a man of the world was free
to confess that, as society was constituted, such an ultimatum
could not be dispensed with. He was happy to hear no
casualty had occurred. His own opinion, judging from what
he had seen of colonial society, was that the men composing
.bn 227.png
.pn +1
it were an exceptionally reasonable set of people, whose lives,
from circumstances, were of exceptional value to the community
at large as well as to their families. In the older
countries of Europe, where duelling had formerly flourished,
the direct converse of this proposition often obtained. He
believed that in course of time the practice of duelling would
become so unnecessary, even unfashionable, as to be practically
obsolete.
Mr. Hampden did not belong to their ‘side of the
country’ (or neighbourhood); thus he was necessarily left
to receive his share of admonition from his wife, and such
of his personal friends who cared to volunteer reproof or
remonstrance. There were those who smiled sardonically at
this view of the case.
.bn 228.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XV | THE LIFE STORY OF TOM GLENDINNING
.sp 2
During one of the long rides which Wilfred was obliged to
take from time to time with Tom Glendinning, it occurred
to him to ask about his previous history. The old man
was unusually well; that is, free from rheumatism and
neuralgia. The demons which tortured his irritable temper
were at rest. For a wonder, Tom was communicative.
‘Sure there’s little use in knowin’ the finds and the kills
and blank days of a toothless old hound like meself. I’m
broken-mouthed enough to know better; but the oulder some
gets, the wickeder they are. Maybe it’s because there’s little
hope for them. I was born in the north of Ireland, where
my people was dacent enough. Linen factories they had—no
less. My great grandfather came from Scotland, my
father was dead, and my uncle that I lived with was the
sourest old miser that ever the Black North turned out.
I was a wild slip of a youngster always, like a hawk among
barn-door fowl. My mother came from the West. It was
her blood I had, and it ran too free and merry in thim days.
She was dead too, but I loved her people. I liked the
sporting notions of ’em, and took to their ways, their fights,
their fairs and the very brogue, just to spite my uncle and
his canting breed.
‘I hated everything they liked, and liked everything they
hated. I was flogged and locked up for runnin’ away from
school. Why should I stay in and larn out of a dog’s-eared
book when the hounds met within five Irish miles of me?
I was always with them when I could slip off—sleepin’ in
the stables, helpin’ the grooms, doin’ anything so they’d let
.bn 229.png
.pn +1
me stay about the stables and kennel. I could ride any
hunter they had at exercise and knew every fox-covert in the
neighbourhood, every hare’s form, besides being able to tie
a fly and snare rabbits. When I was twelve years old I ran
away and made my way down to Mayo, to my mother’s
people—God be with them all their days! I was happy
then.’
‘I suppose you were, indeed,’ said Wilfred.
‘Why wouldn’t I be? My mother’s brother was but a
small farmer, but he was a king’s ayqual for kind-heartedness,
divilment and manliness. He could follow the hounds on
foot for a ten-mile run. He was the best laper, wrestler,
hurler, and stick-fighter in the barony. The sort of man I
could have died for. More by token, he took to me at once
when I stumbled in sore-footed and stiff like a stray puppy.
I was the “white-headed boy” for my dead mother’s sake.’
‘You had all you could wish for, then.’
‘I had. I was a fool, too, but sure I didn’t know it.
’Tis that same makes all the differ. The Squire took a
fancy to me, after I rode a five-year-old for him over the
ox-fences one day. I was made dog-boy, afterwards third
whip; and sure, when I had on the cord breeches and the
coat with the hunt button, I was prouder than the king.
There was no divilment in all the land I wasn’t in; but I
didn’t drink in thim days, and I knew my work well. Whin
I was twenty-two a fit took me to go to Belfast and see the
ould place again.’
‘Did you wish to ask for your uncle’s blessing?’
‘Not if I was stritched for it! But my cousin Mary!
sure I could never get her out of my head, and thim black
eyes of hers. She kissed me the night I ran away, and the
taste of her lips and the sweet look of her eyes could never
lave me. I can see her face now. I wonder where is she?
And will I see her again when I go to my place!’
The old man turned away his head; his voice was still
for some moments. Were there tears in those evil-glowing
eyes, that never lowered before mortal man or quailed under
the shadow of death? Who shall say? Wilfred played with
his bridle-rein. When the henchman spoke next he gazed
resolutely before him, towards the far purple mountain peak;
his voice once more was strong and clear.
.bn 230.png
.pn +1
‘Whin I seen her again she was a woman grown, but
her eyes were the same, and her heart was true to the wild
boy that was born to ruin all that was nigh or kind to
him. The old man scowled at me. There was little love
between us.
‘“So you’ve grown into a useless man instead of a disobedient
lad,” he said. “Why didn’t ye stay among the
rebels and white-boys of the West? It’s the company that
fits ye well; you’ll have the better chance of being hanged
before you’re older. Change your name before it’s a by-word
and a disgrace to honest folks.”
‘I swore then I’d make him repent his words, and that if
I was hanged my name should be known far and wide. I
went back to the wild West. But if I did I gave him good
raison to curse me to his dyin’ day. I soothered over Mary
to marry me, and the day after we were well on the way to
Athlone.’
‘Surely then you had a happy life before you, Tom?’
‘True for you. If I wasn’t happy, no man ever was. But
the divil was too strong in me. I was right for the first year.
I loved my work with the hounds, and the master—rest his
sowl—used to say there wasn’t a whip west of Athlone could
hold a candle to me. He gave me a snug cottage. Mary
was a great favourite entirely with the ladies of the house.
For that year—that one blessed year of my life—I was free
from bad ways. Within the year Mary had a fine boy in her
arms—the moral of his father, every one said—and as she
smiled on me, I felt as if what the priest said about being
good and all the rest of it, might be true, after all.’
‘And what made the change, Tom?’
‘The ould story—restlessness, bad company, and saycret
societies. I got mixed up in one, that I joined before I was
married, more for the fun of the night walks and drillin’s and
rides than anything else. The oath once taken—a terrible
oath it was, more by token—I thought shame of breakin’ it.
It’s little I’d care now for a dozen like it. The end of it was,
one night I must go off with a mob of young fools, like
myself, to frighten a strong farmer who had taken the land
over a poor man’s head. I didn’t know then that the best
kindness for a strugglin’ holder there, was to hunt him out
of the overstocked land to this place, or America, or the
.bn 231.png
.pn +1
West Indies. Anyhow, we burned a stack. After I left,
the boys were foolish and bate him. He took to his bed
and died—divil mend him! Two days afterwards I was
arrested on a warrant, and lodged in the county gaol. ’Twas
the first time I heard a prison lock turn behind me. Not
the last, by many a score times.
‘I had no chance at the Assizes. A girl swore to me as
Huntsman Tom. Five of thim was hanged. I got off with
transportation. I was four miles away whin they were heard
batin’ Doran. I asked the Judge to hang me with the rest.
He said it couldn’t be done. Mary came every day to see
me, poor girleen; she liked to show me the boy; but I could
see her heart was broke, though she tried to smile—such a
smile—for my sake. I desarved what I got, maybe. But if
I’d been let off then, as there’s a God in heaven I’d have
starved rather than have done a wrong turn agin as long as
I lived. If them judges knew a man’s heart, would they let
one off, wonst in a way? Mary was with me every day, wet
or dry, on board the prison ship till she sailed. Is there
angels come to hell, I wonder, to see the wretches in torment?
If they do, they’ll look like her, as she stood on the deck and
trembled whin the chained divils that some calls men filed
by. She looked at me with her soft eyes, till I grew mad,
and told her roughly to go home and take the child with
her. Then she dropped on her knees and cried, and kissed
my hands with the irons on them and the face of me, like a
madwoman. She lifted the baby to me for a minute, and
it held out its hands. I kissed its wheeshy soft face, and
she was gone out of my sight—out of my life—for ever.’
‘How did you like the colony?’
‘Well enough at the first. I worked well, and did what
I was tould. It was all the relafe there was. I made sure I
should get my freedom in a few years. The first letther I
got was from my old uncle. Mary was dead! He said
nothin’ about the child, but he would bring it up, and
never wished to hear my name again. This changed me
into a rale divil, no less. All that was bad in me kem out.
I was that desperate that I defied the overseers, made friends
with the biggest villians among the prisoners, and did everything
foolish that came into my head. I was punished, and
the worse I was trated the worse I grew. I was chained
.bn 232.png
.pn +1
and flogged and starved and put into dark cells. ’Tis
little satisfaction they got of me, for I grew that savage and
stubborn that I was all as one as a wild baste, only wickeder.
If ye seen my back now, after the triangles, scarred and
callused from shoulder to flank! I was marked out for
Norfolk Island; ye’ve heard tell of that place?’
Wilfred nodded assent.
‘That hell!’ screamed the old man, ‘where men once
sent never came back. Flogged and chained; herded like
bastes, when the lime that they carried off to the boats burned
holes in their naked flesh, wading through the surf with it!
But I forgot, there was one way to get back to Sydney.’
‘And what way was that?’
‘You could always kill a man—one of your mates—only
a prisoner—sure, it couldn’t matter much!’ said the old man
with a dreadful laugh; ‘but ye were sent up to Sydney in the
Government brig, and tried and hanged as reg’lar as if ye wor
a free man and owned a free life. There was thim there
thin that thought the pleasure trip to Sydney and the comfort
of a new gaol and a nate condimned cell all to yourself,
well worth a man’s blood, and a sure rope when the visit was
over. Ha! ha!’
He laughed long and loud. The sound was so unnatural
that Wilfred fancied if their talk had occurred by a lonely
camp in a darksome forest at midnight, instead of under the
garish light of day, he might have imagined faint unearthly
cries and moans strangely mingled with that awful laughter.
‘Thim was quare times; but I didn’t go to ‘the island
hell’ after all. An up-country settler came to the barracks
to pick a groom, as an assigned servant—so they called us.
He was a big, bold-lookin’ man, and as I set my eyes on him,
I never looked before me or on the floor as most of thim did.
‘“What’s that man?” he said. “I like the look of him;
he’s got plenty of devil in him; that’s my sort. He can ride,
by the look of his legs. I’m just starting up-country.”
‘They wouldn’t give me to him at first; said I was too
bad to go loose. But he had friends in high places, and they
got me assigned to him. Next day we started for a station.
When I felt a horse between my legs I began to have the
feelings of a man again. He gave me a pistol to carry, too.
Bushrangers wor on the road then, and he carried money.’
.bn 233.png
.pn +1
‘“You can fight or not, as you like, Tom,” he said, “if we
meet any of the boys; but if you show cur, back you go to the
barracks.”
‘“Sooner to hell,” says I. I felt that I would go through
fire and water for him. He trated me liked a man!’
‘And did you meet any bushrangers?’ said Wilfred.
‘We did then—the Tinker’s gang—three of them, and a
boy. They bailed us up in a narrow place. I took steady
aim and shot the Tinker dead. As well him as me—not
that I cared a traneen for my life. My master dropped a
second man; the other one and the boy bolted for their
lives.
‘“Well done, Tom!” says my master, when it was all over.
“You were a good cavalry man lost”—he was in the Hussars,
no less, at home. “We don’t part asy, I can tell you. You
deserve your freedom, and you’ll get it.”
‘He was betther than his word. I got a conditional
pardon, not to go beyond the colonies. Sure I had little
taste for lavin’ them. I stayed with him till he died; the
next place I went to was Warbrok, as I tould ye the first
day I seen you.’
‘Did you ever hear what became of your child?’
‘Ne’er a one of me knows, nor cares. If he’s turned out
well, the less he knows of me the better. If he’s gone to the
dogs, there’s scoundrels enough in the country already.
But I nigh forget tellin’ ye, I made money once by dalin’ in
cattle, and every year I sent home £50, thinkin’ it might do
good to the child.’
‘And do you know if it went safe?’
‘Sure I got a resate for every pound of it, just as if a
lawyer had written it, thankin’ me, but never sayin’ a word
about the boy, but that it would be used for his larning.’
‘And what made you leave it off?’
‘I didn’t lave it off. They sent back the last of it without
a word or message. That made me wild, and I started
drinkin’, and never cried crack till it was gone. I began to
wander about and take billets as a stock-rider. ’Tis the way
I’ve lived iver since. If it wasn’t for the change and wild
life now and thin—fightin’ them divils of blacks, gallopin’
after wild cattle, and campin’ out where no white man had been
before—I’d been dead with the drink long ago. But something
.bn 234.png
.pn +1
keeps me; something tells me I can’t die till I’ve seen
one from the ould country. Who it is, I can’t tell. Sometimes
I see Mary in my drames, holdin’ up the child like
the last day I seen her. I’d have put a bullet through me,
when I was in “the horrors,” only for thim drames. I shall
go when my time comes. It’s little I’d care if it was in the
night that’s drawin’ on.’
Here he rode on for some minutes without speaking, then
continued in an altered voice:
‘See here now, Mr. Wilfred, it’s little I thought to say to
mortial man the things I’ve let out of my heart this blessed
day. But my feeling to you and your father is the same as I
had to my first master—the heavens be his bed! If he’d
always been among such people here—rale gintry—that
cared for him and thought to help him, Tom Glendinning
would maybe have been a different man. But the time’s
past. I’m like a beaten fox, nigh run down; and I’ll never
die in my bed, that much I know. You won’t spake to
me agen about this. My heart’s burstin’ as it is; and—I’ll
maybe drop—if it comes on me again—like it—does—now——’
He pressed his hand closely, fiercely, upon the region of
the heart. He grew deadly pale, and shook as if in mortal
agony; his face was convulsed as he bowed himself upon
the saddle-bow, and Wilfred feared he was about to fall from
his horse. But he slowly regained his position, and quivering
like one who had been stretched upon the rack, guided
his horse along the homeward path.
‘’Tis spasms of the heart, the doctor tould me it was,’ he
gasped at length. ‘They’d take me off some day, before you
could light a match, “if I didn’t keep aisy and free from
trouble,”’ he said. ‘Maybe they will, some day; maybe something
else will be too quick for them. It’s little I care.
Close up, Mr. Wilfred, we’re late for home, and I’d like to
regulate thim calves before it’s dark.’
Much Wilfred mused over the history of the strange old
man who had now become associated with their fortunes.
‘What a life!’ thought he. ‘What a tragedy!’ How
changed from the days when he followed the Mayo hounds;
reckless then, perhaps, and impatient of control, but an unweaned
child in innocence compared to his present condition.
.bn 235.png
.pn +1
And yet he possessed qualities which, under different treatment
might have led to honour and distinction.
.tb
As far as personal claims to distinction were concerned,
few districts in which the Effinghams could have been
located, would have borne comparison with the vicinity of
Lake William. It abounded, as we have told, in younger sons
of good family, whom providence would appear to have thus
guided but a few years before their own migration. This
fortunate concurrence they had themselves often noted, and
fully did they appreciate the congenial companionship.
Besides the local celebrities, few tourists of note passed
along the southern road without being intercepted by the
hospitality of one or other household. These captives of
their bow and spear were shared honourably. When the
Honourable Cedric Rotherwood, who had letters to Mr.
Effingham, was quartered for a month at The Chase, fishing,
shooting, and kangaroo-hunting, the Benmohr men and their
allies were entreated to imagine there was a muster at The
Chase every Saturday, and to rendezvous in force accordingly.
A strong friendship accordingly was struck up between the
young men. The Honourable Cedric was only five-and-twenty,
and years afterwards, when Charlie Hamilton went
home with one station in his pocket, and two more paying
twenty per cent per annum upon the original outlay, his
Lordship, having then come into his kingdom, had him
down at Rotherwood Hall, and gave him such mounts in
the hunting field, and such corners in the battues, not to
mention a run over to his Lordship’s deer forest in the Highlands,
that Charlie, on befitting occasions, refers to that
memorable visit with enthusiasm (and at considerable length,
say his friends) even unto this day.
Against this court card, socially marked for the Effinghams’
fortune, one day turned up a couple of trumps, which
might be thought to have made a certainty of the odd trick
in favour of Benmohr. Charles Hamilton, coming home
after a day’s ploughing, found two strangers in the sitting-room,
one of whom, a quiet plainly dressed personage, shut
up a book at his entrance, and begged to introduce his
friend and travelling companion, Major Glendinning, ‘who (his
own name Kinghart) had brought a letter from a mutual
.bn 236.png
.pn +1
friend, he believed, Mr. Machell of Langamilli. The Major
had been good enough to accompany him, being anxious to
see the country.’
‘Delighted to see you, I’m sure,’ said Hamilton, pocketing
the letter unread. ‘I hope Mrs. Teviot gave you some
refreshment. I seldom come home before dark, now the
days are getting short.’
‘The old lady did the honours, I assure you,’ said the
Major, ‘but we preferred awaiting dinner, as we had tiffin on
the road. As for Kinghart, he found an old edition in your
book-case which was meat and drink to him.’
‘In that case, if you will allow me, I will ask you to
excuse me till the bell rings, as dressing is a serious business
after my clay furrows.’
Hamilton had time to look at Willie Machell’s letter, in
which he found Mr. Kinghart described as an out-and-out
brick, though reserved at first, and unreasonably fond of
books. Played a goodish game of whist, too. Henry Kinghart
was brother to the famous clergyman and writer of that
name, and was so deuced clever that, if there had been any
material for fiction in this confounded country, which there
was not, he shouldn’t be surprised if he wrote a book himself
some day. As for the Major, he was invaluable. He
(Machell) had met him at the Australian Club, and brought
him up forcibly from Sydney. He was the best shot and
horseman he ever saw, and fought no end with his regiment
of Irregular Horse in India. Siffter, N.I., who denied everybody’s
deeds but his own, admitted as much. Relative in
Australia—cattle-station manager or something—that he
wanted to look up. He (Hamilton) was not to keep them
all the winter at Benmohr, as he (Machell) was deucedly dull
without them.
Mr. Kinghart fully answered his warranty, inasmuch as
he volunteered little in the way of remark, and fastening
upon one or two rare books in the Benmohr collection,
hardly looked up till Mrs. Teviot came in with the bedroom
candles. The Major seemed indisposed to literature, but
had seen so much, and indeed had transacted personally
so large a share of modern history in Indian military service,
that Hamilton, who, like most Scottish gentlemen, had a
brother in the line there and several cousins in the Civil
.bn 237.png
.pn +1
Service, was deeply interested. He had been in every battle
of note since the commencement of the Mahratta war, and
.pm start_poem
A scar on his brown cheek revealed
A token true of ‘Moodkee’ field.
.pm end_poem
Without a shade of self-consciousness he replied to Hamilton’s
eager questionings, whom he found to be (from his brother’s
letters) accurately informed about the affairs of Northern India.
Unfortunately for Mr. Kinghart’s studies, Neil Barrington
and Bob Ardmillan turned up next morning—two men who
would neither be quiet themselves, nor suffer other mortals to
enjoy repose. Part of the day was spent in shooting round
the borders of the dam, when the Major topped Ardmillan’s
bag, who was considered the crack shot of the neighbourhood.
In the afternoon, there being many horses, colts and others,
in the stables, Neil proposed an adjournment to the leaping-bar,
an institution peculiar to Benmohr, for educating the inexperienced
steeds to jump cleverly with the aid of a shifting
bar enwrapped in brambles.
At this entertainment the Major showed himself to be no
novice, riding with an ease of seat and perfection of hand, to
which, doubtless, years of pig-sticking and tent-pegging had
contributed.
In the evening whist was suggested, when Mr. Kinghart
showed that his studies had by no means prevented his paying
due attention to an exacting and jealous mistress. The
exigencies of the game thawed his reserve, and in his new
character he was pronounced by the volatile Neil and the
shrewd satirist Bob Ardmillan to be a first-rate fellow. He
displayed with some dry humour the results of a habit of
close observation; in addition, a chance allusion served to
reveal such stores of classical lore, that Argyll’s absence was
deplored by Neil Barrington, who believed that his friend,
who was always scolding him for not keeping up his classics,
would have been for once out-quoted.
Of course such treasures of visitors could not be allowed
to lie hid, and after a few allusions to the family at The
Chase had paved the way, Mr. Kinghart and the Major were
invited to accompany Hamilton on a visit (which he unblushingly
asserted to be chiefly on business) to that popular
homestead on the next ensuing Saturday.
.bn 238.png
.pn +1
The Effingham family were devoted admirers of the elder
and Kinghart, had but recently read and discussed Eastward
Ho, Dalton, Rocke and other products of the large, loving mind
which was then stirring the hearts of the most generous
portion of English society. It may be conjectured with what
secret triumph, veiled under an assumption of formal politeness,
Hamilton introduced Major Glendinning and Mr.
Henry Kinghart.
‘Will you think me curious if I ask whether you are
related to the Rector of Beverly?’ inquired Rosamond soon
after preliminaries had come to an end. ‘You must pardon
our enthusiasm, but life in the provinces seems as closely
concerned with authors as with acquaintances or friends,
almost more so.’
‘My brother Charles would feel honoured, I assure
you, Miss Effingham, if he knew the interest he has aroused
in this far-off garrison of the Norseman he so loves to
celebrate,’ said the stranger, with a pleasant smile. ‘I wish,
for a hundred reasons, that he could be here to tell you so.
How he would enjoy roaming over this land of wonders!’
Rosamond’s eyes sparkled with an infrequent lustre.
Here was truly a miraculous occurrence. A brother—actually
a brother—of the great, the noble, the world-renowned
Charles Kinghart, with whose works they had been
familiar ever since they could read; most of whose characters
were to them household words!
Certainly there was nothing heroic about the personnel of
their literary visitor—an unobtrusive-looking personage. But
now that he was decorated with the name of Kinghart,
glorified with the reflected halo of genius, there was visible to
the book-loving maiden a world of distinction in his every
gesture and fragment of speech.
Then Major Glendinning, too, a man whom few would
pass without a second glance. Slightly over middle height,
his symmetrical figure and complete harmony of motion
stamped him as one perfected by the widest experiences of
training and action. ‘Soldier’ was written emphatically by
years of imprint upon the fearless gaze, the imperturbable
manner, the bronzed cheek, and accurate but unostentatious
dress. A man who had shouldered death and had mocked
danger; who had actually shed blood in action—‘in single
.bn 239.png
.pn +1
fight and mixed array’ (like Marmion, as Annabel said).
Not in old, half-forgotten days, like their father, but in last
year’s, well-nigh last month’s, deadly picturesque strife, of
which the echoes were as yet scarcely silent. Annabel and
Beatrice gazed at him as at a denizen of another planet, and
left to Rosamond the more rare adoration which exalts the
image of the scholar to a higher pedestal than that of the
warrior.
There was, however, a sufficing audience and ample
appreciation for both the recent lions, who were by no
means suffered by their original captors to roar softly or feed
undisturbed. Before sitting down to the unceremonious
evening meal, Charles Hamilton begged Mrs. Effingham to
defer leaving the drawing-room for a few moments while he
made a needful explanation.
‘You will not be surprised to hear, Mrs. Effingham,’ he
commenced, with an air of great deference, ‘that Mr.
Kinghart shares his distinguished brother’s views as to our
duties to the (temporarily) lower orders, and the compulsion
under which the nobler minds of the century lie, to advance
by personal sacrifice the social culture of their dependents,
more particularly in the colonies, where (necessarily) the
feelings are less sensitive. Mr. Kinghart, therefore, declines
to partake of a meal in any house, unless the servants are
invited to share the repast.’
‘What nonsense!’ said the gentleman referred to, rather
hastily; ‘but I daresay you recognise our friend’s vein of
humour, Mrs. Effingham.’
‘It’s all very well, Kinghart,’ replied Hamilton gravely;
‘but I feel pained to find a man of your intellect deserting
his convictions when they clash with conventionalities. You
know the Rector’s opinions as to our dependents, and here
you stand, ashamed to act up to the family principles.’
‘My dear fellow, of course I support Charles’s gallant
testimony to the creed of his Master, but he had no “colonial
experience,” whereas I have had a great deal, which may
have led me to believe that I am the deeper student of human
nature. I don’t know whether I need assure Mrs. Effingham
that she will find me outwardly much like other people.’
‘How few beliefs shall I retain henceforth,’ said Hamilton
sorrowfully.
.bn 240.png
.pn +1
‘Putting socialism out of the question,’ said Mr. Kinghart,
‘I shall always regret that Charles did not avail himself of an
opportunity he once had to visit Australia. He would have
been charmed beyond description.’
‘I’m sure we should have been, only to see him,’ said
Beatrice; ‘but I don’t know what we should have had to
offer in exchange for what he would have to forgo.’
‘You are leaving out of the question the fact of my
brother’s passionate love of geology, botany, and adventure.
The facts in natural history to which even my small researches
have led are so wonderful that I hesitate to assert them.’
‘How fascinating it must be,’ said Rosamond, ‘to be able
to walk about the earth and read the book of Nature like a
scroll. You and our dear old Harley seem alike in that
respect. I look upon you as magicians. You have the
“open sesame,” and may find the way to Ali Baba caverns
full of jewels.’
‘This last is not so wildly improbable, though you over-rate
my attainments,’ said their visitor, with a quiet smile.
‘I have certainly found in this neighbourhood indications of
valuable minerals, not even excluding that Chief Deputy of
the Prince of the Air—Gold.’
‘Why, Kinghart, you are as mad as Mr. Sternworth,’ said
Hamilton. ‘All savants have a craze for impossible discoveries.
How can there be gold here?’
‘I took Mr. Hamilton to be a gentleman of logical mind,’
said the Englishman quietly. ‘Why should not the sequences
from geological premisses be as invariable in Australia as in
any other part of the globe. The South Pole does not
invert the principle of cause and effect, I presume.’
‘I did not mean that,’ explained Hamilton, with something
less than his ordinary decisiveness, ‘but there seems
something so preposterous in a gold-field in a new country
like this.’
‘It is not a new country, it is a very old one; there was
probably gold here long before it was extracted from Ophir.
But your men, in digging holes yesterday for the posts of
that new hut, dislodged fragments of hornblendic granite
slightly decomposed and showing minute particles of gold.
I had not time to examine them, but I noted the formation
accurately.’
.bn 241.png
.pn +1
‘What then?’ said his male hearers in a kind of chorus.
‘What then? Why, it follows inexorably that we are standing
above one of the richest goldfields in the known world!’
‘But assuming for a moment, which God forbid,’ said
Hamilton, ‘that gold—real gold—in minute quantities could
be extracted from the stone you picked up, does it follow
that rich and extensive deposits should be contiguous?’
‘My dear Hamilton, you surely missed the geological
course in your college studies! Gold once found amid
decomposed hornblendic granite, in alluvial drifts in company
with water-worn quartz, has never failed to demonstrate itself
in wondrous wealth. In the Ural Mountains, in Mexico,
and most likely in King Solomon’s time, there were no little
mines where once this precise formation was verified.’
‘I devoutly trust that it may not be in our time,’ said
Argyll. ‘What a complete overturn of society would take
place; in Australia, of all places! I should lose interest in
the country at once.’
‘There might be inconvenience,’ said Mr. Kinghart
reflectively, ‘but the Anglo-Saxon would be found capable of
organising order. We need not look so far ahead. But of
the day to come, when the furnace-chimney shall smoke on
these hillsides, and miles of alluvial be torn up and riddled
with excavations, I am as certain as that Glossopteris, of
which I have seen at least three perfect specimens in shale,
denotes coal deposits.’
‘We must buy you out, Kinghart, that is the whole of it,’
said Ardmillan, ‘and direct your energies into some other
channel. If you go on proving the existence of gold
and black diamonds under these heedless feet of ours the
social edifice will totter. Hamilton will abandon his
agriculture, Argyll his stock-keeping, Churbett his reading
and early rising, Mrs. Teviot will leave off cheese-making,
Forbes will cease to contradict—in short, the whole Warbrok
and Benmohr world will come to an end.’
‘It is a very pleasant world, and I am sorry to have
hinted at the flood which will some day sweep over it,’ said
Mr. Kinghart; ‘but what is written is written, and indelibly,
when the pages are tables of stones, set up from the foundation
of the world.’
Most enjoyable and still well remembered were the days
.bn 242.png
.pn +1
which followed this memorable discussion. A succession of
rides, drives, and excursions followed, in which Mr. Kinghart
pointed out wonders in the world of botany, which
caused Rosamond to look upon him as a sage of stupendous
experiences.
To Howard Effingham the presence of Major Glendinning
was an unalloyed pleasure. Familiar chiefly with service in
other parts of the world, he was never tired of listening or
questioning. Varied necessarily were incidents of warfare
conducted against the wild border tribes of Hindostan with
her hordes of savage horsemen. Such campaigns necessarily
partook of the irregular modes of combat of the foe. Without
attaching importance to his own share of distinction,
their guest permitted his hearers to learn much of the
picturesque and splendid successes of the British arms in the
historic land of Ind.
For himself, his manner had a strange tinge of softness
and melancholy. At one time his mien was that of the
stern soldier, proud of the thoroughness with which a band
of marauders had been extirpated, or the spirit of a dissolute
native ruler broken. Scarcely had the tale been told when
a settled sadness would overspread his face, as if in pity for
the heathens’ spoil and sorrow. To his hearers, far from
war’s alarms, there was a strong, half-painful fascination in
these tales of daring, heightened by the frequent presence of
death in every shape of hot-blooded carnage or military
execution.
‘How difficult it is to imagine,’ said Beatrice one day,
suddenly arousing herself, after staring with dilated eyeballs
at the Major, who had been recounting a realistic incident
for Guy’s special edification (how the Ranee of Jeypore had
hanged a dozen of his best troopers, and of the stern
reprisal which he was called upon to make), ‘that you,
actually sitting here quietly with us, are one and the same
person who was chief actor in these fearful doings. What a
wonderful change it must be for you.’
‘Let me assure you,’ said the Major, ‘that it is a most
pleasant change. I am tired of soldiering, and my health is
indifferent. I almost think that if I could fish out this old
uncle of mine, I should be content to settle in the bush, and
take to rural life for the rest of my days.’
.bn 243.png
.pn +1
‘Don’t you think you would find it awfully dull?’ said
Annabel; ‘you would despise all our life so much. Unless
there happened to be an outbreak of bushrangers, you might
never have a chance of killing any one again, as long as you
lived.’
‘I could manage without that excitement. I have had
enough, in all conscience, to last a lifetime. The climate of
your country suits us old Indians so well. If I were once
fairly established, I think I could rear horses and cattle,
especially the former, with great contentment.’
‘There is no one of your name in this part of the country,’
said Guy, ‘except our old stock-rider, Tom. He’s such a
queer old fellow. I remember asking him what his surname
was one day, and he told me it was Glendinning. He’s
away now, mustering at Wangarua.’
‘It is not an uncommon name where my family lived,’
said the Major. ‘I should like to see him if he is a namesake.
He may have heard of the person I am in search of.’
The whole party was extremely sorry to permit their
guests to depart; but after a few days spent in luxurious
intercourse, during which sight-seeing and sport were organised
day by day, and every imaginable book and author reviewed
with Mr. Kinghart in the evening, while Guy had fully made
up his mind to go to India, and had got up Indian history
from the Mogul dynasty to the execution of Omichund, a
parting had to be made. It was only temporary, however,
as Mr. Kinghart had promised to visit an old schoolfellow
long settled at Monaro, and after a fortnight’s stay had
promised to return this way with the Major before they
said farewell finally. At Warbrok Chase there was great
dismay at the inevitable separation.
‘I declare,’ said Annabel, ‘that I begin to doubt whether
it is prudent to make such delightful acquaintances. One is
so dreadfully grieved when they depart. It is much better
to have everyday friends, who can’t run away, isn’t it?’
‘And who mightn’t be much missed if they did; quite so,
Miss Annabel,’ said Forbes, to whom this lament was made.
‘Oh, of course you are different at Benmohr and just
about here. We are all one family, and should be a very
united one if Mr. Churbett would leave off teasing me about
what silly people say, and Mr. Forbes would give up his
.bn 244.png
.pn +1
sarcasms, Mr. Hamilton his logic, Mr. Argyll his tempers, and
so on. How I could improve you all, to be sure! But I
mean friends—that is, strangers—like Mr. Kinghart and
Major Glendinning, that are birds of passage. I can’t
explain myself; but I’m sure there’s something true and new
about the idea.’
‘It may be quite true that young ladies prefer recently
acquired friends to those of long standing, but I am afraid it
is not altogether new in the history of the sex,’ said Mr.
Forbes. ‘Still I think I understand you, Miss Annabel.
Which of the illustrious strangers do you chiefly honour with
your regrets, Miss Beatrice?’
‘I mourn over Mr. Kinghart,’ said Beatrice, with instinctive
defensive art. ‘He is a library that can talk, and yet, like a
library, prefers silence. I wonder if one would ever get tired
of listening to him, and having everything so delightfully explained.
He is sarcastic about women, too. Perhaps he has
been ill-treated by some thoughtless girl. I should like to
wither her.’
‘Why don’t you comfort him, Beatrice? Your love for
reading would just suit, or perhaps not suit,’ said Annabel.
‘You would have to toss up which was to order dinner or
make tea. I can see you both sitting in easy-chairs, with
your foreheads wrinkled up, reading away the whole evening.
I wonder if two poets or two authors ever agreed in married
life? Of course, he might scratch out her adjectives, or she
might sneer at his comic element. But, do you know, a
thought strikes me. Don’t you see a likeness to some one
in the Major that you’ve seen before? I do, and it haunts
me.’
‘No, I never saw any one the least like him; his expression,
his figure, his way of walking, riding, and talking are quite
different from other people. How a man’s life moulds him!
I am sure I could tell what half the men I see have been or
not been, quite easily, by their appearance and ways.’
‘But did you notice his eyes?’
‘Well, they are soft, and yet piercing, which is unusual;
but that is all.’
‘On second thoughts I won’t say, lest I might be thought
less sensible even than I am. I have no capital to fall back
upon in that respect.’
.bn 245.png
.pn +1
‘You do say such odd things, my dear Annabel. I think
you ought to get on with our last duet. You only half know
your part.’
That a certain reaction follows hard upon the most unalloyed
pleasure is conceded. The dwellers at The Chase
recognised a shade of monotony, even of dulness, falling
upon their uneventful lives as the friends and visitors
departed.
.bn 246.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVI | ‘SO WE’LL ALL GO A-HUNTING TO-DAY’
.sp 2
The cheering results of this season of prosperity were not
without effect upon the sanguine temperament of Howard
Effingham. Prone to dismiss from his mind all darkly-shaded
outlines, he was ever eager to develop projects which
belong to the enjoyments rather than to the acquisitions
of life. Few human beings had commenced with a smaller
share of foresight. He required no exhortation to refrain
from taking heed for the morrow and its cares. For him
they could hardly be said to exist, so little did he realise in
advance the more probable evils.
The time had arrived, in his opinion, to dwell less fixedly
upon the problem of income. The greater question of
cultured living could no longer be neglected. All danger
of poverty and privation overtaking the family being removed,
Mr. Effingham for some time past had devoted his mind to
the assimilation of the lives of himself and his neighbours to
those of the country gentlemen of his own land. Something
he had already effected in this way. He had received a
shipment of pheasants and partridges, which, in a suitable
locality, were making headway against their natural enemies.
Much of his time was spent, gun in hand, clearing the
haunts of the precious Gallinæ from the unsparing dasyurus
(the wild cat of the colonists), while Guy’s collection of
stuffed hawks had increased notably. Orders had been given
to shoot every one that could be seen, from the tiny merlin,
chiefly devoted to moths and grasshoppers, to the wedge-tailed
eagle eight feet between the wings, discovered on a
mighty iron-bark tree, thence surveying the bright-plumaged
.bn 247.png
.pn +1
strangers. Hares, too, and rabbits had been liberated, of
which the latter had increased with suspicious rapidity.
Coursing, fishing, shooting, all of a superior description,
Howard Effingham now saw with prophetic vision established
for the benefit of his descendants at The Chase. They
would be enabled to enjoy themselves befittingly in their
seasons of leisure, and cadets of the House, when they visited
England, would not have to blush for their ignorance of the
out-door accomplishments of their kinsfolk. In imagination
he saw
.pm start_poem
The merry brown hares come leaping
Over the crest of the hill,
.pm end_poem
or starting from their ‘forms’ in the meadows which bordered
the lake. He saw the partridge coveys rise from the stubbles,
and heard once more the whirr of the cock pheasant as he
‘rocketted’ from the copse of mimosa saplings. He saw
carp, tench, and brown trout in the clear mountain streams,
and watched far down the Otsego ‘laker’ in the still depths
of their inland bay. At the idea of these triumphs, which
long years after his bones rested in an exile’s grave, would
be associated with the name of Howard Effingham, his heart
swelled with proud anticipation. But there was one deficiency
as yet unfilled; one difficulty hitherto not confronted. Much
had been attempted, even something done. Why should he
not be more nobly daring still? Why not organise that sport
of kings, that eminently British pastime, nowhere enjoyed in
perfection, hitherto, outside of the ‘happy isles’? Why not
go in for fox-hunting? Could its transplantation be possible?
True, the gladdening variety of pasture and plough,
meadow and woodland, over which hound and horse sweep
rejoicingly in Britain, was not possible in the neighbourhood.
Hedges and ditches, brooks and banks, as yet gave not
change and interest to the programme while educating horse
and rider. Still, he would not despair.
In the pensive, breezeless autumn, or the winter mornings,
when the dew lay long on the tall grass, and the soft, hazy
atmosphere gradually struggled into the brilliant Australian
day, could there be better scenting weather? Would not
the first cry of the hounds, as a dozen couples, to begin with,
hit off the scent of a dingo or a blue forester, sound like a
.bn 248.png
.pn +1
forgotten melody in his ears? There would be an occasional
fence to give the boys emulative interest; for the rest, a
gallop in the fresh morn through the park-like woodlands, or
even across the spurs of the ranges, would be worth riding a
few miles to enjoy. All the neighbours—now making money
fast and not indisposed for amusement—would be glad to
join. A better lot of fellows no Hunt ever numbered amongst
its subscribers. Subscription? Well, he supposed it must
be so. It would be a proprietary interest, and he was afraid
Wilfred would object to the whole burden of maintenance
falling upon the resources of The Chase.
This brilliant idea was not suffered to lapse for want of
expansion. Energetic and persistent in the domain of the
abstract or the unprofitable, Howard Effingham at once
communicated with a few friends. He was surprised at the
enthusiasm which the project evoked. A committee was
formed, comprising the names of the Benmohr firm, Churbett,
Ardmillan, Forbes, and the D’Oyleys, besides Robert Malahyde,
a neighbour of Hampden’s and an enthusiastic sportsman.
Never was a more happy suggestion. It pleased everybody.
O’Desmond declared that the very idea recalled ‘The Blazers’;
he felt himself to be ten years younger as he put down
his name for a handsome subscription on the spot. Fred
Churbett had always known that Duellist was thrown away
as a hackney; and now that there was something more to be
jumped than the Benmohr leaping-bar, did not care how
early he got up. This announcement was received with
shouts of incredulous laughter.
Wilfred alone was not enamoured of this new project.
He foresaw direct and, still more serious, indirect expenses.
It was no doubt a great matter to have even the semblance
of the Great English Sport revived among them. Still,
business was business. If this sort of thing was to be
encouraged, there was no knowing where it would stop. He
himself would be only too glad to have a run now and then,
but his instinctive feeling was that he would be better
employed attending to his cattle and consolidating the
prosperity, which now seemed to be flowing in with a steady
tide.
In truth, of late, affairs had commenced to take a most
encouraging, even intoxicating turn for the better. The
.bn 249.png
.pn +1
whole trade of the land—pastoral, commercial, and agricultural—was
in a satisfactory condition, owing chiefly to
unprecedentedly good seasons. All the Australian colonies,
more particularly New South Wales, have within them
elements of vast, well-nigh illimitable development. Nothing
is needed but ordinary climatic conditions to produce an
amount of material well-being, which nothing can wholly
displace. The merchants of the cities, the farmers of the
settled districts, the squatters of the far interior, were alike
prospering and to prosper, it seemed, indefinitely. The
export trade, Mr. Rockley assured him, had increased
astonishingly, while the imports had so swelled that England
would soon have to look upon Australia as one of her best
customers.
‘So you are going to have a pack of foxhounds in your
neighbourhood, Mr. Effingham?’ said Mrs. Rockley. ‘I think
it a splendid idea. Chrissie and I will ride over and see one
of your meets, if you ask us.’
Then did Wilfred begin solemnly to vow and declare that
the chief reason he had for giving the idea his support was,
that perhaps the ladies at Rockley Lodge might be induced
to attend a meet sometimes; otherwise, he confessed he
thought it a waste of money.
‘Oh, you mustn’t be over-prudent, Mr. Effingham. Mr.
Rockley says you Lake William people are getting alarmingly
rich. You must consider the unamused poor a little, you
know. It is a case of real distress, I assure you, sometimes
in Yass when all you men take fits of hard work and staying
at home. Now hunting is such a delightful resource in
winter time.’
‘Every one in our neighbourhood has joined,’ said Wilfred,
‘but we shall want more subscriptions if we are to become a
strong Hunt club.’
‘Put me down,’ said Mr. Rockley. ‘I haven’t much time,
but I might take a turn some day. Hampden, the Champions,
Malahyde, Compton, and Edward Bellfield are most eager.
Bob Clarke wrote forwarding their subscriptions, though they
live rather far off. They hope to have a run now and
then for their money.’
‘I think I shall ask your father to let me work him a pair
of slippers,’ said Miss Christabel, ‘or an embroidered waistcoat,
.bn 250.png
.pn +1
if he would like it better. He deserves the thanks of
every girl in the district for his delightful idea and his spirited
way of carrying it out. I hope some of us won’t take to
riding jealous, but I wouldn’t answer for it if ever Mrs.
Snowden and I get together. I’ll tell you who could cut us
both down.’
‘And who may that be?’ asked Wilfred.
‘Why, Vera Fane, of course. Didn’t you know that she
rode splendidly? When she was quite a little child she used
to gallop after the cattle at Black Mountain, where they live,
and they say, though she is very quiet about it, that she can
ride anything.’
‘What sort of a place is this Black Mountain? It hasn’t
altogether a sound of luxury.’
‘Oh, it’s a terrible place, I believe, for poor Vera to have
to live in always,’ said the good-natured Christabel. ‘They
say it is as much as you can do to ride there, it’s so rough,
and they had to pack all their stores, I believe, till the new
road was made. And they’re very poor. Mr. Fane is one of
those men who never make money or do anything much
except read all day. If it wasn’t for Vera, who teaches her
brothers (she’s the only girl), and keeps the accounts, and
looks after the stores, and manages the servants, and does a
good deal of the housework herself, the whole place would go
to ruin.’
‘Apparently, if such a good genius was to be withdrawn;
but why doesn’t her father sell out and go away? There are
plenty of other stations to be got in more habitable places.’
‘Oh, his wife is buried there—no wonder she died, poor
thing. He won’t hear of leaving the place; and I really
believe, lonely as it is, that Vera likes it too. She is a
wonderful girl, always teaching herself something, when she
isn’t darning stockings, or cooking, or having a turn at the
wash-tub, for Nelly Jones, who stayed with her one summer,
told me that they lost their servant once, and Vera did everything
for a month. Sometimes she gets out, as she did to
the races last year, and she enjoys that, as you may believe.’
‘I hope she does,’ said Wilfred reflectively. ‘I thought
her a very nice girl, but I had no idea she was such a
paragon.’
‘She’s a grand girl, and an ornament to her sex,’ said Mr.
.bn 251.png
.pn +1
Rockley suddenly. ‘I couldn’t have believed such a woman
was possible, but I stopped there a week once, weatherbound.
All the creeks were up, and as you had to cross the river about
fifty times to get out of the confounded hole, I was bound to
let the water go down. I should have hanged myself looking
at old Fane’s melancholy phiz and listening to the rain, if it
hadn’t been for Miss Fane. But I’ll tell you all about her
another time. I must be off now. You’ll stay to dinner?
I’ll find you here, I suppose, when I come back.’
.tb
If Howard Effingham could only have bent his mind with
the same unflagging perseverance to matters of material
advantage that he devoted to the establishment of the Lake
William Hunt, he would have been a successful man in any
country. Never would he have needed to quit his ancestral
home.
In some enterprises everything appears to go contrary from
the commencement. Hindrances, breakdowns, and mortifications
of all kinds arise, as it were, out of the earth. On the
other hand, occasionally, it appears as though ‘the stars in
their courses fought for Sisera.’ The Hunt scheme had its
detractors, who looked upon it as unnecessary and injurious,
if, indeed, it were not also impossible. These amiable
reviewers were discomfited. The sportsmen communicated
with proved sympathetic. All sent a couple or two of hounds,
above the average of gift animals; and one gentleman, relinquishing
his position of M.F.H. in Tasmania, shipped the
larger portion of his pack, firmly refusing to accept remuneration.
He further stated that he should feel amply compensated
by hearing of their successful incorporation in the Hunt of so
well known a sporting centre as that of Lake William.
A kennel had been put up, of course, by Dick Evans. He
had the dash and celerity of a ship carpenter, ensuring stability,
but avoiding precision, the curse of your average mechanic.
His colleague, old Tom, who grumbled at most innovations,
was, wonderful to relate, in a state of enthusiasm.
Everybody in the district had a couple of hunters, it seemed,
which he desired to get into condition, a task for which there
had never before been sufficient inducement. Stalls and
boxes were repaired, and the tourist through the famed
district which lay around Lake William was enabled to report
.bn 252.png
.pn +1
that nowhere in Australia had he seen such an array of well-bred,
well-conditioned horses.
Eventually, all necessary preparations were completed.
Ten or twelve couple of hounds had been got together, had
been regularly exercised, and, thanks to old Tom’s efficient
services as whip, persuaded to confine themselves to one
kangaroo at a time, also to follow the scent in early morn
with a constancy truly remarkable, considering the characters
which they mostly enjoyed. So forward were all things, so
smoothly had the machinery worked, that after several
councils of war a day was at length fixed for the formal
establishment of the ‘Lake William Hunt Club.’
Notices and invitations were sent out in all directions.
Even here fortune favoured them. It so happened that
Hampden and St. Maur, with the Gambiers and a few more
esprits forts, had business (real, not manufactured) which compelled
their presence within such distance as permitted
attendance. John Hampden was supposed to ride to hounds
in such fashion that he had few equals. Formerly, in
Tasmania, a Master of Hounds himself, his favourite hunter,
The Caliph, was even now a household word.
Such a glorious season, too! Why does not Nature more
frequently accommodate us with such easy luxuries—weather
wherein every one is prosperous, easy of mind, and, as a
natural consequence, charitably disposed? Everybody’s stock
was looking well. Prices were high and rising. There was
a report gaining ground of rich lands having been discovered
and settlements formed in the far south. That fact meant
increased demand for stock, and so tended to make all things
more serene, if possible. Nobody was afraid to leave home,
no bush fires were possible at this time of year, the stock were
almost capable of minding themselves, and if a man had a
decent overseer, why, he might go to England without imprudence.
Such was the wondrous concurrence of fortune’s
favours.
The great and glorious day arrived. Following the run
of luck which had marked the whole enterprise, its beauty
would have rejoiced the heart of any M.F.H. in the three
kingdoms.
As the party commenced to assemble on the green knoll
which lay in front of the garden fence in view of the lake,
.bn 253.png
.pn +1
all connoisseurs united in the verdict that there could not
have been invented a better scenting day. There had been
rain lately, and during the night anxiety had been felt lest
a downpour might mar the enjoyment of the unprecedented
pastime.
Too kind, however, were the elements. The hazy dawn
had gradually yielded to a sunrise toned by masses of slowly
moving soft grey clouds. The air, saturated with moisture,
became mild and spring-like as the morning advanced. The
wind changed to a few points nearer west and gradually lulled
to an uncomplaining monotone. The thick, green, glistening
sward, though reasonably damp, was firm and kindly in the
interests of the contending coursers. It was a day of days,
a day of promise, of fullest justification of existence. In such
a day hope returns to each heart, strong and triumphant;
care is a lulled and languid demon, and sorrow an untranslated
symbol.
Nearly all the ladies who were to assist at the grand
ceremonial had ridden or driven over the night before.
Warbrok was nearly as fully occupied as Rockley Lodge had
been at the races. It was many a day since the old walls
had included so large and mirthful a party, had listened to
such joyous babble, had echoed to like peals of innocent
laughter.
Of course, the fair Christabel and her mother were early
invited guests. They had brought a girl cousin. Mrs.
Snowden had also asked leave to bring a friend staying with
her at the time. Miss Fane had, of course, been entreated
by Mrs. Effingham to be sure to come, but that young lady
had written, sorrowfully, to decline as Dr. Fane was absent
on business. A postscript, partially reassuring, stated that
he was expected home the next day, and if the writer could
possibly manage it she might ride part of the way to Warbrok
and join some friends who were to come to the breakfast.
But this was a hazardous supposition, too good to come off.
Deep regret was expressed at The Chase on the receipt of
this note, but the world went on nevertheless, as it does in
default of all of us.
Can I essay to describe the array of dames and demoiselles,
knights and squires and retainers, yeomen, men-at-arms, and
others of low degree, who, on that ever-memorable autumn
.bn 254.png
.pn +1
morn, trampled the green meadow in front of old Warbrok
House? Many a day has passed since the shadows of the
waving forest trees flecked the greensward, since the hillside
resounded to horse-hoof and jingling bridle, while mirthful
words and silvery laughter blended ever and anon with the
unaccustomed bay of the foxhound.
Ah me! Of the manly forms and bold, eager brows of
those who kept tryst that day, how many have gone down
before the onset of battle, the arrow of pestilence, the
thousand haps of a colonist’s life? The stark limbs are
bowed, the bold eyes dimmed, the strong hearts tamed by
the slow sorcery of Time—even of those o’er whom the
forest tree sighs not, or the wild wave moans no requiem.
How many of that fair company have ridden away for
ever into the Silent Land! What bright eyes have forgotten
to shine! How many a joyous tone is heard no more!
.pm start_poem
The halls her bright smile lighted up of yore,
Are lonely now!
.pm end_poem
Gone to the Valhalla, doubtless, are many brave souls of
heroes; but in the good year of grace eighteen hundred and
thirty-six the chances of life’s battle sat but lightly on the
gallant troop that reined up at the first meet at Warbrok
Chase. Many a goodly muster of the magnates of the land
had been held in that home of many memories ere this;
but never within the ken of the oldest chronicler had
anything occurred so successful, so numerously attended, of
such great and general interest to the district or neighbourhood.
Resolved that all the concomitants and accessories should
be as thoroughly English as could in any way be managed,
Howard Effingham had personally superintended the details
of a Hunt breakfast, such as erstwhile he had often enjoyed
or dispensed within the bounds of Merrie England.
.pm start_poem
North and south, and east and west,
The ‘visitors’ came forth,
.pm end_poem
as though minded to give the Squire of Warbrok—a name
by which Howard Effingham was commencing to be known
in the neighbourhood—a substantial acknowledgment of the
interest taken by the country-side in his highly commendable
.bn 255.png
.pn +1
enterprise. The younger squatters, then, as now, the aristocracy
of the land, mustered gallantly in support of the hereditary
pastime of their order. A list might be attempted, were it
only like the names of the ships in Homer’s Iliad, some day to
be read to curious listening ears by one unknowing of aught
save that such, in the dear past, were the names of heroes.
But no thought of the irony of fate fell darkly on the merry
party issuing from The Chase to greet the Badajos and Benmohr
contingents, as they came up from opposite directions.
With Harry O’Desmond rode a tall man in a green hunting
frock, whose length of limb and perfect seat showed off the
points of an inestimable grey of grand size and power, whom
all men saw at once to be The Caliph, well known on both
sides of the Straits. It was in truth John Hampden’s famous
hunter, a very Bayard among horses, at whom no horse-loving
junior could look without tears in his eyes.
Of that party also were the Gambiers—Alick, Jimmy, and
Jack—with their friend Willie Machell. A trio of cheerful
hard-riding young squatters, having made names for themselves
as leading dare-devils where anything dangerous was to be done
with the aid of horse-flesh. Their ‘Romeo’ five-year-olds,
with matchless shoulders, but imperfect tempers, carried them
admirably. Will Machell was a tall, mild, gentlemanlike,
musical personage, by no means so ‘hard’ as his more robust
friends. He would be available as a chaperon for the
feminine division, as he did not intend to do more than
canter a mile or two after the throw-off.
Came from the broad river-flats and forest parks of the
Murray, Claude Waring and his partner Rodder, the former
tall, dark, jovial; the latter neat, prudent, and fresh-coloured.
Came from the volcanic cones and scoria-covered plateaus
of Willaree the broad frame and leonine visage of Herman
Bottrell. He was well carried by his square-built ambling
cob, while beside him on a dark bay five-year-old, with the
blood of Tramp in his veins, sat the well-known figure of
‘Dolly’ Goldkind, a man who in his day had shared the costliest
pleasures of the haute volée of European capitals. Commercial
vicissitudes in his family had forced him to importune
fortune afresh in the unwonted guise of an Australian squatter.
She had, in this instance, not disdained to ‘favour the brave,’
and Dolly was now in a fair way to see the pavement of the
.bn 256.png
.pn +1
Faubourg St. Germain once yet again, and to bask amid the
transient splendour of the Tuileries. He had faced gallantly
his share of uncongenial solitude, unadorned Nature, and rude
surroundings, always awaiting, with the philosophy born of
English steadfastness, and Parisian insouciance, the good time
coming.
Came Bernard Wharton, bronzed by the fierce unshadowed
sun of that dread waste where clouds rarely linger or the
blessed rains of heaven are known to fall. His last whoo-hoop
had been heard in his own county, in the ancestral land. His
blue eye was bright, and his smile ready, as though he had
known naught but lightsome toil and the sport of his
Northamptonshire forefathers.
Ardmillan, Forbes, and Neil Barrington, with all the
‘Benmohr mob,’ as they were familiarly called, were in the
vanguard. Neil Barrington possessed one valuable attribute
of the horseman, inasmuch as he was ready, like Bob Clarke,
to ride anything and at anything. No man had ever seen
Neil decline a mount or a fence, however unpromising. But
his skill was inferior to his zeal, usually provoking comment
from the bystanders.
On one of these occasions, when he had hit a top rail very
hard in an amateur steeplechase, an expostulatory friend said,
‘Why don’t you lift your horse, Neil?’
‘Lift, be d—d!’ replied the indignant Neil; ‘I’ve enough
to do to stick on.’
However, being muscular, active, and fearless, Neil’s star
had hitherto favoured him, so that he was generally well up
at the finish.
One needs a staunch horse for ‘cutting out’ work, but the
great raking Desborough which Bob Clarke brought with him
was surely too good to be knocked about in the Benmohr
bogs and volcanic trap ‘rises’ at a muster, while his condition
savoured more of the loose-box than the grass paddock. Bob
was one of those fortunate individuals that every one everywhere,
male and female, gentle and simple, is glad to welcome.
So there was no dissentient to the view of duty he had
adopted but Mr. Rockley. And though that gentleman stated
it as his opinion that Master Bob would have been better at
home minding his work if he ever intended to make money,
he extended the right hand of fellowship to him, and was as
.bn 257.png
.pn +1
gracious as all the world and distinctly the world’s wife (and
probably daughter) was wont to be.
There were those who thought that Christabel Rockley’s
eyes glowed with a deeper light after Bob’s coming was
announced. But such an occasion would have brightened
the girl’s flower-like face even if Bob had been doomed to eat
his heart the while in solitude and disappointment on the far
Mondarlo Plain.
‘None of the ladies who belonged to “our set,” and could
ride at all, were absent,’ Neil Barrington remarked, ‘except
Miss Fane; and it was a beastly shame she was prevented
from coming—most likely by that old Turk of a father of hers.
It was a real pleasure to see her ride, and now they were all
done out of it.’
Just as Neil had concluded his lamentation for Vera Fane,
who had won his heart by comforting him after one of his
tumbles, saying that she never saw any one who rode so
straight without turning out a horseman in the end, the
Granville party, who had a long distance to come, made their
appearance through the trees of the north gully, and there,
on the well-known bonnie brown Emigrant, between Jack
Granville and his sister Katie, was Vera Fane, or the evil one
in her sweet guise.
So the grateful Neil was appeased, and straightway modified
his language with respect to Dr. Fane’s parental shortcomings;
while Wilfred Effingham, who never denied his
interest in the young lady—chiefly, he avowed, as a study of
character—felt more exhilarated than he could account for.
The Granvilles were congratulated, first of all upon their own
appearance, and assured they were not at all late (Rockley
had been devoting them to the infernal deities for the last
half-hour), then upon their thoughtful conduct in bringing
Miss Fane.
‘Deal of trouble, of course,’ quoth Jack Granville. ‘Miss
Fane is one of that sort, ain’t she? She rode over with a
small black boy for an escort, and roused us up about midnight.
Nearly shot her, didn’t I, Katie?’
‘I’m afraid I frightened you,’ said Miss Fane, with an
apologetic expression, ‘but papa had only just come home
from Sydney. I knew if I missed this eventful day I should
never have such another chance, so I lifted up Wonga by his
.bn 258.png
.pn +1
hair, poor child, to wake him, and then started off for a night
ride.’
There was no time for further amenities, as the Master,
triumphant and distinguished in the eyes of the Australian-born
portion of the Hunt, gorgeous in buckskins, accurate top-boots,
and a well-worn pink, moved off with fourteen couple
of creditable foxhounds. A very fair, even-looking lot they
were admitted to be. Old Tom had proved an admirable
whip, displaying a keenness in the vocation which verified the
tales with which he had regaled his acquaintances as to feats
and frolics with the Blazers in the historic County Galway, in
the kingdom of Long Ago.
A roan cob, with a reputation for unequalled feats in the
jumping line, had, after many trials, been secured by Wilfred
as a ‘safe conveyance’ for his father. He was, indeed, an
extraordinary animal; the sort that some elderly gentlemen
are always talking about and never seem able to get.
Wallaby was a red roan, low set, of great power and
amazing activity. ‘He could jump anything,’ his former
owner declared, ‘and was that fond of it, as you could lead
him up to this ’ere three-railed fence with a halter and he’d
clear it and jump back without pulling it out of your hand.’
This he proceeded to do before Wilfred and his father, after
which there was no question as to his cross-country capability.
Not above 14 hands 2 inches in height, with short legs,
his neat head and neck, with sloping shoulders and short
back, ranked him as fit to carry a bishop or a banker in
Rotten Row. His thighs and gaskins showed where the
jumping came from. Besides these excellences, he was
quiet, fast, and easy in his paces; so that Mrs. Effingham
and the girls had no anxiety about the head of the house
when so mounted.
.bn 259.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVII | THE FIRST MEET OF THE LAKE WILLIAM HUNT CLUB
.sp 2
‘What a delightful sight!’ said Miss Fane to Rosamond; ‘and
how glad I am that I was so determined to come. I have
rather a craze for horses, I know, but doesn’t it look magnificent.
What an array! Everybody within a hundred miles
must be here. I feel as if I could go out of my senses with
excitement. This is strictly between ourselves. But of
course you have seen far larger fields.’
‘I was too young before I left home for much in the
hunting way,’ said Rosamond, ‘but I was taken to see a
throw-off now and then on the first day of the season.’
‘What was it like? A much finer sight than this?’
‘We cannot, of course, compete in appointments—the
Hunt servants so neatly got up; the huntsman such a picture,
with his weather-beaten face, and the whips so smart and
trim. Then the grey-haired squires on their favourite hunters
give such a tone to the affair. But we have good horses out
to-day, including yours and mine, which would not be
unnoticed, even that dear Fergus. He wonders what it is
all about.’
‘And the scenery and the belongings?’
‘Well, a lawn in front of a grand historic mansion that
has been besieged more than once since the Wars of the
Roses must have the pas over anything in Australia. Still,
as for scenery, it was often tame, and scarcely came up to
that.’
Here she pointed with her whip as the hounds spread
eagerly over a grassy flat immediately beneath them. They
had been for some time imperceptibly ascending a slope.
.bn 260.png
.pn +1
The mists which had shrouded the mountain-tops had
rolled back, and a panorama of grand and striking beauty
stood revealed. Westward lay the lake, a silver sheet, amid
the green slopes which marked its shores. On the south
rose sheer and grim the enormous darkened cone which
terminated the mountain range which they had approached.
The released effulgence of the morning sun magically transfigured
to purple masses the outline of the curving ridge,
before crowning it with a tremulous aureole. Trending
westerly, the level ground increased in width, until, but
for its groves of eucalyptus, it might have been dignified by
the name of plain. This gradually merged into a region of
park-like forest.
‘What a charming place for a gallop!’ said Christabel
Rockley. ‘I do so hope the fox, or whatever he is, will be
found here. I should not be afraid to ride fast over this nice,
clear country.’
‘It is almost too easy,’ said Miss Fane, drawing her bridle-rein,
as she watched old Tom closely. ‘I like forest and
range work, I must confess. But we must look out, or the
hounds will be away, and we shall be left lamenting like so
many Lord Ullins.’
The girl’s instinct had not deceived her. She had ridden
many a day at her father’s side, when the shy cattle of a
neglected herd, ready for headlong speed at the snapping of
a twig, needed quick following to live with. Keeping her
eye on old Tom, she had noted the signs of an approaching
start.
A leading hound ran along a cattle track, and giving
tongue, went off at score. Three or four comrades of position
followed suit, and in the shortest possible time the whole
pack was away, running with a breast high scent.
‘The black dingo for a thousand,’ said old Tom to the
Master, as he hustled Boney alongside of the roan cob.
‘I seen Hobart Gay Lass put up her bristles the minit
she settled to the scent. It’s a true tongue the slut has, and
I’ll back her against ’ere a dog of the English lot, though
there’s good hounds among them. We’ll have the naygur
to-day, if there’s vartue in a good scent and a killing pack.’
‘Then you know him, Tom?’
‘By coorse, I do; he killed Strawberry’s calf, and didn’t
.bn 261.png
.pn +1
I go down on my two knees and swear I’d have the heart’s
blood of him.’
‘Then how did you manage to lay the hounds on him
here—I thought he was a lake dog?’
‘Divil a doubt of it; but I seen him here one day, just
under the range, pinning a “joey,” and I kept lavin’ a bit
of mate for him, just to make him trot over regular—maybe
a bullock’s heart or a hock of a heifer’s calf, maybe a bird
I’d shot. Dingoes is mortial fond of birds. I seen his
tracks here yesterday, and med sure he’d be here wonst
more, for the last time, and here he is forenint us now—glory
be to God!’
‘Then he’s safe to be a straight goer?’
‘It’s twelve mile to the lake, and he’ll make for the little
rise, where there’s rocks, just before you come to Long
Point. If he’s pushed there, he’ll maybe turn to the Limestone
Hill, at the back of the big house, where there’s caves—my
curse on thim—and then good-bye.’
‘This is pretty country, if there was more fencing,’ said
the Master. ‘Perhaps it is as well, though, as there are so
many ladies out. The hounds are running like smoke.’
The nature of the ground at this point of the hunt was
such as to admit of all being reasonably well up. True, the
pack went at considerable speed. The scent was burning,
and there were no small enclosures, as in ‘Merrie England,’
to check the more delicate damsels or inexperienced horsemen.
The sward was sound and firm, the tall-stemmed
eucalypti stood far apart in the southern forest-park. Bob
Clarke and the Benmohr division, Hampden and the Gambiers,
rode easily in front. Rosamond, Miss Rockley, Miss
Fane, and a few other ladies, who were exceptionally well
mounted, had no difficulty in keeping their places.
‘So this is fox-hunting!’ said Miss Fane. ‘That is, so
far as we can have the noble sport without the fox. It
is nice to see the hounds running so compactly. And I
like the musical composite cry with its harmonies and
variations.’
‘This dingo,’ said Wilfred, who had established himself
at her bridle-rein, ‘is running very straight and fast. If he
makes for the range behind the house, we shall see him and
have a little fencing too.’
.bn 262.png
.pn +1
‘I don’t object to a jump or two,’ said the young lady,
‘if they are not too stiff. This is the sort of pace that
enables one to look about. But I should like to see the
hounds work a little more.’
While this conversation was proceeding, every one was at
their ease, and voted the sport most delightful. The front
rankers were sailing along, while the hounds were carrying a
good head and forcing Master Dingo along at a pace which prevented
him from availing himself of one or two hiding-places.
However, just as Rosamond had compared herself to the
Landgrave, in the German ballad, sweeping on in endless
chase, with a horseman on either hand—St. Maur on the
right on a coal-black steed, and Fred Churbett on the left
on the rejoicing Duellist—wondering how long they were
going to have such a pleasant line of country, through which
Fergus was luxuriously striding as if he had commenced the
first part of a fifty-mile stage, the scene changed. The confident
pack checked, and commenced a circular performance
which betrayed indecision, if not failure of scent.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Miss Fane. ‘Is the whole
thing over? Was the dingo a myth?’
‘We have overrun the scent, Miss Fane,’ said Wilfred with
dignity. ‘The hounds have checked, but we shall hit it off
again in a few minutes.’
He had hardly finished speaking when Miss Fane, who,
if it was her first day after hounds, had ‘kept her side’
well up for many a day in early girlhood, ‘when they wheeled
the wild scrub cattle at the yard,’ took her horse by the head,
with a rapid turn towards two couple of hounds that she
had descried racing down the side of a creek. A neat jump,
following old Tom over the narrow but deep water-course
at a bend, placed her on easy terms with the pack. A new
line of country lay spread out before them at right angles to
their late course.
The hounds had now settled again to the scent. Another
‘blind’ creek, waterless, but respectable in the jumping way,
lay in front. At this Miss Fane’s horse went so fast and took
so extensive a fly, that Wilfred felt himself compelled to be
hard on his Camerton chestnut and ride, if he intended to
keep his place in the front alongside of this ‘leading lady,’
as Miss Fane’s nerve and experience entitled her to become.
.bn 263.png
.pn +1
But the rest of the field were not doomed to defeat and
extinction, although Miss Fane’s knowledge of emergencies
had enabled her to fix the moment when the scent was
recovered.
Scarcely did the hounds swing to their line, for the dingo
had turned, at right angles, in the creek, and so occasioned
the outrunning of the scent, when Forbes, Ardmillan, Neil
Barrington, and Fred Churbett were seen coming up hand
over hand. Miss Effingham’s ‘dear Fergus’ was slipping
along with his wonted graceful ease, and permitting the
interchange of a few sentences with Mr. Churbett, who rode
at her bridle-rein. Hampden, with whom was Beatrice, on
Allspice, was riding wide of the hounds, but only waiting for
serious business to show what manner of work he and The
Caliph were wont to cut out for themselves. Bob Clarke,
wonderful to relate, was not among the first flight. It could
not have been the fault of Desborough—faster than any horse
in the hunt—and as to jumping, why, he had a man on his
back who was a sufficient answer to any reflections on that
score.
‘May I niver be d—d!’ exclaimed old Tom, ‘if the
varmint isn’t going straight for the paddock! One would
think he was a rale fox, to see the divilment of him. Sure it
must be the hounds puts them up to all the villainy. Well,
the bigger the lape, the more divarshion.’
Satisfying himself with this view of the matter, old Tom
watched with interest the field gradually approaching a large
outer paddock, which lay at some distance from the house.
It was the ordinary two-railed fence of the colonists, and
though fairly stiff, not formidable to any one who intended
going.
The hounds slipped quietly under the lower rail, and in
another moment were racing, unchecked, along the flat which
it enclosed. But with the field, this obstacle commenced to
alter the state of matters.
The first flight, it is true, came rattling round a point of
timber at any number of miles an hour, when they encountered
this obstacle, to the sardonic entertainment of Tom Glendinning,
who had eased his horse to see the effect. Wilfred
and Miss Fane were still leading when the line of fence
suddenly appeared. Wilfred, from his knowledge of the
.bn 264.png
.pn +1
country, was aware that it was coming, and had prepared his
companion for it.
‘It is not very high,’ she said. ‘We are going so charmingly
that I could not bear to be stopped. Emigrant here’—and
she fondly patted the dark brown neck of the adamantine
animal she rode—‘is good for anything in a moderate way.’
‘It is scarcely four feet,’ said Wilfred, ‘but don’t go at it
if you are not quite sure. We can go round.’
‘I’m not going round, I can promise you,’ said the girl,
with a clear light glowing in her steadfast eyes. ‘Oh, here
it is. Two-railed fences are not much. Besides, we are leading,
and must show a good example.’
Whereupon Emigrant’s head was turned towards the
nearest panel. The well-bred horses quickened their speed
slightly; Emigrant shook his arched neck as both cleared
the rail with little more trouble than a sheep-hurdle. As
they alighted on the sound greensward, Miss Fane was
sitting perfectly square with her hands down, just a little backward
in her seat, but without the slightest sign of haste or
discomposure.
‘Well done,’ said Wilfred. ‘Prettily jumped. Emigrant
has been at it before.’
‘He has been at most things,’ said Miss Fane, looking
fondly at her experienced palfrey. ‘He had all kinds of work
before I managed to make private property of him; but
nobody rides him but me now, and I think I shall manage to
keep his old legs right for years to come.’
The next advancing pairs were not quite so secure of their
horses’ abilities, and a slight uncertainty took place. It was
all very well for Miss Fane to say the fence was not much;
but rails are rails. When they happen to be new and unyielding,
though scarcely four feet in height, a mistake causes
a severe fall. There is no scrambling through an Australian
fence, as a rule. It must be jumped clean or let alone.
Fergus, the unapproachable, was in good sooth no great
performer over anything stiff. Peerless as a hackney in all
other respects, he was not up to much across country; nor
had he been required hitherto, in the houndless state of the
land, to do aught in that line. Nevertheless, Rosamond,
fired by the example of Miss Fane, and inspirited by the
apparent ease with which Emigrant negotiated the obstacle,
.bn 265.png
.pn +1
would have doubtless run the risk, trusting to Fergus’s
gentlemanlike feeling to see her safe. But all risk of danger
was obviated by Bob Clarke’s promptitude.
That chivalrous youth, knowing all about Red King, as
indeed he did about every horse in the land, was aware that
he was a difficult horse to ride at timber. ‘Handsome as
paint,’ was the general verdict, but he needed two pairs of
hands in company.
On this occasion the fact of there being other ambitious
animals in front, and the ‘great club of the unsuccessful’ in
his rear, had roused his temper.
The fair Christabel was by no means deficient in courage,
but to-day Red King had been too much for her. He had
fretted himself into foam, and her pretty hands were sore with
holding the ‘reefing’ horse, whose mouth became more and
more callous.
‘Don’t you ride him at that fence, Miss Christabel,’ said
Bob, in a tone of entreaty. ‘He’ll go through it as sure as
you’re alive. I know him.’
The girl’s face grew a shade paler, but she set her teeth,
and, pointing with her whip to Miss Fane, who was sailing
away in ease and luxury on the farther side, said, ‘I must;
they’re all going at it.’
‘Very well,’ said he—mentally reprobating Red King’s
mouth and temper, and it may be the obstinacy of young
women—‘keep behind me, and we’ll be next.’
Upon this the wily Bob shot out from the leading ranks,
closely followed by the wilful Christabel, whose horse, indeed,
left her no option. Sending Desborough at a hog-backed
rail at the rate of forty miles an hour, with a reprehensibly
loose rein, that indignant animal declined to rise, and, chesting
the rail, snapped it like a reed. As Master Bob lay back
in the saddle with his head nearly on his horse’s tail, he had
the pleasure of seeing Christabel pop pleasantly over the
second rail, followed by the other ladies, excepting Mrs.
Snowden, who faced the unbroken fence with considerable
resolution. As for the attendant cavaliers, they negotiated it
pleasantly enough, with the exception of a baulk or two and
one fall. Indeed, another rail gave way soon after, making a
gap through which the rear-guard, variously mounted and
attired, streamed gallantly.
.bn 266.png
.pn +1
As for Bob Clarke, Red King had managed to run up to
Desborough—(great turn of speed that old King)—and he
fancied he saw in the marvellous eyes a recognition of his
unusual mode of easing a stiff leap.
The next happened to be one rare in Australia, having its
origin in Mr. Effingham’s British reminiscences. A fence
was needed in the track of a marshy inlet from the lake. A
ditch with a sod wall thrown up on the farther side made a
boundary sufficing for all the needs of an enclosure, yet
requiring no carriage of material.
‘We need not make it quite so broad or deep,’ he said, ‘as
the ox fences in Westmeath; but if I can get a couple of
hedgers and ditchers, I shall leave my memorial here, to outlast
Dick’s timber skeletons.’
Two wandering navvies, on the look-out for dam-making,
were fortunately discovered. The result of their labours was
‘The Squire’s Ditch,’ as the unusual substitute was henceforth
named. It certainly was a relief after the austerity of posts
and rails proper. In a few places the ditch had been filled
in and a partial gap made in the sod wall. At any rate horse
and rider would all go at it with light hearts. So, with the
exception of Wilfred and Miss Fane—the latter having picked
out the worst place she could see—everybody treated themselves
indulgently; hit the wall, or scrambled over the ditch,
just as their horses chose to comport themselves, and rode
forward rejoicing.
The hounds have now lengthened out, while their leaders
are racing, with lowered sterns, at a pace that leaves the
heavy brigade an increasing distance behind. The flat is
broken only by an occasional sedgy interval where the fall to
the lake has not been sufficient. For the same reason the
creek, or natural outlet of the watershed, is, though not very
wide, less unequal as to depth than are most Australian watercourses,
while the perpendicular banks show how the winter
rains of ages have channelled the rich black soil.
‘We have something like a water-jump here,’ said Wilfred
to his companion, as they watched the hounds disappear
and climb up, giving tongue as they scour forward with
renewed energy. ‘It is not so very wide, but the sides are
steep. If your horse does not know that sort of jump, we
had better follow it down to the ford, near the lake.’
.bn 267.png
.pn +1
‘Black Mountain is full of small rivers and treacheries
of all sorts,’ said the girl. ‘A horse that can go there can go
anywhere, I think.’ Sending Emigrant at it pretty fast, he
lowered his head slightly and ‘flew it like a bird.’
By the time they approached the Deep Creek, as old Tom
averred it had been christened ever since he knew Warbrok,
the greater part of the field seemed aware that no common
obstacle was before them.
‘See here now, Mr. Churbett,’ said old Tom. ‘It’s an ugly
lape unless you know where to take it, and some of the ladies
might get hurted. You make for the point half a mile down,
where ye see thim green reeds. There’s a little swamp fills
it up there, and ye can wade through easy. More by token,
I’m thinkin’, the hounds will turn to ye before ye cross the
three-railed fence into the horse paddock.’
Mr. Churbett at once made sail for the point indicated,
successfully piloting, with Forbes and a few men who were
more chivalrous than keen, the feminine division. He was
followed by the greater portion of the rear-guard, who, seeing
that there was an obstacle to free discussion in front, wisely
turned when they did. Hamilton, Argyll, and Hampden
rode at the yawner with varied success.
As for Bob Clarke, seeing that it was impossible to adopt
his last method of simplifying matters, he persuaded Miss
Rockley to gallop up the creek with him, on the off-chance
of finding a crossing, which they did eventually, but so far
up that they were nearly thrown out altogether.
We cannot claim for the sheep-killing denizen of the
Australian waste, mysteriously placed on our continent a
century in advance of the merino, the wondrous powers of
Reynard the Great. But in the pace which enables him to
bring to shame an inferior greyhound, and in the endurance
which keeps him ahead of a fair pack of foxhounds, as well
as in his ardent love of poultry, he undoubtedly does resemble
‘the little tyrant of the fields.’
The distance the black dingo had already come was considerable,
the pace decidedly good. The long slopes, all
with an upward tendency, began to tell. When the fence of
the home-paddock was reached, the farther corner of which
impinged upon a steep spur of the main range, the bolt of
the gallant quarry was nearly shot.
.bn 268.png
.pn +1
He was viewed by Tom crawling under the lower rail; an
enthusiastic view-holloa rang out from the old man. One
more fence and a kill was certain, unless his last effort sufficed
to land him within reach of one of the ‘gibbah-gunyahs’ (or
rock caves) which the aboriginals and their canine friends
had inhabited apparently from remote ages.
As the field ranged up to the horse-paddock fence, it was
seen to be by no means so moderate a task as the other post
and rails. Old Dick, who had superintended its erection,
had been careful that it should be one of the best pieces of
work in the district,—substantial, of full height, and with
solid posts nearly two feet in the ground. Hence it loomed
before the hunt fully four feet six inches in height, with top-rails
which forbade all chance of cracking or carrying out.
Fortunately for the ladies and a large proportion of the
sterner sex, who would have to ‘jump or go home,’ Wilfred
knew of ‘slip-rails’ a little more than a hundred yards
from where the quick eyes of old Tom had marked the dingo
steal through.
‘I have no doubt you would try it, Miss Fane,’ said Wilfred,
who marked with admiration the game sparkle in his
companion’s eye, as her gaze ranged calmly over the barrier;
‘but it is a high, stiff fence, and dangerous for a lady. At
any rate, as your temporary guardian, I must forbid your
taking it, if you would defer to my control.’
‘Certainly, oh, certainly, and many thanks,’ said the
girl, blushing slightly; ‘it is very good of you to take care of
me. But what are we to do? We can’t miss the finish after
this delightful run.’
‘Certainly not. Do you see the road to the right of us?
There is a slip-rail on the track, which I fancy will be patronised.
Follow me.’
Slip-rails are contemned by advanced pastoralists, but
they stood the Lake William Hunt in good stead on this
occasion. As they rode to the opening, Miss Fane said:
‘Pray leave the middle rail up. It will be the last jump,
and I daresay the other ladies will agree with me.’
‘Very well,’ said Wilfred. ‘I need not get off.’
Riding up to the fence, he lifted out the shifting end of
the stout round rail, and, allowing it to fall to the ground,
cantered back to his fair companion.
.bn 269.png
.pn +1
‘Now then,’ she said, ‘see how prettily you will take this,
Master Emigrant! It is quite stiff, though not very high.’
In truth the rail, as high as a sheep-hurdle, was slightly
hog-backed, and strong enough to have capsized a buffalo.
‘You will go first, of course,’ said Wilfred, turning his
horse’s head in the same direction.
The nice old hackney, albeit his best years had been
spent as a stock-horse amid the unfair country of the Black
Mountain run, was within a shade of thoroughbred. He
went at the jump with his hind legs well under him, and,
rising at exactly the proper moment, popped over with so
little effort or disturbance of seat that Miss Fane might have
held a glass of water in her whip-hand.
If she had turned her head she might not have been so
self-possessed; for, the moment her back was turned, Wilfred
Effingham, foreseeing that the talent would be sure to
ride this, the only sensational fence of the run, turned his
horse’s head to the big three-railer.
He rode an upstanding chestnut five-year-old, which he
had selected as a colt from the Benmohr stud. For some
time past he had employed himself in ‘making’ him, a
pleasant task to a lover of horses. He had given the resolute
youngster much schooling over logs, rails, and any kind of
fence which came handy, avoiding those which were not unyielding.
He was aware that no more dangerous idea can be
contracted by a timber-jumper, than that he can break
through anything, the first new fence that he meets being
likely fatally to undeceive him. He flattered himself that
Troubadour, from repeated raps, would take care to rise high
enough over any fence.
At the moment he set him going he saw Argyll and
Churbett, with Hampden, St. Maur, and all the ‘no denial’
division converging on the slip-rails, having witnessed Miss
Fane’s disappearance through them.
Whether Troubadour was over-anxious to regain Emigrant,
cannot be known. But he went at the fence too fast, hit
the top-rail a tremendous bang, and rolled over into the
paddock, narrowly escaping a somersault across his master.
He, however, was lucky enough to be thrown, by the mere
impetus of the fall, clear of his horse. Jumping to his feet
with the alacrity of youth, he caught the bridle-rein of the
.bn 270.png
.pn +1
astonished Troubadour, who stood staring and shaking, just
in time to see The Caliph sail over the high fence with a
great air of ease and authority, followed by the others, among
whom Churbett’s horse hit the fence hard, ‘but no fall.’
The ladies followed Miss Fane’s example and negotiated
the middle rail successfully, as Wilfred jumped into his
saddle, and sending his spurs into the unlucky Troubadour,
rejoined his charge without further delay.
That young lady had pulled up, and was looking at the
scene of the disaster with an anxious expression. Her face
had assumed a paler hue, and her hands fidgeted with the
bridle-rein.
‘I am so glad you are not hurt,’ she said. ‘I thought all
sorts of things till I saw you get up and mount.’
‘Thank you very much,’ said Wilfred, with a grateful
inflection in his voice. ‘It was very awkward of Troubadour;
but accidents will happen, and it will teach him to
lift his legs another time. But we must ride for it now;
we have been in the front so far. Ha! the hounds are
turning to us; they will have Master Dingo before he reaches
the cliffs.’
Another mile and the dark quadruped, still at a stretching
wolf-gallop, was decidedly nearer the leading hounds,
whose bristles began to rise, ominous of blood. Old Tom,
waving his cap, cheered them on as he rode rejoicingly forward
on the wiry, unflinching grey. Slower and more laboured
became the pace of the aboriginal canine. Before him was
the cliff, upon the lower tier of which, could he have crawled,
lay sanctuary. But in vain he scans eagerly the frowning
masses of sandstone, denuded by the storms of ages. In
vain he glances fiercely back at the remorseless pack, showing
his glittering teeth. His doom is sealed. With a half-turn
and a vicious snap, in which his teeth meet like a steel-trap
through Cruiser’s neck, he confronts destiny. The next
moment there is a confused heap of struggling, tearing hounds,
a few seconds of dumb, despairing resistance, and the
mothers of the herd are avenged.
Miss Fane turns away her head and joins the group of
‘first families,’ by this time enabled to be in respectably at
the death.
Old Tom in due time appeared with the brush of the
.bn 271.png
.pn +1
dingo, which he held on high for inspection. It was not
unlike that of the true Reynard, though larger and fuller. It
had also a white tag. The old man, advancing to Miss
Fane’s side, thus spoke:
‘The Masther said I was to give ye the brush, Miss; it’s
well ye desarve it. Sure I’d like to have seen ye with the
Blazers. My kind sarvice to ye, and wishin’ ye the hoith of
good fortune.’
‘Well done, Tom!’ said Argyll, ‘you have made a very
neat speech; and we all congratulate Miss Fane upon her
very spirited riding to-day. As you say, she well deserves
the brush, and I hope she will grace many more of our
meets.’
‘We must send the “cap” round for the huntsman, Tom,’
said Hampden, ‘who found such a straight-goer for the
first run of the Lake William Hounds, and hit off the scent
so neatly after the check.’
As he spoke he lifted it from the old man’s grey head,
and placing a sovereign in it, rode along the ranks. He
returned it with such a collection of coin as the old man,
long accustomed to cheques and ‘orders,’ had not seen for
years.
‘It’s fortunate the fox—the dingo, I mean,’ said Wilfred,
‘chose to make for the cliffs, instead of the other end of the
lake. We should have had a terrible distance to ride home,
though not in the dark, as one often was in the old country.
Now, you must all come in, as we are so near The Chase.
We can put up everybody who hasn’t pressing work to do at
home.’
The day was done. The hunt was over, with the first
pack of hounds that had ever been followed amid the green
pastures which bordered the Great Lake. It was by no
means the last. And indeed a hunter, bred and broken by
one of the very men who then aided to establish that
traditional sport, was fated, when shipped to England, to
be one of the few well up in the quickest thing that the
Pytchley saw that season, to be chronicled in Bell, and to
win enduring renown for Australian horses and Australian
riders. But that day, with much of Fate’s glad or sorrowful
doings, was far in the unborn future. So the band of
friends and neighbours returned to The Chase, pleased with
.bn 272.png
.pn +1
themselves, with the day, and the feats performed, and above
all, congratulating Squire Effingham upon the triumphant
opening meet of the season.
Not all the meets were so well attended. But the grand
fact remained that, at regular intervals, dawn saw the dappled
beauties trooping forth at the heels of old Tom and the
Master across the dewy meadows, beneath the century-old
trees of the primeval forest. Still rang out the music, dear
to Howard Effingham’s soul, when the scent lay well in the
soft, cloudy, autumnal mornings. Still were there, occasionally,
incidents of hunting spirit and feats of horsemanship
worthy of the traditional glories of the ne’er-forgotten Fatherland.
.bn 273.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVIII | THE MAJOR DISCOVERS HIS RELATIVE
.sp 2
After the inauguration, hunting became an organised and
well-supported recreation among the dwellers within the
influence of the social wavelets of the lake. The Benmohr
firm found, on the whole—though the stabling of hunters
was not unaccompanied by expense—that it brought their
stud prominently before the public. Hence they found
ready sale, at an ascending scale of prices, for all the colts
they could turn out. Strangers came for the hunting, and
made purchases. The hounds, too, meeting regularly once
a week during the winter months, exercised a repressive
influence upon the dingos, so much so, that M.F.H. (not
being a sheep-owner) began seriously to think of preserving
these much-maligned yet indispensable animals.
So widely spread and honourably mentioned was the fame
of the Lake William Hunt Club, that His Vice-regal Highness
the Governor himself more than once deigned to partake
of the hospitality of The Chase, bringing with him aides-de-camp
and private secretaries, pleasant of manner, and
refreshing as such to the souls of the daughters of the
house.
Meanwhile Wilfred worked away at the serious business
of the estate, only taking occasional interest in these extraneous
pleasures; grumbling, moreover, at the expense,
indirect or otherwise, that the kennel necessitated.
However, it must be said in justice to him, that it was
rarely he was betrayed into impatience with regard to an occupation
which, with other branches of acclimatised field sports,
had become the mainstay of his father’s interest in life.
.bn 274.png
.pn +1
‘Really,’ Mr. Effingham would say, ‘in a few years—say
about eighteen hundred and forty-five or thereabouts—I
believe we shall be nearly as secure of decent sport as
we were in old England. The Murray cod are increasing in
the lake. I have brown trout, dace, and tench in the little
river. There are almost too many rabbits; and as to hares,
pheasants, and partridges, we can invite half-a-dozen guns
next season, without fear of consequences. I have been
offered deer from Tasmania. With the inducement of a stag-hunt
and a haunch of venison, I don’t see why we
shouldn’t finish our season right royally. Depend upon it,
New South Wales only wants enterprise, in the department
of field sports, to become one of the finest countries under
the sun.’
There was no doubt that in the eyes of an observer
not endowed with the apprehensive temperament which
numbers so many successful men amongst its possessors, the
appearance of matters generally at The Chase justified
reasonable outlay.
Wilfred had made a few guarded investments—all successful
so far. What, for instance, could pay better than the
purchase of the quiet, dairy steers from the small farmers
in the autumn, when grass and cash were scarce, to fatten
them in the lake paddocks? Adjacent freeholds, from time
to time in the market, were added to the snug estate of The
Chase. True, he could not always find the cash at call for
these tempting bargains—(is there anything so enticing as
the desire to add farm to farm and house to house, as in the
old, old days of Judah?)—but Mr. Rockley was ready to
endorse his bill, which, with his credit at the Bank of New
Holland, was as good as cash.
Thus passed the time until the close of the hunting season,
before which Major Glendinning had returned and apparently
taken up his abode in the neighbourhood, in great request at
all the stations, and earning for himself daily the character of
a thorough sportsman. He purchased a couple of horses
from the Benmohr stud, on which, from time to time, he
performed such feats across country as caused it to be
surmised that, in the event of his settling in the neighbourhood,
Bob Clarke would find a rival.
He spoke highly of the standard as to blood and bone of
.bn 275.png
.pn +1
the horses bred in the district, openly stating that, in the
event of the proprietors being minded to establish a system of
shipment to India, they might expect extraordinary prices for
their best horses, while the medium ones would be worth
double or treble their colonial value.
Mr. Rockley, after reckoning up expenses, together with
the rather serious item of risk of loss on ship-board, decided
that there was a handsome margin. He finished by
declaring that in the following spring, which would be in
time for the cool season at Calcutta, he would send a dozen
horses of his own breeding, and join them in a cargo from
the district.
The idea was adopted. Preparations were made by
handling and stable-feeding as many of the saleable horses as
could be spared. O’Desmond was a warm supporter of the
movement. He offered to find from his long-established stud
fully half the number necessary for the undertaking. The
Major, who was compelled to revisit India once more, if but
for the last time, had agreed to accompany the emigrants,
and to see them safely into the stables of old Sheik Mahommed,
the great Arab horse-dealer.
‘Fancy getting a hundred or two for our colts!’ said
Hamilton. ‘Not more than they are worth when you come
to think of their breeding. I look upon the Camerton stock
as the very best horses in New South Wales, probably in
Australia. But of course we never expect more than a third
of such prices in these markets.’
‘The Major deserves a statue,’ said Argyll, ‘inscribed—“Ad
centurionem fortissimum, qui, equis canibusque gaudens,
primus in Indis et in Nova Cambria erat.”’
‘Very neat and classical,’ affirmed Fred Churbett. ‘I
intend to send Duellist. I should be sure to get three
hundred for him, shouldn’t I? He’s a sweet hack, but the
price is tempting. I daresay I could pick up another one up
to my weight.’
‘A horse of Duellist’s blood, size, and fashion would sell
for that sum any day in Calcutta,’ assented the Major. ‘He
would be a remarkable horse anywhere, and I need not tell
you, would fetch more as a park hack in London.’
‘Would we were both there!’ murmured Fred softly. ‘I
fancy I see myself on him doing Rotten Row. I have half a
.bn 276.png
.pn +1
mind to go with you to Calcutta, Major. If the trade
develops we might make money a little faster than at
present, and have our fling in the old country before these
locks are tinged with grey,’ melodramatically patting his
auburn chevelure.
‘It might be a desirable change,’ said Forbes. ‘Many
people are said to improve in appearance as they grow older.’
‘But not in mildness of disposition, James,’ retorted
Churbett. ‘A tendency to flat contradiction and aggressive
argument has rarely been known to abate with advancing
years. But this is wide of the Indian Remount Association.
I don’t see why we shouldn’t offer to ship and sell on commission.
Many people in the district breed a good nag and
don’t know what to do with him afterwards. Suppose we
consult the Squire about it. He’s not a business man, but
he knows India well.’
It was agreed that they should make up a party, consisting
of Forbes, Churbett, the Major, and Argyll, to ride over to
The Chase that afternoon. This was always a popular
proceeding if any colour of business, news, or sport could be
discovered for the visit.
As they were nearing the gate of the home-paddock, they
encountered Wilfred Effingham, accompanied by his old
stock-rider, bringing in a draft of cattle. They amused themselves
watching the efficient aid rendered by the dog, and
remarked incidentally the fiery impatience and clever horsemanship
of old Tom, who, roused by the difficulty of driving
some of the outlying younger cattle, was flying round the
drove upon old Boney at a terrific pace.
‘How well that old vagabond rides!’ said Fred Churbett,
as Tom came racing down the range after a perverse heifer,
forcing her along at the very top of her speed, with Boney’s
opened mouth just at her quarter, at which, with ears laid
back and menacing teeth, he reached over from time to time,
the old man’s whip meanwhile rattling over her in a succession
of pistol-cracks, while he audibly devoted her to the infernal
deities.
‘There, thin, may the divil take ye for a cross-grained,
contrairy, brindle-hided baste of a scrubber; may I niver if I
don’t have ye in the cask the first time yer bones is dacently
covered!’ he wrathfully ejaculated, as Boney stopped dead at
.bn 277.png
.pn +1
the rear of the drove, into which the alarmed heifer shot with
the velocity of a shell.
As they rode up to Wilfred and his man, Major Glendinning
addressed the old stock-rider:
‘By the way, Tom, do you happen to know any one of
your own name in this part of the country—or elsewhere in
the colony, as you have been such a traveller?’
‘The divil a know I know,’ replied Tom (who was in one
of his worst humours, and at such times had little control
over himself), ‘of any man but Parson Glendinning that lives
on the Hunter River, and he’s a Scotchman and never seen “the
black North” at all. But what raison have ye to ask me?
I’m Tom Stewart Glendinning, the stock-rider, and barrin’
that I was “lagged” and was a fool to myself all my life
long, I’ve no call to be ashamed of my name, more than
another man.’
As he spoke the old man raised himself in his saddle and
looked steadily, even fiercely, into the eyes of his interlocutor,
who in turn, half astonished, half irritated at the old
man’s manner, frowned as he returned the gaze with military
sternness of rebuke.
Wilfred came up with the intention of rating his follower
for his acerbity, but as he marked the fixed expression of the
two men, something prevented him interposing. A similar
feeling took possession of the others, as they stopped speaking
and unconsciously constituted themselves an audience during
this peculiar colloquy. Did a shadow of doubt, a half-acknowledged
idea cross the minds of the spectators, as they
watched the two men whose paths in life lay so wide apart?
Was it the fire which burned with sudden glow, at that
moment, in the eyes of both speakers, as they confronted
each other, the chance similarity of their aquiline features,
closely compressd lips, and knitted brows? Whatever the
unseen influence, it was simultaneous, as it awed to silence
men, at no time easy to control, and placed them in a
position of mesmeric domination.
The Major rapidly, but with strangely husky intonation,
then said:
‘Under that name did you send to Simon Glendinning, in
the county of Derry, certain sums of money?’
‘I did thin; and why wouldn’t I, if it was my own? It
.bn 278.png
.pn +1
was asy made in thim days; the country was worth living in,—not
like now, overstocked with “jimmies” and foreign trash.’
‘You sent that money, as I was informed,’ continued the
Major, persistently unheeding the old man’s petulance, ‘for
the benefit of a child, a nephew of your own, whom you
desired to provide for?’
‘Nephew be hanged! The boy was my son, Owen Walter
Glendinning by name. Maybe he’s dead and gone this
many a day, for I niver heard tale or tidings of him since.
It’s as well for him and betther. ’Tis little use I see in
draggin’ on life in this world at all, unless you’ve great luck
intirely. But what call have ye to be cross-examinin’ me—like
a lawyer—about my family affairs, and what makes the
colour lave yer face like a dead man’s? Who are ye at all?’
‘I am Owen Walter Glendinning! It was for me that
your money was used. I am—your—son!’
As he spoke an ashen hue overspread the bronzed cheek,
and the strong man swayed in his saddle as if he would
have fallen to the ground. His lips were clenched, and
every feature bore the impress of the agony that strains
nature’s every capacity. As for the spectators, they looked
upon the actors in this life drama, of which the catastrophe
had been so unexpectedly sprung upon them, with silent
respect accorded to those beyond human aid. Words would
have been worse than useless. They could but look, but
sit motionless on their horses, but school every feature to
passive recipiency, until the end should come.
‘God in Heaven!’ cried the old man; ‘do you tell me
so? May the tongue be blistered that spoke the word! It
was a lie I tould you—lies—lies—I tell ye; sure ye don’t
belave a word of it?’
Then he looked at the despairing face of the soldier with
wistful entreaty and bitter regret, piteous to behold.
‘It is too late; it is useless to declare that you misled
me. You have betrayed the truth, which in pity for my
unworthy pride you attempt to conceal.’
‘It’s all a lie—a lie—a hellish lie!’ screamed the old
man, transported with rage and regret. ‘What you, my
son! You! Major Glendinning, a fine gintleman, and a
soldier every inch of ye, the ayquals of the best gintry in the
land and they proud of ye, the son of a drunken old convict
.bn 279.png
.pn +1
stock-rider! I tell ye it can’t be. I swear it’s a lie. I
knew the man ye spake of. He’s dead now, but he was
book-larned and come of an old family. I heard tell of
his sending home money to his nephew in the North, and
our names being the same I just said it out of divilment.
Sure I’d cut my throat if I thought I’d be the manes of
harmin’ ye. Why don’t ye curse me? Why don’t ye tell
thim gintlemen I’m a lyin’ old villain? They know me well.
Here, I’ll swear on my bended knees, by the blessed Virgin
and all the saints, there’s no word of truth in what I said.’
As old Tom raved, implored, and blasphemed, cursing at
once his own folly and evil hap, his face writhed with the
working of inward feeling. His features were deadly pale,
well-nigh livid; the tears ran down his furrowed cheeks,
while his eyes blazed with an unearthly light. As he fell on
his knees and commenced his oath of renunciation the calm
tones of the Major were again heard.
‘All this is vain and useless. Get up, and listen to reason.
That you are my—my father, I have now not the slightest
reason to doubt. Your knowledge of the name, of the
annual sum sent, is sufficient evidence; if these facts were
not ample, the resemblance of feature is to me at this
moment, as doubtless to our good friends here, unmistakable.
Fate has brought about this meeting, why, I dare not
question. You are too excited to listen now’—here the
old man made as though he would burst in with a torrent
of imprecations on the childish absurdity of the speaker—‘but
we shall meet again before I leave for India.’
‘May we niver meet again on God’s earth! ’Tis yerself
that’s to blame if this divil’s blast gets out. Sure the
Benmohr gintlemen and Mr. Churbett won’t let on. Mr.
Wilfred’s close enough. Kape your saycret, and divil a soul
need hear of the sell ould Tom gave ye. My sarvice to ye,
Major!’
Here the old man mounted and devoted his energies to
the cattle. Wilfred moved forward, by no means sorry that
the strange scene had concluded.
‘Look here, Effingham, I will ride on to The Chase and
make my adieus; as well now as another time. I return at
once to India. You understand my position, I feel sure.’
He rode forward with a more upright seat, a firmer hand
.bn 280.png
.pn +1
upon his bridle-rein, and that stern lighting of the eyes that
may be seen when, and when only—
.pm start_poem
Bridle-reins are gathered up,
And sabres blaze on high,
.pm end_poem
ere each man spurs to the death feast, wherein his own name
has, perchance, been sounded on a shadowy roll-call by a
phantom herald.
Hamilton urged his horse alongside of the Major and
held out his hand. Their eyes met as each wrung the
proffered palm. But no word was spoken. Argyll and
Churbett rode slightly ahead. Before long they reached
the gate of The Chase, which, with its peculiar fastening,
their horses began to know pretty well, either sidling steadily
up or commencing to gambade at the very sight of it, in
token of detestation, as did Grey Surrey.
‘It seems odd that I shall perhaps never see this house
again,’ said Major Glendinning, slowly and reflectively. ‘I
was beginning to be very fond of it, and had made up my
mind to buy a place for a stud farm and settle near it. But
why think of it now, or of anything else? “What is decreed
by Allah is decreed,” as saith the Moslem. Who am I to
complain of the universal fate?’
But as the strong man spoke there was an involuntary
tremor in his voice, a contraction of the muscles, as when
the dumb, tortured frame quivers under the surgeon’s knife.
‘Oh, how glad I am that you all came to-day,’ said
Annabel, as they walked in; ‘that is, if a girl is permitted
to express her pleasure at the arrival of gentlemen. Perhaps
I should have said “how fortunate a coincidence.” But, as
a fact, all our horses are in to-day, and we were just wondering
if we could make up a riding-party after lunch. Mr.
Churbett, I can order you to come, because you never have
any work to do; not like some tiresome people who will go
home late at night or early in the morning.’
‘I never get credit for my labours, Miss Annabel. I’m
too good-natured and easily intimidated—by ladies. But
did you never hear of my memorable journey with cattle
from Gundagai to the coast, all in the depth of winter; and—and—in
fact—several other exploring enterprises?’
‘What, really, Mr. Churbett? Then I recant. But I
.bn 281.png
.pn +1
thought you managed the station from your verandah, sitting
in a large cane chair, with a pile of books on the floor.’
‘An enemy hath done this,’ said Mr. Churbett impressively.
‘Miss Annabel, I never shall be exonerated till you
immortalise The She-oaks with your presence at a muster.
Then, and then only, can you dimly shadow forth the deeds
that the knight Frederico Churbetto, with his good steed
Grey Surrey, is capable of achieving.’
‘“I wadna doot,” as Andrew says; and indeed, Mr.
Churbett, I should like very much to see all the galloping
and watch you and your stock-riders at work. You must
ask mamma. Only, the present question is, can we have a
canter down to the lake side?’
‘We shall be truly thankful,’ said Hamilton. ‘I can
answer for it. We did not know the good fortune in store
for us when we started.’
‘Oh, thanks, thanks! Consider everything nice said on
both sides. But what have you done to Major Glendinning?
He looks so serious.’
‘Oh, he’s all right,’ said Hamilton, thinking it best to
suffer their friend to make his explanations personally.
‘Indian warriors, you know, are apt to suffer from old wounds.
Change of weather, I think.’
‘Poor fellow!’ said Annabel. ‘It seems hard that if one
is not killed in battle, he should have to suffer afterwards.
However, we must cheer him up. I will go and put my
habit on.’
.tb
The afternoon was fine, so after a preliminary saddling-up,
the whole party filed off, apparently in high spirits. The
roads in one direction were always sound, while by ascending
slightly one of the spurs of the range a grand view was
always obtainable.
Rosamond rode foremost, as she generally did, by right of
the exceptional walking of Fergus. She was accompanied by
Forbes, whose hackney had been selected after great research,
his friends averred, in order that he might rank as the next
fastest pacer in those parts. Argyll and Wilfred brought up
the rear, occasionally joining company with Annabel and
Fred Churbett. The Major and Beatrice went next behind
the leaders. The couples preserved the order in which they
.bn 282.png
.pn +1
set out, with the exception of the inroad upon Fred and
Annabel’s eager colloquies, which were not deeply sentimental.
That amiable personage complained that no one scrupled
to break in upon his tête-à-têtes. He ‘thought he should
have to grow a moustache and call some one out, in order
to inspire respect.’
Major Glendinning had made frequent visits to Warbrok,
and familiar intercourse having naturally resulted from his
intimacy with their friends at Benmohr, the family had come
to look upon him as one of their particular set. Of a
nature constitutionally reserved, and more specially self-contained
from long residence as a military autocrat in one
of the provinces of Northern India, he had read and thought
more deeply than men of his class are apt to do. In proportion,
therefore, to his general reticence was his satisfaction
in unlocking his stores of experience when he met with
congenial minds.
A few chance questions on the part of Beatrice Effingham,
after his first introduction to the family, had discovered
to him that she was better informed as to the administration
of Northern India than most people. Hence grew up
between them a common ground of interest in which he
could expatiate and explain. And his listener was never
tired of hearing from an eye-witness and an actor the
true story of the splendours and tragedies of that historic
land.
The real reason of this research, apart from the hunger
for literary pabulum, which at all times possessed Beatrice,
was an affectionate interest in the life of an uncle, who,
after entering upon a brilliant career, had perished through
the treachery of a native Rajah. His adventures had fascinated
the romantic girl from early childhood; hence she
had loved to verify every detail of the circumstances under
which the star of the ill-fated Raymond Effingham had
faded into darkness.
By those indescribable degrees of advance, of which the
heart can note the progress, but rarely the first approach,
a friendship between the Major and the thoughtful girl
became so apparent as to be the subject of jesting remark.
When, therefore, he had announced his intention of settling
in the neighbourhood, a thrill of unusual force invaded the
.bn 283.png
.pn +1
calm pulses of Beatrice Effingham. Had his retirement
from the service, from the profession he loved so well, some
reason in which her future was concerned? If so, if he
settled down on one of the adjoining properties, could any
union be more consonant with her every feeling, taste, and
aspirations than with one whom, in every way, she could so
fully respect and admire, whose deeds in that wonderland
of her fancies were written on the records of his country’s
fame? It was a dream too bright for reality. And though
it would occasionally disturb the even tenor of Beatrice’s
hours in the library, her well-regulated mind refused to dwell
upon possibilities as yet unsanctioned.
When, therefore, Major Glendinning promptly availed
himself of the opportunity afforded by the ride to the lake
to constitute himself her escort; when, after a few commonplace
observations, she observed that his countenance, though
more grave than was usual in her presence, had yet an expression
of fixed resolve, an indefinable feeling of expectation,
almost amounting to dread, took possession of her, and it was
with a beating heart and changing cheek that she listened.
‘I take advantage of this opportunity, Miss Beatrice, to
say the words which must be said before we part.’
‘Part!’ said the girl, shaking in every limb, though she
bravely struggled against her emotions and tried to impart
firmness to her voice. ‘Then you are going to leave us for
India? Have you been ordered back suddenly?’
‘That is as it may be,’ said the soldier; and as he spoke
their eyes met. His face wore a look of unalterable decision,
yet so fraught was it with misery, even despair, that she instinctively
felt that Fate had dealt her a remorseless stroke.
‘I have heard this day,’ he continued, ‘what has altered the
chief purpose of my life—has killed my every hope. I return
to India by the next ship.’
‘You have heard terribly bad news,’ she answered very
softly. ‘I see it in your face. I need not tell you how we
shall all sympathise with you; how grieved we shall be at
your departure.’
Here the womanly instinct of the consoler proved stronger
than that of the much-vaunted ruler of courts and camps,
inasmuch as Beatrice lost sight of her personal feelings
in bethinking herself how she could aid the strong man,
.bn 284.png
.pn +1
whose features bore evidence of the agony which racked
every nerve and fibre.
‘I feel deeply grateful for your sympathy. I knew you
would bestow it. No living man needs it more. This
morning I rode out fuller of pleasant anticipation than I can
recall, prepared to take a step which I hoped would result
in my life’s happiness. I had arranged for an extension of
leave, after which I intended to sell out and live in this
neighbourhood, which for many reasons—for every reason—I
have found so delightful.’
‘And your plans are altered?’
This query was made in tones studiously free from all
trace of interest or disapproval, although the beating heart
and throbbing brain of the girl almost prevented utterance.
‘I have this day—this day only—you will do me the
justice hereafter to believe—heard a statement, unhappily
too true, which clears up the mystery which has rested upon
me from my birth. That cloud has been removed. But
behind it lies a foul blot, a dark shadow of dishonour, which
I deemed could never have rested on the name of Walter
Glendinning.’
‘Dishonour!’ echoed Beatrice. ‘Impossible! How can
that be?’
‘It is as I say—deep and ineradicable,’ groaned out the
unhappy man. ‘You will hear more from your brother.
All is known to him and your friends of Benmohr. Enough
that I have no personal responsibility. But it is a burden
that I must carry till the day of a soldier’s death. You
will believe me when I say that my honour demands that I
quit Australia—to me so dear, yet so fatal. The years that
may remain to me belong to my country.’
‘I feel,’ said the girl, with kindling eye and a pride of
bearing which equalled his own, ‘that you are doing what
your high sense of honour, of duty, demands. I can but
counsel you to take them, for guide and inspiration. I know
not the doom which has fallen on you, but I can bid you
God-speed, and pray for you evermore.’
‘You have spoken my inmost thoughts. God help us
that it should be so. But I were disloyal to every thought
and aspiration of my nature if I stooped to link the life of
another, as God is my witness and judge, to my tarnished
.bn 285.png
.pn +1
name. We must part—never, perhaps, to meet on earth—but,
Beatrice, dearest and only loved—may I not call you so?—I
who now look upon your face, and hear your voice for
the last time—you will think in your happy home of one
who tore the heart from his bosom, which a dark fate forbade
him to offer you. When you hear that Walter Glendinning
died a soldier’s death, give a tear to his memory—to his fate
who scorned death, but could not endure dishonour.’
Neither spoke for some moments. The girl’s tears flowed
fast as she gazed before her, while both rode steadily onward.
The man’s form was bowed, and his set features wore the
livid aspect of him who has received a death-wound but
strives to hide the inward agony. Slowly, mechanically, they
rode side by side along the homeward track, in the rear of
the others until the entrance gate was reached. Then, as if
by mutual impulse, they turned towards each other, and
their eyes met in one long sorrowful glance. Such light has
shone in the eyes of those who parted ere now, sanctified by
a martyr’s hope—a martyr’s death.
‘We shall meet,’ she said, ‘no more on earth; but oh,
if you value my love, cherish the thought of a higher life—of
a better world, where no false human pride, no barrier of
man’s cruelty or injustice may sever us. I hold the trust
which my heart, if not my lips, confessed. Till then, farewell,
and may a merciful God keep our lives unstained until
the day of His coming.’
She drew the glove from her hand hurriedly. It fell at
his horse’s feet. He dismounted hastily, and placed it in his
bosom, and raising her ice-cold hand to his lips, pressed it
with fervour. Then accompanying her to the hall door, he
committed her to the charge of Wilfred, who, with his mother
and sister, stood on the verandah, took a hurried leave of the
family, regretting that he was compelled, by sudden summons,
to rejoin his regiment, and with his friends, who with ready
tact made excuse for returning, took the familiar track to
Benmohr.
Few words were spoken on the homeward road, which was
traversed at a pace that tried the mettle of the descendants
of Camerton. That night the friends sat late, talking
earnestly. It was long after midnight before they separated.
On the following day Major Glendinning and his father met
.bn 286.png
.pn +1
at a spot half-way between The Chase and Benmohr, the
interview being arranged by Hamilton, who rode over and
persuaded the old man to accompany him. What passed
between them was never known, but ere that night was ended
the Major was far on his way to Sydney, which he reached in
time to secure a passage in the good ship Governor Bourke,
outward bound for China. In the course of the week Mr.
Effingham received a letter in explanation of the circumstances,
signed Owen Walter Glendinning, declaring his unworthiness
to aspire to his daughter’s hand, as well as his
inability to remain in the country after the mystery of his
birth had been so unexpectedly revealed to him. He held
himself pledged to act in the matter after the expiration of a
year in accordance with what Mr. Effingham, acting as the
guardian of his daughter’s happiness, might consider in the
light of an honourable obligation. A bank draft drawn in
favour of Thomas Stewart Glendinning was enclosed, with an
intimation that an annual payment would be forwarded for
his use henceforth during the writer’s life.
.tb
The first cloud which the Effinghams had descried since
their arrival in Australia had appeared in the undimmed
horizon. The breath of evil, which knows no bound nor
space beneath the sun, had rested on them. Habitually
taking deeper interest in the subjective issues of life than in
its material transaction, they were proportionately depressed.
All that maternal love and the most tender sisterly affection
could give was lavished upon the sufferer. Her well-disciplined
mind, strengthened by culture and purified by
religion, gradually acquired equilibrium. But it was long ere
the tranquil features of Beatrice Effingham recovered their
wonted expression; and a close observer could have detected
the trace of an inward woe in the depths of her erstwhile
clear, untroubled eyes.
In his answer to the letter which he had received, Mr.
Effingham ‘fully agreed with the course which his friend
had taken, and the determination which he had expressed.
Looking at the situation, which he deplored with his whole
heart, he was unable to see any other mode of action open
to him as a man of honour. Deeply prejudicial as had been
the issue to the happiness of his beloved daughter, he could
.bn 287.png
.pn +1
not ask him (Major Glendinning) to swerve by one hair’s-breadth
from the path which he had laid down for himself.
His wishes would be attended to with respect to the bank
draft forwarded for the use of the person named, but he
would suggest that Mr. Sternworth should be chosen as the
recipient of future remittances. He would, in conclusion,
wish him the fullest measure of success and distinction which
his profession offered, with, if not happiness, the inward
satisfaction known to those who marched ever in the vanguard
of honourable duty. In this wish he was warmly seconded
by every member of the family.’
Old Tom, after notice of his intention to leave the employment,
presented himself before his master, dressed and
accoutred as for a journey, leading Boney and followed by
the uncompromising Crab. His effects were fastened in a
roll in front of his saddle, his coiled stockwhip was pendent
from the side-buckle. All things, even to the fixed look
upon the weather-beaten features, betokened a settled
resolution.
‘I’m going to lave the ould place, Captain,’ he said; ‘and
it’s sorry I am this day to quit the family and the lake and
the hounds, where I laid it out to lave the ould bones of me.
I’m wishin’ the divil betther divarshion than to bother with
the family saycrets of the likes o’ me. Sure he has lashins
of work in this counthry, without disturbin’ the last days of
poor ould Tom Glendinning—and he sure of me, anyhow.
My heart’s bruk, so it is.’
‘Hush, Tom,’ said his employer. ‘We can understand
Major Glendinning’s feelings. But, after all, it is his duty
to acknowledge the ties of nature. I have no doubt that
after a time he will become—er—used to the relationship.’
‘D—n the relationship!’ burst out the old man
menacingly. ‘Ah, an’ sure I ax yer pardon, yer honour,
for the word; but ’tis wild I am that the Major, a soldier
and a rale gintleman every inch of him, that’s fought for the
Queen and skivered them infernal blackamoors in the Injies,
should be given out as the son of a blasted ould rapparee
like me. It was asy knowing when I seen that look on him
when he heard the name, but how could I drame that my son
could have turned into a king’s officer—all as one as the
best of the land? If I had known it for sartain, before he
.bn 288.png
.pn +1
axed me, I’d have lived beside him as a common stock-rider
for years, if he’d come here, and he’s niver have known no
more than the dead. It’s a burning shame and a sin, that’s
what it is!’
‘It may have been unfortunate,’ said Mr. Effingham; ‘but
I can never regard it as wrong that a father and a son should
come to know of the tie which binds them to each other.’
‘And why not, I ask ye?’ demanded the old man
savagely. ‘What good has it done aither of us? It’s sent
him back, with a sore heart, to live among them black divils
and snakes and tigers, a murdtherin’ hot counthry it is by all
accounts, when he might have bought a place handy here
and bred horses and cattle—sure he’s an iligant rider and
shoots beautiful, don’t he now? I wonder did he take them
gifts after me?’ said the old man, with the first softened
expression and a half sigh. ‘Sure, if I could have plazed
myself with lookin’ at him and he not to know, I wouldn’t
say but that I might have listened to Parson Sternworth and—and—repinted,—yes,
repinted,—after all that’s come and
gone! And now I’m on the ould thrack agin, with tin
divils tearin’ at me, and who knows what will happen.’
‘There’s no need for you to lead a wandering life, or
indeed, to work at all, even if you leave the district,’ said
Mr. Effingham. ‘I have a sum in my hands, forwarded by
the Major, sufficient for all your wants.’
‘I’ll not touch a pinny of it!’ cried out the old man; ‘sure
it’s blood money, no less, his life, anyway, that will pay for
this! Didn’t I see his eye, when he shook hands with me,
and begged my pardon for his pride, and asked me to bless
him—me!’—and here the old man laughed derisively, a
sound not pleasant to hear. ‘If there’s fighting where he’s
going, and he lives out the year, it will be because lead and
cowld steel has no power to harm a man that wants to die.
Mr. Effingham, I’ll never touch it; and why would I?
Sure the drink’ll kill me, fast enough, without help.’
‘But why go away? I am so grieved that, after your
faithful service, you should leave in such a state of mind.’
‘Maybe I’ll do ye more sarvice before I die, but I must
get into the far-out runs, or I’ll go mad thinking of him. It
was my hellish timper that let the words out so quick, or he’d
never have known till his dying day. Maybe the rheumatiz
.bn 289.png
.pn +1
was to blame, that keeps burning in the bones of me like red-hot
iron, till I couldn’t spake a civil word to the blessed
Saviour Himself. Anyhow, it’s done now; but of all I ever
did—and there’s what would hang me on the list—I repint
over that, the worst, and will till I die. Good-bye, sir. God
bless the house, and thim that’s in it.’
The old man remounted his wayworn steed with more
agility than his appearance promised, and taking the track
which led southward, went slowly along the road without
turning his head or making further speech. The dog rose to
his feet and trotted after him. In a few moments the
characteristic trio passed from sight.
‘Mysterious indeed are the ways of Providence!’ thought
Effingham, as he turned towards the house. ‘Who would
ever have thought that the fortunes of this strange old man
would ever have been associated with me or mine. I feel an
unaccountable presentiment, as if this incident, inexplicable
as it is, were but the forerunner of evil!’
.bn 290.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIX | BLACK THURSDAY
.sp 2
Autumn and winter passed in the ordinary succession of
regular duties and peaceful employments, now become easy
and habitual. These the expatriated family had learned to
love. The departure of the old stock-rider was felt as a
temporary inconvenience, but the brothers with Dick Evans’s
aid and counsel felt themselves qualified to supply his place,
and decided not to employ a successor.
Guy, indeed, had grown into a stalwart youngster, taller
and broader than his elder brother; so much had the pure
air, the healthful bush life, the regular exercise and occasional
labour demanded by the station exigencies done for his
development. He was apt at all the minor rural accomplishments—could
ride the unbroken colts, which their own
stud now produced, and was well acquainted with the ways
and wanderings of outlying cattle. The lore of the Waste,
in which old Dick was so able an instructor, was now his.
He could plait a hide-rope, make bullock-yokes, noose and
throw the unbranded cattle, drive a team, split and put up
‘fencing stuff’; in many ways do a man’s work, when needed,
as efficiently as his preceptor. Dick prophesied that he
would become ‘a great bushman’ in years to come. Indeed,
by tales of ‘taking up new country’ and of the adventurous
branches of station life, he had fostered a thirst for more
extended and responsible action which gave his parents some
uneasiness.
He had begun to acquire the Australian boy’s contempt
for the narrow bounds involved by a residence on ‘purchased
land.’ He impatiently awaited the day when he should be
.bn 291.png
.pn +1
able to sally forth, with a herd of his own and the necessary
equipment, to seek his fortune amid romantic, unexplored wilds.
He began to lose interest in the daily round of home duties;
and though from long habit and an affectionate nature, as
yet dutifully obedient to his parents’ bidding, he more than
once confessed that he longed for independent action.
.tb
The season was ‘setting in dry.’ There had been no rain
for months. Around Lake William and near that wide
expanse of water an appearance of verdure was preserved
by the more marshy portion of the great flats. Amid these
the cattle daily revelled and fed. They might have been
seen grouped in large droves far out on the promontories, or
wading amid the shallowing reed-beds which fringed the
shore, long after the sun had set, and the breathless night,
boding of storms which came not, had closed in.
Among the neighbours this state of matters by no means
passed without observation and remark. Nought save
desultory discussion ensued. Except O’Desmond, no one
had been long enough in the colony to have had experience
of abnormal seasons. Curiously, he was the one who took the
more despondent view of matters, from which men augured ill.
‘I hope to heaven that we are not going to have a
repetition of 1827,’ he said; ‘one experience of that sort is
enough to last a man for his lifetime.’
‘Was it so very awful?’ said Hamilton, the conversation
taking place at Benmohr, at which convenient rendezvous
Wilfred and Churbett had encountered that gentleman. ‘One
fancies that the ancient colonists were not fertile in expedients.’
‘No doubt we have much to learn from the accomplished
gentlemen who have done us the honour to invest in our
colony of late years,’ said O’Desmond grandly, with a bow of
the regency; ‘but if you had seen what I have, you would
not undervalue the danger. I don’t care to talk about it.
Only if this year ends badly, I shall leave Badajos to my old
couple and the overseer, muster my stock, and start into the
wilderness without waiting for another.’
‘What direction shall you take?’ said Hamilton.
‘Due south, until I strike the head waters of the Sturt
and the Warburton. These I shall follow down, and make
my depôt wherever I discover a sufficiently tempting base.’
.bn 292.png
.pn +1
‘It has quite the heroic ring about it,’ said Wilfred. ‘But
for certain reasons, I would like to follow you. How about
provisions?’
‘I take a year’s supply of rations and clothing. We drive
our meat before us.’
‘And the blacks?’
‘I know all that can be known about them,’ said O’Desmond.
‘They recognise chiefs among the white men. If
one does not fear them, they are to be dealt with like children.’
‘You will find it hard to quit your pleasant life at Badajos
for the desert,’ said Wilfred.
‘Not at all; the sharper the contrast, the more easily is
the change made. Besides, on such occasions mine is a
well-organised expedition. I take my cook, my groom, my
four-in-hand. What do you say? Come with me for the
first week or two. I can promise you a chop broiled to perfection.
I must show you my “reversible griller,” of which I
am the proud inventor.’
Here the door was loudly knocked at, and being opened
without further ceremony, disclosed the serious countenance
of Wullie Teviot, apparently out of breath.
‘Maister Hamilton and gentlemen a’,’ he said, ‘I’m no in
a poseetion to do my errand respectfully the noo, but hae
just breath to warn ye that there’s a muckle bush-fire comin’
fast frae the direction o’ Maister Effingham’s. I trust we’ll
no be the waur o’t.’
This ended migratory speculations abruptly. Each man
started to his feet. Hamilton left the room to secure a horse
and order out his retainers, Wilfred to try and make out
whether the heavy spreading cloud on the horizon was across
his boundary.
‘I and my man will go with Hamilton,’ quoth O’Desmond.
‘Effingham had better make for home, and see how it is
likely to affect him.’
Hamilton was dashing down the paddock on a bare-backed
horse by this time, to run up the hacks, and also one for the
spring-cart, to be loaded with spare hands for the scene of
action, besides that invaluable adjunct in a bush fire, a cask
of water.
‘I hardly like leaving,’ said Wilfred; ‘it looks selfish.’
‘Don’t mind about the sentiment,’ said O’Desmond. ‘If
.bn 293.png
.pn +1
your run is afire you will need to help Dick Evans and his
party. I’ll be bound the old fellow is half-way there already.
He is not often caught napping.’
Then Wilfred mounted too, and sped away, galloping
madly towards the great masses of ever-increasing smoke-cloud.
It proved to be farther off than he expected. He
had ridden far and fast, when he reached the border where
he could hear the crackling of the tender leaflets, and
watched the red line which licked up so cleanly all dry sticks
and bush, with every stalk and plant and modest tuft of
grass. He then found that the chief duty, not so much of
meeting the enemy, as of guiding and persuading him to turn
his fiery footsteps in a different direction, was being satisfactorily
performed by Richard Evans and his assistants.
Guy, in wild delight at being made lieutenant of the party,
was dashing ever and anon into the centre of the smoke and
flame, and dealing blows with his bough like a Berserker.
‘Head it off, lads,’ Dick was saying when Wilfred rode up.
‘It’s no use trying to stop it in the long grass; edge it off
towards the ranges. There it may burn till all’s blue.’
‘Why, Dick,’ said he to his trustworthy veteran, ‘how did
you manage to get here so quickly? They’ve only just seen
it at Benmohr.’
‘They’ll find it out pretty quick, sir, if there’s a shift of
wind to-night. It don’t need much coaxing our way, but it
means Benmohr, with a southerly puff or two. If it gets into
that grassy bit by the old stock-yard, it will burn at the rate of
fifty mile an hour.’
Hour after hour did they work by the line of fire, ere
Dick’s vigilance could permit any kind of halt or relaxation.
It was exciting, not unpleasant work, Wilfred thought, walking
up and down the red-gleaming line of tongues of fire which
licked up so remorselessly the tangled herbage, the lower
shrubs, the dead flower-stalks, and all scattered branches of
the fallen trees.
The night was dark, sultry, and still. As ever and anon
the fire caught some tall, dead tree, and running up it, seized
the hollow trunk, holding out red signals from each limb
and cavity, high up among the branches, the effect against
the sombre sky, the dull, massed gloom of the mountain,
was grandly effective. In the lurid scene the moving figures
.bn 294.png
.pn +1
upon whose faces the fierce light occasionally beat, seemed
weird and phantasmal. Patiently did the wary leader watch
the line of fire, which had been extinguished on the side
next to the lower lands, now casting back a half-burned log
far within the blackened area, and anon beating out insidious
tussocks of dried grass, ignited by a smouldering ember.
When once the defensive line had been subdued, it was
easily kept under by sweeping the half-burned grass and
sticks back from the still inflammable herbage into the bared
space now devoid of fuel. But care was still needed, as
ever and again a half-burned tree would crash down across
the line, throwing forth sparks and embers, or perhaps lighting
up a temporary conflagration.
All the night through, the men kept watch and ward beside
the boundary. The strangeness of the scene compensated
Wilfred and Guy for the loss of their natural rest as well as
for the severity of the exertion. As they watched the flame-path
hewing its way unchecked up the rugged mountain-side,
lighting up from time to time with wondrous clearness every
crag, bush, and tree, to the smallest twig—a nature picture,
clear, brilliant, unearthly, framed in the unutterable blackness
of the night, it seemed as if they were assisting at some
Walpurgis revel; as if in the lone woods, at that mystic hour,
the forms of the dead, the spectres of the past, might at any
moment arise and mingle with them.
As they lay stretched on the dry sward, in the intervals
of rest, they watched the gradual progress of the flame
through the rugged, chasm-rifted, forest-clothed mountain.
With every ascent gained, the flame appeared to hoist a
signal of triumph over the dumb, dark, illimitable forest
which surrounded them. Finally, when like a crafty foe it
had climbed to the highest peak, the fire, there discovering
upon a plateau a mass of brushwood and dry herbage, burst
out in one far-seen, wide-flaming beacon, at once a Pharos
and a Wonder-sign to the dwellers at a lower elevation.
The bush fire had been fought and conquered. It only
remained for Dick and a few to go back on the following
day and make sure that the frontier was safe; that no
smouldering logs were ready to light up the land again as
soon as the breeze should have fanned them sufficiently.
The main body of the fire had gone up the mountain range,
.bn 295.png
.pn +1
where no harm could be done; where, as Dick said, as soon
as the first rain came, the grass would be all up again, and
make nice, sweet picking for the stock in winter.
The Benmohr people had not been quite so lucky; the
wind setting in that direction, the flames had come roaring
up to the very homestead, burning valuable pasture and nearly
consuming the establishment. As it was, the garden gate
caught fire. The farm and station buildings were only preserved
by the desperate efforts of the whole force of the
place, led on by Argyll and Hamilton, who worked like
the leaders of a forlorn hope. After the fight was over and
the place saved, Charlie Hamilton, utterly exhausted with
the heat and exertion, dropped down in a faint, and had
to be carried in and laid on a bed, to the consternation
of Mrs. Teviot, who thought he was dead.
It was now the last week of March, and all things looked
as bad as they could be. Not a drop of rain worth mentioning
had fallen since the spring. The small rivers which ran
into Lake William had ceased to flow, and were reduced each
to its own chain of ponds. That great sheet of water was
daily receding from its shores, shallowing visibly, and leaving
islands of mud in different parts of its surface, unpleasantly
suggestive of total evaporation. Strange wild-fowl, hitherto
unknown in the locality—notably the ibis, the pelican, and
the spoonbill—had appeared in great flocks, disputing possession
with the former inhabitants. The flats bordering
upon the lake, once so luxuriantly covered with herbage,
were bare and dusty as a highroad. The constant marching
in and out of the cattle to water had caused them to be fed
down to the last stalk. Apparently there was no chance of
their renewal. The herd, though still healthy and vigorous,
was beginning to lose condition; if this were the case now,
what tale would the winter have to tell? The yield of milk
had so fallen off that merely sufficient was taken for the use
of the house. The ground was so hard that it was impossible
to plough for the wheat crop, even if there had been likelihood
of the plant growing after the seed was sown.
Andrew was clearly of the opinion that Australia much
resembled Judea, and that for some good reason the Lord
had seen fit to pour down His wrath upon the land, which
was now stricken with various plagues and grievous trials.
.bn 296.png
.pn +1
‘I’m no sayin’,’ he said, ‘that the sin o’ the people has
been a’thegither unpardonable and forbye ordinair’. There’s
nae doot a wheen swearin’ and drinkin’ amang thae puir
ignorant stock-riders and splitter bodies. Still, they’re for
the maist pairt a hard delvin’, ceevil people, that canna be
said to eat the bread o’ idleness, and that’s no wilfu’
in disobeyin’ the Word, siccan sma’ hearin’ as they hae
o’t. I’m lyin’ in deep thocht on my bed nicht after nicht,
wearyin’ to find ae comfortin’ gleam o’ licht in this darkness
o’ Egypt.’
‘It’s a bad look-out, Andrew,’ said Guy, to whom Andrew
was confiding his feelings, as he often did to the lad when
he was troubled about the well-doing of the community.
‘And it will be worse if the cattle die after next winter.
Whatever shall we do? We shall never get such a lot of
nice, well-bred ones together again. What used the Jews to
do in a season like this, I wonder, for they got it pretty bad
sometimes, you know, when Jacob sent all his sons into
Egypt?’
‘I mind weel, Maister Guy,’ said the old man solemnly.
‘And ye see he had faith that the Lord would provide for
him and his sons and dochters. And though they were sair
afflicted before the time of deliverance came, they were a’
helped and saved in the end. He that brocht ye a’ here
nae doot will provide. Pray and trust in Him, Maister Guy,
and dinna forget what ye learned at your mither’s knee,
hinny, the God-fearin’ lady that she ever was. We must
suffer tribulation, doubtless; but dinna fear—oh, dinna lose
faith, my bairn, and we shall sing joyful songs i’ the ootcome!’
As the season wore on, and the rainless winter was succeeded
by the hopeless spring, with drying winds and cloudless
days, it seemed as if the tribulation spoken of by Andrew was
indeed to be sharp, to the verge of extermination.
Not only were great losses threatened by the destruction
of the stock, but the money question was commencing to
become urgent. For the past year no sales of stock had
been possible. Few had the means of keeping the stock they
were possessed of. They were not likely to add to their
responsibility by buying others, at however tempting a price.
As there was no milk, there was naturally no butter, cheese,
.bn 297.png
.pn +1
or the wherewithal to fatten the hogs for bacon. These
sources of income were obliterated. Having no produce to
sell, it became apparent that the articles necessary to be
bought were suddenly enhanced in value. Flour rose from
twelve and fifteen to fifty, seventy, finally, one hundred pounds
per ton. Not foreseeing this abnormal rise, Wilfred had sold
their preceding year’s crop, as usual, as soon as it reached a
better price than ordinary, merely retaining a year’s supply of
flour. That being exhausted, he was compelled, sorely
against the grain, to purchase at these famine rates. Rice,
which could be imported cheaply, was largely mingled with
the flour, as a matter of economy. The bread was scarcely
so palatable, but by the help of Jeanie’s admirable baking,
little difference was felt.
Mr. Rockley confided that he felt deeply reluctant to
charge him and other friends such high prices for the
necessaries of life. The difficulties of carriage, however, were
now amazing. Numbers of the draught cattle had perished,
and fodder was obliged to be carried by the teams on their
journeys, enhancing the cost indefinitely.
‘The fact is,’ said that unreserved merchant, ‘I am losing
on all sides. The smaller farmers in my debt have no more
chance of paying me, before the rain comes, than if they were
in gaol. Everybody purchases the smallest quantity of goods
that they can do with, and I have great difficulty in buying
in Sydney at prices which will leave any margin of profit.
But you come in and dine with us this evening. I’ve got a
bottle of claret left, in spite of the hard times. And keep up
your spirits, my boy! We shall come out of this trouble as
we’ve done through others. This country wasn’t meant for
faint-hearted people, was it? If all comes right, we shall be
proud of having stuck to the ship manfully, eh? If not, it’s
better to give three cheers when she goes down, than to
whine and snivel. Come along in. I’ve done with business
for the day.’
And so Wilfred, who had ridden to Yass in a state of
despondency, went in and was comforted, as happened to him
many a time and often, under that hospitable roof. The
dinner was good though the times were bad, while Rockley’s
claret was unimpeachable, as of old. Mrs. Rockley and
Christabel were more than usually warm and sympathetic of
.bn 298.png
.pn +1
manner. As he sat in the moonlight with Rockley and the
ladies (who had joined them), and heard from his host tales
of previous hard seasons and how they had been surmounted,
he felt his heart stir with unwonted hope and a resolve to
fight this fight to the end.
‘I’ve seen these seasons before,’ said the energetic optimist,
‘and I’ve always remarked that they were followed by a period
of prosperity. Think of the last drought we had, and what
splendid seasons followed it! This looks as bad as anything
can look, but if I could get long odds, I wouldn’t mind betting
that before 1840 we’re crowded with buyers, and that stock,
land, and city property touch prices never reached before.
Look forward, Wilfred, my boy, look forward! There’s
nothing to be done without it, in a new country, take my
word.’
‘You must admit that it’s hard to see anything cheering
just at present.’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ said his host, lighting another
cigar. ‘Christabel, go in and sing something. It’s all a
matter of calculation. Say that half your cattle die—mind
you, you’ve no business to let ’em die, if you can help it—hang
on by your eyelids, that’s the idea—but say half of ’em
do die, why, the moment the rain comes the remainder are
twice as valuable as they were before, perhaps more than that,
if a new district is discovered. By the way, there is a report
of a new settlement down south; if it comes to anything, see
what a rush there’ll be for stock, to take over on speculation.
That’s the great advantage of a new country; if one venture
goes wrong, there are a dozen spring up for you to choose
from.’
‘Do you think it would be a good idea to take away part
of the stock, and try and find a new station?’
‘I really believe it would; and if I were a young man
to-morrow it’s the very thing that I would go in for. We
have not explored a tenth part of the boundless—I say boundless—pasture
lands of this continent. No doubt there are
millions of acres untouched, as good as we have ever
occupied.’
‘But are they not so far off as to be valueless?’
‘No land that will carry sheep or cattle, or grow grain, can
be valueless in Australia for the next century to come. And
.bn 299.png
.pn +1
with the increase of population, all outer territories will
assume a positive value as soon as the present depression is
over.’
While in Yass, Wilfred consulted their good friend and
adviser, Mr. Sternworth, who had indeed, by letter, when not
able to visit them personally, not ceased to cheer and console
during the disheartening season.
‘This is a time of trial, my dear Wilfred,’ he said, ‘that
calls out the best qualities of a man, in the shape of courage,
faith, and self-denial. It is the day of adversity, when we are
warned not to faint. I can fully enter into your distress and
anxiety, while seeing the daily loss and failure of all upon
which you depended for support. It is doubly hard for you,
after a term of success and progress. But we must have faith—unwavering
faith—in the Supreme Ruler of events, and
doubt not—doubt not for one moment, my boy—but that we
shall issue unharmed and rejoicing out of this tribulation.’
Among their neighbours, unusual preparations were made
to lighten the impending calamity. Unnecessary labourers
were discharged. The daily work of the stations was, in great
measure, done by the proprietors. The Teviots were the only
domestic retainers at Benmohr; they, of course, and Dick
Evans were a part of the very composition of the establishments,
and not to be dispensed with. The D’Oyleys discharged
their cook and stock-rider, performing these necessary
duties by turns, week alternate.
Fred Churbett retained his married couple and stock-rider,
declaring that he would die like a gentleman; that he could
pay his way for two years more; after which, if times did not
mend, he would burn the place down, commit suicide decently,
and leave the onus on destiny. He could not cook, neither
would he wash clothes. He would be as obstinate as the
weather.
O’Desmond made full preparations for a migration in
spring, if the weather continued dry and no rain fell in
September. There would be a slight spring of grass then,
rain or no rain. He would take advantage of it, to depart,
like a patriarch of old, not exactly with his camels and she-asses,
but with his cattle and brood mares, his sheep and his
oxen, his men-servants and his maid-servants—well perhaps
not the latter, but everything necessary to give a flavour of
.bn 300.png
.pn +1
true colonisation to the movement. And he travelled in good
style, with such observances and ceremony as surrounded
Harry O’Desmond in all that he did, and made him the
wonder and admiration of less favoured individuals.
He had his waggonette and four-in-hand, the horses of
which, corn-fed at the commencement, would, after they got
on to the grasses of the great interior levels, fare well and
indeed fatten on the journey. A roomy tent, as also a smaller
one for his body-servant, cook, and kitchen utensils, shielded
him and his necessaries from the weather. Portable bath and
dining-table, couch, and toilette requisites were available at
shortest notice; while a groom led his favourite hackney, upon
which he mounted whenever he desired to explore a mountain
peak or an unknown valley. The cottage was handed over to
the charge of the gardener and his wife, old servants of the
establishment. And finally, the long-expected rain not appearing
in September, he departed, like a Spanish conquistador
of old, to return with tales of wondrous regions, of dusky
slaves, of gold, of feather-crowned Caciques, and palm-fanned
isles, or to leave his whitening bones upon mountain
summit or lonely beach.
It was believed among his old friends that Harry O’Desmond
would either return successful, with hardly-won territory
attached to his name, or that he would journey on over the
great desert, which was supposed then to form the interior of
the continent, until return was hopeless.
His servants would be faithful unto death. None would
ever question his order of march. And if he were not successful
in founding a kingdom, to be worked as a relief province
for Badajos, he would never come back at all. Some day
there would be found the traces of a white man’s encampment,
amid tribes of natives as yet unknown—the shreds of
tents, the waggonette wheels, the scattered articles of plate,
and the more ordinary utensils of the white man. From
beneath a spreading tree would be exhumed the bones of the
leader of the party. Such would be the memorials of a
pioneer and explorer, who was never known to turn back or
confess himself unsuccessful.
As to the labour question, Dick Evans and his wife were
indispensable now, more than ever, as the brothers had resolved
not to remain in statu quo. Wilfred had determined
.bn 301.png
.pn +1
to organise an expedition, and to take the greater part of the
herd with him. In such a case it would have been suicidal
to deprive themselves of Dick’s services, as, of course, he
would be only too eager to make one of the party. He
cheerfully submitted to a diminution of wages, stating that as
long as he and the old woman had a crust of bread and a
rag to their backs they would stand by the captain and the
family.
‘If we could only get through the winter,’ he said, ‘I
shouldn’t have no fear but we’d box about down south with
the cattle till we dropped on a run for them. There’s a lot
of fine country beyond the Snowy, if we’d only got a road
over the mountains to it. But it’s awful rough, and the
blacks would eat up a small party like ours. I don’t hardly
like the thoughts of tacklin’ it. But what I’m afraid on is,
that if the winter comes on dry we’ll have no cattle to take.
They’re a-gettin’ desprit low now, and the lake’s as good as
dried up.’
The outlook was gloomy indeed when even the sanguine
Dick Evans could make no better forecast. But Wilfred
was the sailing-master, and it did not become him to show
hesitation.
‘We must do our best, and trust in God, Dick,’ he said.
‘This is a wonderful country for changes; one may come in
the right direction yet.’
As for Andrew and Jeanie, they would not hear of taking
any wages until times improved. They had cast in their lot
with the family, and Jeanie would stay with her mistress and
the girls, who were dear to her as her own children, as long
as there was a roof to shelter them.
Andrew fully recognised it as a ‘season of rebuke and
blasphemy.’ He who ordered the round world had, for inscrutable
reasons, brought this famine upon them. Like
the children of Israel, he doubted but they would have to
follow the advice given in 1 Kings xviii. 5: ‘And Ahab
said to Obadiah, Go into the land, unto all fountains of
water, and unto all brooks; peradventure we may find grass
to save the horses and mules alive, that we lose not all the
beasts.’
‘And did they?’ asked Guy.
‘Nae doot; as maist like we shall do gin we use the same
.bn 302.png
.pn +1
means as gracious Elijah. No that I’m free to testify that I
conseeder the slayin’ o’ the prophets o’ Baal a’thegither a
needcessity. It wad have been mair wiselike on the pairt o’
Elijah to have disestablished their kirk and garred them
lippen a’ their days to the voluntary principle. But let that
flee stick to the wa’; dinna doot, laddie, that ae day the
heavens will be black wi’ clouds, and there will be a great
rain.’
Perhaps the one of the whole party most to be pitied was
Howard Effingham. With the eagerness of a sanguine
nature, he had become fixed in the idea that the prosperity
with which they had commenced was to be continuous. Inspired
with that belief he had, as we have seen, commenced
to indulge himself with the reproduction, on a small scale, of
the pleasant surroundings of the old country. He had
fancied that the production of cattle, cheese, butter, bacon,
and cereals would go on almost automatically henceforth, with
a moderate amount of exertion on Wilfred’s part and of
supervision on his own. It was not in his nature to be
absorbed in the money-making part of their life; but in the
acclimatisation of birds, beasts, and fishes, in the organisation
of the Hunt Club, in the greyhound kennel, and in the stable
his interest was unfailing, and his energy wonderful.
Now, unfortunately, to his deep regret and mortification,
he saw his beloved projects rendered nugatory, worthless, and
in a manner contemptible, owing to this woeful season.
What was likely to become of the fish if the lake dried up,
as it showed every disposition to do? How was one to go
forth fowling and coursing when every spare moment was
utilised for some purpose of necessity?
As for the hounds, some arrangement would have to be
made about feeding and exercising these valuable animals.
The horseflesh was wanting, the time was not to be spared,
the meat and meal were not always forthcoming. Terrible to
imagine, the kennel was commencing to be an incubus and an
oppression!
In the midst of this doubt and uncertainty a letter came
from a well-known sportsman, Mr. Robert Malahyde, keenest
of the keen, offering to take charge of the hounds until the
season became more tolerable. His district was not so
unfavourably situated as the neighbourhood of Yass, and
.bn 303.png
.pn +1
from his larger herds and pastures he would be able to
arrange the ‘boiler’ part of the management more easily than
Mr. Effingham.
A meeting of the subscribers was quickly called, when it
was agreed that the hounds be sent to Mummumberil till the
seasons changed.
As for the pheasants and partridges, which had flourished
so encouragingly during the first season, the curse of the time
had fallen even on them. The native cat (dasyurus) had increased
wonderfully of late. Berries and grass seeds were
scanty in this time of famine. In consequence, the survival
of the fittest, coupled with acts of highly natural selection,
ensued. The native cats selected the young of the exotic
birds, but few of the adult game seemed likely to survive this
drought.
.bn 304.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XX | AN UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT
.sp 2
An expedition was to be organised in spring, and the stock
removed, no matter where. It would be the only chance for
their lives. As it was, the winter was fast coming upon them.
Every blade of the ordinary herbage had disappeared. The
nights commenced to lengthen. Frosts of unusual severity
had set in. Even now it seemed as if their last hope might
be destroyed and their raft dashed on the rocks ere it was
floated.
But one morning Dick Evans came up to Wilfred, sadly
contemplating the attenuated cows which now represented
the once crowded milking-yard. He was riding his old mare,
barebacked, with his folded coat for a saddle, and spoke with
unusual animation.
‘I believe we’re right for the winter after all, sir. I never
thought to see this, though old Tom told me he’d know’d it
happen once afore.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I took a big walk this morning to see if I could
find tracks of this old varmint. I thought she might be dead,
but I warn’t satisfied, so I took a regular good cruise. I
found some tracks by the lake, where I hadn’t been for some
time, and there sure enough I finds my lady, as snug as a
wallaby in a wheat patch. Look how she’s filled herself, sir.’
Wilfred replied that the old mare appeared to have found
good quarters.
‘When I got to the lake, sir, I was reg’lar stunned. It was
as dry as a bone, but through the mud there was a crop of
“fat hen” comin’ up all over, miles and miles of it, as thick
.bn 305.png
.pn +1
as a lucerne field on the Hunter. The old mare was planted
in a patch where it was pretty forrard. But it’s growin’ so’s you
can see it, and there’ll be feed enough in a week or two for all
our cattle and every hoof within twenty miles of the lake.’
‘Wonderful news, Dick; and this “fat hen,” as you call
it, is good and wholesome food for stock?’
‘Can’t beat it, sir; first-chop fattening stuff; besides,
there’s rushes and weeds growin’ among it. You may pound
it, we’ll have no more trouble with the cattle for the winter,
and they’ll be in good fettle to start south in the spring.’
This was glorious news. It was duly related at the breakfast-table,
and after that meal Wilfred and Guy betook themselves
to the lake. There they beheld one of Nature’s
wondrous transformations.
The great lake lay before them, dry to its farthermost
shore. The headlands stood out, frowning in gloomy protest
against the conversion of their shining sea into a tame
green meadow. Such, in good sooth, had it actually become.
Through the moist but rapidly hardening mud of the lake-surface
millions of plants were pushing themselves with vigour
and luxuriance, caused by the richness of the ooze from which
they sprang. Far as the eye could see, a green carpet was
spread over the lately sombre-coloured expanse. The leaves
of the most forward plants were rounded and succulent, while
nothing could be more grateful to the long-famished cattle
than the full and satisfying mouthfuls which were in parts of
the little bays already procurable.
Even now, guided by the mysterious instinct which sways
the hosts of the brute creation so unerringly, small lots had
established themselves in secluded spots, showing by their
improved appearance how unusual had been the supply of
provender.
‘What a wonderful thing,’ said Guy; ‘who would ever
have thought of the old lake turning into a cabbage-garden
like this? Dick says this stuff makes very good greens if
you boil it. Why, we can let Churbett and the Benmohr
people send their cattle over if it keeps growing—as Dick
says—till it’s as high as your head. But how in the world
did this seed get here? That’s what I want to know. The
lake hasn’t been dry for ten years, that’s certain, I believe.
Well, now, did this seed—tons of it—lie in the mud all that
.bn 306.png
.pn +1
time; and if not, how was it to be sowed, broadcast, after the
water dried up?’
‘Who can tell?’ said Wilfred. ‘Nature holds her secrets
close. I am inclined to think this seed must have been in
the earth, and is now vivified by the half-dry mud. However
it may be, it is a crop we shall have good cause to
remember.’
‘I hope it will pull us through the winter and that’s all,’ said
Guy. ‘I mustn’t be done out of my trip down south. I want
to find a new country, and make all our fortunes in a large
gentlemanlike way, like Mr. St. Maur told us of. You don’t
suppose he goes milking cows and selling cheese and bacon.’
‘You mustn’t despise homely profits, Guy,’ said the elder.
‘Some of the largest proprietors began that way, and you
know that “Laborare est orare,” as the old monks said.’
‘Oh yes, I know that,’ said the boy; ‘but there’s all
the difference between Columbus discovering America, or
Cortez when he climbed the tree in Panama and saw two
oceans, and being the mate of a collier. I must have a try
at this exploring before I’m much older. There’s such a lot
of country no one knows about yet.’
‘You will have your chance, old fellow, and your triumph,
like others, I hope. But remember that obedience goes
before command, and that Captain Cook was a boy in a
collier before he became a finder of continents.’
Wilfred found it necessary to ride over to Benmohr to
arrange definitely about the time of departure. He had
nearly reached the well-known gate when a horseman rode
forward from the opposite direction. He was well mounted,
and led a second horse, upon which was a pack-saddle.
Both animals were in better condition than was usual in this
time of tribulation.
Effingham was about to pass the stranger, whose bronzed
features, half concealed by a black beard, he did not recall,
when he reined his horses suddenly.
‘You don’t remember me, Mr. Effingham. I am on my
way to the old place. I’ve got something to tell you.’
It took more than another glance to enable him to
recognise the speaker, and then it was a half-instinctive guess
that prompted him to connect the bold black eyes and
swarthy countenance with Hubert Warleigh.
.bn 307.png
.pn +1
‘The same,’ said the horseman. ‘I saw you did not
know me; most likely took me for a station overseer or a
gentleman. I was a swagman when you saw me last, so I’m
getting on, you see.’
‘I beg you a thousand pardons,’ said Wilfred, shaking
his hand cordially. ‘I did not know you at first sight; the
beard alters your appearance, you must admit. I hope you
are coming to stay with us. My father will be delighted to
see you. He often speaks of you.’
‘I thank him, and you too. If my father had been like
him, I should have been a different man. But I had better
tell you my business before we go farther. They say you
are going to shift the cattle; is that true?’
‘We start almost at once. But we haven’t settled the
route.’
‘That’s just as well. I’ve found a grand country-side
away to the south, and came to show you the way—that is,
if you believe my story.’
‘Look here,’ cried Wilfred excitedly, ‘come with me to
Benmohr to-night, and we’ll talk it over with Argyll and
Hamilton. We must hold a council over it. It’s near sundown,
and I intended to stay there.’
Hubert Warleigh drew back. ‘I don’t know either
of them to speak to. The fact is, I have lived so much
more in the men’s huts than the masters’ until the last
few months, that I don’t fancy going anywhere unless I’m
asked.’
‘Come as my friend,’ said Wilfred impetuously. ‘It is
time you took your proper position. Besides, you are the
bearer of good tidings—of news which may be the saving of
us all.’
He allowed himself to be persuaded. So the two young
men rode up to the garden gate, at which portal they were
met by Argyll. Ardmillan and Neil Barrington were playing
quoits on the brown lawn. Fred Churbett (of course) was
reading in the verandah.
‘Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Hubert Warleigh,’ said
Wilfred. ‘He has just come in from a journey, and I have
prevailed on him to accompany me.’
‘Most happy to see you, Mr. Warleigh,’ said Argyll, with
cordial gravity. (He knew all about ‘Gyp’ Warleigh, and
.bn 308.png
.pn +1
had probably said contemptuous things, but accepted Wilfred’s
lead, and followed suit.) ‘The man will take your horses.
Effingham, you know your way to the barracks.’
Hubert Warleigh followed his newly-acquired comrade
into the building, where the appearance of matters indicated
that some of the other habitués had been recently adorning
themselves. Mrs. Teviot, however, promptly appeared on
the scene with half-a-dozen towels, and supplies of warm
water.
‘Weel, Maister Effingham, this is a sair time and a
sorrowfu’. To think o’ a’ the gentlemen gangin’ clean awa’,
and a’ the milch kye, puir things, into thae waste places o’
the yearth, and maybe deein’ o’ drouth or hunger, and
naebody to hae a crack wi’ but thae fearsome saavages
‘It’s very hard upon all of us, Mrs. Teviot, but if it won’t
rain, what are we to do? We can’t stay at home and let
the cattle die. You know the Israelites used to take away
their beasts in time of famine, and they seem to have had
them pretty often.’
‘How do you do, Mrs. Teviot?’ said Warleigh. ‘How’s
Wullie this dry weather? I suppose you forget me staying
a night in the hut with old Tom Glendinning, three or four
years ago.’
‘Gude sake, laddie!’ said the old woman in a tone of
deep surprise, ‘and is that you, clothed and in your right
mind, like the puir body in the Book? And has some one
casten oot your deevil? Oh, hinnie! but I’m a prood woman
the day to see your father’s son tak’ his place amang gentlefolk
ance mair. The Lord guide ye and strengthen ye in the
richt path! Man, ye lookit sae douce and wiselike, hoo was
I to ken ye, the rantin’ dare-deevil that ye were syne?’
‘I have been living among the blacks, Mrs. Teviot,’ said
the prodigal, with a transient glance of humour in his deep
eye; ‘perhaps that may have improved me. But I am
going to try to be a gentleman again, if I don’t find it too
dull.’
‘Aweel! The denner is dishen’ up the noo; dinna wait
to preen yersels ower muckle,’ added the good old dame as
she vanished.
In despite of her warning, her old acquaintance produced
several articles of raiment from the large valise, which had
.bn 309.png
.pn +1
been unstrapped from his led horse, and proceeded to change
his dress. When they walked into the house Wilfred thought
he had rarely seen a handsomer man.
His clear, bronzed complexion, his classically cut features,
his large dark eyes, with, what was then more uncommon
than is the case now, a bushy, coal-black beard, made the
effect of his countenance picturesque and striking in no
ordinary degree.
His tall and powerful frame, developed by toil and exercise
into the highest degree of muscular strength, was perfect in
its symmetry as that of a gladiator. His very walk showed
the effect of years of woodcraft, with the hunter’s lightness of
footstep, and firm, elastic tread. As he entered the dining-room
there was a look of surprise, even admiration, visible on
every face.
‘Mr. Warleigh,’ said Argyll, ‘allow me to make my friends
known to you. Hamilton, my partner—Ardmillan—Forbes—Neil
Barrington—Fred Churbett. Now, you are all
acquainted. Dinner and Mrs. Teviot won’t admit of further
formalities.’
In despite of his former preferences for humble companionship,
and his depreciation of his own manners and habitudes,
Wilfred was pleased and interested by the unaffected bearing
of his protégé during the dinner ceremony. He well knew
all the men present by reputation, though they had no
previous acquaintance with him, except, perhaps, as a stock-rider
on a cattle-camp.
Without attempting to assume equality of language or
mingle in discussion, for which his lack of education unfitted
him, he yet bore himself in such self-possessed if unpretending
fashion as impressed both guests and entertainers.
When the dinner was cleared away, and pipes were lit,
in accordance with the custom of bachelor households
(O’Desmond’s always honourably excepted), Wilfred Effingham
thought the time favourable for opening the serious
business of the evening.
‘I take it for granted,’ he said, ‘that we are all agreed
to start for “fresh fields and pastures new” in a few days.
Equally certain that we have not settled the route. Is that
not so? Then let me take this occasion of stating that Mr.
Warleigh has arrived from the farthest out station on the
.bn 310.png
.pn +1
south, and that he is in possession of valuable information as
to new country.’
‘By Jove!’ said Argyll, ‘that is the very thing we were
discussing when you rode up, and are as far from a decision
as ever. If Mr. Warleigh can give us directions, we ought to
be able to keep a course moderately well—I mean with the
aid of an azimuth compass.’
‘Argyll would undertake to find the road to Heaven with
that compass of his,’ said Ardmillan.
When the laugh had subsided, which arose from this
allusion to a well-known habit of Argyll’s, who always carried
a compass with him—even to church, it was asserted—and
was wont to state that no one but an idiot could possibly
lose his way in Australia who had sense enough to comprehend
the points of that invaluable instrument—Hubert
Warleigh said quietly, ‘I’m afraid the road to my country is
a good deal like the road to h—ll, that is, in the way of
being the most infernal bad line for scrub, mountain, and
deep rivers I ever tackled, and that’s saying a good deal.
But I promised Captain Effingham to do him a good turn
when I got the chance, and when I heard of this dry season
I came prepared to show the way, if he liked to send his
stock over, and go myself. As you all seem to be in the
same box, equally hard up, I don’t mind acting as guide.
We’ll be all the better for going as a strong party, as the
blacks are treacherous beggars and the tribes strong.’
‘The road, you say, is as bad as bad can be,’ said Hamilton.
‘I suppose the good country makes up for it when you get
there?’
‘I’ve seen all the best part of New South Wales,’ said the
explorer. ‘I never saw anything that was a patch on it before.
Open forest country, rivers running from the Snowy Mountains
to the sea, splendid lakes, and a regular rainfall.’
‘The last is better than all,’ said Hamilton. ‘One feels
tired of working up to a decent thing, and then having it
knocked down by a change of season. I, for one, will take
the plunge. I am ready to start at once for this interesting
country, where the rivers don’t dry up, the grass grows at
least once a year, and rain is not a triennial phenomenon.’
‘The same here!—and—I, and I,’ came from the other
proprietors.
.bn 311.png
.pn +1
‘I suppose there’s room enough for all of us; we needn’t
tread on each other’s toes when we reach the land of
promise?’ said Ardmillan.
‘Enough for the whole district of Yass and something to
spare,’ said their guest. ‘I was only over a portion of it,
but I could see no end of open country from the hill-tops.
It’s a place that will bear heavy stocking—thickly grassed
and no waste country to speak of. After you leave the
mountains, which are barren and rough enough, you drop
down all of a sudden upon thinly-timbered downs—marshy
in places, but grass up to your eyes everywhere.’
‘I like that notion of marshes,’ said Fred Churbett
pensively. ‘I feel as I should enjoy the melody of the
cheerful frog again. His voice has been so long silent in
the land that I should hail him as a species of nightingale,
always supposing that he was girt by his proper surroundings
of the “sword-grass and the oat-grass and the bulrush by
the pool.”’
‘How was it you managed to drop across this delightful
province, Warleigh?’ said Wilfred. ‘I should like to hear,
if you don’t mind telling us, how you crossed the mountains
towards the south. Old Tom and Dick Evans said they
were inaccessible; that there was no good country between
them and the coast.’
‘Old Tom knew better,’ said their guest quietly. ‘We
had a long talk the last time I was at Warbrok; he said
then if any one could find a road for cattle the other side of
the Snowy River, after you pass Wahgulmerang, he was dead
certain there was any amount of fine country beyond, between
it and the coast.’
‘How did he get to know?’
‘It seems he was stock-keeping once on one of the
farthest out runs, and a mate of his, who was “wanted” for
some cross work or other, came along and asked him to put
him away for a bit, till the police got tired of hunting him.
The old man gave him some rations, and told him of a track
through the gullies, which took him to the leading spur, by
which, of course, he could get on to the table land. Only
an odd white man or so had ever been there. After a week
he got “tired of looking at forty thousand blooming mountains”
(as he told Tom afterwards), and being a resolute
.bn 312.png
.pn +1
chap, with gun and ammunition, he thought he would make
in towards the coast. Anyhow he was away all the winter.
When he came back he told Tom that he had dropped in
with a small tribe of blacks, who had taken to him. They
spent the winter by the side of a great lake, fishing and
hunting. There was plenty of fine grass country in all
directions when you got over the main range.’
‘And why did he come away from Arcadia?’ asked
Argyll.
‘From where?’ asked the unclassical narrator. ‘No;
that wasn’t the name. It was Omeo. A grand sheet of
water on a kind of hill-plain, with ranges all round, and one
tremendous snow-peak you could see from anywhere. Well,
he got tired of the whole thing—didn’t know when he was
well off, like most men of his sort—so he made tracks back
again. Old Tom didn’t believe all the story. But he
thought afterwards that there must be something in it, and
that it would be worth while some day to have a throw in
and find the lake at any rate.’
‘Then we are to suppose that you made the attempt and
succeeded?’ said Ardmillan. ‘I confess that I envy you.
But how did you manage by yourself?’
‘You remember the day I left your place?’ said Gyp
Warleigh, nodding to Wilfred. ‘I felt so savage and ashamed
of myself that I determined to do something, or get rubbed
out in the attempt. So I made through Monaro, crossed
the Snowy River near Buckley’s crossing, and made straight
for the foot of the big range. I was well armed, and had as
much rations as I could carry. I knew the blacks were bad,
but I had lived with more than one tribe, and thought I
could manage them. I set myself to track the man old
Tom spoke of. Of course, I’m a fair bushman,’ he added
gravely. ‘I’ve never done anything else much all my life,
so there’s no great credit in it.’
‘Had you no compass with you?’ inquired Argyll. ‘No?
Then I differ from you in thinking there was nothing extraordinary
in the adventure. Not one man in ten thousand
would have risked it, or come out with his life.’
‘What does a man want with a compass who can see the
sun now and then?’ asked the Australian. ‘He can steer by
the lie of the country, the course of the water, if he has
.bn 313.png
.pn +1
the bushman’s eye. I tracked up the old man’s mate, and
found his first camp on the table land. It was easy after
that. He couldn’t help but follow the leading range. It
wasn’t such rough country after the first day. Game was
plenty, so I lived well.’
‘How about the niggers?’ asked Churbett. ‘I should
have felt too nervous to sketch or make any use of my
opportunities. Fancy going to sleep at night and thinking
you mightn’t want any breakfast!’
‘I had a better chance than most men. I’m half a blackfellow
myself in the way of knowing their language and
most of their ways. I did one of their old men a service,
and he taught me a secret that saved my life more than once.
Still, I didn’t want to run across them if I could help it.’
‘I should have thought you couldn’t avoid them,’ said
Hamilton. ‘They are great trackers, and have eyes like
hawks.’
‘I know that, but I could see their smokes a long way.
I lay by during the day and travelled late and early. One
day I climbed a tree on the top of a range, when I saw a
cluster of snowy mountains, and on the far side of them the
waters of a lake. I had found Omeo.’
‘You must have felt like Columbus or Cortez gazing
upon the two oceans,’ said Ardmillan. ‘What a grand
sensation.’
‘Columbus discovered America, didn’t he? The other
chap I don’t remember hearing about. Well, I partly discovered
Omeo, I suppose, and a bitter cold morning it was.
I crawled down to the shore, and before I got there could
see miles and miles of splendid open country, stretching
away to the west. There were no more mountains; and as
I pulled up next day, on the bank of a big river, I found
myself surrounded by a tribe of blacks.’
‘They slew you, of course,’ said Fred Churbett. ‘Lights
half turn, and slow music from the orchestra. What a
dramatic situation! If they didn’t do that, Warleigh, what
did they do?’
‘It was a close shave, I tell you,’ said the hero of the
adventure. ‘But they had just lost a fellow of about my
age; so they adopted me, as luck would have it. I could
patter their lingo a bit, for they talked a sort of Kamilaroi, in
.bn 314.png
.pn +1
which I could make myself understood. Anyhow I lived
three or four months with them, and wandered nearer the
coast. The country kept getting better, and the grass was
something to see after this brickfield of a place. Towards
spring my friends drew back to the Monaro side again,
and one fine day I gave them the slip, and here I am now,
good for the return trip. All I can do for any of you in the
way of showing new country, you’re welcome to. I’m bound
to Mr. Effingham and his father first of all. I’m their man
till the exploring racket’s finished.’
‘Gentlemen,’ said Argyll, rising to his feet oratorically,
‘friends, countrymen, and fellow-pastoralists, I feel assured
that you are all grateful for the unexpected turn our plans
have taken, owing to the valuable information conveyed to
us this night by my gallant and honourable friend, Mr.
Hubert Warleigh. If he carries out his promise of acting
as guide to us as far as this fair unknown land, I know you
too well to think for one moment that he will be suffered
to confer this benefit upon us gratuitously, the power to do
which he has acquired at peril of his life. (Hear, hear.) I
beg to move that every man present at this meeting pledges
himself to contribute in kind, say at the rate of ten per cent
of his number, with the object of forming a herd with which
Mr. Warleigh may begin squatting life in the fine district he
has been fortunate enough to discover.’
The proposition was carried by acclamation. Further
suggested by Neil Barrington, ‘that this meeting do drink Mr.
Warleigh’s health,’ and Mrs. Teviot appearing with the
‘materials,’ which included a bottle of Glenlivet, the suggestion
was forthwith carried out.
Mr. Warleigh quietly declined the cheering beverage, and
after a mild request that he would change his mind, no notice
was taken of the eccentric proceeding. When at a tolerably
late hour Wilfred and Hubert retired to the barracks, the
greatest unanimity prevailed. They were provided with a
goal and a guide. Nothing could be more satisfactory.
From the first they would have a course, and when the
difficulties of the road arose, they could, as a strong and
united band, overcome ordinary obstacles, and protect themselves
from known dangers.
On the following morning Wilfred returned to The Chase,
.bn 315.png
.pn +1
having persuaded his newly-acquired friend to accompany
him, not, however, without some difficulty.
‘You have no notion,’ he said, ‘how queer and strange
I felt at Benmohr last night. I am the equal of any man
there by birth, yet I could see that they were helping me
not to feel out of place, knowing what they did. I couldn’t
help thinking that I was like a stock-rider that comes in and
stands twisting his cabbage-tree hat before the master and
his friends, when he’s asked if everything will be ready for
the muster next day, and if he’ll have a glass of grog.’
‘But, my dear fellow, you could never look like that;
your appearance—excuse me for alluding to it—gives you a
great pull in society. After all, how many men are there
who have had every advantage that education can give
them, who chiefly hold their tongues, or say nothing worth
listening to when they do speak.’
‘Ah, but they understand things if they don’t talk; a
poor ignorant devil like me, when he hears matters touched
on, as happened last night, without any of them intending
it, for they tried not to talk above me, knows no more than
the dead what they are at. I feel as if I could cut my
throat when it comes across me that, by other people’s
neglect and my own folly, I have lost the best part of my
birthright.’
‘There’s time yet,’ said Wilfred, deeply touched by the
sadness of the tone, in which this grand stalwart cadet of a
good house bewailed the fate which had reduced him, mentally,
to the condition of a bullock-driver.
‘You are young enough yet for anything; there is time
enough and to spare for you to improve yourself. So don’t
be downhearted. As I said before, your looks and your
family name will carry you through anything.’
‘If I thought so,’ said the younger son, ‘I might do something,
even now, to mend matters. And you really think that
a man of my age could make himself as good at books as
some of the men we have just met, for instance?’
‘I have known men beginning late in life,’ said Wilfred,
‘who passed stiff examinations, and when they commenced
they could do little but read and write. Now you are steady
and have full control over yourself, have you not?’
‘God knows!’ said his companion drearily. ‘I won’t go
.bn 316.png
.pn +1
so far as that; but I haven’t touched a drop of anything since
your father shook hands with me at Warbrok, and I don’t
intend, for seven years at any rate. I knelt down as soon as
I was out of sight, and swore a solemn oath against anything
stronger than tea. And so far I’ve kept it.’
Much surprised were all at The Chase when Wilfred and
his companion rode up, and after a hurried introduction,
passed on together to the former’s bedroom.
The young ladies endeavoured as much as possible to
prevent themselves from gazing too uninterruptedly at the
interesting quasi-stranger; but found it to be a difficult task.
In despite of the educational defects and social disabilities
of Hubert Warleigh, there was about him a grandly unconscious,
imperturbable expression, like that of an Indian chief,
which suited well his splendid figure and bronzed features.
He quietly addressed his host and answered a few questions
with but little change of countenance, and it was only after
an unusually playful sally on the part of Annabel that he
relaxed into a frank smile, which showed an unblemished set
of teeth, under his drooping moustache.
‘I feel as if he had been taken in battle, and we were
holding him in captivity,’ said that sportive maiden, after the
girls had retired to Mrs. Effingham’s room for their final
talk.
.pm start_poem
‘All stern of look and strong of limb
The chieftain gazed around;
And silently they looked on him
As on a lion bound.
.pm end_poem
He has just that sort of air—very picturesque, of course—for
he is the handsomest man I ever saw; don’t you think
so, Rosamond? I suppose he can read and write? What
a cruel shame to have brought him up like that? Fancy
Selden reared in such a way, mamma?’
‘I can hardly fancy such a thing, my dear imaginative
child,’ said the mother. ‘But how thankful we ought to be
that we have been able to keep dear Selden at school, even
in this trying time.’
Mr. Effingham, who attributed the change which had
taken place in Hubert Warleigh’s habits in some measure to
his own exhortation, was very pleased and proud. He
welcomed the young man into his family circle with warmth,
.bn 317.png
.pn +1
and in every way endeavoured to neutralise the gêne of the
position by drawing him out upon topics in which his personal
experience told to advantage.
He constrained him to repeat the tale of his exploration,
and dwelt with great interest upon his sojourn with the
blacks, which, he said, deserved a place in one of Fenimore
Cooper’s novels.
Annabel wanted to know whether there were any young
men in the tribe who at all resembled Uncas. But Hubert
had never heard of Chingachgook or of his heroic son.
Magua and Hawkeye were as unknown to his unfurnished
mind as the personages of the Nibelungen-Lied. So they
were compelled to avoid quotations in their conversation, and
only to use the cheapest form of English which is made. It
was a matter of regret to these kind-hearted people when
they made any allusion which they perceived to be as the
word of an unknown tongue to the stranger within their
gates. His half-puzzled, half-pained look was piteous to see.
It was like that of some dumb creature struggling for speech,
or blindly feeling for a half-familiar object.
To the artless benevolence of youth it would have been
interesting to remedy the deficiencies of a nature originally
rich and receptive, but void and barren from lack of ordinary
culture. Mrs. Effingham, however, compelled to regard
things from a matron’s point of view, was not sorry to think
that this picturesque, neglected orphan would in a few days
quit their abode for a long journey.
As the time drew near, and preparations were proceeded
with, a great sadness commenced to overspread The Chase.
Wilfred had never been absent for any lengthened period
before, nor Guy for more than a week under any pretence whatever.
He was frantic with delight at the change of plan.
‘I’m so glad that “Gyp” Warleigh is going with us, even
if he hadn’t found this new district. Dick says he’s the best
bushman in the country, and can go straight through a scrub
and come out right the other side, without sun or compass
or anything, just like a blackfellow. You see what a place
I’ll have across the mountains after a year or two.’
‘I wish it was not so far and so dangerous, my child, as
I am sure it must be,’ said Mrs. Effingham, stroking the
boy’s fair brow, as she looked sadly at the eager face, bright
.bn 318.png
.pn +1
with the unquestioning hopes of youth. ‘You will enjoy the
travel and adventure and even the risk, but think how
anxious your poor mother and sisters will be!’
‘Oh, I’ll write by every chance,’ said Guy, anxious as a
page who sees the knights buckle on armour for the first
skirmish, not to be deprived of his share of the fray. ‘There
will be lots of opportunities by people coming back.’
‘What! from a place just discovered?’ said his mother,
with a gentle incredulity.
‘Ah, but Dick says if it’s half as fine as Hubert Warleigh
calls it—not that he’s a man to say a word more than it
deserves—that it will be rushed like all new settlements with
hundreds of people, and there will be a town and a post-office
and all kinds of humbug in no time. People move
faster in Australia than in that slow old Surrey.’
‘You mustn’t say a word against our dear old home, my
boy,’ said his mother, playfully threatening him, ‘or I shall
fear your being turned into a backwoodsman, or at any rate
something different from an English gentleman, and that
would break my heart. But I hope plenty of tradespeople
and farmers, and persons of all kinds, will come to your
Eldorado. It will make it all the safer, and more comfortable
for you all.’
‘Farmers, mother!’ said the boy indignantly. ‘What are
you thinking of? We don’t want any poking farmers there,
taking up the best of the flats and the waterholes after we
have found the country and fought the blacks for them. We
can keep it well enough with our rifles. All I want is a good
large run, and not to see a soul near it except my own stock-riders
for years to come.’
‘You are going to be quite a mediæval baron, Guy,’ said
Annabel, who had stolen up and taken his hand in hers, the
three hearts beating closely in unison. ‘I suppose you will
set up a dungeon for refractory vassals.’
‘I am sure he will be a good boy, and remember his
mother’s teachings when she is far away,’ said the fond
parent, as the tears filled her eyes, looking at the fair, bright-eyed
face which she might never see more after the last wave
of her hand—the last fond, lingering farewell, which was so
soon to be.
Well it is for the young and strong, who go laughing and
.bn 319.png
.pn +1
shouting into the battle of life, as if there were no ambuscades,
defeats, weary retreats, or hopeless resistance. Well for the
sailor boy, who leaps on to the deck as if there were no wreck
or tempest, fatal mermaid or dead men’s bones, beneath the
smiling, inconstant wave! They have at least their hour of
hot-blooded fight and stubborn resistance to relentless
Destiny. But, ah me! how fares it with those who are left
behind, condemned to dreary watchings, for tidings that
come not—to sickening fears, that all too soon resolve themselves
into the reality of doom? These are the earth’s true
martyrs—the fond mother—the devoted wife—the loving
sisters—the saddened father. Theirs the torture and the
stake, sacrificed to which they are in some form or other, while
life lasts.
.bn 320.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXI | A GREEN HAND
.sp 2
Matters were well advanced for the road. The thousand-and-one
trifles that are so easily forgotten before the commencement
of a long journey, and so sorely missed afterwards,
were nearly completed under the tireless tendance of
Dick Evans. The three young men were chatting in the
verandah, after a long day’s drafting, when a strange horseman
came ‘up from the under world.’
‘I wonder who it is,’ said Guy. ‘Not any of the Benmohr
people, for they have no time to spare until they come
to say good-bye. I should say all the other fellows were too
hard at work. It’s a chance if Churbett and the D’Oyleys
will be ready for a fortnight. He looks like a gentleman. It
must be a stranger.’
‘It is a gentleman, as you say,’ replied Hubert Warleigh,
‘and not long from home, by the cut of his jib.’
‘How can you tell?’ asked Wilfred. ‘He is a tall man
and has a gun, certainly, which last favours your theory.’
‘I see,’ said Hubert, ‘a valise strapped to the back of
his saddle; holsters for pistols, and top-boots. He is a “new
chum,” safe enough; besides, when he got to the slip-rails, he
took the top one down first.’
‘You must be right,’ said Wilfred, smiling. ‘I used to
disgrace myself with the slip-rail business. Who in the
world can it be? He has come at the wrong time for being
shown round, unless he wants an exploring tour.’
The horseman rode up in a leisurely and deliberate
fashion; a tall, fresh-complexioned man, whose blue eyes
and dark hair reminded Wilfred of many things, and a half-forgotten
.bn 321.png
.pn +1
clime. The lower part of the stranger’s face was
concealed by a thick but not fully-grown beard; and as he
advanced, with a look of great solemnity, and inquired
whether he had the honour to see Mr. Wilfred Effingham,
that gentleman, for the life of him, could not remember
where he had set eyes upon him before.
‘That is my name,’ said Wilfred. ‘Will you allow us to
take your horse, and to say that we are very glad to see you?
Guy, take this gentleman’s horse to the stable.’
‘I thank you kindly. I believe that I have a letter of
introduction somewhere to you, sir, from an acquaintance
of mine in Ireland—a dissipated, good-for-nothing fellow,
one Gerald O’More. I thought it might be as useful in
Australia as the writing of a better man.’
‘Gerald O’More was a friend of mine,’ said Wilfred
coldly, with a frown unseen by the stranger, busily engaged in
unfastening his multifarious straps and buckles. ‘There
must be some mistake about the reputation.’
‘It’s little matter,’ said the stranger coolly. ‘There’s
hundreds in Ireland it would suit to the letter, and proud of
it they’d be. Maybe it was Tom Ffrench I was thinking of—but
it’s all as one. It’s thinking he was of coming out here
himself, the same squireen.’
‘I wish to Heaven he had,’ said Wilfred, with so hearty an
accentuation that the stranger raised his head, apparently struck
by the sudden emotion of his tone. ‘There is no man living
I would as soon see this moment.’
‘So this wild counthry hasn’t knocked all the heart out of
ye, Wilfred, me boy,’ said the stranger, holding out his hand,
while such a smile rippled over his face as only a son of mirth-loving
Erin can produce. ‘And so ye didn’t know your old
chum because he had a trifle of hair on his face, and he
coming ten thousand miles to make an afternoon call. I
trust the ladies are well this fine weather, and haven’t had
their bonnets spoiled by the rain lately.’
Wilfred gazed for one moment at the now well-known
features, the bright fun-loving eyes, the humorous curves of
the lips, and then grasping both hands, shook them till his
stalwart visitor rocked again.
‘Gerald, old man!’ he exclaimed in tones of the wildest
astonishment, ‘is it you in the flesh? and how in the name
.bn 322.png
.pn +1
of everything magical did you ever manage to leave green
Rathdown and come out to this burned-up land of ours?
But you are as welcome as a week’s rain—I can’t say more
than that. To think that a beard should have altered your
face so! But I had no more thought of seeing you here
than our old host of Castle Blake.’
‘True for you! What a brick he was! God be with
the days we spent there together, Will. Maybe we’ll see
them again, who knows? Didn’t I find my way here like an
Indian of the woods? ’Tis a great bushman I’ll make, entirely.
And, in truth, there’s no life would suit me better. An Irishman’s
a born colonist, half made before he leaves old Ireland.
Was that your young brother that I used to make popguns
for? What a fine boy he has grown!’
‘Yes, that was Guy; he’s anxious, like you, to be a bold
bushman. Let me introduce my friend Mr. Warleigh, the
leader of an expedition we are all bound upon next week.’
‘Very glad to meet Mr. Warleigh, I’m sure, and I hope
he’ll be kind enough to accept me as a supernumerary—cook’s
mate, or anything in the rough-and-ready line. I’m ready to
ship in any kind of craft.’
‘You don’t mean to say you would like to go with us,
Gerald? We are bound for “a dissolute region, inhabited
by Turks,” as your illustrious countryman expressed it. For
Turks read blacks,—in their way just as bad.’
‘Pardon me, my dear fellow, for the apparent disrespect;
but you don’t fancy people come out to this unfurnished
territory of yours to amuse themselves? What else did I
come for but to work and make money, do you suppose?’
‘Now I won’t have any explanations till I’ve shown you
to my mother and the girls. How astonished they will
be!’
They were certainly astonished. So much so, indeed, that
Mr. O’More began to ask why it should be so much more
surprising that he came than themselves.
‘But we were ruined,’ said Annabel, ‘and would not have
had anything to eat soon, or should have had to go to Boulogne—fancy
what horror!’
‘And am I, Gerald O’More, such a degenerate Irish
gentleman that I can’t be ruined as nately and complately
as any ancestor that ever frightened a sub-sheriff?’ (Here
.bn 323.png
.pn +1
they all laughed at his serio-comic visage.) ‘In sober
earnest, I was ruined, not entirely by my own fault, but so
handily that when the old place was sold there was nothing
left over but the lodge at Luggie-law, where you and I used to
fish and shoot and drink potheen, Wilfred, in cold evenings.’
‘Why not live there, then? I’m sure we were snug
enough.’
‘Why not?’ said O’More—and as he spoke his features
assumed a sterner, more elevated expression—‘because I
wouldn’t turn myself into a poor gentleman, with a few hangers-on,
and a career contemptibly limited either for good or evil.
No! I’d seen many a good fellow, once the genial sportsman
and boon companion, change into the lounger and sot. So
I packed my gun and personal possessions, put the lodge in
my pocket, and here I am, with all the world of Australia
before me.’
‘A manly resolve,’ said Mr. Effingham, ‘and I honour
you for it, my dear boy. You find us in the midst of a
disastrous season, but those who know the land say that the
next change must be for the better. You will like all our
friends, and enjoy the free life of the bush before you are a
month at it. Australia is said, also—though we have not
found such to be the case lately—to be an easy country to
make money in.’
‘So I have found already,’ said O’More.
‘How?’ said everybody in a breath. ‘You can’t have had
any experience in money-making as yet.’
‘Indeed have I,’ said the newly-arrived one. ‘Why, the
first day I came to Sydney I bought a half-broke, well-bred
colt for a trifle, and as I came through Yass I exchanged him
for the horse I am now riding and a ten-pound note.’
‘What a wonderful new chum you must be!’ said Guy
impulsively. ‘I’ve heard of lots that lost nearly all the cash
they had the first month, but never of one who made any.
You will be as rich as Mr. Rockley soon.’
‘Amateur horse-dealing doesn’t always turn out so well.
But I always buy a good horse when I see him. I shall get
infatuated about this country; it suits me down to the
ground.’
The evening was passed in universal hilarity. Mr. O’More’s
spirits appeared to rise in the inverse proportion to the distance
.bn 324.png
.pn +1
which separated him from the Green Isle. Every one was delighted
with his naïveté and resolves to do great things in the
way of exploration. The expedition he regarded as an
entertainment for his special benefit, declaring that if it had
not been finally settled he would have got one up on his own
account.
As good luck would have it, the Benmohr cattle escaped
from the mustering paddock after they had been collected,
and having ‘made back’ to fastnesses, which they had been
permitted to occupy in consideration of the season, took some
days in recapturing. So that yet another week of respite, to
everybody’s expressed disgust but secret relief, was granted.
Besides, Fred Churbett was not quite ready—he seldom was—and
the D’Oyleys were just as well pleased to scrape up a
few more of their outliers. There remained then ‘a little
season of love and laughter’ for Mr. Gerald O’More to utilise
in improving the acquaintance.
And he was just the man to do this. He won old Dick’s
good-will by the hearty energy with which he threw himself
into the small labours which, of course—for who ever knew
an overland journey quite provided for, or a ship’s cargo
stowed away, on the appointed day of its departure?—remained
to be got through. He had devoted himself en amateur to the
duties of third mate on the voyage out, and, being a yachtsman
of experience, entitled himself to the possession of a certificate,
should he ever require, as he thought seriously was on the
cards, to work his way home. In matters connected with
ropes and fastenings he showed an easy superiority. Sailors
are proverbially the most valued hands in Australia, from
their aptitude to make the best kind of bushmen. Their
adaptiveness to every kind of labour, grounded on the need
for putting out their strength at the orders of a despotic
superior, is a fine training for bush life. Having nautical
tendencies superadded to recent experiences, Gerald O’More
fulfilled these conditions, and was rated accordingly.
‘He’s the makings of a fust-rate settler, that young gentleman
is,’ said Dick Evans. ‘He’s a man all over, and can
ketch hold anywhere. He’s got that pluck and bottom as he
don’t know his own strength.’
His exuberant spirits by no means exhausted themselves
during the labour of the day, when in check shirt and A.B.
.bn 325.png
.pn +1
rig he was in the forefront of the drafting, branding, loading,
or packing which still went on. In the evening, after a careful
toilette, he was equally tireless in his society duties, and
kept all the lady part of the family entertained by his varied
conversation, his songs, jokes, and tales of many lands. He
struck up a great alliance with Annabel, who declared that he
was a delightful creature, specially sent by Providence to raise
their spirits in this trying hour.
It was well enough to talk lightly of the Great Expedition,
but as the day approached for the actual setting out of the
Crusade, deep gloom settled upon the inmates of The Chase.
Wilfred Effingham had never before quitted home upon
any more danger-seeming journey than a continental trip or a
run over to Ireland. He was passionately devoted to his
mother and sisters, whom at that period of his life he regarded
as the chief repositories, not only of all the virtues, but of all
the ‘fine shades’ of the higher feminine character. By no
means deficient of natural admiration for the unrelated
daughters of Eve, he regarded his sisters with a love such as
only that relation can furnish. With them he was ever
thoughtful, fond, and chivalrous. For their comfort and
advantage he was capable of any sacrifice. Rosamond,
nearest to him in age, had been from childhood his close
companion, and for her he would have laid down his life.
These feelings were reciprocated to the fullest extent.
And now he was going away—the dutiful son, the fond
brother, the kindly, cheerful companion—away on a hazardous
journey into an unknown, barbarous region, exposed to the
dangers of Australian forest wayfaring. Guy, too, was on the
march—the frank, fearless boy, idolised, as is the younger son
ofttimes, with the boundless love with which the mother
strains the babe to her bosom.
.pm start_poem
He was the last of all, yet none
O’er his lone grave may weep.
.pm end_poem
He was not the very last, Selden and Blanche coming after,
as was pointed out to Mrs. Effingham, when her tears flowed
at Selden’s accidental quotation from ‘The Graves of a Household,’
for these lines referred to one beneath the lone, lone
sea, and even in the recesses of the bushland mourning over
his grave would be possible.
.bn 326.png
.pn +1
‘Oh, my darling,’ said the tender mother, ‘do not jest on
such a subject. How could I live were either of you to die
in the wilderness? Why did this terrible season come to rob
me of my sons? But promise me, promise me, both of you,
as you love your mother, not to run unnecessary risks.
Danger, ah me! I know there must be, but you will think of
your poor mother, and of your father and sisters, and not
needlessly court danger. Guy, you will promise me?’
‘Don’t be so frightened, mother,’ said the younger son.
‘I won’t go running after risks and dangers. Why, it’s ten
to one nobody gets hurt. There are only blacks; and there’s
no water to drown us, that’s one consolation.’
When did generous youth perceive the possibility of
danger until forced upon him by sudden stroke of fate?
‘Whom the gods love die young’ is true in one sense, inasmuch
as they escape the melancholy anticipations which
cloud the joys of maturer life. For them trains never collide,
nor coaches upset; sword-strokes are parried, and bullets go
wide; ships founder not; disease is only for the feeble; they
are but the old who die!
Wilfred more truly understood the matron’s tender dread,
and her reasons.
‘Don’t fret, my darling mother,’ he said as he clasped her
hand, ‘I’ll look after Guy. You know he obeys me cheerfully,
so far; and you know I am pretty careful. I will see
he does nothing rash, and he will be always under my eye.’
‘Remember, dear, I trust him to you,’ said Mrs. Effingham,
returning her son’s fond clasp, but not wholly reassured,
being of the opinion that what Wilfred considered careful
avoidance of danger other people characterised as unflinching
though not impetuous determination to get through or
over any given obstacle.
.tb
Off at last! The tearful breakfast is over. The long
string of cattle has poured out of the mustering paddock
gates, followed by Hubert Warleigh, with Duncan Cargill and
Selden, who were permitted to help drive during the first
stage; Mr. O’More, in cords and top-boots, with a hunting-crop
in his hand, wisely declining a stock-whip for the present.
His horse bears a cavalry headstall bridle, with a sliding
bridoon rein—‘handy for feeding purposes,’ he says. He
.bn 327.png
.pn +1
has yet to learn that, after a week’s cattle-driving, most horses
may be trusted to graze with the reins beneath their feet,
which they will by no means tread upon or run off with.
A couple of brown-faced youngsters, natives of Yass, have
been hired, as road hands and to be generally useful, for the
term of one year. These young persons are grave and silent
of demeanour; have been ‘among cattle’ all their lives, and
no exception can be taken to their horsemanship. They
afford an endless fund of amusement to O’More, who forces
them into conversation on various topics, and tries to imitate
their soft-voiced, drawling monotone.
Dick Evans drives the horse-dray, destined to go no
farther than the Snowy River, after which the camp equipment
will be carried on pack-horses, the road being closed
to wheels. They are now being driven with the cattle,
accoutred with their pack-saddles and light loads to accustom
them to the exercise.
Dick has had a characteristic parting with Mrs. Evans,
who saw him prepare to depart without outward show of
emotion.
‘Now mind you behave yourself, Evans, while you’re
away, and don’t be running off to New Zealand, or the
Islands, or anywheres.’
‘All right, old woman,’ said Dick, cracking his whip.
‘You’ll be so precious fond of me when I come back that we
shan’t have a row for a year afterwards.’
‘No fear; not if you was to stop away five year!’ retorted
his spouse, with decision. ‘Take care as I don’t marry again
afore you come back, if you hang it out too long.’
‘Marry away and don’t mind me, old woman,’ returned
the philosophical Dick; ‘I shan’t interfere with the pore
feller. Leave us the old mare, that’s all. A good ’oss, that
you can’t put wrong in saddle or harness, ain’t met with every
day.’
Here Mrs. Evans, seeing a smile on the faces of the
listeners, began to think she was occupying an undignified
position. Putting her apron to her eyes, with a feeble effort
at wiping a few tears away, she solemnly told her incorrigible
mate that she hoped God would change the wicked old heart
of him, as wasn’t thankful for a good wife, as had cooked and
worked for him, and been dragged about the country all these
.bn 328.png
.pn +1
years, and now to be told she was worse than a brute beast!
Here real tears came.
‘The mare can hold her tongue, at any rate,’ quoth Dick;
‘and where’s the woman you can say as much of, barrin’ Mrs.
Wilson of Ours, as was born deaf and dumb? But come, I
didn’t mean to fret ye, and me on the march. Give us a buss,
old woman! Now we part all reg’lar and military like. You
know women’s not allowed with the rigiment in war time.
Mind you take care of the missus and the young ladies, and
keep a civil tongue in your head.’
With this farewell exhortation and reconciliation Dick
shook off his spouse, and walked briskly away by the side of
the team. The cattle, glad to feel themselves unchecked,
struck briskly along the track. Wilfred and Guy came up at
a hand-gallop, and took their places behind the drove. The
first act of the migratory drama was commenced, with all the
actors in their places.
The first day’s stage was arranged to reach only to a stock-yard
near Benmohr. It was a longish day’s drive, but, being
the first day from home, all the more likely to steady the
cattle. Having got so far, and secured them inside the rails,
with Dick and his team camped by the dam, Wilfred left Guy
in charge and rode over, with O’More and Hubert Warleigh,
to spend a last civilised evening at Benmohr. It was necessary
for the latter, now recognised as the responsible leader of
the expedition, to give Argyll, Hamilton, and the others instructions
as to the route.
A fair-sized party was assembled around that hospitable
board. All the men present had been actuated by the same
feelings, apparently, as themselves, viz. with a trustworthy
person in charge of the camp, they might as well enjoy themselves
once more at dear, jolly, old Benmohr.
‘Hech! sae ye’re here to look at a body ance mair, Maister
Effingham; and whatten garred you to list Maister O’More,
and him juist frae hame, puir laddie, to gang awa’ and be
killed by thae wild blacks?’
‘I suppose you wouldn’t mind my being rubbed out, Mrs.
Teviot,’ said Hubert. ‘It’s only gentlemen from England
that are valuable. Imported stock, eh?’
‘Noo, Maister Hubert, ye ken weel I wad be wae
eneugh if onything happened to yer ain sell, though ye hae
.bn 329.png
.pn +1
nae mither to greet for ye, mair’s the peety, puir lady! But
your hands can aye keep your heed; and they say ye can
haud ane o’ thae narrow shields and throw a spear as
weel’s ony o’ the blacks. They’ll no catch you napping;
but this young gentleman will maybe rin into ambushes and
sic-like, like a bird into the net o’ the fowler.’
‘Then we must pull him out again,’ said Hubert gravely.
‘I hope you are not going to be rash, Mr. O’More. See how
you will be missed.’
‘I am aware, as I have not had the good fortune to
live much in Australia,’ said Gerald, ‘that I must be made
of sugar or salt, warranted to melt at the first wetting.
But my hands have kept my head in an Irish fair, before
now; and I think half-a-dozen shillelahs at once must be
nearly as bad as a blackfellow’s club.’
‘They are deuced quick with the boomerang and nullah,’
said Hubert; ‘you can hardly see the cursed things before
they are on to you.’
‘And a barbed spear is worse than all the blackthorns in
Tipperary,’ said Wilfred; ‘so look out and don’t cast a gloom
over the party by your early death. Mrs. Teviot, give me a
parting kiss and your blessing, for that is the dinner-bell.’
‘Maister Effingham!’ said the old dame, in accents of
such unfeigned surprise and disapproval that all three men
burst out laughing. ‘Eh, ye’re jist laughin’ at the auld
woman, ye bad laddie; but ye ken weel that ye hae my blessing;
and may the mercy and guidance o’ the Lord God of
Israel bring ye a’ safe hame to your freends and relations—my
gentlemen and a’, as I’m prayin’ for’t—and a bonnie day
it will be when we see ye a’ back again—no forgetten that
daft Neil Barrington, that gies me as muckle trouble as the
hail o’ ye pitten thegither.’
At the conclusion of this farewell ceremony with Mrs.
Teviot, who indeed took a most maternal interest in the whole
company, they hied themselves at once to the dining-room.
‘So you are to join our party, Mr. O’More?’ said Hamilton.
‘You could not have come at a better time to understand
our bush life.’
‘Awfully glad of the chance, I assure you,’ said that gentleman.
‘It was the hope of something of the sort that brought
me out. If this affair had not been on, I should have
.bn 330.png
.pn +1
fancied I had been induced to come to a new country under
false pretences.’
‘Why so?’ asked Forbes.
‘Because you are all so unpardonably civilised. I expected
to sit upon wooden stools and eat biscuits and beef,
to sleep in the open air, and to be returning fire with my
pistols as I came up from the wharf. Instead of which (I
will take turkey, if you please) I find myself here, at The
Chase, and half-a-dozen other houses in the lap of luxury.’
‘Oh, come!’ said Forbes deprecatingly, ‘are you not
flavouring the compliment a little too strongly?’
‘I think Mr. O’More comes from the Emerald Isle,’ said
Ardmillan. ‘May I ask if you have ever kissed the Blarney
stone?’
‘Of course; all Irishmen make a point of it. It abates
their naturally severe tendencies. But joking apart, all you
people live as well as most of us in the old country. Wilfred
here can bear me out. If claret was a little more fashionable,
I don’t see a pin to choose.’
‘There will be a change of fare when we’re on the road,’
said Fred Churbett. ‘Who knows when we shall see pale ale
again? The thought is anguish; and those confounded
pack-horses carry so little.’
‘But think of the way we shall enjoy club breakfasts,
clean shirts, evening parties, and all that, when we do get
back,’ said Neil Barrington. ‘We shall be like sailors after a
three years’ cruise. I must say I always envied them.’
‘I think, if the company is unanimous,’ said Hamilton,
‘that we might as well have a serious talk about the route.
Captain Warleigh, as we must now call him, will be off early
to-morrow, so the greater reason for proceeding to business.’
‘I was going to remind you all,’ said Hubert, ‘that we
ought to agree about our plans. It’s plain sailing across
Monaro, though the feed is bad until we come to the Snowy
River. Of course, we all go on to-morrow.’
‘Which way?’ asked Hamilton.
‘Past Bungendore, Queanbeyan, and Micalago. We cross
the Bredbo and the Eumeralla higher up, and go by the
Jew’s flat, and Coolamatong.’
‘We shall follow in a couple of days,’ said Argyll.
‘And I in three,’ said Forbes.
.bn 331.png
.pn +1
‘You needn’t follow in a string, unless you like,’ said their
guide; ‘the feed will be cut up if one mob after the other
goes over it. All the stock-riders hereabouts know the Monaro
country, so you can travel either right or left of me, as long
as you fetch up at Buckley’s Crossing, of the Snowy River.’
‘What sort of a ford is it?’ inquired one of the D’Oyleys.
‘It’s always a swim with the Snowy,’ said the captain,
‘summer and winter, and a cold one too, as I can witness.
But the grass is better, though rough, after you cross, and we
have an old acquaintance waiting there to join the party.
He knows the country well.’
‘Who the deuce is he?’ said Argyll. ‘We shall be well
off for guides.’
‘Not more than you will want, perhaps,’ said the leader.
‘We’re not over Wahgulmerang yet. But the man is old
Tom Glendinning—and a better bushman never saddled a
horse. He has been living for some time at one of the
farthest out stations, Ingebyra, and wants to join us. He asked
me not to mention his name till we had actually started.’
‘So,’ said Wilfred reflectively, ‘the old fellow is determined
to make his latter days adventurous. I see no
objection, do you, Argyll? He and his history will be
probably buried among the forests of this new country we
are going to explore.’
‘It cannot matter in any way,’ answered Argyll. ‘He
will, as you say, most likely never return to this locality.’
‘Many of the old hands have histories, if it comes to
that,’ said Hubert, ‘and very queer ones too. But they
have paid the price for their sins, and old Tom won’t have
time to commit many more—if shooting an odd blackfellow
or two doesn’t count.’
‘Have we any more general instructions to receive?’ inquired
Hamilton, who was, perhaps, the most practical-minded
of the party.
‘Only these: we must all be well armed. Pistols are
handy, and a rifle or a double barrel is necessary for every
man of the party. We may have no fighting to do; but
blacks are plentiful, big fellows, and fierce too. We must be
able to defend ourselves and more, or not a man will come
back alive. After we cross the Snowy River, I shall halt till
you all come up; then we can join the smaller mobs of
.bn 332.png
.pn +1
cattle, so as to be close together in case of trouble. Everything
will have to be packed from the Snowy; so it will be
as well not to take more than is required.’
‘You are fully prepared for all the privations of the road,
Mr. O’More?’ asked Argyll. ‘They may strike you as severe
after your late life at headquarters.’
‘That is the very reason, my dear fellow. You surely
haven’t forgotten that when you were at home you fancied all
Australian life to be transacted in the wilderness. I expected
the wilderness; I demand the desert. With anything short
of the wildest waste I shall be disappointed.’
‘That’s the way to take it,’ said Fred Churbett. ‘I had all
those feelings myself when I arrived, but I was betrayed into
comfort when I bought The She-oaks, and have hardly gone
nearer to roughing it than a trip to the Tumut for store
cattle.’
There was a laugh at this, Fred’s tendency to comfort
being proverbial; though, to do him justice, he was capable
of considerable exertion when roused and set going.
‘Is this Eldorado of yours near the coast, Warleigh?’
inquired Forbes. ‘If so, there will be sure to be good agricultural
land, and some kind of a township will spring up.’
‘I believe there’s a passage from the lakes to the sea,
near which would be a grand site for a township. I hadn’t
time to look it out. It gave me all I knew to get back.’
‘What does any one want a town for?’ growled Argyll.
‘Next thing, people will be talking about farms. Enough to
make one ill. Are we going to risk our lives and shed our
blood, possibly, for the benefit of storekeepers and farmers,
to spoil the runs after we have won them?’
‘Don’t be so insanely conservative, Argyll,’ said Forbes.
‘Even a farmer is a man and a brother. We shall want
some one to buy our raw products and import stores. We
might as well give Rockley the office if we found a settlement.
He would do us no harm.’
Here there was a chorus of approbation.
‘Of course I except Rockley—as good a fellow as ever
lived. But he holds peculiar views upon the land question,
and might induce others to come over on that confounded
farming pretence, which is the ruin of Australia.’
‘The country I can show you, if we reach it, is large
.bn 333.png
.pn +1
enough to hold all your stock and their increase for the
next twenty years, with half-a-dozen towns as big as Yass.’
‘If this be the case, the sooner we get there the better,’
said Hamilton. ‘You start in earnest to-morrow, and we
shall follow the day after. I shall keep nearly parallel with
you. Ardmillan comes next, then Churbett, lastly the
D’Oyleys. We shall be the largest party, as to stock, men,
and horses, that has gone out for many a day.’
‘All the more reason why we should make our mark,’
said O’More. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for five hundred
pounds. I might have stayed in Ireland for a century
without anything of the kind happening. I feel like Raymond
of Antioch, or Godfrey of Bouillon. I suppose we
shan’t meet to drink success to the undertaking every night.’
‘This is the last night we shall have that opportunity,’
said Argyll. ‘Here come the toddy tumblers. The night
is chilly, but it will be more so next week, when we are on
watch or lying under canvas in a teetotal camp.’
‘We can always manage a good fire, unless we are in
blacks’ country,’ said Hubert; ‘that is one comfort; there’s
any amount of timber; and you can keep yourselves jolly in
a long night by carrying firewood.’
Long before daylight Hubert Warleigh arose and awakened
Wilfred. Their horses had been placed so as to be easily
procurable, and no delay took place. The stars were in
the sky. A faint, clear line in the east yet told of the
coming dawn, as the friends rode forth from Benmohr gate
and took the track to the scene of the last night’s camp.
When they reached the spot the sun had risen, and no
one was on the ground but Dick Evans, who was in a
leisurely way packing up the camp equipage, including the
tent and cooking utensils.
‘Here’s the breakfast, Mr. Wilfred,’ he said cheerily; ‘the
cattle’s on ahead. I kept back the corned beef, and here’s
bread and a billy of tea. You can go to work, while I finish
packing. I’ll catch up easy by dinner-time, though the
cattle’s sure to rip along the first few days.’
‘This is a grand institution,’ said Gerald. ‘I wouldn’t
say a toothful of whisky would be out of place, and the air
so fresh; but sure “I feel as if I could lape over a house this
minute,” as I heard a Connemara parlour-maid say once.’
.bn 334.png
.pn +1
‘Nothing is more appetising,’ said Wilfred, ‘than a genuine
Australian bush meal. A slice or two of meat, a slice of
fresh damper, and a pot of tea. You may travel on it from
one end of the continent to another.’
‘He was a great man that invented that same,’ said
O’More. ‘Would there be a little more tay in the canteen?
Beef and bread his unaided intellect might have compassed;
but the tay, even to think of that same in the middle of the
meal, required inspiration. When ye think of the portableness
of it too. It was a great idea entirely!’
‘Bushmen take it morning, noon, and night,’ said Warleigh.
‘The doctors say it’s not good for us—gives us heartburn,
and so on. But if any one will go bail for a man who drinks
brandy and water, I’d stand the risk on tea.’
‘So I suspect. Even whisky, they do say, gets into the
head sometimes. I suppose you never knew a man to kill
his wife, or burn his house, or lame his child for life, under
the influence of tay?’
An hour’s riding brought them to the cattle, which had
just been permitted ‘to spread out on a bit of rough feed,’
as the young man at the side next them expressed it. A
marshy creek flat had still remaining an array of ragged
tussocks and rushy growths, uninviting in ordinary seasons,
but now welcome to the hungry cattle. They found Guy
sitting on his horse in a leisurely manner, and keeping a
sharp look-out on the cattle.
‘What sort of a night had you?’ said Wilfred. ‘Were
they contented?’
‘Oh, pretty fair. They roared and walked round at first;
then they all lay down and took it easy. Old Dick roused
us out and gave us our breakfast before dawn. We had the
horses hobbled short, and were on the road with the first
streak of light. This is the first stop we have made.’
‘That’s the way,’ said Hubert. ‘Nothing like an early
start; it gives the cattle all the better chance. Some of
these are very low in condition. When we get over the
Snowy, they’ll do better.’
‘Shall we have a regular camp to-night,’ asked Guy, ‘and
watch the cattle?’
‘Of course,’ said Hubert; ‘no more yarding. It is the
right thing after the first day from home.’
.bn 335.png
.pn +1
‘And how long will the watches be?’ asked Guy, with
some interest. ‘If I sleep as soundly as I did last night, I
shan’t be much good.’
‘Oh, you’ll soon come to your work. Boys always sleep
sound at first, but you’ll be able to do your four hours without
winking before we’ve been a week on the road.’
The ordinary cattle-droving life and times ensued from
this stage forward. They passed by degrees through the
wooded, hilly country which lies between Yass and Queanbeyan,
all of which was so entirely denuded of grass as to be
tolerably uninteresting.
By day the work was tedious and monotonous, as the
hungry cattle were difficult to drive, and the scanty pasture
rendered it necessary to take advantage of every possible
excuse for saving them fatigue.
At night matters were more cheerful. After dark, when
the cattle were hemmed in—they were tired enough to rest
peacefully—Guy had many a pleasant talk by the glowing
watch-fires. This entertainment came, after enjoying the
evening meal, with a zest which only youth and open-air
journeying combined can furnish.
As for Gerald O’More, he examined and praised and
enjoyed everything. He liked the long, slow, apparently
aimless day’s travel, the bivouac of the night, the humours
of the drovers. He ‘foregathered’ with all kinds of queer
people who visited the camp, and learned their histories. He
felt much disappointed that there were no wild beasts except
the native dog and native bear (koala), neither of which had
sufficient confidence in themselves to assume the offensive.
The next week was one of sufficient activity to satisfy all
the ardent spirits of the party. In the first place, the cattle
had to be driven across the river, the which they resisted with
great vehemence, never before having seen a stream of the
same magnitude. However, by the aid of an unlimited
quantity of whip-cracking, dogging, yelling, and shouting, the
stronger division of the herd was forced and hustled into the
deep, swift current. Here they bravely struck out for the
opposite side, and in a swaying, serpentine line, followed by
the weaker cattle, struggled with the current until they
reached and safely ascended the farther bank.
.bn 336.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXII | INJUN SIGN
.sp 2
Having crossed their Rubicon, and being fairly committed to
the task of exploration, a provisional halt was called, and
arrangement for further progress made. One by one the
other drovers arrived, and having successively swum the
river, guarded or ‘tailed’ their cattle until the plan of
campaign was fully matured.
Duncan Cargill was sent back with the team. The
contents of the waggon, which, in view of this stage, had been
economised as to weight, were distributed among the pack-saddles.
Such apportionment also took place among the
other encampments. Dick Evans as usual distinguished
himself by the neat and complete manner in which he arranged
his packs.
Wheeled carriages being impossible because of the
nature of the country, it is obvious that nothing but the
barest necessaries can be conveyed—flour, tea, sugar,
camp-kettles large enough to boil beef, billy-cans, frying-pans,
quart-pots, axes, and the ruder tools, with the blankets of the
party, are all that can be permitted. Meat—indifferent as to
quality, but wholesome and edible—they had with them.
Each man carried his gun, on the chance of a sudden attack
by blacks. It would be obviously unreasonable to ask the
enemy to wait until the pack-horses came up, even supposing
that guns could be safely carried in that fashion. So each
man rode with his piece slung carbine-fashion, and if he had
such weapon, his pistols in the holsters of the period.
Reasonable-sized, but by no means luxurious, tents were
carried, in which those who were off watch could repose, also
.bn 337.png
.pn +1
as shelter against rain, if such a natural phenomenon should
ever again occur in Australia.
A few days sufficed to make all necessary arrangements,
during which Hubert Warleigh’s prompt decisions extorted
universal respect.
‘The country is partly open, as you see, for another
hundred miles,’ said he, ‘but after that, turns very thick and
mountainous. The Myalls will soon be on our tracks, and
may go for us any time. What we have to do, is to be
ready to show fight with all the men we can spare. The
feed’s mending as we go on.’
‘Certainly it is,’ said Hamilton. ‘Our cattle are fresher
than they were a week since.’
‘My idea is to box the cattle into larger mobs, which will
give us more men to handle if we fight. We can draft them
by their brands when we get to the open country. The driving
will be much the same and the men less scattered about.’
‘A good proposal,’ said Argyll. ‘It will be more sociable,
and, as you say, safer in case of a surprise. But are you
certain of an attack? Will all these precautions be necessary?’
‘I know more of the Myall blacks of this country than
most men,’ said Warleigh gravely. ‘You see, we are going
among strong tribes, with any amount of fighting men. Big,
well-fed fellows too, and fiercer the farther you go south.’
‘How do you account for that?’
‘The cold climate does it and the living. Fish and game
no end. It’s a rich country and no mistake. When you see
it, you won’t wonder at their standing a brush to keep it.’
‘What infernal nonsense!’ said Argyll. ‘Just as if the
brutes wouldn’t be benefited by our occupation.’
‘They won’t look at it in that light, I’m afraid,’ said Fred
Churbett. ‘History tells us that all hill-tribes have exhibited
a want of amiability to the civilised lowland races. In
Scotland, I believe, to this day, the descendants of a rude
sub-variety of man pride themselves upon dissimilarity of
dress and manners.’
‘What!’ shouted Argyll, ‘do you compare my noble
Highland ancestors with these savages, or the lowland
plebeians who usurped our rights? As well compare the
Norman noble with the grocer of Cheapside. Why——’
.bn 338.png
.pn +1
‘May not we leave the settlement of this question till we
are more settled ourselves?’ said Wilfred. ‘Our present
duty is to be prepared for our Australian Highlanders, who,
as Warleigh knows, have a pretty taste for ambuscades and
surprises.’
It was decided that Wilfred and the Benmohr men should
mix their cattle and take the lead, followed by Churbett and
the D’Oyleys, which, with Ardmillan’s and Neil’s, would
make three large but not unwieldy droves. It must be borne
in mind that five hundred head of cattle was considered a
large number in those primitive times, and that, although the
road was rough and the country mountainous, the added
number of stock-riders which the co-operative system permitted
gave great advantages in droving.
Fred Churbett and Gerald O’More struck up a great
intimacy, dissimilar as they were in temperament and constitutional
bias. The unflagging spirits and ever-bubbling
mirth of the Milesian were a constant source of amusement
to the observant humorist, while Fred’s tales of Australian
life were eagerly listened to by the enthusiastic novice.
For days they kept the track which led from one border
station to another, finding no alteration from their previous
experience of wayfaring. But one evening they reached a spot
where a dense and apparently interminable forest met, like a
wall, the open down which they had been traversing. ‘Here’s
Wargungo-berrimul,’ said Hubert Warleigh, ‘the last settled
place for many a day. We strike due south now, towards
that mountain peak far in the distance. A hundred miles
beyond that lies the country that is to make all our fortunes.’
‘Wasn’t it here old Tom Glendinning was to join us?’
said Wilfred.
‘Yes; it was here I picked up the old fellow as I came
back, with my clothes torn off my back, and very little in
my belly either. He swore he would be ready, and he is
not the man to fail in a thing of this sort. By Jove! here
the old fellow comes.’
A man on a grey horse came down the track which led
from the station huts to the deep, sluggish-looking creek.
Such a watercourse often follows the windings of the outer
edge of a forest, defining the geological formations with
curious fidelity.
.bn 339.png
.pn +1
A few minutes brought the withered features of the ancient
stock-rider into full view. He looked years older, and his
eyes seemed unnaturally bright. His figure was bowed and
shrunken since they had seen him last, but he still reined
the indomitable Boney with a firm bridle-hand; and not
only did Crab follow him, but two large kangaroo dogs, red
and brindled as to colour, followed at his horse’s heels.
‘My sarvice to ye, Mr. Wilfred,’ he said, touching his hat
with a gesture of old days. ‘So ye were bet out of Lake
William and the Yass country at last. Well, ’tis a grand
place ye’re bound for now. To thim that gits there, it’s a
fortune—divil a less!’
‘Very glad to have you again, Tom. I hope the country
will bear out its character. What a fine pair of dogs you
have there!’
‘’Tis thrue for ye, Master Wilfred; they’re fast and savage
divils—never choked a dingo. ’Tis little they care what
they go at, from a bull to a bandicoot, and they’d tear the
throat out of a blackfellow, all the same as an old-man
kangaroo.’
‘Formidable animals, indeed,’ said Wilfred. ‘Gerald,
here are a couple of dogs warranted to fight like the bloodhounds
of Ponce de Leon.’
‘The situation is becoming dramatic,’ said O’More. ‘I
shouldn’t mind seeing the wild man of the woods coursed
by these fellows, if we could be up in time to stave off the
kill. But what splendid dogs they are! taller and more
muscular than the home greyhounds, with tremendous chests
and shoulders—very fine drawn too. They must have a cross
that I don’t know of.’
‘Thrue for you, sir. I heard tell that their mother—a
great slut entirely—came from a strain of Indian dogs that
was brought to Ingebyra by the ould say-captain that took it
up. He said it was tigers they hunted in India.’
‘Polygar dogs, probably,’ said Wilfred. ‘There is a fierce
breed of that name used by the Indian princes; the packs,
in their wild state, worry a tiger now and then. However
that may be, they are fine fellows. How did you get them,
Tom?’
The old man attempted a humorous chuckle as he replied:
‘Sure, didn’t they nearly ate the super himself last week,
.bn 340.png
.pn +1
and him comin’ in on foot after dark, by raison that his
horse knocked up at the four-mile creek. “Tom,” he says,
“as you’re goin’ out to this new country, you can take them
two infernal savages with you. I’d a good mind to shoot
the pair of them. But the blacks will likely kill the lot of
you, so it will save me the trouble.” “All right,” says I, “my
sarvice to ye, sir. Maybe we’ll show the warrigals a taste of
sport before they have the atin’ of us.” So here we are—ould
Tom Glendinning, Boney and Crab, Smoker and
Spanker—horse, fut, and dthragoons. ’Tis my last bit of
overlanding, I’m thinkin’. But I’d like to help ye to a good
run before I go, Mr. Wilfred, and lay me bones where ye’d
have a kind word and a look now and agen at the grave of
ould hunstman Tom.’
The camp was always early astir. The later watchers
took good care to arouse the rest of the party at the first
streak of dawn. Dick Evans and Tom were by that time
enjoying an early smoke. Hubert Warleigh, tireless and
indefatigable, needed no arousing. In virtue of his high
office, he was absolved from a special watch, as more advantageously
employed in general supervision of the party.
Argyll, wonderful to relate—
.pm start_poem
Whose soul could scantly brook,
E’en from his King a haughty look,
.pm end_poem
was so impressed by the woodcraft of this grand-looking, sad-voiced
bushman, that to the wild astonishment of his friends
he actually submitted to hear his opinions confuted.
As they plunged into the sombre trackless forest, where
the tall iron-bark trees, with fire-blackened stems, stood
ranked in endless colonnades, they seemed to be entirely at
the mercy of their lately-gained acquaintance. He it was
who rode ever in the forefront, so that the horsemen on the
right and left ‘lead’ could with ease direct their droves in
his track. He it was who decided which of two apparently
similar precipices would prove to be the ‘leading range,’
eventually landing the party upon a grassy plateau, and not
in a horrible craggy defile. He it was who gauged to a
quarter of an hour the time for grazing, and so reaching a
favourable corner in time to camp. He saw the pack-saddles
properly loaded, apportioned the spare horses, and commanded
.bn 341.png
.pn +1
saddle-stuffing. Did a tired youngster feel
overcome by the desire of sleep, so strong in the lightly-laden
brain of youth, allowing his side of the drove to
‘draw out,’ he was often surprised on waking to see them
returning with a dark form pacing silently behind them.
Did a tricky stock-rider—for they were not all models of
Spartan virtue—essay to shirk his just share of work, he
found a watchful eye upon him, and perhaps heard a reminder,
couched in the easily comprehended language of ‘the droving
days.’
Before they had been a week on the new division of their
journey, every one was fain to remark these qualities in their
leader.
‘I say, Argyll,’ said Fred Churbett, who, with Ardmillan
and Neil Barrington, had ridden forward from the rearguard,
leaving it to the easy task of following the broad trail of the
leading herd, ‘how about going anywhere with that compass
of yours? Could you steer us as Warleigh does through
this iron-bark wilderness?’
‘I am free to confess, Fred, that it does good occasionally
to have the conceit taken out of one. You must admit,
however, that he has been over the ground before. Still, he
seems to have a kind of instinct about the true course when
neither sun nor landmarks are available, which travellers
assert only savages possess. You remember that dull, foggy
day? He had been away only an hour when he said we
were making a half-circle, and so it proved.’
‘And the confounded scrub was so thick,’ said Ardmillan,
‘that I tore the clothes off my back hunting up a pack-horse.
But for the tracks, I knew no more than the dead where I
was.’
‘This half-savage life he has lived has developed those
instincts,’ said Churbett. ‘He could do a little scalping
when his blood was up, I believe. I saw him look at that
cheeky ruffian Jonathan as if he had a good mind to break
his neck. Pity he missed the education of a gentleman.’
‘He is ignorant, of course, poor chap, from no fault of
his own,’ said Argyll; ‘but he is not to be called vulgar
either. Blood is a great, a tremendous thing; though he
doesn’t know enough for a sergeant of dragoons, yet there is
a grand unconsciousness in his bearing and a natural air of
.bn 342.png
.pn +1
authority now that he is our commanding officer, which he
derives from his family descent.’
That night they reached the base of a vast range, which,
on the morrow, they were forced to ascend; afterwards, still
more difficult, to descend. This meant flogging the reluctant
cattle every step of the downward, dangerous track. Above
them towered the mountain; below them the precipice, stark
and sheer, three hundred feet to the granite boulders over
which the foaming Snowy rolled its turbulent course to the
iron-bound coast of a lonely sea.
Mr. Churbett and others of the party had a grievance
against Destiny, as having forced them from their pleasant
homes to roam this trackless wild, but no such accusation
was heard from the lips of Gerald O’More. His spirits
were at the highest possible pitch. Everything was new,
rare, and delightful. The early rising was splendid,
the droving full of enjoyment, the scenery enthralling,
the watching romantic, the shooting splendid, the society
characteristic. He made friends with all the men of
the party, but the chosen of his heart was old Tom,
who discovered that O’More had known of his old patron
in Mayo. He thereupon conceived a strong liking and
admiration for him, as a ‘rale gintleman from the ould
counthry.’
Daily the old man recounted legends of the early days of
colonial life, and instructed him in the lore of the sportsmen
of the land. So when the cattle were ‘drawing along’
quietly, or feeding under strict guardianship, Tom and he
would slip off with the dogs, which generally resulted in a
kangaroo tail baked in the ashes for the evening meal, a brush
turkey, or a savoury dish of ‘wallaby steamer’ for the
morning’s breakfast.
.tb
Wilfred’s watch was ended. He was anxious enough to
find his couch in the tent, where he could throw himself
down and pass instantly into the dreamless sleep which comes
so swiftly to the watcher. But he saw their leader move off
on his round, with his usual stately stride, as if sleep and
rest were superfluous luxuries.
The morn arose, tranquil, balm-breathing, glorious. As
the cattle followed the course of a stream through the still,
.bn 343.png
.pn +1
trackless forest, a feeling of relief, amounting to exhilaration,
pervaded the whole party. It was generally known that the
outskirts of the wilderness would be reached that evening—that
ere another day closed they might have a glimpse of
the long-sought land of promise.
Every one’s wardrobe was in a dilapidated and unsatisfactory
condition. The horses were jaded, the cattle leg-weary, the
men tired out, with the dismal monotony of the wilderness.
The stage of this day was unusually short; indeed, not
above half of the usual distance. The leader, Hubert,
wished the rearguard to close up, in case of accidents. In
the event of a surprise, they must have their whole available
force within call.
As is customary, there were dissentients. ‘Why lose half
a stage?’ ‘Why not send a scout forward? The wild men
of the woods might, after all, be peaceably inclined.’ This
last suggestion was Argyll’s, who, always impatient, could
with difficulty brook the slow, daily advance of the leading
drove. The impetuous Highlander, who had not hitherto
had experience of hand-to-hand fighting with the wild tribes
of the land, was inclined to undervalue the danger of an
attack upon a well-armed party.
But Hubert Warleigh, in this juncture, showed that he
was not disposed to surrender his rights as a duly appointed
leader. ‘I am sorry we don’t agree,’ he said; ‘but I take
my own way until we reach the open country. As to the
blacks, no man can say I was ever afraid of them (or of anything
else, for that matter), only I know their ways. You
don’t, of course, and I think it the right thing to be well
prepared. Old Tom saw a heavy lot of tracks yesterday—all
of fighting men too, not a gin or a picaninny among
them. He didn’t like the look of it. We must camp as
close as we can to-night, and keep a bright look-out, or
Faithfull’s men won’t be all they’ll have to brag about.’
Argyll thought these were groundless fears; that they were
losing time by remaining in this hopeless wilderness longer
than was necessary. But he was outvoted by the others.
Meanwhile the first drove, after having been fed until
sundown, was camped in a bend of the sedgy creek, and the
usual watch-fires lighted. This spot was peculiarly suitable,
inasmuch as the long line of an outcrop of volcanic trap,
.bn 344.png
.pn +1
which ran transversely to the little watercourse, closed one
side of the half-circle. This was not, of course, an actual
fence, but being composed of stone slabs and enormous
boulders, did not invite clambering on by the footsore cattle.
The other contingent was camped a short distance in the
rear, in an angle of the lava country, also thickly timbered.
With the lighting of the watch-fires and the routine
attention to the ordinary duties of the camp, a more tranquil
spirit pervaded the party. Argyll’s impatience had subsided,
and, with his usual generosity, he had taken upon himself the
task of making the round of the camps, and seeing that the
order as to each man having his firearms ready, with a supply
of cartridges, was carried out. Fred Churbett grumbled a
good deal at having to take all this trouble for invisible or
problematical savages.
‘By me sowl, thin, Mr. Churbett,’ said old Tom, ‘if ye
had one of their reed spears stickin’ into ye for half a day, as
I had wanst, you’ld never need twice tellin’ to have yer gun
ready, like me, night and day. ’Tis the likes of me knows
them, and if it wasn’t for Gyp Warleigh, it’s little chance some
of yees ’ud have to see yer friends agin.’
‘Don’t you think he’s frightening us all?’ said Gerald
O’More, with a careless laugh. ‘They must be wonderful
fellows, by all accounts. They have no bows and arrows, not
even wooden swords, like Robinson Crusoe’s savages. Surely
they don’t hit often with these clumsy spears of theirs.
Warleigh’s anxiety is telling upon his nerves.’
Old Tom glared wrathfully into the speaker’s eyes for a
little space before he answered; when he did, there was an
air of bitter disdain, rarely employed by the old man in his
intercourse with gentlemen.
‘Sure ye don’t know the man, nor the craytures yer
spakin’ about, half as well as ould Crab there. Why would ye,
indade, and ye jist out of the ship and with the cry of the
Castle Blake hounds still in yer ears. It’s yerself that will
make the fine bushman and tip-top settler in time, but yer
spoilin’ yerself, sir, talkin’ that way about the best bushman
between this and Swan River, I don’t care where the other is.
Take care of yerself then, Mr. O’More, when the spears
begin flyin’, and don’t get separated from the party, by no
manner of manes.’
.bn 345.png
.pn +1
‘You may depend upon me, Tom,’ said O’More, with a
good-humour that nothing was apparently able to shake.
‘My hands were taught to keep my head. I have been in
worse places than this.’
‘Bedad, if ye seen a blackfellow steadyin’ his womrah to
let ye have a spear at fifty yards, or comin’ like a flash of
lightning at ye wid only his nullah-nullah, ye’d begin to doubt
if ye iver wor in a worse place.’
‘There’s something in this country that alters the heart of
an Irishman,’ said O’More, ‘or I’d never hear one talk of a
scrimmage with naked niggers as if it was a bayonet charge
at a breach.’
‘There’s Irishmen that’s rogues. I’m never the man to
deny there’s fools among them,’ said the old man sardonically.
‘Maybe we’ll know who’s right and who’s wrong by this time
to-morrow. My dogs has had their bristles up all day, and
there’s blacks within scent of us this blessed minit, if I know
a musk-duck from a teal.’
.tb
How fades the turmoil and distraction of daily thought
beneath the cool, sweet, starry midnight! As each man
paced between the watch-fires, gazing from time to time
towards the recumbent drove, the silent, dark, mysterious
forest, the blue space-eternities of the firmament, a feeling of
calm, approaching to awe, fell on the party. High over the
dark line of the illimitable forest rose towering snow-clad
pinnacles, ghostly in their pallid grandeur. The rivulet
murmured and rippled through the night-hush, plainly
audible in the oppressive silence.
‘One would think,’ said Argyll to O’More, as they met on
one of their rounds by a watch-fire, ‘that this night would
never come to an end. What possesses me I can’t think, but
I have an uncanny feeling, as Mrs. Teviot would say, that I
cannot account for. If there was a ghost possible in a land
without previous occupation, I should swear that one was
near us this minute.’
‘Do you believe in ghosts then?’ asked O’More.
‘Most certainly,’ said Argyll, with cheerful affirmation;
‘all Highlanders do. We have our family Appearance—a
spectre I should recommend no man to laugh at. But that
something is going to happen I will swear.’
.bn 346.png
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‘What on earth can happen?’ said O’More. ‘If it be
only these skulking niggers, I wish to Heaven they would
show out. It would be quite a relief after all this humbug
of Warleigh’s and that old fool of a stock-rider.’
‘The old man’s no fool,’ said Argyll gravely; ‘and though
I felt annoyed with Warleigh to-day, I never have heard
a word against his courage and bushmanship. Here he
comes. By Jove! he treads as silently as the “Bodach Glas”
himself. What cheer, General?’
Hubert held up a warning hand. ‘Don’t speak so loud,’
he said; ‘and will you mind my asking you to stand apart
and to keep a bright look-out till daylight? Old Tom and
I and the dogs are agreed that the blacks are not far off. I
only hope the beggars will keep off till then. I intend to
get out of this tribe’s “tauri” to-morrow. In the meantime
have your guns handy, for you never can tell when a blackfellow
will make his dart.’
‘I shouldn’t mind going into half-a-dozen with a good
blackthorn,’ said O’More. ‘It’s almost cowardly to pull
a trigger at naked men armed with sharp sticks.’
Hubert Warleigh looked straight at O’More’s careless,
wayward countenance for a few seconds before he answered;
then he said, without sign of irritation:
‘You will find them better at single-stick than you have
any idea of. You are pretty good all round, but you can’t
allow for their wild-cat quickness. As for the sharpened
sticks, as you call them, if you get one through you, you
won’t have the chance of saying where you would like
another. Don’t go too near the rocks; and if they make a
rush, we must stand them off on that she-oak hill.’
‘And what about the cattle?’ asked Argyll.
‘Let them rip. Blacks can’t hurt them much. They
may spear a few, but we can muster every hoof again inside
of ten days. There are no other herds for them to mix with,
and they won’t leave the water far. I must move round
now, and see that the men are ready.’
.bn 347.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIII | THE BATTLE OF ROCKY CREEK
.sp 2
‘By Jove!’ said Argyll, ‘this looks serious. I must get away
to my fire. We must stick to his directions. I’m in good
rifle practice; they’ll remember me in days to come!’
As O’More shrugged his shoulders and moved off, a
shower of spears whistled through the air, while a chorus of
cries and yells, as though from a liberated Inferno, rang
through the woods along the line of the broken, stony
country, though no human form could be seen.
The commotion created by this sudden onslaught, in
spite of Hubert Warleigh’s precautions, was terrific. The
startled, frantic cattle dashed through the watch-fires, scattering
the brands and almost trampling their guardians underfoot.
Then the heavy-footed droves rolled away, madly
crashing through the timber, until the echo of their hoofs
died away in the distance. Several head, however, had
been mortally wounded, well-nigh transfixed in some cases.
They staggered and fell.
At the first surprise of the onset, guns were fired with an
instinctive desire of reprisal, but no settled plan of defence
seemed to be organised. Then amid the tumult was heard
the trumpet-like voice of Hubert Warleigh.
‘Every man to his tree; don’t fire till you are sure; look
out for the rocks! Keep cool. We have only to stand
them off for an hour. It’s near daylight.’
His words reassured all. And a shot which came from
his double-barrelled rifle apparently told, as a smothered yell
was heard from the cover.
‘Take that, ye murdtherin’ divils!’ said old Tom, who
.bn 348.png
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had crawled behind a fallen log, and now raising himself,
poured three shots from a gun and a brace of horse-pistols
into the enemy. ‘I seen one of ye go down thin, and it’s
not the only one we’ll have this blessed night.’
‘There’s number two,’ said Gerald O’More, as he rolled
over a tall man with stripes of white and red pigment, who
had dashed out for an instant.
‘Well done, O’More!’ cried Hubert, with a cheery ring
in his voice. ‘Make as much noise as you like now, but
don’t give away a chance. Look out!’—as three spears
hissed dangerously close—‘you’ll be hit if you don’t mind,
and——’
‘Hang the brutes!’ shouted O’More. ‘We could charge
if we could only see them. What do you think of it,
Hamilton?’
‘We shall come out straight,’ said that gentleman, with
his customary coolness, ‘if we behave like disciplined troops
and not like recruits. Pardon me, O’More, but this impetuosity
is out of place. If one of us get hurt it may
demoralise the men and give the blacks confidence.’
‘Never fear,’ said the excited young man. ‘It’s not the
front rankers that drop the fastest. By George!’ This
half-ejaculation was elicited by a spear-point which, passing
between the arm and body, grazed his side.
‘I told you so,’ said Hamilton. ‘Why the deuce can’t
you behave reasonably! These imps of darkness can see
us better than we see them. How they are yelling in the
rear!’
‘That’s to draw us off,’ said Gerald. ‘I won’t go behind
a tree now, if I was to be here for seven years. But that
spear didn’t come far. It’s one they throw with the hand—old
Tom taught me that much; I’ll have the scoundrel if I
see the night out.’
A sustained volley along the line from the main body of
stock-riders at the rear, headed by Ardmillan, Neil Barrington,
and Argyll, appeared to have told upon the enemy.
More than one dying yell was heard. The spears were less
constant, and though several blows and bruises had been
inflicted by thrown boomerangs and nullahs, no serious
casualty had occurred among the white men.
On the right wing of the advanced guard old Tom had
.bn 349.png
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ensconced himself behind a huge fallen tree, which hid both
himself and his dogs. These last growled ominously, but
took no further part, as yet, in the fray.
From behind his entrenchment the old man fired rapidly,
from time to time loudly exulting, as a death-cry rang out on
the night air or a spear buried itself in the fallen tree.
‘Throw away, ye infernal black divils!’ shouted the old
man; and after the cautious stillness it was strange to hear
the reckless tones echoing through the forest shades. ‘I’ll
back the old single-barrel here against a scrubful of yees—always
belavin’ in a little cover.’
‘Tek it cool, full-private Glendinning,’ said Dick Evans,
who had advanced in light-infantry skirmishing order from
the rear. ‘Not so much talking in the ranks, and mark
time when ye’re charging the inimy; it looks more detarmined
and collected-like—as old Hughie Gough used to
say. Please God, it’ll soon be daylight; perhaps they’d
gather thick enough then to let us go at ’em with the
bayonet like.’
‘Maybe ye won’t be so full of yer pipeclay if ye gets one
of thim reed spears into ye—my heavy curse on them! Mr.
Hubert says he catched a sight of that divil’s-joynt of a
Donderah; the thribe says he was niver known to lave a
fight without a dead man’s hair.’
‘He don’t know white men yet,’ said Dick, ‘’ceptin’ he’s
sneaked on to a hut-keeper. He’ll be taken down to-night if
he don’t look out! Well done, Master Guy!’
This exclamation was due to the result of a snapshot
from Guy, who had drawn trigger upon a savage, who,
bounding forward, had thrown two spears with wonderful
rapidity, and bolted for his cover, his whole frame quivering
with such intensity of muscular action, that the limbs were
scarcely visible in the dim light. However, the keen eyes and
ready aim of youth were upon him; he reached the scrub
but to spring upward and fall heavily back, a dead man.
Although none of the whites had as yet been wounded,
while several of their savage enemies had been disabled or
killed outright, still the contest was unsatisfactory.
They were uncertain as to the number of their enemies,
who, concealed in the scrub, sent forth volleys of spears.
Occasionally an outburst of cries and yells arose, so fiendishly
.bn 350.png
.pn +1
replete with hatred, that the listeners in that sombre forest
involuntarily felt their blood curdle. For aught they knew,
the tribe might be gradually surrounding them. Indeed,
an attempt of this kind was made. But it was frustrated by
their watchful leader, who charged into the darkness with a
few picked men, and drove the wily savages back to the
main body.
On this occasion he had caught a glimpse of the giant
Donderah, whose cruelty had been a chronicle of the tribe.
‘I can’t make out where the big brute got to,’ he said to
old Tom, ‘or I should be easier in my mind. He’s a crafty
devil, though he’s so big and strong, and he has some superstition,
they told me, about never going out of a fight without
a death to his credit. He knows about me, too, though
we never met. It wasn’t his fault that I got back alive. A
black girl told me that. They named him after the mountain.
There’s not a blackfellow from here to the coast that can
stand before him, they say. If O’More doesn’t take care,
he’ll have him as sure as a gun. I have half a mind to see
if he has dropped flat in that stone gunya.’
It happened just then that one of the lulls, common in
savage warfare, took place. Hubert Warleigh flitted, noiseless
and shadow-like, to another part of the camp, lest a
diversion should be effected in a weaker spot.
Before changing position he gave instructions to old Tom,
whose practised eye and ear could be depended upon, and
whose distrust of the savage he knew to be proof against
apparent security.
‘I’ll be back soon,’ he said, ‘for if Donderah did not fall
back with the others, we are none of us too safe. I’ve known
him drag a man out, with half a tribe close to his heels.’
Old Tom was much of the same opinion, for at the
border stations tales of the Myall blacks were told by the
aboriginals employed about the place. The exploits of the
Titanic Donderah, ‘cobaun big fellow and plenty boomalli
white fellow,’ had attained Homeric distinction.
The old man peered keenly through the dim glades, and
listened as he bent forward, still sheltered by his tree, and
resting one hand upon the neck of the dog Smoker, whose
low growling he strove to repress.
‘Bad scran to ye,’ he said, ‘do ye want every murdtherin’
.bn 351.png
.pn +1
thief of the tribe to know the tree I’m under? Maybe he’s
not far off, and ye’re winding him. I never knew yer tongue
to be false, or I’d dhrive in the ribs of ye. Ha, ye big divil!’
he screamed, ‘ye’re there afther all; ’twas a bould trick of ye
to hide in that stone gunya. Ye nearly skivered that gay
boy from the ould country. Holy saints! sure he’s a dead
man now! Was there ever such a gommoch!’
This uncomplimentary exclamation was called forth by
the apparition of a herculean savage, who leaped out of the
lava blocks of the rude, circular miami—a long-abandoned
dwelling-place, probably a century old, and but slightly raised
above the basaltic rocks of the promontory. Starting up, as
if out of the night, he flung two spears at the only white man
unsheltered. Like a diving seal he cast himself downwards,
and was again invisibly safe.
One of the javelins nearly made an end of Gerald O’More.
It was from such weapons, hurled with a sinewy arm, that the
half-dozen cattle in the camp had fallen. They found,
next morning, that a spear, piercing the flank, had gone clean
through an unlucky heifer, and passed out at the other side.
However that may have been, Gerald the Dauntless was
not the man to remain to be made a target of. Rushing
forward, with a shout that told of West of Ireland associations,
he charged the miniature citadel, determined to kill or
capture his enemy. Before he reached the apparently
deserted gunya, a dark form might have been observed by
eyes more keen for signs of woodcraft, to worm itself, serpentlike,
along the path which O’More trod heedlessly.
As if raised by magic from the earth, suddenly the huge
Donderah stood erect in his path, and with the bound of a
famished tiger, sprang within Gerald’s guard. The barrel of
his fowling-piece was knocked up, and with one tremendous
blow the Caucasian lay prone upon the earth. His foe
commenced to drag him within the circle of the (possibly)
sacrificial stones.
But before he could effect his purpose, a hoarse cry caused
the savage to pause and falter. Hubert Warleigh, with his
gun clubbed, was bounding frantically towards the triumphant
champion.
But the distance was against the white man, though his
panther-like bounds reduced the race to a question of seconds.
.bn 352.png
.pn +1
‘Hould on, Mr. Hubert!’ yelled old Tom, who had
quitted his coign of vantage, followed by the excited dogs, no
longer to be restrained. ‘Sure, we’ll have him, the murdtherin’
thafe. The others is fell back, since thim two dropped to
Mr. Hamilton’s pay-rifle—more power to him. Here, boys!
hould him! hould him! Smoker! Spanker! soole him!’
The old man yelled like a fiend; and as the startled
savage saw the grim hounds stretching to the earth in full
pursuit of him, he dropped his prey in terror of the unaccustomed
foe.
‘At him, Spanker! hould him, Smoker!’ screamed the
old man, ‘tear the throat of him. Marciful Saver! did any
one ever see the like of that! But I’ll have the heart’s blood
of ye, if ye were the Diaoul out of h—l, this—night.’
This mixture of religious adjuration and profanity from
the lips of the excited old stock-rider was elicited by another
cast of the fatal dice.
As the brawny savage glanced at the dogs, which were
rapidly nearing him, and upon the powerful form of Hubert
Warleigh, who bade fair to challenge him before he could
reach his covert, loaded as he was, he unwillingly relinquished
his victim. With a couple of bounds he reached
the gunya, where, crouching behind the largest boulder, he
awaited the attack. But it was not like Hubert Warleigh to
leave the wounded man. Stooping for a moment, he raised
O’More in his arms, with a violent effort threw him across
his shoulder, and marched towards the encampment.
As he half turned in the effort, the savage raised himself
to his full height, and, poising a spear, stood for a moment as
if uncertain whether he should expend its force upon the old
stock-rider and his dogs or against his white antagonist.
At that moment a yell from the main body of blacks
showed that they had been forced to retreat. He was
therefore separated from his companions, towards whom the
wary stock-rider was advancing with a view of cutting him
off.
‘Look out!’ shouted the old man to Hubert, as he marked
the savage take sudden aim. ‘By——! he’ll nail you!’
At the warning cry Hubert swung half round, turning his
broad breast to the foe and shielding his unconscious burden
as best he might. The wild warrior drew himself back for
.bn 353.png
.pn +1
an instant, and then—like a cloth-yard shaft from a strong
yew bow—the thin, dark, wavering missile sped only too
truly. Deeply, venomously it pierced the mighty chest, beneath
which throbbed the true and fearless heart of Hubert
Warleigh. Freeing one hand, he broke the spear-shaft across
like a reed-stalk, and without stay or stagger strode forward
with his burden.
As the last battle scene was enacted, the dawn light struggled
through a misty cloud-rack, and permitted clearer view of
the tragedy to the rank and file of the expedition.
When the deadly missile struck their leader, a wild shout
broke from the whites, and a charge in line was made
towards the stone gunya, immediately in the rear of which the
main body of the natives had collected for a desperate stand.
As if in answer, a strange, unnatural cry, half human
only, burst upon their ears. They turned to behold a singular
spectacle. Carried away by his exultation at the triumph of
his aim and his revenge upon the foeman who had baulked
him of his prey, the champion of a primeval race lingered
ere he turned to flight in the direction of his companions.
He was too late. The bandogs of destiny were upon
him, grim, merciless, with red glaring eyes and gleaming
fangs. In his attention to his spear he had forgotten to pick
up his nullah-nullah (or club), with which he would have
been a match for any canine foe. A few frantic bounds
were made by the doomed quarry as the eager dogs looked
wolfishly up into his terror-stricken countenance. Another
step, and the red dog, springing suddenly, seized his throat
with unrelaxing grip, while Spanker’s sharp tusks sank into
his flank, tearing at the quivering flesh as he fell heavily upon
the earth.
‘Whoo-whoop, boys! Whoop!’ screamed old Tom,
breathless and excited to the blood-madness of the Berserker.
‘That’s the talk. Worry, worry, worry! good dogs,
good dogs! At him Spanker, boy, ye’re blood up to the
eyes. Stick to him, Smoker, throttle him like a dingo. How
the eyes of him rolls. Mercy be hanged!’ he replied in
answer to the protest of one of the men. ‘What mercy did
he show to Mr. Hubert, and him helpless, with that gossoon
in his arms? Maybe ye didn’t think of the harm ye were
doing, ye black snake that ye are,’ he continued, apostrophising
.bn 354.png
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the writhing form, which the ruthless hounds dragged
to and fro with the ferocity of their kind; the brindle dog
revelling in the dreadful banquet, wherein his head was ever
and anon plunged to the glaring eyes, while the red hound
held his fell grip upon the lacerated throat.
‘Maybe it’s kind father to ye to dhrive yer spear through
any mortial craychur that belongs to a strange thribe, white
or black. There’s more like ye, that’s had betther tachin’, so
I’ll give ye a riddance out of yer misery. And it’s more than
ye’d do for me av ye had me lyin’ there under the fut of ye.’
With this closing sentiment, nearer to recognition of a
sable brother than he had ever been known to exhibit, the
old stock-rider raised his gun. ‘Come off, ye divils! d’ye hear
me, now?’ he said, striking the brindle dog heavily with his
gun, who then only drew off, licking his gory lips and looking
greedily at the bleeding form; while the red dog, more
obedient or less fell of nature, relinquished his hold at the
first summons.
‘Ye’ve had yer punishment, I’ll go bail, in this world,
whatever happens in the next,’ said the old man grimly, as
he pulled the trigger of his piece in a matter-of-fact manner.
The charge passed through the skull of the mangled wretch,
who, leaping from the earth and throwing out his arms in the
death agony, fell on his face with a crash.
‘There’s an ind of ye,’ said the ruthless elder. ‘The
blood of a betther man will be cowld enough before the
day’s out. Come away, dogs, ye’ve had divarshion enough
for one huntin’. Sure, they’re far away—the black imps of
Satan,’ he said, as he listened intently to a distant chorus of
wailing cries. ‘It’s time to get the camp in order. I
wonder when we’ll git thim bullocks agin?’
It was indeed time to comply with the old man’s
suggestion. Leaving the quivering corpse, the men turned
away with a sense of relief, to commence their less tragic
duties. At the camp much was to be arranged; all disorder
was rife since the attack.
Huddled together were heaps of flour-bags, camp-kettles,
and pannikins. The tents were overthrown, torn, and bedraggled.
The frantic cattle had stampeded over the spot
chosen with circumspection by the cook, as the strewn débris
of beef and damper witnessed.
.bn 355.png
.pn +1
The horses were nearly all absent—some hobbled, some
loose. Not a hoof of the horned herd was to be seen. Everything
in the well-ordered camp, so lately presenting a disciplined
appearance, seemed to have been the sport of evil genii.
Worse a hundredfold than all, beneath a hastily pitched
tent, tended with anxious faces by his comrades, was stretched
a wounded man, whose labouring breath came ever thickly
and more blood-laden as the sun rose upon the battlefield,
which secured for the white man one of the richest provinces
of Australia. Yes! the stark limbs were feeble, the
keen eye was dim, the stout heart was throbbing wildly, or
feebly pulsating with life’s waning flame. Hubert Warleigh
lay a-dying! His hour was come. The hunter of the hills,
the fearless wood-ranger, was helpless as a sick child. The
weapon of his heathen foe had sped home.
Argyll, Hamilton, Ardmillan, and the others stood around
his rude pallet with saddened hearts. Each voice was
hushed as they watched the spirit painfully quitting the
stalwart form of him whom they had all learned to know
and to trust.
‘We have bought our country dearly,’ said Wilfred, as a
spasm distorted the features of the dying man and caused
his strong limbs to quiver and writhe. Over his chest was
thrown a rug, redly splashed, which told of the death-wound,
from which the life-blood welled in spite of every attempt to
staunch it. Beside him sat Gerald O’More, buried in deepest
grief.
‘Better take the lie of the country from me,’ said the
wounded man feebly. ‘One of you might write it down, with
the bearings of the rivers, while my head keeps right. How
hard it seems! Just made a start for a new country and a
new life. And now to be finished off like this! The Warleigh
luck all over. I might have known nothing could
come of it, but——’ Here his voice grew choked and indistinct,
while from the saturated wrappings the blood
dripped slowly and with a dreadful distinctness upon the
earthen floor. A long pause. Again he held up his hand.
‘It will take every man that can be spared to get the
cattle and horses together again. A week ought to do it;
it’s easy tracking with no others about. You can knock up a
“break” to count through. Make sure you’ve got the lot
.bn 356.png
.pn +1
before you start away. Leave Effingham and Argyll with
me. I’ll tell them about the course; you’re near the open
country. I little thought when I saw it next I should be
—should be—like this.’
They obeyed the dying leader to the last. All left the
tent except Wilfred and Argyll. The success of the expedition
depended on the cattle being recovered without loss of
time. Though a monarch dies, the work of this world must
go on. Few indeed are they for whom the wheels of the
mighty machine can be stopped. Hubert Warleigh was the
last man to desire it.
‘It’s no good stopping to “corroboree” over me,’ he
said, with a touch of humour lighting up the glazing eye.
‘It’s lucky you haven’t O’More to wake as well as me. You
won’t laugh at blacks’ weapons any more, eh, Gerald?’
‘Small laughing will do me for many a day, my dear boy.
You have forgiven the rash fool that nearly lost his own life
and wasted that of a better man? I deserve all I’ve got.
But for you—cut off in the prime of your days, how shall
I ever forget it? Forgive me, Hubert Warleigh, as you hope
to be forgiven.’
Here the warm-hearted passionate Milesian cast himself
on his knees beside the dying man, and burying his face in
his hands, sobbed aloud in an agony of grief and humiliation.
‘Don’t fret over it, O’More,’ said the measured tones of the
dying man. ‘It’s all in the day’s work. People always said
I’d be hanged, you know; but I’m going off the hooks
honourably, anyhow. You couldn’t help it; and, indeed, I
was away when you charged that poor devil Donderah. I’m
afraid old Tom’s dogs mauled him badly. But look here,’—turning
to Wilfred,—‘you get a pencil and I’ll show you
how the rivers run. There’s the Bogong Range—and
the three rivers with the best country in Australia between
them. When you come to the lower lakes, you can follow
them to the sea. There’s an outlet, but it’s choked up with
sand-bars. Somewhere near the mouth there’s a decent
harbour and a good spot for a township. It will be a big
one some day. Now you’re all right and can shift for yourselves.
Effingham, I want to say a word to you before I go.’
Wilfred bent over him and O’More and Argyll left the
tent. ‘Come near me,’ he whispered, in tones which,
.bn 357.png
.pn +1
losing strength with the decay of life’s force, sounded hollow
and dull. ‘I feel it so hard and bitter to die. I should
have had a chance—my only chance—here, and as head
explorer I might have risen to a decent position. Such a
simple way to go under too. If that rash beggar hadn’t
mulled it with Donderah I should have been right. Some
men would have left him there. But I couldn’t do it—I
couldn’t do it.’
‘Old Tom and his dogs avenged you,’ said Wilfred.
‘They ate Donderah alive almost, before the old man shot
him.’
‘Poor devil!’ said the dying man; ‘so he came off worse
than I did. Old Tom wouldn’t show him much mercy. I
shan’t be long after him. Hang it! what a puff of smoke a
fellow’s life is when he dies young. It seems the other day
I was learning to ride at Warbrok, and Clem and Randal
coming home from the King’s School for the holidays. Well,
the three Warleighs are done for now. The wild Warleighs!
wild enough, and not a paying game either. But I’m running
on too fast about all these things, and my heart’s going,
I feel. Are you sure you’ve got the chart all right, with the
rivers and the lakes all correct—and the harbour——’
‘I think so. We can make our way to the coast now.
But why trouble yourself about such matters? Surely they
are trifles compared with the thoughts which should occupy
your last moments?’
‘I don’t know much about that,’ said the stricken bushman,
raising himself for an instant and looking wistfully in his
companion’s face. ‘If a man dies doing his duty he may as
well back it right out. What gave me the only real help I
ever had? Your father’s kind words and your family’s kind
acts. They made a man of me. It’s on that road that I’m
dying now, respected as a friend by all of you, instead of like
a dog in a ditch or a “dead-house.” Now I have two
things to say before I go. I want you to have the best run.
It’s all good, but the best’s the best, and you may as well have
it. I was to have my pick.’
Wilfred made a gesture of deprecation, but the other continued,
with slow persistence:
‘You see where the second river runs into the third one?
The lake’s marked near it on the south. There’s an angle of
.bn 358.png
.pn +1
flat country there, the grandest cattle-run you ever set eyes
on. Dry, sheltered rises for winter; rich flats and marshes
for summer. Naturally fenced too. I christened it “The
Heart” in my own mind. It’s that shape. So you sit down
there, and leave Guy on it when you go home. He’ll do
something yet, that boy. He’s a youngster after my own
heart. And there’s one more thing—the last—the very
last.’
‘Rest yourself, my dear fellow,’ said Wilfred, raising his
head and wiping the death-damp from his forehead, as his
eyes closed in a death-like faint. But the dying man raised
himself unsteadily to a sitting position. An unearthly lustre
gleamed in the dim eyes, the white lips moved mechanically,
as the words, like the murmur of the breeze-touched shell,
issued from them.
‘I told you I loved your sister Annabel. When I looked
at her I thought I had never seen a woman before. Tell her
she was never out of my head for one moment since the day
I first saw her. Every step I made since was towards a life
that should have been worthy of her. I would have been
rich for her, proud for her, even book-taught for her sake. I
was learning in spare moments what I should have known as
a boy. She might never have taken to me—most likely not;
but she would have known that she had helped to save a
man’s life—a man’s soul. Tell her that this man went to his
death, grieving most for one thing, that he should see her face
no more. And now, give me your hand, Wilfred, for Gyp
Warleigh’s time is up.’
He grasped the hand held out to him with a firm and
nervous clasp; then relinquishing it gradually, an expression
of peace and repose overspread his face, the laboured breathing
ceased. His respiration became more natural and easy,
but the ashen hue of his face showed yet more colourless and
grey. The tired eyes closed; the massive head fell back on
the pillow of rugs; the lower portion of the features relaxed;
a slight shiver passed over the frame. Wilfred bent closely,
tenderly, over the still face. The faithful spirit of the last
male heir of the house of Warleigh had passed away.
When the stock-riders returned that evening after the long
day’s tracking and heard of their leader’s death, many a wild
heart was deeply stirred. At day-dawn they dug him a deep
.bn 359.png
.pn +1
grave beneath a mighty spreading mountain ash, and piled
such a cairn above him that no careless hand could disturb
the dead. As they removed his clothes for the last sad
robing process, two small volumes fell from an inner pocket.
‘Ha!’ said Neil Barrington, ‘one of them is the book I
saw him poring over that day. I wonder whether it’s a
novel? By Jove, though, who’d have thought that? Why,
it’s an old History of England. The poor old chap was
getting up his education by degrees. It makes the tears
come into one’s eyes.’
Here the good-hearted fellow drew his handkerchief across
his face.
.bn 360.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIV | GYP’S LAND
.sp 2
The cattle were tracked down and regathered without difficulty.
In the virgin forest no slot but their own could possibly
exist. When they quitted the scene of their encounter,
the explorers passed into a region of grand savannahs and
endless forest parks, waving with luxuriant grasses. Each
day awakened fresh raptures of admiration. But the rudest
stock-rider never alluded to the ease with which they now
followed the well-fed herd, without a curse (in the nature of
an epitaph) upon those who had robbed them of a comrade
and a commander.
‘A magnificent country,’ said Argyll, as on the third day
they camped the foremost drove on the bank of a broad river
in the marshy meadows, on which the cattle spread out,
luxuriating in the wild abundance of pasture; ‘and how
picturesque those snow-peaks; the groves of timber, sending
their promontories into the plains; the fantastic rocks! It
is a pastoral paradise. And to think that the only man of
our party who fell a victim should be poor Warleigh, the discoverer
of this land of promise!’
‘The way of the world, my dear fellow,’ said Ardmillan.
‘The moment a man gets his foot on the threshold of success,
Nemesis is aroused. Poor Gyp had been fighting against his
demon for years, and had reached the region of respectability.
He would soon have been rich enough to conciliate
Mrs. Grundy. She would have enlarged upon his ancient
birth, his handsome face and figure, with the mildest admission
that he had been, years ago, a little wild. Of course he
is slain within sight of his promised land.’
.bn 361.png
.pn +1
‘We had all got very fond of him, and that’s the truth,’
said Hamilton. ‘He was the gentlest creature, considering
his tremendous strength—self-denying in every way, and so
modest about his own endowments. It was very touching to
listen to his regrets for the ignorance in which he had been
suffered to grow up. I had planned, indeed, to supply some
of his deficiencies after we were settled.’
‘I should think so,’ said Fred Churbett. ‘I wouldn’t have
minded doing a little myself. I don’t go in for “moral
pocket-ankercher” business, but a man of his calibre was
better worth saving than a province of savages. Amongst us
we should have coached him up, in a year or so, fit to run for
the society little-go; and now to think that one of these
wretched anthropoids should have slain our Bayard!’
‘What made it such a beastly shame,’ said Neil Barrington,
‘is that we shall all get “disgustingly rich,” as Hotson said,
and be known as the pioneers of Gyp’s Land (as the men
have christened the district), while the real hero lies in a half-forgotten
grave.’
‘Time may make us as unthankful as the rest of the
world,’ said Wilfred. ‘We can only console ourselves with
the thought that we sincerely mourned our poor friend, and
that Hubert Warleigh’s memory will remain green, long after
recognition of his services has faded away. It has had a lasting
effect upon O’More. The poor fellow believes himself to
blame for the disaster. I have scarcely seen him smile
since.’
‘He’s a good, kind-hearted fellow,’ said Fred Churbett,
‘and I honour him for it. He told me that he never regretted
anything so much in his life as disregarding Warleigh’s advice
about the blacks. He said the poor chap made no answer
to some stupid remarks about being afraid of naked savages,
but smiled gravely, and walked away without another word.
Yet, to save O’More’s life, he gave his own!’
‘Whom the gods love die young,’ said Hamilton. ‘Some of
us may yet have cause to envy him. And now, about the
choice of runs. How are we to arrange that?’
‘We are now in the good country,’ said Argyll. ‘Towards
the coast, we shall all meet with more first-class grazing land
than we know what to do with. I think no one should be
nearer than seven miles or more than ten miles from any
.bn 362.png
.pn +1
other member of the Association. I for one will go nearer
to the coast.’
‘And I,’ said Fred Churbett, ‘will stay just where I am.
This is good enough for me, as long as I can defend myself
against the lords of the soil.’
There was no difficulty in locating the herds of the
association upon their ‘pastures new.’ In every direction
waved the giant herbage of a virgin wilderness. There were
full-fed, eager-running rivers, for which the melting snow at
their sources furnished abundant supplies. There were deep
fresh-water lakes, on the shores of which were meadows and
headlands rich with matted herbage.
Wild-fowl swarmed in the pools and shallows. Kangaroos
were so plentiful that old Tom’s dogs ‘were weary at eve
when they ceased to slay,’ and commenced to look with
indifference upon the scarcely-thinned droves. Timber for
huts and stock-yards was plentiful; so that axes, mauls, and
wedges were soon in full and cheerful employment. Each
squatter selected an area large enough for his stock for the
next dozen years, keeping sufficiently close to his friends for
visiting, but not near enough for complications. In truth,
the rivers and creeks were of such volume that they easily
supplied natural boundaries.
As for Wilfred and Guy, they carefully followed out the
instructions of their lost friend, until they verified the exact
site of the ‘run’ he had recommended to them. This they
discovered to be a peninsula. On one side stretched the
shore of a lake, and on the other a deep and rapid river flowed,
forming a natural enclosure many miles in extent, into which,
when they had turned their herd, they had little trouble in
keeping them safely.
‘My word!’ said Guy, ‘this is something like a country.
Why, we have run for five or six thousand head, and not a
patch of scrub or a range on the whole lot of it. Splendid
open forest, just enough for shelter; great marshes and flats,
where the stock are up to their eyes in grass and reeds. When
the summer comes, it will be like a garden. It rains here
every year and no mistake.’
‘We are pretty far south,’ said Wilfred; ‘in somewhere
about latitude 37—no great distance from the sea. That
accounts for the climate. You can see by the blacks’ miamis,
.bn 363.png
.pn +1
which are substantial and covered with thatch, that a different
kind of dwelling-place is necessary, even for the aboriginals.
You will have to build good warm huts, I fancy, or the winter
gales and sleet-storms will perish you.’
‘You let me alone for that!’ said the ardent youngster.
‘We shall have lots of time to work, as soon as the cattle are
broken in and the working bullocks get strong. Our drays
must come by sea; but sledges are all right for drawing split
stuff. I shall build on that bluff above the lake. We can
keep a good look-out there for the blacks, that they don’t
come sneaking up by day or night. Oh, how jolly it all is!
If I could forget about dear old Hubert, I should be perfectly
happy.’
‘I suppose we shall have to choose a site for the township.’
‘Township!’ said Guy. ‘What do we want with a beastly
township? Two public-houses and a blacksmith’s shop to
begin with! The next thing will be that they will petition
the Government to survey some land and cut it up in farms.’
‘Well, that’s true,’ assented Wilfred, smiling at his impetuosity;
‘but we must not be altogether selfish. Remember,
there is a good landlocked harbour and a deep anchorage.
A township is morally certain to be formed, and we may as
well take the initiative. Besides, we promised Rockley to let
him know if there was any opening for a mercantile
speculation.’
‘That alters the matter,’ said Guy. ‘I would black old
Billy’s boots if he was short of a valet—not to mention kind
Mrs. Rockley, whom all the fellows would walk barefoot to
serve. I may be mistaken, but you’re rather sweet upon
Christabel, ain’t you? I’m not in the marrying line myself,
but I don’t know a prettier girl anywhere.’
‘Pooh! don’t talk nonsense, there’s a good fellow,’ said
Wilfred with a dignified air. ‘There are miles of matters to
be thought about before anybody—dark or fair. But you are
right in your feelings about Rockley and his dear, kind wife,
which makes me proud of my junior partner. We shall want
somebody to buy and sell for us, to order our stores, etc.;
and as nothing can come from Sydney on wheels, we shall
have to get them from that new settlement they call Port
Phillip, that we heard at the “Snowy” they were making such
a talk about. We can’t escape a town; and as there is bound
.bn 364.png
.pn +1
to be a chief merchant, we had better elect our own King
William to that high office and dignity.’
‘With all my heart,’ said Guy; ‘only you frightened me at
first, talking about a town. We haven’t come all this way—through
those hungry forests and terrible cold rivers, not to
mention the blacks—to be crowded out of our runs, for
farmers.’
‘You needn’t be alarmed, Guy. Remember, this district
is a very large one. You will have twenty years’ squatting
tenure, you may be sure, before an acre of your land is sold.’
Guy was correct in his anticipations of the probability of
there being water-carriage before long. The surplus hands,
who were paid off and sent back to New South Wales, talked
largely, as is their wont, about the wonderful new district.
Port Phillip, just settled, had a staff of adventurers on hand,
ready for any kind of enterprise. Within a few weeks a brig,
with a reasonable supply of passengers, did actually arrive at
the little roadstead, which had already been dignified with
the title of The Port. There was the usual assortment of
alert individuals that invariably turn up at the last new and
promising settlement in Australia,—land speculators, storekeepers,
gentlemen of no particular calling, waifs and strays,
artisans and contractors. But among the babel of strange
tongues resounded one familiar voice, the resonant cheery
tones of which soon made themselves heard, to the great
astonishment and equal joy of such of the wayfarers as had
assembled at the disembarkation. Their old and tried friend,
Mr. William Rockley, once more greeted them in the flesh.
‘Well, here you all are, safe and sound, except poor Gyp
Warleigh!’ said that gentleman, after the ceremony of greeting
and hand-shaking had been most cordially performed. ‘Most
melancholy occurrence—terrible, in fact—heard of it at Port
Phillip—all the news there, of course—very rising place. Ran
down in the Rebecca, brig—nearly ran on shore too. Thought
I’d come on and see you all; find out if anything was to be
done. Nothing like first chance, at a new settlement, eh?
Queer fellow, our captain; too much brandy and water.
Catch me sailing with him after we get back.’
Mr. Rockley added new life and vigour to the infant
settlement. His practical eye fixed upon a spot more suitable
for a township than The Port, which he disparaged as a
.bn 365.png
.pn +1
‘one-horse’ place, which would never come to much. Indifferent
anchorage, with no protection against south-east
gales. Might be made decent with a breakwater; but take
time—time. A few miles up the river—fine stream, deep
water, and good wharfage. He should run up a store, and
send down a cargo of odds and ends at once. Fine district—good
soil, splendid climate, and so on. Must progress—must
progress. Never seen finer grass, splendidly watered
too. You’ve fallen on your feet, I can tell you. All through
Gyp Warleigh too. Poor fellow!—awful pity!
Mr. Rockley borrowed a horse, rode inland and visited
the stations, being equally encouraging and sanguine about
their prospects. ‘Can’t go wrong; lots of fat cattle in a year
or two; make all your fortunes; can’t help it; only look out
for the rascally blacks; don’t allow yourselves to be lulled
into security; have a slap at you again some day, take my
word for it. Know them well; never trust a blackfellow;
always make him walk in front of you—can’t help using a
tomahawk if he sees a chance; keep ’em at arm’s length—no
cruelty—but make ’em keep their distance. Glorious
rains at Yass and all over New South Wales. Season changed
with a vengeance! Stock rising like mad; ewes two guineas
a head and not to be got. Cattle, horses, snapped up the
moment they’re offered. Everybody wild to bring stock
overland to Port Phillip. By Jove! that is a wonderful place
if you like; fine harbour—make half-a-dozen of Sydney—thirty
miles from the Heads to the town. Not so picturesque
of course; but splendid open country, plains, forests, and
fertile land right up to the town. Great place by and by.
Nothing but speculation, champagne, and kite-flying at
present. Bought town allotments; buy some more as we
go back. You’d better pick up two or three corner lots,
Wilfred, my boy. Money? Never mind that! I’ll find the
cash. Your security’s first-rate now, I can tell you.’
And so their guest rattled on, brimful of great ideas, large
investments, and goodwill to all men, as of yore.
Wilfred, who had indeed now no particular reason for
remaining, but on the contrary many motives to draw him
towards The Chase, was only too glad to avail himself of a
passage in the Rebecca, the truculent captain notwithstanding.
That worthy, who appeared to be a compound of sailor and
.bn 366.png
.pn +1
smuggler, with a dash of pirate, swaggered about the beach
for a few days, and after a comprehensive carouse with such
of his late passengers as he could induce to join him,
announced his intention of sailing next day—and did so.
Arrived at Melbourne, as the infant city had just been
christened, Wilfred was astonished at the life and excitement
everywhere discernible. On the flats bordering the river
Yarra Yarra had been hastily erected a medley of huts,
cottages, and tents, in which resided a miscellaneous rout
of settlers, storekeepers, speculators, auctioneers, publicans,
Government officials, artisans, and labourers.
He witnessed for the first time the initial stage of urban
colonisation. What he chiefly wondered at was the restless
energy, the sanguine spirits, the dauntless courage of the
miscellaneous host employed in founding the southern
metropolis.
The situation had been well chosen. The river which
bisected the baby city, though not broad, was yet clear, deep,
and, as its aboriginal name implied, ‘ever flowing.’ Large
vessels were compelled to remain in the bay, but coasters
came up the river and discharged on the banks of the natural
basin, which had decided the site of the town.
Around—afar—stretching even to the distant horizon, were
broad plains, park-like forests, hill and dale. The soil was
rich for the most part; while a far blue range to the north-east
pointed to an untried region, beyond which might lie
(ay, and did lie) treasures yet undreamed of.
‘All truly wonderful,’ said Wilfred. ‘The world is a large
place, as the little bird said. We have got outside of our
garden wall with a vengeance. How slow it seems of us to
have been sitting still at Lake William, ignorant of this grand
country, only five hundred miles off—not to mention “Gyp’s
Land.” I wonder if this will ever be much of a town. It
is a long way from Sydney, which must always be the seat of
Government.’
‘Will it be much of a place?’ echoed Rockley in a half-amused,
meditative way. ‘I am inclined to think it will.
Let us ask this gentleman. How do you do, Mr. Fawkner?’
he said, shaking hands with a brisk, energetic personage,
who came bustling along the river-bank. ‘Fine weather.
Thriving settlement this of yours. My friend is doubting
.bn 367.png
.pn +1
whether it will ever come to much. Thinks it too far from
Sydney.’
‘What!’ said the little man, who, dressed in corduroy
trousers, with a buff waistcoat and long-skirted coat, looked
like an Australian edition of Cobbett. ‘Will it prosper?
Why, sir, it will be the metropolis of the South—the London
of this New Britain, sir! Nothing can stay its progress.
Tasmania, where I came from, possesses a glorious climate
and fine soil, but no extent, sir, no scope. New South Wales
has fine soil, boundless territory, but eccentric climate. In
Port Phillip, sir, below 35 south latitude, you have climate,
soil, and extent of territory combined.’
Here the little man struck his stick into the damp, black
soil with such energy that he could hardly pull it out again.
‘I agree with you,’ said Rockley good-humouredly, smiling
at Fawkner’s vehemence as if he, personally, were the most
imperturbable of men. ‘But you won’t get the Sydney
officials to do much for you for years to come. Five hundred
miles is a long way from the seat of Government.’
‘Cut the painter, sir, if they neglect us,’ said the pioneer
democrat. ‘We shall soon be big enough to govern ourselves.
Seen the first number of the Port Phillip Patriot?
Here it is—printed with my own hands yesterday.’
Mr. Fawkner put his hand into a pocket of the long-skirted
coat, and produced a very small, neatly printed broadsheet,
in which the editorials and local news struggled amid
a crowd of advertisements of auctions, notices of land sales,
and other financial assignations.
‘And now, gentlemen, I must bid you good-bye,’ said the
little man. ‘Canvassing for subscriptions to build a wooden
bridge across the Yarra. Cost a lot of money, but must be
done—must be done. Large trade with South Yarra—lime,
timber, firewood—shortest way to the bay too.’
‘Put us down for five pounds,’ said Rockley. ‘It will
improve the value of the corner allotments we intend to buy—won’t
it, Wilfred? Good-bye.’
‘Wonderful man that,’ said Rockley; ‘shrewd, energetic,
rather too fond of politics. Came over in the first vessel
from Van Diemen’s Land. He and Batman thought they
were going to divide all this country between them. You
see that clear hill over there? They say that’s where Batman
.bn 368.png
.pn +1
stood when he said, “All that I see is mine, and all that I
don’t see.”’
‘Very good,’ said Wilfred. ‘Grand conception of the true
adventurer. And were his aspirations fulfilled?’
‘Well, he bought all the land hereabouts—a few millions
of acres—from blackfellows who called themselves chiefs.
The other colonists disputed his royalty. The Government
backed them up, and sent a superintendent to reign over
them. However, he will do very well. Who’s this tall man
coming along? St. Maur, as I’m a living sinner!’
And that gentleman it turned out to be, extremely well-dressed,
and sauntering about as if in Bond Street. His
greeting, however, was most cordial, and smacked more of
the wilderness than of the pavé.
‘By Jove!’ he said, ‘you here, Rockley? I was just
thinking of you and Effingham. Can’t say how glad I am.
Come into my miami. What a pity you couldn’t have a
throw in! Lots of money to be made. Made some myself
already.’
‘Daresay,’ said Rockley. ‘You’re pretty quick when
there’s a spec. on hand. What have you been about?’
‘Mixed herd of cattle. Turned overlander, as they call
it here; brought over one on my own account, and another
that I picked up on the road. Just going over to see Howie’s
horses sold. I want a hack. You come and lunch with me
and Dutton and Tom Carne. We’re over at “The Lamb”—some
fellows from Adelaide there.’
‘Certainly,’ said Rockley, always ready for anything in
the way of speculation or enterprise. ‘Nothing better to do;
and, by the way, Effingham, we shall want horses for riding
home; for, as for going back with that atrocious, reckless,
buccaneering ruffian, I’ll see him d—d first!’
Here the sentence, ending with more force than elegance,
merged in the loud ringing of an auctioneer’s bell in close
proximity to a large stock-yard at the corner of Bourke and
Swanston Streets, near where a seductive soft-goods establishment
now stands.
The yard contained over a hundred head of horses, which
were permitted to run out one at a time, when, being completely
encircled by the crowd, they remained confused, if
not quieted, until their fate was decided.
.bn 369.png
.pn +1
An upstanding, unbroken grey filly happened to be
separated just as they arrived—
.pm start_poem
And struggling fiercely, but in vain,
And snorting with erected mane.
.pm end_poem
The desert-born was on the point of being knocked down for
fifty pounds, when Wilfred, infected by the extravagance of
the day, bid another pound. She finally became his at the
low price of sixty guineas.
‘She’s very green,’ said St. Maur; ‘just haltered, I should
say. However, she has plenty of condition, and if you are
going a journey, will be quiet enough in a week.’
‘I like her looks,’ said Wilfred. ‘It’s an awful price; but
stock have risen so, that we shall reap the advantage in another
shape. But for Rockley I should have gone back by sea.’
‘I never consider a few pounds,’ said that gentleman,
‘where my life’s concerned. I can just tell you, sir, that, in
my opinion, the Rebecca is more than likely never to see
Sydney at all if bad weather comes on. I shall buy that
brown cob.’
After the cob had been bought, and a handsome chestnut
by St. Maur, the friends strolled up to the famous Lamb
Inn, long disestablished, like the cafés of the Quartier Latin,
and there met with certain choice spirits, also rejoicing in
the designation of ‘overlanders.’ They seemed on terms
of intimacy with St. Maur, and cordially greeted his two
friends. One and all had been lately concerned in large
stock transactions—had been equally fortunate in their sales.
Apparently they were minded to indemnify themselves for
the perils of the waste by a full measure of such luxuries
as the infant city afforded.
‘Great place this Melbourne, St. Maur,’ said a tall man
with bushy whiskers. ‘Decomposed basaltic formation, with
an outcrop of empty champagne bottles. I saw a heap
opposite Northcott’s office yesterday like a glass-blower’s
débris. As fast as they emptied them they threw them out
of the window. Accumulation in time—you know.’
‘Northcott does a great business in allotments and house
property,’ said St. Maur; ‘but it can’t last for ever. Too
much of that champagne element. But what’s become of
Warden—he was to have been here?’
.bn 370.png
.pn +1
‘Forgot about the hour, I daresay,’ said the man with the
whiskers. ‘Most absent fellow I know. Remember what
he said to the Governor’s wife at Adelaide? She asked him
at dinner what he would take. Joe looked up from a dream
(not of fair women, but of drovers and dealers), and thinking
of the cattle he had just brought over, replied, “Six pounds
a head all round, and the calves given in!”’
Mr. Joe Warden, blue-eyed and fair-haired as Cedric
the Saxon, long afterwards famed as the most daring and
successful of the explorers of that historic period, shortly
joined them, apologising for his unpunctuality by declaring
that he had bought two corner allotments and a flock of ewes
within the last ten minutes.
‘This is the kingdom of unlimited loo as applied to real
estate—the region of golden opportunity, you see, Rockley,’
said St. Maur. ‘We are all hard at it buying and selling
from morning to night. Must go the pace or be left behind.
Half-acre allotments in Collins Street have brought as much
as seventy pounds this very morning. Try that claret.’
‘Quite right too. A very fair wine,’ quoth Mr. Rockley,
slowly savouring the ruby fluid. ‘My dear St. Maur, you are
right to buy everything that you can, as long as your credit
lasts. I can see—and I stake my business reputation on the
fact—a tremendous future in store for this town. It is not
much in itself. The river’s a mere ditch; the harbour a
great ugly bay; the site of the town too flat; but the
country!—the country around is grand and extensive.
Nothing can take that away. It is not so rich as the spot
my friend and I have just left; but it’s fine—very fine. I’m
not so young as I was, but I shall pitch my tent here and
never go back to Sydney.’
‘I hope to see Sydney again,’ said St. Maur; ‘but in the
meantime I shall stay and watch the markets. I quite agree
with you that there is money to be made.’
‘Of course there is,’ said Rockley; ‘but how long will
it last? People can’t live upon buying and selling to each
other for ever. Some fine day there will be an awful smash,
in which some of you brisk young people will be caught.
But the settlement is so first-class in soil and situation that
it must pull through. I shall buy a few allotments, just to
give me an interest, as the racing men say.’
.bn 371.png
.pn +1
‘We can accommodate you,’ said Mr. Raymond. ‘But why
don’t you stay and set up in business here? You’d make a
fortune a month, with your name and connections. Never
mind Mrs. R. for the present; we’re all bachelors here.’
‘I see that—and a very jolly set you are. I wouldn’t mind
a month or two here at all. But my friend Effingham and I
are tied to time to get home, and as we’re going overland we
haven’t much time to spare.’
‘Well, look us up whenever you come back. The door
of the Lamb Inn is always open—night or day, for that matter.
St. Maur and I are thinking of buying it, aren’t we, Bertram,
and turning it into a Club? We offered Jones a thousand
for it, but he wouldn’t take less than twelve hundred.’
‘That would have been only a hundred apiece for a dozen
of us,’ said the man with the large whiskers, whose name was
Macleod. ‘Almost concluded it, but Morton died of D.T.,
Southey got married, and Ingoldsby went home. Nice idea,
you know, being our own landlords.’
‘Not bad at all,’ said Rockley, who approved of everything
when he was in a good-humour. ‘A very original, business-like
idea. Well, I must say good-bye to you all, gentlemen.
I really wish I could stay longer.’
‘Stay till next week,’ pleaded Raymond. ‘We are going
to give a ball. No end of an entertainment. Two real
carriages just landed, and the families pledged to bring
them.’
‘I notice a good many stumps in Collins Street,’ said
Wilfred. ‘Won’t that be a little dangerous for returning?’
‘Not with decent horses,’ said a young fellow with a dark
moustache and one arm. ‘I drove tandem through it about
two o’clock this morning.’
‘But you do everything so well, Blakesley,’ said St. Maur.
‘Speaking as an ordinary person, I must say I should funk
the “Rue Bourke” or Collins after dark. But that is not our
affair. Providence couldn’t injure a lady when there are only
ten in the community.’
‘What about that brig, the Rebecca, that’s sailing to-morrow
for Sydney?’ said a fresh-coloured, middle-aged personage who
had spoken little, and, indeed, seemed oppressed with thought.
‘You came down in her, Rockley, didn’t you?’
‘Like nothing about her,’ said that gentleman with
.bn 372.png
.pn +1
decision. ‘Badly found, badly manned, and the worst thing
about her is the skipper. You don’t catch me in her again,
I can tell you. Effingham and I are going overland.’
‘Indeed!’ said the speaker, much surprised. ‘I thought
we should have been fellow-passengers. I never dreamed of
any one riding all the way to Sydney, five or six hundred miles,
when they could go by sea! If I’d known, I’d have changed
my mind and started with you. It’s too late now; I’ve paid
my passage.’
‘Look here, Bowerdale,’ said Mr. Rockley with earnestness,
‘I’ve paid my passage, and I forfeit it cheerfully rather
than run the risk. If you knew Captain Jackson, you’d do it
too. He’ll lose the ship and all hands some day, as sure as
my name’s Rockley.’
‘There’s a good deal of luck in these things, I believe,’
said the other. ‘I must risk it anyhow. I can’t afford to
lose the money, and I want to get back to my wife and chicks
as soon as I can. We officials haven’t unlimited leave either,
you know.’
‘D—n the leave!’ said Mr. Rockley volcanically, ‘and
the money too. I’ll settle the last for you, and you can pay
when you sell that suburban land you bought in Collingwood.
There’s a fortune in that. Your chief’s a good fellow; he’ll
arrange the leave. Half the Civil Servants in Sydney have
had a shot at Melbourne land, you know. Say the word,
and come with us. There’s a spare horse, isn’t there,
Effingham?’
‘Lots of horse-flesh,’ said Wilfred, following his friend’s
cue. ‘Mr. Bowerdale will just complete our party—make it
pleasanter for all.’
‘You are a good fellow, Rockley,’ said Mr. Bowerdale,
smiling; ‘and I thank you, Mr. Effingham; but I can’t alter
my arrangements, though I feel strangely tempted to do so.
I have had a fit of the blues all the morning. Liver, I
suppose—too much excitement. But I make a point of
always carrying a thing through.’
‘Take your own way,’ grumbled Rockley. ‘Well, I must
be off, St. Maur. Effingham, did you forget about the pack-saddle?
It’s a strange thing nobody can remember anything
but myself. St. Maur, I beg to thank you and these
gentlemen for their most pleasant entertainment. Come
.bn 373.png
.pn +1
and see me at Yass, all of you, when you stop land-buying,
or it stops you. Good-bye, Bowerdale; I can’t help thinking
you’re a d—d fool.’
So the worthy and choleric gentleman departed, with his
surplus steam not wholly blown off. All the way back he
kept exploding at intervals, with remarks uncomplimentary
to his unconvinced friend, who left by the Rebecca, which,
with crew, captain, and passengers, was never more heard of.
.tb
On the following morning Mr. Rockley and Wilfred rode
forth along the Sydney road, then far from macadamised,
and chiefly marked out by dray-ruts and a mile-wide trail
made by the overlanders. Mr. Rockley rode one stout cob
and led another. Wilfred bestrode an ambling black horse
of uncertain pedigree, and led the grey filly, upon whose
reluctant back he had managed to place a pack-saddle with
their joint necessaries.
.bn 374.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXV | BOB CLARKE ONCE MORE WINS ON THE POST
.sp 2
The homeward-bound horsemen had no difficulty about the
road, well marked as it was by the travelling stock. There
was also, as now, a mail service from Sydney. They met
the mailman about half-way. He was riding one horse and
leading another; he had often to camp out without fire, for
fear of blacks. In due time they reached the site of the
border town of Albury, on the broad waters of the Murray,
all unknowing of the great wine-cellars its grapes were yet
to fill, with reisling, muscat, and hermitage in mammoth
butts, rivalling that of Heidelberg. Much less did they forecast
the iron horse one day to rush forward, breathing woe
and disquiet to the shy dryad of the river oaks, by the
gleaming stream and the still depths of the reed-fringed
lagoons.
Rude were the ways by which they travelled from the
Murray to the Murrumbidgee River, by way of Gundagai,
the great meadows of which were then undevastated by
flood. Thence to Bowning, and so on to Yass, in which city
the travellers were greeted with enthusiasm. The next
morning saw the younger far on his way to The Chase.
What a change had taken place since the exodus—that
memorable departure! But one little year had passed away,
and what a transformation!
With the season everything had changed; all Australia
was altered. Life itself was so different from that day when,
half-despairingly, they rode behind their famished cattle, and
turned their faces to the wilderness.
Now it had been crossed; the promised land won—a
.bn 375.png
.pn +1
land of milk and honey as far as they were concerned—of
olives and vineyards—all the biblical treasures—no doubt
looming in the future.
For this prosperity the discovery of Port Phillip was
accountable, conjointly with the lavish, exuberant season.
The glorious land of mountain and stream, valley and
meadow, laden with pastoral wealth and bursting with
vegetation, had been in a manner gifted to them by the
gallant, ill-fated Hubert Warleigh. They were all revelling
in the intensity of life, forming stations, buying and selling,
speculating and calculating, and where was he? Lying at
rest beneath the sombre shade of the forest giant, far from
even the tread of the men of his race. Left to moulder
away, with the fallen denizens of the primeval forest; to
fade from men’s minds even as the echo of the surges, as the
spring songs of the joyous birds!
It seemed increasingly hard to realise. As he approached
the well-known track that led from the main road to Warbrok
he could see the very tree near which he had waved a
farewell at their first meeting. There was the gate through
which they had ridden on the occasion of his second visit,
when he had been received on terms of equality by the
whole family.
‘How glad I am now that we did that!’ Wilfred told himself.
‘We tried our best to raise him from the slough into
which he had fallen, and from no selfish motive; how little
we thought to be so richly repaid! One often intends a
kindness to some one who dies before it is fulfilled. Then
there is unavailing, perhaps lifelong regret. Here it was not
so, thank God! And now, home at last——’
.tb
Of that happy first evening what description can be given
that faintly shall suggest the atmosphere of love and gratitude
that enveloped the family, as once more Wilfred sat among
them in the well-remembered room? Speech even died
away, in that all might revel in an uninterrupted view of the
returned wanderer. How improved, though bronzed and
weather-beaten, he was after his wayfaring!
‘And to think that Wilfred has returned safe from those
dreadful blacks! And oh, poor dear Hubert Warleigh!
That fine young man, so lately in this room with us, full of
.bn 376.png
.pn +1
health and strength, and now to know that he is dead—killed
by savages—it is too dreadful!’
‘Mamma! mamma!’ said Annabel, sobbing aloud, ‘don’t
speak of it. I can’t bear it.’
Here she arose and left the room.
‘She is very sensitive, dear child,’ said Mrs. Effingham. ‘I
do not wonder at her feeling the poor fellow’s death. I
can’t help thinking about him, as if he were in some way
more than an acquaintance.’
‘You have come back to a land of plenty, my son,’ said
Mr. Effingham, ‘as you have doubtless observed. If you had
known that such rain was to fall, it might have saved you all
the journey.’
‘My dear sir,’ answered Wilfred, ‘don’t flatter yourself
that, myself excepted, one of our old society will be contented
to live here again. The land we have reached opens out
such an extensive field that no sane man would think of
staying away from it. Rockley will follow, and half Yass, I
believe. No one will be left but you and I and the Parson.’
‘What an exodus! It amounts to a misfortune,’ said
Rosamond. ‘It seems as if the foundations of society were
loosened. We shall never be so happy and contented
again.’
‘We never may,’ said Wilfred; ‘but we shall be ever so
much richer, if that is any compensation. Stock of all kinds
are fetching fabulous prices in Port Phillip. By the bye, how
is Dr. Fane? His store cattle are now worth more than the
Benmohr fat cattle used to be.’
‘We had Vera here for a whole month,’ said Rosamond.
‘She is the dearest and best girl in the whole world, I believe,
and so handsome we all think her. She said her father had
sold a lot of cattle at a fine price, and if he didn’t spend all
the money in books, they would be placed in easy circumstances.’
As Wilfred paced the verandah, smoking the ante-slumber
pipe—a habit he had rather confirmed during his journeyings
and campings—he could not but contrast the delicious sense
of peaceful stillness with much of the life he had lately led.
All was calm repose—amid the peaceful landscape. No
possibility here of the wild shout—the midnight onset—as
little, perhaps, of lawless deeds as in their half-forgotten
.bn 377.png
.pn +1
English home. A truly luxurious relief, after the rude
habitudes and painful anxieties of their pioneer life.
The night’s sound sleep seemed to have concentrated the
repose of a week, when Wilfred awoke to discover that all
outer life was painted in rose tints. That portion of the herd
which had been left behind had profited by the unshared
pasturage to such an extent that they resembled a fresh
variety. Daisy and her progeny looked nearly as large as
shorthorns, and extreme prices had been offered for them,
old Andrew averred, by the cattle-dealers that now overspread
the land.
A field of wheat, by miraculous means ploughed and
harrowed, since the Hegira, promised an abundant crop.
‘Weel, aweel!’ said Andrew, who now appeared bearing
two overflowing buckets of milk, ‘ye have been graciously
spared to return from yon fearsome wilderness, like Ca-aleb
and Joshua. And to think o’ that puir laddie, juist fa’en a
prey to thae Amalekites, stricken through wi’ a spear, like
A-absolom! Maist unco-omon—ane shall be taen and the
t’ither left. It’s a gra-and country, I’m hearin’.’
‘The finest country you ever set eyes on, Andrew. The
Chase seems a mere farm after it. If it was not for the
family, I should soon pack up and go back there.’
‘I wadna doot. Rovin’ and rampa-agin’ aboot the waste
places o’ the yearth is aye easy to learn. But ye’ll ken yer
duty to yer forebears and the young leddies, Maister Wilfred,
no’ to tak’ them frae this douce-like hame.’
‘Oh yes, I know,’ said Wilfred. ‘Of course I shall stay
here, and shall be very happy and make lots of money again.
All the same, it’s a wonderful new country. Half the people
here will be wanting to get away when they hear about
it. But how did you get this fine crop of wheat put in without
working bullocks? I’m afraid, Andrew, you must have
been taking a leaf out of Dick Evans’s book, and using other
people’s cattle.’
‘Weel, aweel!’ said Andrew, looking doubtful, ‘I winna
deny that there micht be some makin’ free wi’ ither folks’
beasties. But they were juist fair savin’ their lives wi’ oor
grass parks, and when the rain fell, it was a case o’ needcessity
to till the land, noo that the famine was past.’
With regard to the ‘fatal maid,’ Wilfred Effingham had
.bn 378.png
.pn +1
much difficulty in reaching a determination worthy of a man
who prided himself upon acting on logically defensible
grounds. He was by no means too certain, either, that he
could lay claim to Miss Christabel’s undivided affections.
So much of her heart as she had to give, he suspected was
bestowed upon Bob Clarke. If that were so, she would cling
to him with the headlong hero-worship with which a woman
invests the lover of her girlhood, more particularly if he
happens to be ill-provided with this world’s goods.
The result of all this introspection was that Wilfred, like
many other men, sought refuge in delay. There was no need
of forcing on the decision. He had work to do at home for
months to come. And the marriage question might be advantageously
postponed.
Unpacking his valise after breakfast, he produced a
number of newspapers, the which, as being better employed,
he had not opened. Now, in the leisure of the home circle,
the important journals were disclosed. Each one, provincially
hungry for news, seized upon one of the messengers from
the outer world. ‘Ha!’ said Wilfred suddenly, ‘what is
this? Colonel Glendinning, of the Irregular Horse, desperately
wounded. Wonderful gallantry displayed by him.
Chivalrous sortie from cantonments. Why, this must be our
Major, poor fellow!’
He was interrupted by a faint cry from Beatrice, and
looking round he saw that she had grown deadly pale. He
had just time to catch her fainting form in his arms. But
she was not a girl who easily surrendered herself to her
emotions. Rousing herself, she looked around with a piteous
yet resolved expression, and with an effort collected her
mental forces.
‘Mother,’ she said, ‘I must go where he is. Tell my
father that I have always deferred to his wishes, but that now
I must join him—I feel responsible for his life. Had I but
conquered my pride, a word from me would have kept him
here. And now he is dying—after deeds of reckless daring.
But I must go; I will die with him, if I cannot save him.’
‘Dearest Beatrice, there is no need to excite yourself,’ said
the fond yet prudent mother. ‘You have only to go to
your father. He will consent to all that is reasonable. I
myself think it is your duty to go. Major Glendinning is
.bn 379.png
.pn +1
severely wounded, but good nursing may bring him round.
I wish you had a companion.’
‘Where could you have a better one than Mrs. Snowden?’
cried Annabel hastily. ‘She said she half thought of going
home by India, and I know she does not care which route
she takes. She has been there before, and knows all about
the route. If papa would only make up his mind to go, half
the trouble would be off his mind, and he would enjoy the
voyage.’
‘There could not be a more favourable time, my dear
sir,’ said Wilfred in the family council at a later hour. ‘I
shall be here now. It is a matter of life and death to poor
Beatrice as well as to the Colonel. You had better arrange
to start by the first vessel, and to bring back some Arab
horses on your return.’
‘It is the only thing to be done,’ said Rosamond, who
had just returned from her sister’s room. ‘I wouldn’t answer
for Beatrice’s reason if she is compelled to wait here. She
has repressed her feelings until now, and the reaction is
terrible. It is most fortunate that Mrs. Snowden is ready to
leave Australia.’
Subjected to the family pressure, aided by the promptings
of his own heart, Mr. Effingham was powerless to resist. The
acclimatisation question was artfully brought up. He at once
yielded, and before the evening was over, a letter was in the
mail-bag, requesting their Sydney agent to take passages by
the first outward-bound boat for India, and to advise by post,
or special messenger, if necessary.
Beatrice, informed of this determination, gradually recovered
that calmness allied to despair which simulates resignation.
She busied herself unweariedly in preparation for
the voyage, cherishing the hope of soothing the last hours of
her lover, if indeed it was denied her, to watch over his
return to the world of love and hope.
Mrs. Snowden arrived on the following day, and cordially
acceded to the proposition made to her, to share the
adventures of the voyage and of Indian travel.
‘If you knew,’ she said, ‘how grateful I feel for the
opportunity of changing the scene of my sorrows and being
of use to my friends after this lonely life of mine, you would
not thank me. I would go many a mile by sea or land to
.bn 380.png
.pn +1
nurse the Major myself. Between me and Beatrice he will
be well looked after.’
All circumstances seemed favourably shaped for the
errand of mercy. A ship was about to sail for China, whence
the opium clippers might be trusted for a swift run to the
historic land. Almost before the news of the intended
journey had reached Yass, so that the parson could drive
over and express his entire concurrence with the arrangement,
the little party had set out for Sydney.
.tb
In the fulness of time the very last evening, before the
Rockley family left Yass, arrived. All the party from The
Chase had been in to say good-bye, and had returned. Some
mysterious business kept Wilfred in town, and that special
evening he of course spent at Rockley Lodge.
For it was not to be supposed that, on that momentous
evening, the family declined to see their friends. In the
‘Maison Rockley’ the head of the house was so absorbed in
his business pursuits that, except at dinner-time, and for an
hour after, he could hardly be said to possess any family life
whatever. He was grateful, therefore, for the presence of
such friends who would take the burden of domesticity, in
part, off his hands, and made no scruple of expressing, in the
family circle, his thanks for such services.
It so turned out that, on this particular morning, he had
found time, for once in a way, to give his daughter an earnest
lecture about her ridiculous fancy, as he termed it, for Bob
Clarke; a young fellow who, without any harm in him, would
never come to much, or make any money worth speaking of,
seeing that he was far too fond of those confounded horses,
out of which no man had ever extracted anything but ruin,
in Australia. That they had never heard a word from him
for ever so long; most probably he was flirting away in
Tasmania, and did not cast a thought upon her. And here
was Wilfred Effingham, than whom he did not know a finer
fellow anywhere—steady, clever, a man of family, and in
every way desirable. If he liked her, Christabel—he couldn’t
say whether he did or not, he had no time to trouble about such
rubbish—why didn’t she take him, and have done with it, and
settle down creditably for the rest of her life, instead of wasting
her time and vexing her friends?—and so on—and so on.
.bn 381.png
.pn +1
Christabel wept piteously during this paternal admonition,
delivered, as usual, with a loud voice and a fierce expression
of countenance, but had gone away reflecting that although
she was, so to speak, badly treated in this instance, yet, as
she had succeeded in getting her own way all her life, she
probably might enjoy a reasonable portion of it in the
future.
Meanwhile, being fairly malleable and of the texture which
is bent by circumstances, she began to consider, when alone
in her room, whether there was not something of reason in
her father’s arguments. Here she was placed in the position
of only having to accept. Of the true nature of Wilfred’s
feelings she herself had little doubt. There is something, too,
not wholly without temptation to the female heart in the
unconditional surrender of the lover, then and there urging his
suit. There may be also a wild impulse to accept the inevitable,
and thus for ever extinguish the uneasiness of anxiety
and suspended judgment.
Then, Wilfred Effingham was very good-looking—fair
perhaps in complexion, and she did not admire fair men, but
brown-bearded, well-featured, manly. All the girls voted him
‘so nice-looking,’ and the men invariably spoke of him as a
good fellow. He was well off; he would have The Chase
some day, and she would be the great lady of the Yass district,
with her carriage and her servants; could entertain
really well. She would also, beyond doubt, be envied by all
her schoolfellows and girl friends.
The prospect was tempting. She thought of Bob’s dark
eyes, and their passionate look when he last said good-bye.
She thought of the happy days when he rode at her bridle-rein,
and would lean over to whisper the cheery nonsense that
amused her. She thought of the thrill at her heart, the
strange deadness in every pulse, when The Outlaw went
down, and they lifted Bob up, pale and motionless; of her
joy when he appeared next day on the course, with his arm
in a sling, but with eyes as bright and smile as pleasant as
ever. These were dangerous memories. But they were boy
and girl then. Now she was a woman, who must think of
prudence and the wishes of her parents.
Then Bob would be poor for many a day, if, indeed, he ever
rose to fortune. Through her heart passed the uneasy dread,
.bn 382.png
.pn +1
which gently-nurtured women have, of the unlovely side of
poverty, of shifts and struggles, of work and privation—of a
small house and bad servants, of indifferent dresses, and few
thereof. Such thoughts came circling up, like birds of evil
aspect and omen, ready to cluster round the corse of the
slain Eros.
Les absens sont toujours torts, says the worldly adage. In
his absence, the advocacy for Bob Clarke was perhaps less
brave and persistent than it would otherwise have been. The
girl strove to harden her heart, by clinging to the prudent side
of the case, and recalling her father’s angry denunciations of
any other course than an affirmative reply to Wilfred Effingham,
should he this night tell her the real purport of his constant
visits.
He himself had resolved to risk his fate on this last throw
of the dice, and so far everything assisted his plans. Mr.
Rockley was in an unusually genial frame of mind at dinner—cordial,
of course, as ever, but unnaturally patient under contradiction
and the delays consequent upon the cook’s
unsettled condition. Mrs. Rockley excused herself after that
meal as having household matters to arrange. But Christabel,
whose domestic responsibilities had always been of the faintest,
was at liberty to remain and entertain Mr. Effingham and her
father, indeed she was better out of the way at the present
crisis. Wilfred had no thought of leaving early in order to
accommodate his friends in their presumed state of bustle and
derangement, for it was one of those rare households where
visitors never seem to be in the way. None of the feminine
heads of departments were fussy, anxious, ‘put out,’ or had
such pressing cares that visitors came short of consideration.
Mrs. Rockley’s talent for organisation was such that no one
seemed in a hurry, yet nothing was left undone. The house
was nearly always full of inmates and visitors, male and
female, with or without children. Still, wonder of wonders,
there was never any awkwardness or failure of successful
entertainment. Rockley, personally, scoffed at the idea of
being responsible for the slightest share of household management.
He merely exacted the most complete punctuality,
cookery, house-room and attendance for the ceaseless flow of
guests, the cost of which he furnished, to do him justice,
ungrudgingly. Whatever might need to be done next day
.bn 383.png
.pn +1
(if the whole family, indeed, had been ordered for execution,
as Horace Bower said), William Rockley would have dined
and conversed cheerfully over his wine, suggested a little
music (for the benefit of others), smoked his cigar in the
verandah, and mocked at the idea of any guest being incommoded
by the probably abrupt translation of the family, or
going away a moment before the regulation midnight hour.
Therefore, when Rockley told him that he hoped he was
not going to run away a moment before the usual time for
any nonsensical idea of being in the way because they were
starting for Port Phillip on the next day (what the deuce had
that got to do with it, he should like to know?), Wilfred
fully comprehended the bona fides of the request, and prepared
himself to make the most of a tête-à-tête with Miss C.
Rockley, if such should be on the cards.
So it came to pass that while Mr. Rockley and Wilfred
were lounging in the Cingalese arm-chairs, which still adorned
the verandah, Christabel betook herself to the piano,
whence she evoked a succession of dreamy nocturnes and
melancholy reveries which sighed through the hushed night
air as though they were the wailings of the Lares and Penates
mourning for their dispossession.
‘Bowerdale hasn’t turned up,’ said Rockley abruptly.
‘The Rebecca has never been heard of. She sailed the day
we left Melbourne. Queer things presentiments. You remember
his saying he felt hypped, don’t you?’
‘Yes, quite well. What an awful pity that he should have
persisted in going by her—after your warning, too!’
‘Didn’t like to lose his passage-money, poor fellow!’ continued
the sympathising Rockley. ‘I’d have settled that for
him quick enough, but he wasn’t the sort of man to let any
one pay for him. Leaves a wife and children too. Well,
we must see what can be done. Fortune of war might have
been our case if I hadn’t taken Jackson’s measure so closely.’
‘Happy to think you did,’ said Wilfred, with natural gratitude.
‘If you had not been so determined about the matter,
I should have risked the sea-voyage. I was tired of land-travelling.’
‘We should all have been with “Davy Jones” now. No
cigars, eh? This claret’s better than salt water? I suppose
we all have our work to do in this world; mine is not half
.bn 384.png
.pn +1
done yet; yours scarcely begun. By Jove! I forgot to leave
word at the office about my Sydney address—where to send all
the confounded packages, about a thousand of them. I’ll run
down and see that put straight. Don’t you go till I come back.
Tell Mrs. Rockley she must have a little supper ready for us.’
Rockley lighted a fresh cigar and plunged into the night,
while Wilfred lost no time in repairing to the piano, which he
managed to persuade the fair performer to quit for the
verandah, under the assumption that the room was warm, and
the night air balmy in comparison.
For a while they walked to and fro on the cool freestone
pavement, talking on indifferent subjects, while Wilfred gazed
steadfastly into the girl’s marvellous eyes, ever and anon
flashing under the soft moon-rays, as if he could read her
very soul. She was dressed that evening in a pale-hued
Indian muslin, which but partly veiled the exquisite graces of
her form. How well he remembered it in after-days! There
was a languor in her movements, a soft cadence in the tone
of her voice, a quicker sympathy in her replies to his low-toned
speech, which in some indefinable manner encouraged
him to hope. He drew the lounges together, and telling her
she needed rest, sat by her side.
‘You are really going away,’ he said; ‘no more last farewells,
and Heaven knows when we shall meet again. I feel
unutterably mournful at the idea of parting from your mother,
Mr. Rockley—and—yourself. My sisters were in the depths
of despair yesterday. I don’t think it affects you in the least.’
‘Why should you think I am hard hearted?’ asked the girl
as she raised herself slightly, and leaning her face on her
hand, curving the while her lovely rounded arm, looked up in
his face with the pleading look of a spoiled child. ‘Do you
suppose it is so pleasant to me to leave our home, where I have
lived all my life, and travel to a new place where we know
nobody—that is, hardly any one?’
‘How we all—how I,’ said Wilfred, ‘shall miss these
pleasant evenings! How many a one have I spent in your
father’s house since we first met! I can safely say that I
have never been so kindly treated under any roof in the
whole world. As to your father, my dear old governor has
always been too good, but I scarcely think he could do more
for me than Mr. Rockley has done.’
.bn 385.png
.pn +1
‘Papa is always kind, that is, to people whom he likes,’
said Christabel with an absent indifference, as if Mr. Rockley’s
philanthropy and irritability, his energy and his hospitality,
were qualities of much the same social value.
At that moment the moonbeam was darkened by a passing
cloud, and Wilfred drew nearer to the girl until he could
almost feel her breath upon his hair, and hear her heart
palpitate beneath the delicate fabric of her dress.
‘Christabel,’ he said, ‘ask your heart this night whether I
am right in hoping that you will not accompany your parents
to this rude settlement. Here you are known, honoured—yes,
loved! Why leave one who would cherish you while
life lasted?’
Christabel Rockley spoke not nor moved, but she cast her
eyes down, till in the clear light the long dark lashes could
be seen fringing her cheek. Her bosom heaved—she made
no sign.
‘Christabel,’ he murmured, ‘darling Christabel, I have
long loved you, fondly, passionately. One word will make
me the happiest of living men. Bow but your head in token
that you grant my prayer, and I will take it as a sign from
Heaven. Stay with my mother till she embraces you as a
loved daughter. Only say the word. Will you try to return,
in your own good time, my deep, my unalterable love?’
She raised her head and looked fixedly at him as he
stood there, the embodiment of love’s last appeal, in the
direct path of the moon’s rays. His face and form, instinct
with strong emotion, seemed glorified by the flood of light in
which it was encircled.
‘I can hardly tell,’ she said. ‘I have been trying to
think—asking myself if I can give you my heart, and this
pale face of mine, that you set so much value on—foolish
boy! I think I may, in a little while, if you will bear with
me, but I would rather not say, for good and all, just at this
moment. You will give me more time, won’t you? Ah!
what is that?’ she suddenly broke off, with almost a shriek,
as the roll of horse-hoofs smote clearly through the still night
air upon the senses, almost upon the overwrought hearts of
the listeners. ‘Who can it be? Surely it isn’t papa riding
back on the warehouse-keeper’s cob?’
Not so. The hoofs of no mortal cob ever rang upon turf
.bn 386.png
.pn +1
or roadway with the long, regular strokes of the steed of the
coming horseman.
‘A thoroughbred horse!’ said Wilfred. ‘Tired, too, by
his rolling stride. Whoever can it be at this time of night?’
Then he saw Christabel’s pale cheek faintly flush. How
lovely was the warmer tint as it stole from cheek to brow,
while her eye sparkled afresh like a lamp relumed. ‘Only
one person is likely to come here to-night to say good-bye to
us,’ she almost whispered. ‘I did not think he would take
the trouble. Oh, it can’t be——’
As she spoke, the clattering hoofs ceased abruptly at the
garden gate. A hasty step was heard on the gravel, and
Bob Clarke, pale as death and haggard with fatigue, stood
before them.
‘I swore I would say good-bye,’ he said. ‘So I am here,
you see. I have ridden a hundred miles to do it. Ha!
Effingham! Back from Port Phillip? Christabel Rockley,
answer me—am I too late?’
‘Oh, Bob!’ she cried, and as she spoke she rose and
stood by his side, taking one hand in both of hers. ‘You
are not too late. But you will have to forgive me, and you,
too, Wilfred Effingham, for being a silly girl that did not
know her own mind. It would have served you right, Master
Bob, and it will be a lesson to you not to put off important
business. If Desborough had gone lame—I suppose it is
he, poor fellow, that you have nearly ridden to death—you
would have lost Christabel Rockley for good and all, whatever
she may be worth. I was not sure, and papa was angry.
But I am now—I am now. Oh, Bob, my dear old Bob, I
will wait for you till I am a hundred if you don’t make a
fortune before!’
Bob Clarke looked doubtfully from one face to the other,
scrutinising Wilfred’s with a fierce, questioning glance. But
as their eyes met he saw that which quenched all jealous
fears.
‘My dear fellow,’ said Wilfred, coming forward and holding
out his hand, ‘you have had your usual luck and “won on
the post.” I congratulate you heartily, on my honour, as a
man and a gentleman. Christabel has freely told you that
but for your opportune arrival her hand might have been
disposed of differently. You won’t wonder that any man
.bn 387.png
.pn +1
should do his best to win her. But from my soul I can now
rejoice that it was not so; that I have been spared the discovery,
when too late, that her heart was yours—yours alone.
Look upon me now as your lifelong friend. Let us keep our
own counsel, and all will go well.’
‘Wilfred Effingham has spoken like himself,’ said
Christabel, whose features were now illuminated with the
pure light of love that knows neither doubt nor diffidence in
the presence of the beloved one. ‘You see, I should have
had some excuse, Bob, if I had thrown you over, you procrastinating
old stupid. Why did you leave me doubting and
wondering all this time? However, I shall have plenty of
time to scold you. Here comes papa at last.’
At this simple announcement the three faces changed as
the well-known step of Mr. Rockley was heard—firm, rapid,
aggressive. But the girl’s features, at first troubled, gradually
assumed a steadfast look. Bob Clarke raised his head, and
drew himself up as if scanning the line of country. Wilfred
Effingham’s countenance wore the abstracted look of one
raised by unselfish aims above ordinary considerations.
‘I thought I should never get away from that confounded
old idiot,’ Mr. Rockley commenced. ‘Why, Bob Clarke!
where have you sprung from? We heard you had gone to
Port Phillip, or Adelaide, or somewhere; very glad to see
you, wherever you came from. Better stay to-night; we can
give you a bed. Why the deuce didn’t you take your horse
round to the stable instead of letting the poor devil stand
tied up at the gate after the ride he seems to have had?
Christabel, perhaps you’ll tell them to bring in supper. I
feel both hungry and thirsty—giving directions, directions,
till I’m hoarse.’
Christabel glided away, whereupon Bob Clarke faced round
squarely and confronted his host.
‘Mr. Rockley, I came here to-night to tell you two things.
I apologise for being so late, but I only heard you were
leaving yesterday. I have ridden a hundred miles to-day.’
‘Just like you,’ said Rockley; ‘and why the deuce didn’t
you make them send you in supper all this time? You look
as if you hadn’t saved yourself any more than your horse.’
Truth to tell, Master Bob was rather pale, and his eyes
looked unnaturally bright as he bent them upon the speaker.
.bn 388.png
.pn +1
‘Plenty of time afterwards, sir,’ he said; ‘the business
was important. First of all, Mr. Hampden has given me
a partnership, and I am going to take up country in Port
Phillip under the firm of Hampden and Clarke. The cattle
are drafted and started—five hundred head of picked Herefords—Joe
Curle is with them, and young Warner. I’m going
by sea to be ready for them when they come over.’
‘I’m sincerely glad to hear it, my dear Bob,’ said Rockley
in his most cordial manner—one peculiar to him when he
had become aware of something to another man’s advantage.
‘Why, you had better come down with us this week in the
Mary Anne. I’ve chartered her, and she is crammed full,
but, of course, I can give any one a passage. I can’t tell
you how glad I am. Mrs. Rockley!’ he cried out as that
well-beloved matron appeared and held out her hand with a
smile of good omen to the not fully reassured Bob, ‘are we
never to have anything to eat to-night? Here’s Bob Clarke
has ridden a hundred and fifty miles, and dying of hunger
before your eyes; but, of course, of course’—here he changed
into a tragic tone of injury—‘if I’m not to be master in my
own house——’
Mrs. Rockley, with her placid countenance, only relieved
by a glance at Wilfred, swiftly withdrew, and Rockley, to
whom it had suddenly occurred as he looked at Wilfred
that complications might arise from his subjecting his
daughter to the perilous companionship of a sea-voyage
with so noted a detrimental as Bob Clarke, looked like a
hound that had outrun the scent, desirous of trying back,
but not quite certain of his line.
‘Well, Bob, I am sure you will do well in Port Phillip;
you have had lots of experience, and no man can work
harder when he likes, I will say that for you; but it’s a fast
place, a very fast place, I tell you, sir; and if you give
yourself up to that confounded racing and steeplechasing, I
know what will come of it.’
‘Mr. Rockley,’ said Bob again, with the air of a man
who steadies his horse at a rasper, ‘I came to ask you for
your daughter. I know I’ve not done much so far, but she
likes me, and I feel I shall be successful in life or go to the
devil—according to your answer this night.’
Mr. Rockley looked first at one and then at the other
.bn 389.png
.pn +1
of his young friends in much astonishment. This surprise
was so great that for once he was unable to give vent to his
ideas.
Before he could gather self-possession, Wilfred Effingham
spoke. ‘My dear Rockley, from circumstances which have
come to my knowledge, but which I am in honour bound not
to reveal, I can assure you that your daughter’s happiness
is deeply concerned in my friend Clarke’s proposal. As a
friend of the family—who takes the deepest interest in her
future welfare—let me beg of you to give the matter your
most favourable consideration.’
Mr. Rockley’s face passed through the phases of wild
astonishment and strong disapproval before he replied. It
had then relaxed into one of humorous enlightenment.
‘I see how it is. That monkey, Christabel, has enlisted
you on her side. Well, I tell you both that I should have
preferred Wilfred Effingham as my son-in-law. I am not
going to hide my opinion on that or any other subject. But
as she has made her choice, I will not—I say I will not—make
her life miserable. Not that I have any objection to
you, Bob, my boy, except on the score of that confounded
horse-racing. It’s very well in its way. No man enjoys a
race more than I do; but it’s not the thing for a young
fellow who has his way to make in the world.’
‘I’ll never own another race-horse,’ quoth Bob, with
desperate self-renunciation, ‘as long as I live, if——’
‘Oh yes, you will,’ said Mr. Rockley, with superior forecast;
‘but what I want you to do is to promise not to go
head and shoulders into it for the next few years, when
you’ll have all your work cut out for you, if you want to be
a man and make a home for your wife and family. Well,
it’s done now, and here’s my hand, my boy; you’ve got a
good little girl, if she is a pretty one. But take my advice,
don’t give her too much of her own way at the beginning.
Show that you intend to be master from the start, put her
down if she shows temper; when she gives in, you can be
as kind to her as you like afterwards. Better that than for
her to have the whip-hand. Women don’t understand
moderation. That was always my way, wasn’t it, Bessie?’
he inquired, appealing to Mrs. Rockley, who having entered
the room had come in for this piece of practical advice,
.bn 390.png
.pn +1
delivered in a loud tone of voice. ‘I’ve been giving your
future son-in-law—there he is; I know he is a favourite of
yours; you needn’t say he isn’t—a useful piece of advice,
which I hope he’ll have the sense to act up to. Supper
ready in the next room? I fancy we’re all in want of a
little refreshment; what do you think, Bob?’
That gentleman had private ideas upon the subject, but
did not disclose them further than by looking over at Mrs.
Rockley, and giving practical effect to the suggestion.
The partie carré enjoyed a cheerful but not very conversational
repast. Wilfred and Bob Clarke felt more disposed
to drink than to eat. Neither had much to say, so Rockley
had it all his own way with Port Phillip speculations, advice
to Bob Clarke of where to go for first-class cattle country,
and how to manage economically for the first few years.
Mrs. Rockley was tired, but found a few reassuring words
for the anxious Bob, explaining that Christabel had a
headache, but would be sure to be quite well in the morning.
She also indicated her sympathy with Wilfred, and her
approval of his generosity in backing up his rival’s claim.
This, she assured him, she nor Christabel would ever forget.
Finally, Mr. Rockley looked at his watch in the midst of
a suggestion to buy more cattle on Hampden’s account and
take up two or three runs, inasmuch as it was all one trouble
and not much more expense; when, discovering that it was
past midnight, he broke up the parliament. Wilfred made his
final adieus, and at daylight was fast leaving the town behind
him, on his way to The Chase, accompanied by divers
‘companions of Sintram,’ in the guise of vain regret and
dull despair, with also (though not unalloyed) a curious sense
of relief.
Taking the most philosophical view of the subject, the
after-taste of refusal by a woman is rarely exceeded in this
life for corroding bitterness. The non-preference of oneself,
to the average suitor, fills the individual, unless he be free
from every tinge of vanity, with wrath and disgust. In vain
the proverbial salve is applied by superficial comforters. The
foiled fisherman will not be consoled. He will throw away
his flies and burn his rod. Henceforth he and angling have
parted for ever. Such in effect for a while is the lament of
most men who have the evil hap to pin so much of their
.bn 391.png
.pn +1
present and prospective happiness upon one cast—and lose
it. The proud man suffers deeply, in secret. The selfish
man mourns for the loss of personal gain. The true and
manly lover is shaken to the centre of his being. The vain
man is wroth exceedingly with childish anger; furious that
any woman should disdain him—him! The susceptible,
fickle suitor, who promptly bears his incense to another
shrine, is to be envied, if not commended. But
.pm start_poem
To each his sufferings, all are men,
Condemned alike to groan.
.pm end_poem
Who loves vainly is stricken with a poisoned arrow. The
wound rankles in the flesh of every son of Adam, oft producing
anguish, even unto death, long after the apparent
hurt is healed.
Wilfred Effingham was not more than ordinarily vain.
He had not been, in so many words, rejected. Indeed, he
had been nearly accepted. But he could not disguise from
himself that it amounted to much the same thing. Yet he
reflected that he had cause to be thankful that the girl had
not been permitted to complete the measure of her self-deception—to
promise her hand where she could not truly
have given her heart. Better far, a thousand times, that
this should have happened beforehand, he thought, ‘than
that I should have seen after marriage the look that came
into her eyes when they rested on Bob Clarke.’
He did not admit that permanent injury to his health
would result from this defeat. It was not a crushing disaster,
from which he could never rally. Rather was it a sharp
repulse, useful in teaching caution. Brave men, great men,
had profited by blows like this ere now. He would retire
within his entrenchments—would perhaps be the better
fitted to take the field in a future campaign.
A necessity lay upon him of acquainting his family with a
portion, at any rate, of such momentous events. He did
not go too deeply into his feelings for Christabel Rockley,
yet permitted his mother and sisters to perceive that all
probability of her appearing at The Chase as Mrs. Effingham,
junior, was swept away by arrangement with Bob Clarke—duly
ratified by the irrevocable if reluctant consent of Mr.
Rockley.
.bn 392.png
.pn +1
His condition of mind was, doubtless, closely gauged by
his relatives. With instinctive delicacy they ministered
indirectly to his hurt spirit. While not displeased that the
lovely Christabel had not appropriated the beloved, their
Wilfred, they never permitted him to perceive how widely
their estimate differed from his own. They counselled steady
occupation, and led him to take pleasure once more in
intellectual pursuits.
A diversion, happily, was effected in due time. He
commenced to discover that his mental appetite had returned—that
he could read once more and even laugh occasionally
at the conceits of authors, much indeed as if his heart had
not been broken. Then letters with good news from
Beatrice and her father arrived. The voyage had been safe
and speedy. On their arrival they had found the Colonel—such
was his present rank—better than their fears had led
them to expect. Ghastly and numerous, in all truth, were
his still unhealed wounds; his state of weakness pitiable to
see. But the fever from which he had suffered had left him.
And when the eyes of the sick soldier met those of Beatrice
Effingham, beaming upon him with a world of love and
tenderness, all felt that a stage on the way to recovery had
been reached. Such, too, came to be the opinion of the
doctor and nurse, a portion of whose duties the two ladies
had assumed.
Then letters came from the new country, via Port
Phillip:—‘The climate was more moist than that of New
South Wales, but the water never failed, and the grass was
beyond all description. Immigrants from all the world
were pouring in fast; the place bade fair to be another
Britain. Money was being made rapidly. Stock were any
price you chose to ask. A cattle trade was springing up
with Tasmania. Argyll thought he would go home for a
couple of years, leaving Hamilton in charge. Fred Churbett
was in great form, fully convinced that he was intended
for a dweller in the waste places of the earth. He felt so
happy and contented that he didn’t think he would take a
free passage to England, with a season box at the Royal
Opera, if it were offered to him.’
As for Guy, all written symbols were inadequate to
express the length, breadth, and depth of his happiness under
.bn 393.png
.pn +1
the new and romantic conditions. The cattle were doing
splendidly—no one would know them. And no wonder—the
feed was unparalleled. He had got up two good slab huts,
a stock-yard, and a calf-pen. They were now splitting rails for
a horse paddock.
The Port Phillip news (from Guy) became presently more
sensational. The Benmohr people, with Ardmillan, Churbett,
and the rest, had arranged to leave their stations for a while,
and come to Yass for Christmas. A better time to get
away might never come. There was no chance of bush-fires.
The blacks were quiet. The cattle were thoroughly
broken in; you couldn’t drive them off the runs if you tried.
There was nothing to do this year but brand calves. So
they would turn up before Christmas Day.
He didn’t think he would have been able to get away, but
Jack Donnelly had offered to look after the run in his
absence, and with old Tom there, no harm could come to
the cattle. A couple of months would see them back, and
he really thought they deserved a holiday.
Such intelligence had power to renovate the morale of the
whole household, from Mrs. Effingham—who, in good sooth,
had with difficulty kept up a reasonably cheerful appearance,
in default of her absent husband and daughter—down to
Mrs. Evans, expectant of the errant Dick.
Jeanie and Andrew were overjoyed at the tidings, and
Duncan was at once despatched to Benmohr to acquaint
Mrs. Teviot and Wullie with the glorious news, in case they
had not as yet received a letter. But they had; and Mrs.
Teviot threatened Duncan with the broom for daring to think
‘her gentlemen wadna acquent her the vara meenute they
kenned they could win hame to Benmohr.’
Comes then a letter from Sternworth. News had been
received from O’Desmond, who had discovered a splendid
tract of country beyond the lower Oxley marshes, hitherto
considered impassable, and after remaining upon it during
the winter and spring, was coming back to Badajos. He too
hoped to arrive before Christmas. The long-vacant homes
of the district would be again filled up, thank God!
‘Won’t it be delightful to see dear Guy again,’ said
Annabel, ‘and to have the old house full once more, with
friends and neighbours. I must kiss one of them. Mr.
.bn 394.png
.pn +1
Churbett, I think. You would not object to that, mamma,
would you?’
‘He would not,’ said Wilfred. ‘I don’t wonder that you
and Rosamond are delighted at the chance of seeing their
faces again. It seems hard that fate should have decided to
separate us. Either they should have remained here, or we
should have pulled up stakes, like Rockley, and migrated
there.’
‘There is another friend coming that I shall be charmed
to welcome—whom, like Annabel, I shall be ready to embrace,
and indeed shall kiss on the spot.’
‘Is my last belief in womanhood to be uprooted?’ exclaimed
Wilfred languidly. ‘Is my immaculate sister Rosamond
actually going to join the “fast” division?’
‘You need not be alarmed,’ she replied. ‘It is only
Vera Fane; and I did not speak of her visit before, because I
was not sure she would be able to come.’
‘Vera Fane!’ said Wilfred. ‘How does she happen to
come our way? I thought she was in Sydney. Didn’t
some one say she was going to be married?’
‘Oh, to that handsome cousin, Reginald, that came from
England, via Melbourne, the other day. You heard that, did
you? So did we, and were agonised at the thought of losing
her for good. But she is coming up here at mamma’s
invitation, given long ago, to stay with us over January.
Her father won’t be at Black Mountain till then; he can’t
leave Norman, who has had a bad time with scarlet fever.’
‘Well, you will have another lady in the house to fill
Beatrice’s place, and help to amuse your guests. She is
quite equal to a pair of ordinary young ladies in the matter
of rational conversation, perhaps more.’
‘So Mr. Argyll thinks, evidently,’ said Annabel; ‘he paid
her the greatest attention once he met her over here. I
know she thinks him very clever and distinguished-looking.
They would suit one another famously.’
‘I don’t think so at all,’ said Wilfred shortly. ‘But I
must get away to my work.’
.bn 395.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVI | THE RETURN FROM PALESTINE
.sp 2
Matters had been pleasant enough in the early days at Lake
William, and the Benmohr men considered that nothing could
be more perfect than their old life there. But this new region
was so much more extensive, with a half-unknown grandeur,
rendering existence more picturesque and exciting in every
way. There were possibilities of fortunes being made, of
cities being built, of a great Dominion in the future—vast
though formless visions, which dwarfed the restricted aims of
the elder colony. Such aspirations tended to dissuade them
from residing permanently in their former homesteads.
But they were coming back for a last visit—a long farewell.
There were friends to see, adventures to relate, transactions
to arrange. A pleasant change from their wild-wood life, an
intoxicating novelty; but once experienced, they must depart
to return no more.
The absentees did not await Christmas proper, but arrived
beforehand, having tempted the main in the yacht Favourite,
sailing master Commodore Kirsopp, R.N., from Melbourne.
Such passengers as Ned White, Jack Fletcher, Tom Carne,
and Alick Gambier offered such an irresistible combination.
Once more the homesteads around Lake William appeared
to awaken and put on their former hospitable expression.
Mrs. Teviot had scrubbed and burnished away at Benmohr,
until when ‘her gentlemen’ arrived, welcomed with tears of
joy, they declared themselves afraid to take possession of
their own house, so magnificently furnished and spotlessly
clean did it appear to them after their backwoods experience.
Mr. Churbett stood gazing at his books in speechless
.bn 396.png
.pn +1
admiration (he averred) for half an hour; afterwards inspecting
his stable and Grey Surrey’s loose-box with feelings of
wonder and appreciation. Neil Barrington declared that he
was again a schoolboy at home for the holidays, not a day
older than fourteen, and thereupon indulged himself in so
many pranks and privileges proper to his assumed age that
Mrs. Teviot scolded him for a graceless laddie, and threatened
to box his ears, particularly when he kissed her assistant, an
apple-cheeked damsel lured from one of the neighbouring
farms in order to help in her work at this tremendous
crisis.
Guy Effingham was hardly recognisable, so his sisters
declared, in the stalwart youngster who galloped up to The
Chase in company with Gerald O’More, whom he had invited
to spend Christmas in his father’s house. There was the old
mischievous, merry expression of the eyes, the frank smile for
those he loved; but all save his forehead was burned several
shades darker, and a thick-coming growth of whisker and
moustache had changed the boyish lineaments and placed in
their stead the sterner regard of manhood.
Gerald O’More had also sustained a change. His manner
was more subdued, and his spirits, though ready as of old to
respond to the call of mirth, did not seem to be so irrepressible.
He had altered somewhat in figure and face, having
lost the fulness which marks the newly-arrived colonist, and
along with the British fairness of complexion, sacrificed to
the Australian sun, had put away the half-inquiring, half-critical
tone of manner that characterises the immigrant
Briton for his first year in Australia. He now ranked as the
soldier who had shared in the toil, the bivouac, the marches
of the campaign; no longer a recruit or supernumerary.
‘He has never been so jolly since poor Hubert’s death,’
whispered Guy to Rosamond in their first confidential talk.
‘He thought it was his fault that the poor chap wasn’t able
to defend himself. But he’ll get over it in time. A better-hearted
fellow couldn’t be. He’s a stunning bushman now,
and a tiger to work.’
‘What’s “a tiger to work”?’ asked Rosamond, laughing.
‘I must make you pay a forfeit for inelegant expressions, as
I used to do in old school-days.’
‘I should never have known half as much,’ said the boy,
.bn 397.png
.pn +1
as he turned to his sister with a look of deepest love and
admiring respect, ‘if it hadn’t been for you, Rosamond.
How early you used to get up on those winter mornings,
and how Blanche and I and Selden hated the sound of that
bell! But there’s nothing like it,’ he added with a tone of
manly decision. ‘I polished off a fellow about the date of
the battle of Crecy in great style the other day. You would
have been quite proud of me.’
‘You keep up your reading, then, dear Guy, and don’t
forget your classics, though you are in the bush? When
you go to England, some day, you must show our friends that
we do more than gallop after cattle and chop down trees in
Australia.’
‘Oh, we have great reading at night, I can tell you; only
those tallow candles are such a nuisance. I’ve got a new
friend, a Cambridge fellow, just out from home, on the other
side of me, and he’s a regular encyclopædia. So, between
him and the Benmohr people, I shan’t rust much.’
‘I am delighted to hear it. I hope you will have an
Oxford man on your other side, as you call it. A literary
atmosphere is everything for young people. Who is your
other neighbour?’
‘Jack Donnelly, and not half a bad fellow either. Though
his father can’t read or write, he knows Latin, but not
Greek, and he’s awfully fond of reading. You should hear
the arguments he and Cavendish have—the Cambridge man,
I mean.’
‘What do they argue about?’
‘Oh, everything—England and Ireland, Conservative and
Democratic government, native Australians and Britishers.
They’re always at it. Jack’s a clever fellow, and very quick;
awfully good-looking too. You should see him ride. Cavendish
says he’ll make his mark some day—he’s full of
ambition.’
‘It is very creditable of him to try. If his father had not
cared for his children in that way, he might never have risen
above his own grade. Young gentlemen, too, should maintain
the position which they have inherited. Don’t lose sight of
that.’
‘That’s what Hamilton’s always saying; he’s a wonderful
fellow himself. See him in town, you’d think he never had
.bn 398.png
.pn +1
his hands out of kid gloves, and yet he can keep time with
the best working man we have, at any rough work.’
‘You cannot have a better model, my dear Guy. Mamma
and I are so thankful that you are among men who would do
honour to any country.’
Great was the joy expressed and many were the congratulations
which passed on both sides when the explorers returned.
They had so much to tell about the new home, so much to
admire in the old one. It was a suburb of Paradise in their
eyes, with its cultured aspect and gracious inhabitants, after
the untamed wilderness.
They were never tired of praising their former homes and
neighbours. If, by some Arabian Nights arrangement, they
could transport them bodily to the new colony, complete
happiness, for once in this imperfect world, would be
attained.
The Benmohrs found their apartments in apparently the
same state of faultless order in which they had quitted them.
No smallest article had been moved or changed. A velveteen
shooting-jacket, which Argyll remembered hanging up just as
he started, was the very object which greeted his eyes when
he awakened after the first night in his own bed.
The worst of it was that the breaking up of all this comfort
and domesticity would be so painful. The climate had
changed permanently (people always jump to this conclusion
in Australia directly they begin to forget the last drought),
and was simply Elysian. The lake was full; once more they
listened to the music of its tiny surges. But for choice, the
new country was about ten times more valuable. The
pleasant old station homesteads must go. However, they
were here now for a spell of pure enjoyment, not to bother
their heads with the future.
Money was plentiful, the gods be praised! Everything
was couleur de rose; they would revel in ease and enjoyment
with a free spirit until Christmas was over. The cares of
this world might then have their innings, but by no means
till the New Year chimes called them to new duties. There
was nothing now but such pleasant rides and drives; lingering
rambles, after the heat of the day; expeditions into Yass,
where they were fêted as if they had included the South Pole
in their discoveries. Mr. Sternworth alluded to their return
.bn 399.png
.pn +1
in his sermon, drawing tears from his congregation when he
spoke of the strong, brave man they would never see more,
whom many there present had known from childhood. But
he had died as a Warleigh should die, doing his duty
gallantly, and giving his life to save that of a comrade.
Before the third week of December had passed, another
sensational arrival was chronicled. O’Desmond drove
through the town on his way to Badajos in his four-in-hand,
looking as if he had encountered no discomforts to speak of.
His horses were in high condition; the bits and brasses were
faultlessly polished; the drag hardly looked as if it had been
a thousand miles from a coach-builder, much less covered up
with boughs during the deadly summer of the waste.
But observers noted that Harry O’Desmond, upright and
well set up as ever, was thinner and older-looking; that,
although he received their greetings with his old stately cordiality,
there was an expression upon his worn and darkened
countenance rarely imprinted save by dread wayfaring through
the Valley of the Shadow——
So had it been with him, in truth. Passing the farthest
known explorations, his party came into a waste and torrid
region, indescribably dread and hopeless. There, apparently,
no rain had fallen for years. The largest trees had perished
from desiccation of the soil; even the wild animals had died
or migrated. The few they encountered were too weak to
flee or resist. For weeks they had undergone fearful privations;
had tasted the tortures of thirst and hunger, well-nigh
unto death.
With men weakened and disheartened, O’Desmond knew
that to linger was death. With a picked party of his long-tried
followers he pushed on, leaving just sufficient to support
life with the depôt. On the very last day which exhausted
nature could have granted them they passed the barriers of
the Land of Despair. They saw before them—such are the
wondrous contrasts of the Australian waste—a land of water-pools
and pastures, of food and fruit.
But simultaneously with their glimpse of the haven of
relief came the view of a numerous, athletic party of blacks,
clustered near the river-bank. For war or hunting, this
section of the tribe had surely been detailed. There were no
women or children visible—a bad sign, as the sinking hearts
.bn 400.png
.pn +1
of the emaciated wayfarers well knew. They were brave
enough under ordinary circumstances of fight or famine.
But this bore too hardly upon human nature, coming, as it
did, after the toils and privations of the terrible desert.
But there was one heart among the fainting crew which
neither hunger, thirst, nor the shadow of coming death had
power to daunt. Aware that with savages a bold yet friendly
bearing is the acme of diplomacy, O’Desmond decided upon
his course.
The chief stood before his leading braves, doubtful if not
hostile.
Suddenly recollecting that among his private stores, faithfully
distributed, upon which alone they had been subsisting
of late, was a package of loaf sugar, the idea flashed across
his mind of tempting the palate of the savage.
Raising a handful of lumps of the rare and precious commodity,
he advanced cheerfully and presented them to the
leader, who regarded them distrustfully. His retinue stared
with pitiless eyes at the wasted white weaklings. It was the
supreme moment. Life and death swayed in the scales.
Harry O’Desmond so recognised it, under his forced smile,
as he lifted one of the smaller fragments to his lips, and with
great appearance of relish began to masticate. Slowly and
heedfully did the chief likewise. The charm worked. The
flavour of the far-borne product, for which so many of the
men of his colour had died in slavery, subjugated the
heathen’s palate. He smiled, and motioned the others to
advance. O’Desmond followed up his advantage. Every
remaining grain was distributed. In a few minutes each
warrior was licking his lips appreciatively. A treaty of
alliance, offensive and defensive, was as good as signed.
That day the starving wanderers feasted on fish and flesh,
brought in profusion by their new comrades. They had
never seen a white man before, and were, like many of the
first-met tribes, not indisposed to be peaceful.
When shown the encampment, the clothes, the equipment,
the strange beasts, they pointed to the sky, snapping their
fingers in wonder as they marked the leader’s height and
stalwart frame, but made no attempt to raid the treasures of
the white ‘medicine man.’
So the expedition was made free of a waste kingdom,
.bn 401.png
.pn +1
bisected by the deep-flowing stream of the Moora-warra, with
its plains and forests, its lagoons and reed-brakes. And for
long years after, until O’Desmond sold out the full-stocked
runs for the high prices of the day, never was shot fired
or spear lifted in anger between the dwellers on the Big
River.
Wilfred had called at Badajos to congratulate their old
friend. Upon his return he found that the household had
received an important addition. Dr. Fane had ridden over
with his daughter from Yass, and was with difficulty persuaded
to rest for a few days at The Chase before returning
to Black Mountain. Like most people who lead uneventful
lives, he was in a hurry to get home, though compelled to
admit that he had nothing particular to do when he got
there.
The Parson had stolen a day, he said, and driven over
with them, proud of the honour, he further stated, of taking
charge of Miss Fane’s impedimenta, which, though the most
reasonable of damsels in that respect, could not be carried
upon Emigrant. That accomplished palfrey she had brought
over chiefly for the pleasure of having him to ride while at
The Chase. Besides, his presence saved her a world of
anxiety, as when they were separated she was always imagining
that he had got out of his paddock, been stolen, or fallen
lame, such accidents being proper to valuable horses in
Australia.
So when Wilfred arrived he found every one in most
cheerful and animated vein. Argyll was describing the
features of the new country to Dr. Fane, who was deeply
interested in its geological aspect; his daughter, apparently,
had found the narrative, interspersed as it was with ‘moving
incidents by flood and field,’ equally entertaining.
Mr. Sternworth, with Rosamond beside him, was questioning
Hamilton about the spiritual welfare of the infant settlement
of Melbourne; promising, moreover, a handsome subscription
to St. James’s, the new Church of England, at
that time in course of erection. Gerald O’More, with Fred
Churbett and Neil Barrington, was having an animated, not
to say noisy, conversation with Annabel. Peals of laughter,
of which a large proportion was contributed by the young
lady, were the first sounds that met his ear upon entering
.bn 402.png
.pn +1
the room. All seemed so capable of mutual entertainment,
without his aid, countenance, or company, that he was
sensible of a soupçon of pique as he surveyed the festive
scene.
However, he cordially welcomed Miss Fane and her
father to The Chase, mentally remarking that he had never
seen that young lady look so well before, or had thought
her half so handsome. Her response did much to clear
his brow and banish from his heart all unworthy feelings.
The steadfast gaze was frank and kindly as of yore. She
appeared unaffectedly pleased to see him again.
‘You know you belong to the band of heroes whom we
have felt so proud to honour upon their return,’ she said.
‘Papa has a famous classical parallel, I know, for your
exploits and safe arrival at Lake William. He did explain
it to me, but I have forgotten. Mr. Sternworth, what is it?’
‘Never mind, Vera,’ replied the old gentleman, ‘I never
talk Latin in the presence of young ladies. I can always
find something more amusing to say. You must sing us
those new songs you brought from Sydney. That would be
more appropriate, wouldn’t it, Mrs. Effingham?’
‘I don’t know much Latin, you unkind old godfather, but
what I do know I am not in the least ashamed of.’
‘Argyll’s making the pace pretty good, isn’t he, Fred,’
remarked Neil Barrington, ‘with that nice Miss Fane? She’s
the only “model girl” I ever took to. I’m her humble
slave and adorer. But I never expected to have the great
MacCallum More for my rival. Did you ever see him hard
hit before, Fred?’
‘Never, on the word of a gentleman-pioneer,’ rejoined Mr.
Churbett. ‘It’s this exploration, new country, perils-of-the-wilderness
business that has done it. “None but the brave
deserve the fair.” We are the brave, sir, in this fortunate
instance. We have solved the mystery of the unconquered
Bogongs. We have gazed at the ocean outlets of the Great
Lakes. We have proved ourselves to be the manner of
men that found empires. Under the circumstances heroes
always hastened to contract matrimonial alliances. Cortez
did it. Dunois did it. William of Argyll is perilously near
the Great Hazard. And I, Frederick de Churbett, am
hugely minded to do likewise, if that confounded Irishman
.bn 403.png
.pn +1
would only leave off his nonsense and let a fellow get a word
in edgeways.’
Mr. Churbett had reason for complaint, inasmuch as
Gerald O’More, when his national gallantry was kindled to
action, appeared determined to permit ‘no rival near the
throne,’ as he successively devoted himself to Annabel, Rosamond,
and Miss Fane, or indeed occasionally kept all
engaged in conversation and entertainment at the self-same
time. It became difficult to discover, for a while, so rapid
as well as brilliant were his evolutions, whom he intended to
honour with his exclusive admiration. At length, however,
those who were in the position of calm spectators had no
doubt but that Annabel, with whom he kept up a ceaseless
flow of badinage and raillery, was the real attraction. If so,
he was likely to find a rival in the sarcastic Ardmillan, with
whom he had more than once bade fair to pass from jest to
earnest. For the cooler Scot was in the habit of waiting
until he saw his antagonist upon the horns of a dilemma, or
luring him on to the confines of a manifest absurdity. This
he would explode, blowing his rival’s argument into the air,
and graciously explaining his triumph to the surrounding fair.
Such was the satisfaction which filled the heart of Mrs.
Effingham, that but for the absence of her husband and
daughter she would certainly have gone the daring length
of giving a party. But the absence of her husband was, to
the conscience of the matron, an insuperable objection. No
amount of specious argument or passionate appeal could
alter her determination.
‘My dears, it would be wrong,’ she quietly replied, in
answer to Annabel’s entreaty and Rosamond’s sober statement
that there could not be any objection on the point of etiquette.
‘Suppose anything should happen to your father or Beatrice
about the time—travelling is so very uncertain—we should
never have another happy moment.’
So the project, much to Annabel’s openly expressed and
Rosamond’s inwardly felt disappointment, was given up.
However, Mrs. Effingham relented so far as to say that,
although her principles forbade her to give a party, there
could be nothing indecorous in asking their friends to dine
with them on Christmas Day, when the time for dear Guy’s
departure for the station would, alas! be drawing nigh.
.bn 404.png
.pn +1
This was a grand concession, and all kinds of preparations
were made for the celebration of the festival. In the meanwhile,
as there was next to nothing doing on any of the
stations, what between riding-parties, chance visits, special
arrivals for the purpose of bringing over new books or new
music, it seemed as if The Chase had been changed into the
caravanserai of the district. It would have been difficult to
tell whether the neighbours lived more of their time with the
Effinghams or at their own stations.
During this exciting season Wilfred Effingham was commencing
to experience the elaborated torture of seeing the
woman he now discovered to be his chief exemplar made
love to by another man, apparently with prospects of success.
When he set himself to work seriously to please, William
Argyll was rarely known to fail. The restless spirit was
stilled. The uncontrollable temper was lulled, like the wave
of a summer sea. All the powers of a rare intellect, the
stores of a cultivated mind, were displayed. Brave, athletic,
of a striking personal appearance, if not regularly handsome,
he was a man to whom few women could refuse interest,
whom none could scorn. Besides all this, he was the heir
to a fine estate in his native land.
When, therefore, day by day, he devoted himself in
almost exclusive attendance to the appropriation of Miss
Fane, keeping close to her bridle-rein in all excursions,
monopolising her in the evenings, and holding æsthetic talks,
in which she apparently took equal interest, the general conclusion
arrived at was that Miss Fane was only awaiting a
decorous interval to capitulate in due form.
Yet Wilfred was constrained to confess that however
much he may have deserved such punishment, there was no
change in her manner towards him. When he touched upon
any of their old subjects of debate, he found she had not
forgotten the points on which they had agreed or differed,
and was ready, as of old, to maintain her opinions.
She seemed pleased to linger over reminiscences of those
days and the confidences then made.
‘Nobody would know Black Mountain now,’ she said.
‘Since we have grown rich, comparatively speaking, from
“the providential rise in the price of store cattle” (as one
auctioneer called it), papa has indulged me by making all
.bn 405.png
.pn +1
kinds of additions, and I suppose we must say improvements—new
fences, new furniture, new stables, plants in the
garden, books in the library. Money is the latter-day
magician certainly.’
‘And you are proportionately happier, of course,’ said
Wilfred.
‘Frankly,’ said Miss Fane, ‘I am, just at present. I feel like
one of Napoleon’s generals, who were ennobled and enriched
after having risen from the ranks. No doubt they enjoyed
their new dignities immensely. If they didn’t, their wives
did. I won’t say we were roturiers, but we were very, very
poor. And it is so nice now to think we can dress as well
as other people, and have the ordinary small luxuries of
our position, without troubling about the everlasting ways
and means.’
‘We are much alike in our experiences,’ answered Wilfred.
‘We should soon have been absolutely ruined—the ways and
means would have simply been obliterated.’
‘I suppose so; but I never could believe in the poverty
of any of you Lake William people. You seemed to have
everything you could possibly want. The best part of our
present good fortune is, that the boys are at a good school,
while papa can buy as many new books as he can coax me,
in mercy to his eyesight, to let him read. So I can say that
we are quite happy.’
‘I wonder you don’t think of going to Europe. Dr. Fane
could easily sell at a high price now; and then, fancy “the
kingdoms of the earth and the glory of them.”’
‘You are quoting the Tempter, which is not quite respectful
to me—for once; but there is a reason why papa cannot
bear the thought of leaving our dear, lonely old home. My
poor mother was buried there, and his heart with her. For
me, I have from childhood imbibed his feelings for the place
of her grave.’
Rosamond here approached, and carried off her friend
upon some mission of feminine importance. Wilfred, feeling
that the conversation had taken a direction of melancholy
which he could not fathom or adequately respond to, rejoined
his other guests. But he could not help dwelling upon the
fact that his conversations with Miss Fane seemed so utterly
different from those with any other woman. Before the first
.bn 406.png
.pn +1
sentences were well exchanged, one or other apparently struck
the keynote, which awakened sympathetic chords, again vibrating
amid harmonious echoes and semi-tones.
To complete the universal jubilation, Mr. O’Desmond, in
acknowledgment of the interest which the inhabitants of the
district had shown in his safe return, announced his intention
of giving an entertainment at Badajos on New Year’s Day,
at which amusements would be provided for his humbler
neighbours as well as for the gentry of the district. He had
ridden over to The Chase, and entreated Mrs. Effingham’s
advice as to decorations and dispositions. It was to be a
very grand affair. No one who knew O’Desmond doubted
but that, having undertaken such a project, he would carry
it out with elaborate completeness. So that, among the young
people and general population of the district, the Badajos
Revels were looked forward to with intense expectation.
‘What will the general plan of arrangement be?’ said
Fred Churbett to Hamilton. ‘Something in the Elizabethan
style, with giants, salvage-men, and dwarfs, speeches and
poetical addresses to the Queen of the land, whoever she
may be? Anyhow, he is going to spend a lot of money
about it. I hear the preparations are tremendous.’
‘In that case it will form a telling relief to the general
lack of variety in these affairs,’ said Hamilton. ‘Every one
has made such a heap of money now, that it hardly matters
what is spent, in reason. We shall have to turn to hard
work again in January. I wonder whether the old boy
has fallen in love, like everybody else, and is going to
make his proposals with what he considers to be “befitting
accessories.”’
‘Shouldn’t wonder at all,’ said Fred. ‘It appears to me
that we are beginning to enter upon a phase of existence
worthy of Boccaccio, without the plague—and the—perhaps
unreserved narratives. It certainly is the realm of Faerye at
present. The turning out into the world of fact will come
rather hard upon some of us.’
.tb
So matters passed on, materially unchanged, until the
actual arrival of Christmas Day, on which sacred commemoration
Mr. Sternworth, who had been temporarily relieved by
the Dean of Goulburn, stayed with them at The Chase for
.bn 407.png
.pn +1
a week, and performed services to a reasonable-sized congregation
in the dining-room, which was completely filled by
the family, with friends and humble neighbours. On the
evening before, too, which invested the service with additional
feelings of hope and thankfulness, most satisfactory letters had
been received from India. Mr. Effingham told how—
‘The Colonel was recovering rapidly. His medical
attendant advised a visit of at least two years to Europe.
As the cold weather season had set in, he might take his
passage. Beatrice and he were to be married before he left.
He (Mr. Effingham) would sail for Australia directly the
ceremony was over. Indeed, he was tired of India, and now
that the Colonel, poor fellow, was recovering, would have
been bored to death had it not been for his menagerie.
Then followed a list of profitable and unprofitable beasts,
birds, and even fishes, which, if he could transport successfully
to The Chase, would make him a happy man for the
rest of his life. People might say he was amusing himself,
but the profits of some of his ventures would in days to come
be enormous. For instance, take the Cashmere goats, of
which he had succeeded in getting a small flock. The fine
hair or “pushta,” combed from near the skin, in contrast to
the coarse outer fleece, was worth a guinea a pound. A
shawl manufactured from it sold for a fabulous sum. These
animals would thrive (he felt certain) in Australia; and then
what would be the consequence? Why, the merino industry
would be dwarfed by it—positively dwarfed!’
The family of this sanguine gentleman did not go the
whole length of his conclusions, having found that some
unexpected factor commonly interfered with the arithmetical
working out of his projects. But they were delighted to
think they should shortly see his face again. And Beatrice
was to receive the reward of her unchanged love and devotion!
She would have, dear girl, a lifelong claim to care for the
health and happiness of him whom she had, as the Surgeon-General
averred, ‘raised up from the dead.’
Files of Indian papers showed that on every side honours
and decorations had been heaped upon the gallant and now
fortunate soldier. Here was one of the mildest extracts—
‘Colonel Glendinning, V.C., has been made a Companion
of the Bath. He will probably be knighted. But will the
.bn 408.png
.pn +1
country tolerate this tardy and barren honour? Of his
stamp are the men who have more than once saved India.
If the present Government, instead of making promotions at
the bidding of parliamentary interest, would appoint a proved
leader as Commander-in-Chief, Hindostan might be tranquil
once more and Russia overawed.’
.bn 409.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVII | THE DUEL IN THE SNOW
.sp 2
Just before the commencement of the stupendous festivities
of Badajos, a letter arrived, by which the parson was informed
that Mr. Rockley, having business at Yass, had resolved to
run up from Port Phillip and see them all. Mr. St. Maur,
who had an equally good excuse, would accompany him.
This was looked upon as either a wondrous coincidence
or a piece of pure, unadulterated good luck. When the hearty
and sympathetic accents of William Rockley were once more
heard among them, everybody was as pleased as if he, personally,
had been asked to welcome a rich uncle from India.
‘I never dreamed of seeing St. Maur in these parts,’ said
Neil Barrington. ‘He’s such a tremendous swell in Melbourne
that I doubted his recognising us again. What business can
he possibly have up here?’
‘Perhaps he is unwilling to risk a disappointment at the
game which will be lost or won before January, “for want of a
heart to play,”’ said Ardmillan. ‘He may follow suit, like
others of this worshipful company. Hearts are trumps this
deal, unless I mistake greatly.’
‘Didn’t we hear that he had been left money, or made a
fortune by town allotments down there? Anyhow he’s going
home, I believe; so this will be his last visit to Yass for some
time.’
‘If we make money at the pace which we have been going
for the last year, we shall all be able to go home,’ pronounced
Ardmillan. ‘Yet, after all the pleasant days that we have
seen here and at Benmohr, the thought is painful. This
influx of capital will break up our jolly society more completely
.bn 410.png
.pn +1
than the drought. In that case we should have had
to cling to a sinking ship, or take to the boats; now, the
vessel is being paid off, and the crew scattered to the four
winds.’
‘Sic transit,’ echoed Neil lugubriously. ‘I forget the rest;
but wherever we go, and however well lined our pockets
may be, it is a chance if we are half as happy again in our
lives as we have been in this jolly old district.’
.tb
Christmas had come and gone. The Badajos Revels
were imminent. Rockley and St. Maur had declared for
remaining until they were over, in despite of presumably
pressing engagements.
‘I believe old Harry O’Desmond would have made a
personal matter of it if we had left him in the lurch,’ said Mr.
Rockley. ‘He spoke rather stiffly, St. Maur, when you said
all Melbourne was waiting to know the result of our deputation
to the Governor-General, and that they would be loth to
take the excuse of a country picnic.’
‘The old boy’s face was grim,’ said St. Maur; ‘but I had
made up my mind to remain. I like to poke him up—he is
so serious and stately. But we should not have quarrelled
about such a trifle.’
In the meantime, terrific preparations were made for the
fête; one to be long remembered in the neighbourhood.
O’Desmond’s magnificence of idea had only been held down,
like most men of his race and nature, by the compulsion of
circumstances. Now, he had resolved to give a free rein to
his taste and imagination. It was outlined, in his mind, as
a recognition of the enthusiasm which had greeted his return
to the district in which he had lived so long. This had
touched him to the heart. Habitually repressive of emotion,
he would show them, in this form, how he demonstrated the
feelings to which he denied utterance.
In his carefully considered programme, he had by no
means restricted himself to a single day or to the stereotyped
gaieties of music and the dance. On this sole and exemplary
occasion, the traditional glories of Castle Desmond would be
faintly recalled, the profuse, imperial hospitalities of which
had lent their share to his present sojourn near the plains of
Yass. Several days were to be devoted to the reception of
.bn 411.png
.pn +1
all comers. Each was to have its special recreation; to
include picnics and private theatricals, with dresses and
costumes from a metropolitan establishment. A dinner to
the gentry, tradespeople, and yeomen of the district; to be
followed by a grand costume ball in a building constructed
for the purpose, to which all ‘the county’ would be invited.
‘What a truly magnificent idea!’ said Rosamond Effingham,
a short time before the opening day, as they all sat in
the verandah at The Chase, after lunch and a hard morning’s
work at preparations. ‘But will not our good friend and
neighbour ruin himself?’
‘Bred in the bone,’ said Gerald O’More. ‘Godfrey
O’Desmond, this man’s great-grandfather, gave an entertainment
which put a mortgage on the property from that day to
this. Had a real lake of claret, I believe. Regular marble
basin, you know. Gold and silver cups of the Renaissance,
held in the hands of fauns, nymphs, and satyrs—that kind of
thing—hogsheads emptied in every morning. Everything
wonderful, rich, and more extravagant than a dream. Nobody
went to bed for a fortnight, they say. Hounds met as usual.
A score of duels—half-a-dozen men left on the sod. County
asleep for a year afterwards.’
‘The estate never raised its head again, anyhow,’ said Mr.
Rockley, ‘and no wonder. An extravagant, dissolute,
murdering old scoundrel, as they say old Godfrey was, that
deserved seven years in the county gaol for ruining his
descendants and debauching the whole country-side. And
do you believe me, when I mentioned as much to old Harry
one day, he was deuced stiff about it; said we could not
understand the duties of a man of position in those days. I
believe now, on my solemn word, that he’d be just as bad,
this day, if he got the chance. I daren’t say another word
to him, and I’ve known him these twenty years.’
‘Let us hope there won’t be so much claret consumed,’
said Miss Fane. ‘I believe deep drinking is no longer
fashionable. I should be grieved if Mr. O’Desmond did
anything to injure his fortune. It may be only a temporary
aberration (to which all Irishmen are subject, Mr. O’More),
and then our small world will go on much as before.’
‘If we could induce a sufficient number of Australian
ladies to colonise Ireland,’ said O’More, bowing, ‘as prudent
.bn 412.png
.pn +1
and as fascinating as Miss Fane,’ he continued, with a look
at Annabel, ‘we might hope to change the national character.
It only wants a dash of moderation to make it perfect. But
we may trust to O’Desmond’s colonial experience to save
him from ruin.’
.tb
Thus the last hours of the fortunate, still-remembered
year of 1840 passed away. A veritable jubilee, when the
land rejoiced, and but few of the inhabitants of Australia
found cause for woe. Great were the anxious speculations,
however, as to weather. In a fête champêtre, everything
depends upon that capricious department. And this being
‘a first-class season,’ unvarying cloudlessness could by no
means be predicted.
The malign divinities must have been appeased by the
sacrifices of the drought. A calm and beauteous summer
morn, warm, but tempered by the south sea-breeze, bid the
children of the Great South Land greeting.
The New Year opened radiantly as a season of joy and
consolation. The whole district was astir from earliest hours;
the preparations for the momentous experiences of the day
were utterly indescribable, save by a Homeric Company of
Bards (limited).
As the sun rose higher,
.pm start_poem
From Highland, Lowland, Border, Isle,
How shall I name their separate style,
Each chief of rank and fame,
.pm end_poem
with his ‘following,’ appeared before the outer gates of
Badajos, where such a number were gathered as would
almost have sufficed to storm the historic citadel, in the
breach of which Captain O’Desmond had fallen, and from
which the estate had been named.
The first day had been allotted to a liberally rendered
lawn party, which was to include almost the whole available
population of town and district, invited by public proclamation
as well as by special invitation. Indeed, it had been
notified through the press that, on New Year’s Day, Mr.
O’Desmond would be ‘at home’ prepared to receive all his
friends who desired to personally congratulate him upon his
return from the interior.
.bn 413.png
.pn +1
Never was there such a muster before, since the first
gum-tree was felled, within sight of Yass Plains. An
uninterrupted procession wound its way steadily on from the
town, from all the country roads, down gullies, and across
flats and marshes. Every farm sent its representative. So
did every shop in the town, every station in the district.
Not a woman in the land had apparently remained at home.
Who minded the infant children on the 1st of January 1840
will always remain an unsolved mystery.
The arrangements had been carefully considered by a
past-master of organisation; and they did not break down
under the unprecedented strain. As the horsemen and
horsewomen, tax-carts, dog-carts, carriages, tandems, waggons
and bullock-drays even, arrived at the outer gate, they were
met by ready servitors, who directed them, through a
cunningly devised system of separate lanes, to temporarily
constructed enclosures, where they were enabled to unharness
and otherwise dispose of their draught animals and vehicles.
Sheds covered with that invaluable material the bark of
the eucalyptus had been erected, and hay provided, as for
the stabling of a regiment of cavalry; while small paddocks,
well watered and with grass ‘up to their eyes’ (as the stock-riders
expressed it), suited admirably those not over-particular
rovers, who, having turned loose their nags, placed their
saddles and bridles in a place of security, and thus disembarrassed
themselves of anxiety for the day.
When these arrangements had been satisfactorily made,
they were guided towards the river-meadow, on a slope
overlooking which the homestead and outbuildings were
situated. Here was clustered an encampment of tents and
booths, of every size and shape, and apparently devoted to as
many various classes of amusement and recreation.
The short grass of the river flat, as it was generally called,
was admirably adapted for the present purposes and intentions.
The propitious season, with its frequent showers, had
furnished a fair imitation of English turf, both in verdure and
in thickness of sward, the latter quality much assisted by the
stud flock of the famed Badajos merinoes.
.tb
The concluding day of the memorable Badajos Revels,
the unrivalled and immortal performance, had arrived. The
.bn 414.png
.pn +1
last act was about to be called on. All the arrangements had
been more than successful. The sports and pastimes had
gone through without hitch or contention. The populace
was enthusiastic in praise of the liberality which had ministered
so lavishly to their amusement. The aristocracy were
no less unanimous in their approbation. That battues, the
picnics, the costume ball, had been, beyond all description,
delightful, fascinating, well carried out, in such perfect taste—extraordinary
good form—intoxicating—heavenly—utterly,
indescribably delicious; the adjectives and superlatives
varying with the age, position, sex, or character of the
speaker.
And now the modern miracle-play was to finish with a
presentment, unique and marvellous beyond belief. The
main body of guests and revellers had departed soon after
daylight. ‘Conclamatum est, Poculatum est,’ said a young
Irish priest. ‘I shall have to go into “retreat” if Father
Mahony gets word of me at the ball. Wasn’t I Lord
Edward Fitzgerald to the life? But I durstn’t stay away an
hour longer from my flock.’ Many were the half-repentant,
homeward-bound wayfarers who held similar opinions. And
the continuous passage of the fords of the Yass River might
have suggested to the Scots, by birth or extraction, King
James’ army after Flodden—
.pm start_poem
Tweed’s echoes heard the ceaseless plash,
While many a broken band,
Disordered through her currents dash,
To gain the Scottish land.
.pm end_poem
There was not, it is true, such need for haste, but the pace at
which the shallower fords were taken might have suggested it.
However, a considerable proportion of the house parties
and guests of the neighbouring families, with such of the
townspeople and others whose time was not specially
valuable, remained for the closing spectacle. Much curiosity
was aroused as to the nature of it.
‘Perhaps you can unfold the mystery of this duel which
we are all taking about,’ said Annabel to St. Maur, with
whom she had been discussing the costumes of the ball.
‘I happen to be in O’Desmond’s confidence,’ he replied;
‘so we may exchange secrets. Many years ago, in Paris, he
.bn 415.png
.pn +1
fell across an old picture representing a fatal duel between
Masks, after a ball. So he pitched upon it for representation,
as a striking if rather weird interlude.’
‘What a strange idea! How unreal and horrible. Fancy any
of the people here going out to fight a duel. Is any one killed?’
‘Of course, or there wouldn’t be half the interest. He
proposes to dress the characters exactly like those in the
picture, and, indeed, brought up the costumes from town with
him. Your brother, by a coincidence, adopted one—that of
a Red Indian. It will do for his second.’
‘Thoroughly French, at any rate, and only for the perfect
safety of the thing would be horrible to look at. However,
we must do whatever Mr. O’Desmond tells us, for years to
come. I shall be too sleepy to be much shocked, that’s one
thing. But what are they to fight with? Rapiers?’
‘With foils, which, of course you know, are the same in
appearance, only with a button on the end which prevents
danger from a thrust.’
‘Wilfred, my boy!’ had said O’Desmond, making a progress
through the ball-room on the preceding night, ‘you
look in that Huron dress as if you had neglected to scalp an
enemy, and were grieving over the omission. Do the ladies
know those odd-looking pieces of brown leather on the breast
fringe are real scalps? I see they are. You will get no
one to dance with you. But my errand is a selfish one.
You will make a principal man in that “Duel after the
Masquerade” which I have set my heart upon getting up
to-morrow.’
‘But in this dress?’
‘My dear fellow, that is the very thing. Curiously, one
of the actors in that weird duel scene is dressed as a Huron
or Cherokee. You know Indian arms and legends, even
names, were fashionable in Paris when Chateaubriand made
every one weep with his Atala and Chactas? You could not
have been more accurately dressed, and you will lay me
under lasting obligation by taking the foils with Argyll, and
investing your second with this dress.’
‘With Argyll!’ echoed Wilfred with an accent of surprise.
‘I know he is called the surest fencer in our small world,
but I always thought you more than his match. He never,
to my mind, liked your thrust in tierce.’
.bn 416.png
.pn +1
‘You are right,’ said Wilfred. ‘Grisier thought me perfect
in that. I shall meet him with pleasure. If only to show
him—— Bah! I am getting so infected with the spirit of
your Masquerade that one would think it a real duel. Command
me, however.’
‘A thousand thanks. Not later than three to-morrow
afternoon. The ladies will not forgive us if we are not
punctual.’
From Wilfred Effingham’s expression of relief one might
have thought that he had received good tidings. Yet, what
was it after all—what could it lead to? A mock duel; a
mere fencing match. What was there to clear his visage and
lighten his heart in such a game as this?
A trifle, doubtless. But William Argyll was to be his
antagonist. Towards him he had been unconsciously nurturing
a causeless resentment, which threatened to drift into
hatred. Argyll was sunning himself daily (he thought) in
the smiles of Vera Fane, pleased with the position and
confident of success. And though she, from time to time,
regarded Wilfred with glances of such kindly regard that he
was well-nigh tempted to confess his past sins and his present
love, he had resolutely kept aloof.
Why should he court repulse, and only be more hopelessly
humiliated? Did not all say—could he not see—that Miss
Fane was merely waiting for Argyll’s challenge to the citadel
of her heart to own its conquest and surrender?
The Benmohr people, who knew something of everything
and did not suffer their knowledge to decay for lack of
practice, were devoted to fencing. Their lumber-room was
half an armoury, holding a great array of foils, wire masks,
single-sticks, and boxing-gloves. With these and a little
pistol practice the dulness of many a wet afternoon had been
enlivened. Perhaps in their trials of skill those with the foils
were most popular.
This was Argyll’s favourite pastime. A leading performer
with all other weapons, he had a passion for fencing, for
which his mountain-born activity pre-eminently fitted him.
Effingham, a pupil of the celebrated Grisier, was thought to
be nearly, if not quite his match. And more than once
Argyll’s hasty temper had blazed out as Wilfred had ‘touched
him’ with a succession of rapid hits, or sent the foil from his
.bn 417.png
.pn +1
hand by one of the artifices of the fencing school. Now,
however, a trial would be afforded, the issue of which would
be final and decisive. To each the requisite notice had been
given, and each had accepted the chances of the contest.
No one in future would be able to assert that this or that
man was the better swordsman.
A larger gathering took place at luncheon than could
have been expected. Many were the reasons assigned for
the punctuality with which all the ladies showed up. Fred
Churbett, indeed, openly declared that the gladiator element
was becoming dangerously developed, and that it would be
soon necessary to shed blood in good earnest, to enjoy a
decent reputation with the ladies of the land.
‘I saw O’Desmond’s people making astounding changes
in the anterior of the amphitheatre, Miss Annabel, from my
bedroom window this morning. I should not be surprised
at the arena being changed to an African forest, with a live
giraffe and a Lion Ride, after Freiligrath. Do you remember
the doomed giraffe? How
.pm start_poem
With a roar the lion springs
On her back now. What a race-horse!’
.pm end_poem
‘I should not be surprised at anything,’ said Annabel.
‘Badajos is becoming an Enchanted Castle. How we shall
endure our daily lives again, I can’t think. Every one is
going home to-morrow, so perhaps the spell will be broken.
Heigh-ho! When are we to be allowed to take our seats? I
shall fall asleep if they put it off too long.’
‘At three o’clock precisely the herald’s horn will be blown,
and we shall see what we shall see. I hope Argyll will be in
a good temper, or terrible things may happen.’
‘What is this about Mr. Argyll’s temper?’ said Miss Fane.
‘Is he so much more ferocious than all the rest of you? I
am sure that I have seen nothing of it.’
‘Only my nonsense, Miss Fane,’ said Fred, instantly retreating
from his position. ‘The best-hearted, most generous
fellow possible. Impetuous and high-spirited, you know.
Highlanders and Irishmen—all the world, in fact, except that
modern Roman, the Anglo-Saxon—are inclined to be choleric.
Ha! there goes the bugle.’
All were ready, indeed impatient, for the commencement.
.bn 418.png
.pn +1
Many acquaintances had indeed ridden out from Yass, and
reinforced the spectators. Mr. Rockley had appeared at
lunch—scarcely in the best of tempers—and had given vent
to his opinion that it was quite time for this foolery to be
over. Not that he made this suggestion to O’Desmond
personally.
When the entrances were thrown open, and the spectators
pressed into their seats with something of the impatience
which in days of old seems to have characterised the frequenters
of the amphitheatre, a cry of delighted surprise
broke from the startled guests.
In order to reproduce the accessories of the imaginary
conflict with fidelity of detail, O’Desmond has spared no
trouble. The Bois de Boulogne had been simulated by the
artifice of transplanting whole trees, especially those which
more closely resembled European evergreens. These had
been mingled with others stripped of their foliage, by which
deciduous deception the illusion of a northern winter was
preserved. A coating of milk-white river sand had been
strewn over the arena, imparting the appearance of the
snow, in which the now historical masqueraders fought their
celebrated duel. By filling up the openings left for windows,
and excluding the sun from the roof as much as possible, an
approach to the dim light proper to a Parisian December
morning was produced. As hackney-coaches appeared, one
at either end of the arena, and driving in, took their stations
under trees, preparatory to permitting their sensational fares
to alight, the burst of applause both from those familiar with
the original picture, and others who were overcome by the
realism of the scene, was tremendous. And when forth
stepped from one of the carriages a Red Huron Indian, and
with stately steps took up his position as second, to so great
and painful a pitch rose the excitement among the ladies
that ‘the boldest held’ her ‘breath for a time.’
Pierrot now, with elastic springing gait, moved lightly
forward towards his antagonist, a reckless Debardeur, who
looked as if he had been dancing a veritable ‘Galop d’Enfer’
before he quitted the ‘Bal d’Opera.’ Each performed an
elaborate salute as they took their ground. The seconds
measured their swords punctiliously.
As the enthusiasm of the crowd broke forth in remark
.bn 419.png
.pn +1
and exclamation, before the first passes were interchanged,
Harry O’Desmond himself made his appearance among the
ladies, and took his seat between Rosamond Effingham and
Miss Fane, prepared to receive the shower of congratulations
at once poured upon him.
‘Yes, I have taken a little trouble; but I am amply repaid,
Miss Effingham, if I have succeeded in adding to the amusement
of my lady friends. For those I have the honour to
address’—and here the gallant impresario looked as if the
lady beside him had but to ask for a Sultan’s circlet, to have
it tossed in her lap—‘what sacrifices would I not make?’
‘Our distinguished host is becoming desperate,’ thought
Rosamond. ‘I wonder who she is? I am nearly certain it
is Vera Fane. He and the Doctor are great friends. Now
I think of it, he said the other day that she was, with one
exception, the pearl of the district. Mamma, too, has been
hinting at something. A nice lady neighbour at Badajos
would be indeed a treasure.’
‘What an exciting piece of sword-play this will be, Mr.
O’Desmond,’ she said. ‘One cannot help thinking that
there is something real about it. And I have an uneasy
feeling that I cannot account for, such as I should call a
presentiment, if all were not so perfectly safe. What do you
say, Vera?’
‘I say it is a most astonishing picture of a real duel. I
ought to enjoy it very much, only that, like you, I feel a
depression such as I have never had before. Oh, now they
are beginning! Really it is quite a relief.’
‘I must take a foil with the winner,’ said O’Desmond, ‘if
you think it is so serious, just to see if I have forgotten my
Parisian experiences. It reminds one of the Quartier Latin,
and the students’ pipes—long hair and duels—daily matters
of course. Ha! a wonderfully quick carte and counter-carte.
There is something stirring in the clink of steel, all the world
over, is there not, Miss Effingham?’
The pictured scene was accurately reproduced. Each
man, with his second, fantastically arrayed. The nearer
combatant, in his loose garb, had his sword-arm bared to the
elbow, for the greater freedom required with the weapon.
Four other men, picturesquely attired, were present. Of
these, two stood near to him whose back was towards the
.bn 420.png
.pn +1
part of the theatre where the Effinghams and Miss Fane
were sitting.
The contest proceeded with curious similitude to an actual
encounter. Attack and defence, feint and challenge, carte,
tierce, ripeste, staccato, all the subtle and delicate manœuvres
of which the rapier combat is susceptible, had been employed,
to the wonder and admiration of the spectators.
It was evident, before they had exchanged a dozen passes,
that the men were most evenly matched. Much doubt was
expressed as to who would prove the victor.
Latterly, Wilfred, who, with equal tenacity and vigilance,
had the cooler head, commenced to show by small but sure
signs that he was gaining an advantage. Step by step he
drew his antagonist nearer to him, and employing his favourite
thrust, after a brilliant parry, touched him several times in
succession. At each palpable hit the spectators gave a cheer,
which evidently disturbed Argyll’s fiery temperament. He
bit his lip, his brow contracted, but no token, excepting
these and a burning spot on his cheek, showed the inward
conflict. Suddenly he sprang forward with panther-like
activity, and for one second Wilfred’s eye and hand were at
fault, as, with a lightning lunge, Argyll delivered full upon
his adversary’s chest a thrust, so like the real thing that,
though the foil (as the spectators imagined) passed outside,
the hilt of the mimic weapon rapped sharply, as if he had
been run through the body. At the same moment he sank
down, and was scarcely saved from falling, while Argyll,
impatiently drawing back his weapon, threw it down and
turned as if to leave the scene—half urged by his second—as
was the successful combatant in the weird picture.
‘Why—how wonderfully our brave combatants have
imitated the originals, Mr. O’Desmond?’ said Rosamond,
with unfeigned admiration. ‘The Debardeur sinks slowly
from the arms of his second to the ground; his sword-point
strikes the earth; his comrade and the Capuchin bend over
him. They act the confusion of a death-scene well. His
antagonist casts down his blood-stained sword—why, it looks
red—and hurries from the spot.’
‘Yes,’ O’Desmond continued, ‘everything is now concluded
happily, successfully, triumphantly, may I say; it
needs but, dearest Miss Effingham, that I should offer you——’
.bn 421.png
.pn +1
What Mr. O’Desmond was minded to offer his fair neighbour
can never be known, for at that moment a shriek, so wild
and despairing, rent the air, that all conversation, ordinary
and extraordinary, ceased.
More astonishing still, Miss Fane sprang from her seat,
and rushing into the arena with the speed of frenzy, knelt by
the side of the defeated combatant, and with every endearing
epithet supported his head, wringing her hands in agony as
she gazed on the motionless form beside her.
O’Desmond, leaping down without a thought of his late
interesting employment, gave one glance at the fallen sword,
another at the fallen man, and divined the situation.
‘By ——!’ he said, ‘the button has come off the foil, and
the poor boy is run through the body. He’ll be a dead man
by sundown.’
‘Not so sure of that; keep the people back while I
examine him,’ said Mr. Sternworth, pushing suddenly to the
front. ‘Stand back!’ he cried with the voice of authority.
‘How can I tell you what’s wrong with him if you don’t give
him air? Miss Fane, I entreat you to be calm.’
He lowered his voice and spoke in softened tones, for he
had seen a look in Vera Fane’s face which none had ever
marked there before. As she knelt by the side of the wounded
man, from whose hurt the blood was pouring fast, in a bright
red stream; as with passionate anxiety she gazed into his
face, while her arms supported him in his death-like faint, her
whole countenance betrayed the unutterable tenderness with
which a woman regards her lover.
The spectators stood assembled around the ill-fated combatant.
Great and general was the consternation.
The nature of the mischance—the loss of the button
which guards the fencer in all exercises with the foil—was
patent enough to those acquainted with small-sword practice.
But a large proportion of the crowd, with no previous experience
of such affairs, could with difficulty be got to believe
that Argyll had not used unjustifiable means to the injury of
his antagonist. These worthy people were for his being
arrested and held to bail. His personal friends resented the
idea. Words ran high; until indeed, at one time, it appeared
as if a form of civic broil, common in the middle ages, would
be revived with undesirable accuracy.
.bn 422.png
.pn +1
Now, alas! the festive aspect of the scene was abruptly
changed. O’Desmond’s grief at this most untoward ending
to his entertainments was painful to witness. Argyll’s
generous nature plunged him into a state of deep contrition
for his passionate action.
The women, one and all, were so shocked and excited by
the sight of blood and the rumour, which quickly gained
credence, that Wilfred Effingham was dying, that tearful
lamentations and hysterical cries were heard in all directions.
Nor indeed until it was authoritatively stated by the medical
practitioner of the district, who was luckily present, that
Mr. Effingham having been run through the body, had therefore
received a dangerous but not necessarily fatal wound, was
consolation possible.
This gentleman, however, later on would by no means
commit himself to a definite opinion. ‘Without doubt it
was a critical case. Though the cœliac axis had been
missed, by a miracle, the vasa-vasorum blood-vessel had
suffered lesion. The left subclavian artery had been torn
through, yet, from its known power of contraction, he trusted
that the interior lining would be closed, when further loss of
blood would cease. Of course, unfavourable symptoms
might supervene at any moment—at any moment. At
present the patient was free from pain. Quiet—that is,
absolute rest—was indispensable. With no exciting visits,
and—yes—with the closest attention and good nursing, a distinctly
favourable termination might be—ahem—hoped for.’
But an early doom, either alone or with all the aids that
affection, friendship, ay or devoted love, could bring, was
not written in the book of fate against Wilfred Effingham’s
name. In the course of a week the popular practitioner
alluded to had the pleasure of informing the anxious inhabitants
of the Yass district ‘that the injury having, as he had
the honour to diagnose, providentially not occurred to the
trunk artery, the middle coat of the smaller blood-vessel had,
from its elastic and contractile nature, after being torn by the
partially blunted end of the foil, caused a closure. In point
of fact, the injury had yielded to treatment. He would
definitely pledge himself, in fact, that the patient was bordering
upon convalescence. In a week or two he would be
ready to support a removal to The Chase, where doubtless his
.bn 423.png
.pn +1
youth, temperate habit, and excellent constitution would combine
to produce a complete recovery.’
These agreeable predictions were fulfilled to the letter.
Yet was there another element involved in the case, which
was thought to have exercised a powerful influence, if, indeed,
it was not the chief factor in his recovery. The vision of
sudden death which had passed before the eyes of the guests
at Badajos had surprised the secret of Vera Fane’s heart.
Of timid, almost imperceptible growth, the faint budding
commencement of a girl’s fancy had, all in silence and
secrecy, ripened into the fragrant blossom of a woman’s love.
Pure, devoted, imperishable, such a sentiment is proof against
the anguish of non-requital, the attacks of rivalry, even the
ruder shocks of falsehood or infidelity. Let him, then, to
whom, all unworthy, such a prize is allotted by a too indulgent
destiny, sacrifice to the kind deities, and be thankful.
It may have been—was doubtless—urged by Miss Fane’s admirers,
that ‘that fellow Effingham was not half good enough
for her, more especially after his idiotic affair with Christabel
Rockley’; but, pray, which of us, to whom the blindly swaying
Eros has been gracious, is not manifestly overrated, nay,
made to blush for shortcomings from his early ideal?
So must it ever be in the history of the race—were the
secrets of all hearts known. Let us be consoled that we are
not conspicuously inferior to our neighbours, and chiefly
strive, in spite of that mysterious Disappointment—poor
human nature—to gain some modest eminence. Let Wilfred
Effingham, then, enjoy his undeserved good fortune, comme
nous autres, assured that with such companionship he will be
stronger to battle for the right while life lasts.
‘How could you forgive me?’ he said, at the close of
one of the happy confidences which his returning strength
rendered possible. ‘I should never have dared to ask you
after my folly.’
‘Women love but once—that is, those who are worthy of
the name,’ she said softly. ‘I had unwisely, it would seem,
permitted my heart to stray. It passed into the possession
of one who—well, scarce valued sufficiently the simple offering.
But you do now, dearest, do you not? I will never
forgive you, or rather, on second thoughts, I will forgive you,
if hereafter you love any other woman but me.’
.bn 424.png
.pn +1
‘You are an angel. Did I say so before? Never mind.
Truth will bear repetition.’
.tb
Old Tom Glendinning commenced to fail in health soon
after the permanent settlement of the district; his detractors
averred, because the blacks left off spearing the cattle and
took to station work. He lived long enough to hear of
General Glendinning’s marriage, at which he expressed great
satisfaction, coupled with the hope that the Major (as he
always called him) would return to India, ‘av it was only to
have another turn at thim murdtherin’ nay-gurs, my heavy
curse on thim, from Bingal to Galantapee.’
He was carefully nursed by Mrs. Evans, who had at length
followed her husband to the new country, after repeated
assurances that it was impossible for him to return to Lake
William, but that she might please herself.
They buried the old stock-rider, in accordance with his last
wishes, on an island in the lake, within sight of Guy’s homestead,
near his ancient steed Boney, who had preceded him
in decease. The dog Crab survived him but a few weeks,
and was carefully interred at his feet. It was noticed that
no black of any description whatever, young or old, male or
female, wild or tame, would ever set foot on the green, wave-washed
islet afterwards.
Andrew and Jeanie, after a few years, retired to a snug
farm within easy distance of The Chase, at which place, for
one reason or other, they spent nearly as much time as at
home. Andrew’s aid was continually invoked in agricultural
emergencies, more particularly when business called Wilfred
away; while Jeanie’s invaluable counsel and reassuring
presence, when the inmates of Mrs. Wilfred’s nursery developed
alarming symptoms, was so largely in request that Andrew
more than once remarked that ‘he didna ken but what he
saw far mair o’ his auld dame before he had a hame o’ his
ain. But she had aye ta’en a’ her pleasure in life at ither
folk’s bedsides. Maist unco-omon!’
Duncan, having once enjoyed an independent life in the
new country, could not be induced to return to The Chase.
He saved his money, and with national forecast commenced
business in the rising township of Warleigh. Of this settlement
he became in time the leading alderman (the burgesses
.bn 425.png
.pn +1
obtained a municipality in the after-time), and rose finally to
be mayor.
The Melbourne Argus printed in extenso Mr. Cargill’s
address to the electors of West Palmerston when a candidate
for a vacancy in the Legislative Council. It was certain he
would be returned at the head of the poll, doubtless to represent
a Liberal Ministry before long. May there never be invited
a less worthy personage to the councils of the land than
the Hon. Duncan Cargill, M.L.C.
Mr. Rockley, after his return to Port Phillip, hurled himself
with his accustomed energy at every kind of investment.
Not satisfied with extensive mercantile transactions, he
bought agricultural lands, the nucleus of a fine estate. In
Parliament he made such vigorous, idiomatic onslaughts upon
the Government of the day as led the Speaker occasionally
to suggest modification. He developed Warleigh, the town
to which he had originally attached himself, wonderfully, and
besides aiding all struggling settlers in the bad times, which
arrived, as he had prophesied, close on the heels of inflation
and over-trading. In a general way he benefited by good
advice, friendly intercourse, and substantial assistance, everybody
with whom he came into contact. As a magistrate, a
perfect Draco (in theory), he was never known to remit a fine
for certain offences. It was whispered, nevertheless, that he
had many a time been known to pay such out of his own
pocket.
It is comforting to those who honour liberality and unselfishness
to know that he amassed a large fortune. He continued
to invest from time to time in land, the management
of which chiefly served to occupy his mind in declining years.
When the grave closed over the warm heart and eager spirit
of William Rockley, men said that he left no fellow behind
him. There are still those who believe him to have been
unsurpassed for energy of mind and body, with a clear-headed
forecast in affairs, joined to the warm sympathy which
rendered it impossible to omit a kindness or forgo a benefit.
The larger portion of the estate was willed to Christabel
and her husband, but from the number of junior Clarkes of
all sorts and sizes who fill the commodious family drag, a considerable
subdivision of landed property will probably take
place in another generation. Bob Clarke adopted easily the
.bn 426.png
.pn +1
position of country gentleman. He no longer rides steeple-chases,
but his four-in-hand team is certainly superior in
blood, bone, matching, and appointments to anything south
of the line.
But little remains to tell. Our small community reached
that stage when, as with nations, the less history needed the
better for their happiness. As to this last apocryphal commodity
(as some have deemed), Wilfred Effingham avers that
Vera and he have such a large supply on hand that he is
troubled in spirit only by the thought that something in the
nature of evil must happen, were it only in accordance with
the law of averages.
The Port Phillip investments paid so well that, upon the
sale of Benmohr by Argyll and Hamilton, he purchased that
ever-memorable historic station. Mrs. Teviot and Wullie
remained in possession almost as long as they lived, but
never could be brought to regard Mr. Effingham in any other
light than that of a neighbour and a visitor of ‘their gentlemen.’
He was often reminded of the muddy winter evening
when he first arrived.
Dean Sternworth—thus promoted—lives on, growing still
more wonderful roses, and experiencing an access of purest
pleasure when a Marie Van Houte or Souvenir de Malmaison
excites the envy of the district.
Marrying, christening, and, indeed, burying the inhabitants
of Yass—for death also is in Arcadia—his unobtrusive path
is daily trodden, ‘and, sure the Eternal Master found, his
single talent well employed.’
Among his chief and enduring pleasures are his monthly
visits to Lake William to perform service in the freestone
church, which has been erected by the Effingham family and
their neighbours on a spot easy of general access. On such
occasions Dr. Fane is generally found at The Chase, where
the friends argue by the hour together. Such a period of
continuous mutual entertainment must it have been that, on
one occasion, was familiarly referred to by Master Hubert
Warleigh Effingham as lasting ‘till all was blue.’
Howard Effingham has once more been placed by circumstances
in the enviable position of a man who has nothing
in this world to attend to but his favourite hobby, to which
he is sufficiently attached to devote every moment of his
.bn 427.png
.pn +1
spare time to it. That fortunate ex-militaire has now few
other foes to consider than the native cat (dasyura), the
black cormorant, and the dingo.
It must be confessed that they give him more trouble
than ever—in his youth—did the Queen’s enemies. The
cormorants eat his young fish, and when the captain extracted
from the dead body of one of them no less than six
infantine trout, the tears (so his grandson averred) came into
his eyes. The partridges, even the gold and silver pheasants
were not sacred from the native cat. An occasional dingo
makes his appearance, wandering from Black Mountain (the
doctor was always an indifferent ‘poisoner,’ says the parson),
and a brace of gazelle fawns have never been sufficiently
accounted for. But the exhibition of strychnine crystals provides
a solution, and the land has peace.
On the whole, progress has been made. The furred,
feathered, or finned emigrants are steadily increasing; fair
shooting can soon be allowed, and extermination will be
impossible.
Between ourselves, a leash of foxes were turned loose in
the gibba-gunyahs, near which the first dingo was killed, by
the Lake William hounds, and Jack Barker swore (only he
‘stretches’ so) that he saw the vixen feeding five cubs—one
with a white tag to his brush (Jack is always circumstantial),
with the biggest buck ’possum he ever saw.
The Lake William hounds have long been back in their
kennels. John Hampden makes a point of attending the
first meet, and O’Desmond (whose heart was not broken, or
was at least successfully repaired by his subsequent marriage)
is a steady supporter, as of yore.
But somehow the whole affair doesn’t feel so jolly as
when Argyll and Hamilton, Ardmillan and Forbes, Fred
Churbett and Neil, Malahyde and Edward Belfield—all the
‘Benmohr mob’ in fact—were safe for every meet.
Perhaps, though with enthusiasts his steady march is disregarded,
old Time may possibly have had something to do
with the decrease of enthusiasm. Mrs. Wilfred does not
approve of her husband riding so hard as in the brave days
of old. She herself, from circumstances, is often absent, and
scarcely enjoys lending Emigrant, still nearly as good as ever,
to lady visitors. A heavy autumn shower, too, acted unfavourably
.bn 428.png
.pn +1
upon the health of the M.F.H., and explained
practically what lumbago most closely resembles.
Still Howard Effingham, nobly loyal to his ideal, presses
gallantly forward to the realisation of his hopes. The
coming year will see an opening meet of the Lake William
hounds, such as, in one respect, at least, was never ridden to
in Australia before.
On some grey-hued, red-dawning May morn, freshly recalling,
like the verse of an old song, how many a hunting
day of yore, will he view a fox away from the upper corner of
the ti-tree covert, on the rocky spur of the yellow-box range—a
real fox—as red, as wiry, with as white a tag to his
brush as ever a straight-goer that stretched across the
pastures before the Pytchley or the Quorn. Nevertheless
Australian born and bred.
Standing in his stirrups, he watches the leading hounds
pour through the paddock fence, the remainder settling to
the scent, or at silent speed sweeping over the forest parks
that border the lake meadows. Rosamond St. Maur is far
away, alas! and Fergus out at grass; but Major-General Sir
Walter Glendinning, on leave from India, is trying the speed
of the best Arab in the Mofussil. Mrs. O’Desmond is
watching her husband anxiously, Guy is home from Port
Phillip, with Bob Clarke and Ardmillan, each on a horse ‘fit
to go for a man’s life,’ and wild with frolic spirits. Mrs.
Vera Effingham is out, and, as luck would have it, ready and
willing to remind Emigrant of old Black Mountain days. John
Hampden, taking The Caliph by the head, now snow white,
but still safe across timber, echoes back Wilfred’s ‘Forrard,
forrard, away!’ as he sails off with the lead, and forgetting
his wife and family, feels perfectly, ecstatically happy. Then,
and then only, will Howard Effingham acknowledge that he
has at length achieved the position of which he has so often
dreamed—then will he hold himself to be in real, completest
earnest—an Australian Squire.
.ce
THE END
.ce
Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh
.bn 429.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ce 2
BY ROLF BOLDREWOOD.
Crown 8vo. 6s. each.
WAR TO THE KNIFE; or, Tangata Maori.
.ti 2
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A ROMANCE OF CANVAS TOWN, and other Stories.
.ti 2
ATHENÆUM.—“The book is interesting for its obvious insight into life in the
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ROBBERY UNDER ARMS.
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A STORY OF LIFE AND ADVENTURE IN THE BUSH AND IN THE
GOLD-FIELDS OF AUSTRALIA.
.ti 2
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PLAIN LIVING. A Bush Idyll.
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MY RUN HOME.
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THE SEALSKIN CLOAK.
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THE CROOKED STICK; or, Pollie’s Probation.
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OLD MELBOURNE MEMORIES.
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A TALE OF OLD BENDIGO.\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ [Macmillan’s Pocket Novels.
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QUEEN.—“There is the usual mystery, the usual admirable gold-fields’ local colour,
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.bn 430.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.ce
BY RUDYARD KIPLING
.ce
Uniform Edition. Red cloth, gilt tops. Extra crown 8vo. 6s. each.
STALKY & CO. Thirtieth Thousand.
THE DAY’S WORK. Fifty-first Thousand.
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SATURDAY REVIEW.—“Mr. Kipling knows and appreciates the English in
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BLACK AND WHITE.—“Life’s Handicap contains much of the best work
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MANY INVENTIONS. Twenty-eighth Thousand.
.ti 2
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—“The completest book that Mr. Kipling has yet
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THE LIGHT THAT FAILED. Rewritten and considerably
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.ti 2
ACADEMY.—“Whatever else be true of Mr. Kipling, it is the first truth about him
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WEE WILLIE WINKIE, and other Stories.
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GLOBE.—“Containing some of the best of his highly vivid work.”
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PUNCH.—“‘Æsop’s Fables and dear old Brer Fox and Co.,’ observes the Baron
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Lockwood Kipling. Thirty-third Thousand.
.ti 2
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.ti 2
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FROM SEA TO SEA. In Two Vols.
.hr 25%
.in 2
.ti -2
SOLDIER TALES. With Illustrations by A.S. Hartrick. Tenth
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.in
.ti 2
ATHENÆUM.—“By issuing a reprint of some of the best of Mr. Kipling’s Soldier
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A FLEET IN BEING. Notes of Two Trips with the
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.ti 2
ARMY AND NAVY GAZETTE.—“A very admirable picture of the life of
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THE KIPLING BIRTHDAY BOOK. Compiled by Joseph Finn.
Authorised by the Author, with Illustrations by J. Lockwood Kipling. 16mo. 2s. 6d.
.bn 431.png
.pn +1
.pb
.nf c
THE CHEAP EDITIONS OF
MRS. HENRY WOOD’S NOVELS
Crown 8vo, in green cloth, price 2s.; or in red cloth, gilt lettered,
price 2s. 6d. each.
Sale nearly Three Million Copies.
.nf-
.hr 25%
.nf b
EAST LYNNE. Five Hundredth Thousand.
THE CHANNINGS. Two Hundredth Thousand.
MRS. HALLIBURTON’S TROUBLES. One Hundred and Fiftieth Thousand.
THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT. One Hundred and Tenth Thousand.
LORD OAKBURN’S DAUGHTERS. One Hundred and Fifth Thousand.
VERNER’S PRIDE. Eighty-fifth Thousand.
ROLAND YORKE. One Hundred and Thirtieth Thousand.
JOHNNY LUDLOW. First Series. Fifty-fifth Thousand.
MILDRED ARKELL. Eightieth Thousand.
ST. MARTIN’S EVE. Seventy-sixth Thousand.
TREVLYN HOLD. Sixty-fifth Thousand.
GEORGE CANTERBURY’S WILL. Seventieth Thousand.
THE RED COURT FARM. Eightieth Thousand.
WITHIN THE MAZE. One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Thousand.
ELSTER’S FOLLY. Sixtieth Thousand.
LADY ADELAIDE. Sixtieth Thousand.
OSWALD CRAY. Sixtieth Thousand.
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ANNE HEREFORD. Fifty-fifth Thousand.
DENE HOLLOW. Sixtieth Thousand.
EDINA. Forty-fifth Thousand.
A LIFE’S SECRET. Sixty-fifth Thousand.
THE HOUSE OF HALLIWELL. Fifteenth Thousand.
POMEROY ABBEY. Forty-eighth Thousand.
COURT NETHERLEIGH. Forty-sixth Thousand.
THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. Fiftieth Thousand.
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ASHLEY. Fifteenth Thousand.
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ORVILLE COLLEGE. Thirty-eighth Thousand.
LADY GRACE. Twenty-first Thousand.
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THE UNHOLY WISH. Fifteenth Thousand.
JOHNNY LUDLOW. Fourth Series. Fifteenth Thousand.
JOHNNY LUDLOW. Fifth Series. Fifteenth Thousand.
JOHNNY LUDLOW. Sixth Series.
.nf-
.bn 432.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ce
THE NOVELS OF ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY.
.ce
Popular Edition.\ \ \ Crown 8vo.\ \ \ 3s. 6d. each.
NELLIE’S MEMORIES. 30th Thousand.
.ti 2
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WEE WIFIE. 22nd Thousand.
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immaculately pure, and very high in tone.”
BARBARA HEATHCOTE’S TRIAL. 20th Thousand.
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DAILY TELEGRAPH.—“A novel of a sort which it would be a real loss to miss.”
ROBERT ORD’S ATONEMENT. 17th Thousand.
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STANDARD.—“A most delightful book.”
WOOED AND MARRIED. 21st Thousand.
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STANDARD.—“There is plenty of romance in the heroine’s life. But it would not
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HERIOT’S CHOICE. 18th Thousand.
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MORNING POST.—“Deserves to be extensively known and read.... Will doubtless
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QUEENIE’S WHIM. 18th Thousand.
.ti 2
GUARDIAN.—“A thoroughly good and wholesome story.”
MARY ST. JOHN. 16th Thousand.
.ti 2
JOHN BULL.—“The story is a simple one, but told with much grace and unaffected
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NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 19th Thousand.
NEW YORK HOME JOURNAL.—“One of the sweetest, daintiest, and most
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FOR LILIAS. 14th Thousand.
.ti 2
VANITY FAIR.—“A simple, earnest, and withal very interesting story; well conceived,
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UNCLE MAX. 15th Thousand.
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ONLY THE GOVERNESS. 15th Thousand.
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LOVER OR FRIEND? 12th Thousand.
.ti 2
GUARDIAN.—“The refinement of style and delicacy of thought will make Lover or
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BASIL LYNDHURST. 10th Thousand.
.ti 2
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—“We doubt whether anything has been written of late
years so fresh, so pretty, so thoroughly natural and bright.”
SIR GODFREY’S GRAND-DAUGHTERS. 8th Thousand.
.ti 2
OBSERVER.—“A capital story.”
THE OLD, OLD STORY. 9th Thousand.
.ti 2
DAILY NEWS.—“Miss Carey’s fluent pen has not lost its power of writing fresh
and wholesome fiction.”
THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM. 10th Thousand.
.ti 2
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—“Miss Carey’s untiring pen loses none of its power,
and her latest work is as gracefully written, as full of quiet home charm, as fresh and
wholesome, so to speak, as its many predecessors.”
MRS. ROMNEY and “BUT MEN MUST WORK.”
.ti 2
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—“By no means the least attractive of the works of this
charming writer.”
.bn 433.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.ce
STALKY AND CO.
.sp 2
.ce
By RUDYARD KIPLING
.sp 4
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.nf c
THE
METTLE OF THE PASTURE
.nf-
.sp 4
.ce
By JAMES LANE ALLEN
.bn 434.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.sp 2
.ce
MIRANDA OF THE BALCONY
.sp 2
.ce
By A.E.W. MASON
.sp 4
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.ce
YOUNG APRIL
.sp 2
.ce
By EGERTON CASTLE
.sp 2
.ce
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
.bn 435.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.sp 2
.ce 2
VALDA HÂNEM
THE ROMANCE OF A TURKISH HARÎM
.ce
By DAISY HUGH PRYCE
.sp 4
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.ce
THE ENCHANTER
.sp 2
.ce
By U.L. SILBERRAD
.bn 436.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.sp 4
.ce
DONNA TERESA
.sp 2
.ce
By F.M. PEARD
.sp 4
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.ce
VIA CRUCIS
.sp 2
.ce
By F. MARION CRAWFORD
.bn 437.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.ce
RICHARD CARVEL
.sp 2
.nf c
By WINSTON CHURCHILL
AUTHOR OF “THE CELEBRITY,” ETC. ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
CARLTON T. CHAPMAN AND MALCOLM FRASER
Upwards of 130,000 Copies have been sold in America since
publication.
.nf-
.ti 2
BOOKMAN.—“A spirited tale of wandering and adventure, with
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a happy ending.”
.ti 2
OBSERVER.—“A fine historical story of early American days; full
of incident and ‘go,’ and admirably written.”
.sp 2
.ce
Second Impression. Extra Crown 8vo. 6s.
.nf c
ONE OF THE GRENVILLES
By SYDNEY ROYSE LYSAGHT
AUTHOR OF “THE MARPLOT”
.nf-
.ti 2
GUARDIAN.—“We shall tell no more of Mr. Lysaght’s clever and
original tale, contenting ourselves with heartily recommending it to
any on the look-out for a really good and absorbing story.”
.ti 2
SATURDAY REVIEW.—“Mr. Sydney Lysaght should have a
future before him among writers of fiction. One of the Grenvilles is full
of interest.”
.ti 2
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readers will want to urge on the writer a more frequent exercise of his
powers.”
.ti 2
ACADEMY.—“There is freshness and distinction about One of the
Grenvilles.... Both for its characters and setting, and for its author’s
pleasant wit, this is a novel to read.”
.ti 2
DAILY TELEGRAPH.—“Since he wrote The Marplot, Mr. Lysaght
has degenerated neither in freshness, originality, nor sense of humour.”
.bn 438.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ce
Second Impression. Crown 8vo. 6s.
.sp 2
.nf c
THE GAME AND THE CANDLE
By RHODA BROUGHTON
.nf-
.ti 2
OBSERVER.—“The story is an excellent one.... Miss Rhoda
Broughton well maintains her place among our novelists as one capable
of telling a quiet yet deeply interesting story of human passions.”
.ti 2
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.sp 2
.ce
Second Impression. Crown 8vo. 6s.
.nf c
THE
TREASURY OFFICER’S WOOING
.nf-
By CECIL LOWIS
.ti 2
GUARDIAN.—“An exceedingly well-written, pleasant volume....
Entirely enjoyable.”
.ti 2
LITERATURE.—“A capital picture of official life in Burma.”
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DAILY TELEGRAPH.—“Emphatically of a nature to make us ask
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volume.”
.ti 2
ATHENÆUM.—“The author writes in a clear, attractive style, and
succeeds in maintaining the reader’s interest from the first page to the
last.”
.bn 439.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.nf c
OFF THE HIGH ROAD
By ELEANOR C. PRICE
AUTHOR OF “YOUNG DENYS,” “IN THE LION’S MOUTH,“ ETC.
.nf-
.ti 2
ATHENÆUM.—“A pleasant tale.”
.ti 2
SPEAKER.—“A charming bit of social comedy, tinged with just
a suspicion of melodrama.... The atmosphere of the story is so
bright and genial that we part from it with regret.”
.ti 2
DAILY TELEGRAPH.—“At once ingenious, symmetrical, and
entertaining.... Miss Price’s fascinating romance.”
.ti 2
LITERATURE.—“A simple, but very pleasant story.”
.ti 2
SPECTATOR.—“The notion of an orphan heiress, the daughter of
an Earl, and the cynosure of two London seasons, flying precipitately
from her guardians, who are endeavouring to force her into a match
with a man she detests, and hiding herself under an assumed name in
a remote rural district of the Midlands, is an excellent motive in itself,
and gains greatly from the charm and delicacy of Miss Price’s handling.”
.ti 2
ACADEMY.—“A quiet country book in the main, with more
emotion than action, and continuous interest.”
.sp 2
.ce
Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.
.nf c
THE PRIDE OF JENNICO
BEING A MEMOIR OF
CAPTAIN BASIL JENNICO
By EGERTON CASTLE
.nf-
.ti 2
ACADEMY.—“A capital romance.”
.ti 2
COUNTRY LIFE.—“This story of the later years of the eighteenth
century will rank high in literature. It is a fine and spirited romance
set in a slight but elegant and accurate frame of history. The book
itself has a peculiar and individual charm by virtue of the stately
language in which it is written.... It is stately, polished, and full of
imaginative force.”
.ti 2
LIVERPOOL DAILY MERCURY.—“The book is written in a
strong and terse style of diction with a swift and vivid descriptive touch.
In its grasp of character and the dramatic nature of its plot it is one of
the best novels of its kind since Stevenson’s Prince Otto.”
.bn 440.png
.pn +1
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.nf c
STORIES FROM AMERICAN HISTORY
BUCCANEERS AND PIRATES
OF OUR COASTS
By FRANK R. STOCKTON
AUTHOR OF “RUDDER GRANGE”
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
GEORGE VARIAN AND B. WEST CLINEDINST
.nf-
.ti 2
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—“A fine book.... They are exciting
reading.... Eminently informing.”
.ti 2
ACADEMY.—“Mr. Frank R. Stockton is always interesting, whether
he writes for young or old.”
.sp 2
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.nf c
HER MEMORY
By MAARTEN MAARTENS
AUTHOR OF “MY LADY NOBODY,” ETC.
.nf-
.ti 2
DAILY TELEGRAPH.—“Full of the quiet grace and literary
excellence which we have now learnt to associate with the author.”
.ti 2
DAILY NEWS.—“An interesting and characteristic example of
this writer’s manner. It possesses his sobriety of tone and treatment,
his limpidity and minuteness of touch, his keenness of observation....
The book abounds in clever character sketches.... It is very
good.”
.ti 2
ST. JAMES’S GAZETTE.—“There is something peculiarly fascinating
in Mr. Maarten Maartens’s new story. It is one of those
exquisitely told tales, not unhappy, nor tragic, yet not exactly ‘happy,’
but full of the pain—as a philosopher has put it—that one prefers, which
are read, when the reader is in the right mood, with, at least, a subdued
sense of tears, tears of pleasure.”
.ti 2
ATHENÆUM.—“Maarten Maartens has never written a brighter
social story, and it has higher qualities than brightness.”
.bn 441.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.nf c
THE
ADVENTURES OF FRANCOIS
Foundling, Thief, Juggler, and Fencing Master
during the French Revolution
By S. WEIR MITCHELL, M.D.
AUTHOR OF “HUGH WYNNE,” ETC.
.nf-
.ti 2
DAILY TELEGRAPH.—“It is delightfully entertaining throughout,
and throws much instructive light upon certain subordinate phases of
the great popular upheaval that convulsed France between 1788 and
1794.... Recounted with unflagging vivacity and inexhaustible good
humour.”
.ti 2
DAILY MAIL.—“This lively piece of imagination is animated
throughout by strong human interest and novel incident.”
.sp 2
.ce
Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.
.nf c
CHARACTERISTICS
By S. WEIR MITCHELL, M.D. LL.D. (Harvard)
AUTHOR OF “THE ADVENTURES OF FRANCOIS”
.nf-
.ti 2
SPECTATOR.—“Very well worth reading.”
.ti 2
ST. JAMES’S GAZETTE.—“This charming book.”
.bn 442.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ce
Crown 8vo. 6s.
.nf c
“WAR TO THE KNIFE”
Or TANGATA MAORI
By ROLF BOLDREWOOD
.nf-
.ti 2
SPEAKER.—“A stirring tale.... We are inclined to think that
War to the Knife is the best story we have had from Mr. Boldrewood
since he gave us the inimitable Robbery under Arms.”
.ti 2
ACADEMY.—“A stirring romance.”
.ti 2
OUTLOOK.—“Anyone who likes a good story, combined with any
amount of information on strange lands, should get this book.”
.sp 4
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A
ROMANCE OF CANVAS TOWN
AND OTHER STORIES
By ROLF BOLDREWOOD
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CONTENTS
.in 4
.ti -4
A Romance of Canvas Town—The Fencing of Wandaroona:
A Riverina Reminiscence—The Governess of the
Poets—Our New Cook: A Tale of the Times—Angels
Unawares
.in
.ti 2
DAILY TELEGRAPH.—“Eminently readable, being written in the
breezy, happy-go-lucky style which characterizes the more recent fictional
works of the author of that singularly earnest and impressive
romance, Robbery under Arms.”
.ti 2
DAILY MAIL.—“As pleasant as ever.”
.ti 2
GLASGOW HERALD.—“They will repay perusal.”
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THE FOREST LOVERS
A ROMANCE
By MAURICE HEWLETT
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.ti 2
SPECTATOR.—“The Forest Lovers is no mere literary tour de force,
but an uncommonly attractive romance, the charm of which is greatly
enhanced by the author’s excellent style.”
.ti 2
DAILY TELEGRAPH.—“Mr. Maurice Hewlett’s Forest Lovers
stands out with conspicuous success.... He has compassed a very
remarkable achievement.... For nearly four hundred pages he carries
us along with him with unfailing resource and artistic skill, while he
unrolls for us the course of thrilling adventures, ending, after many
tribulations, in that ideal happiness towards which every romancer
ought to wend his tortuous way.... There are few books of this
season which achieve their aim so simply and whole-heartedly as
Mr. Hewlett’s ingenious and enthralling romance.”
.sp 2
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THE
GOSPEL OF FREEDOM
By ROBERT HERRICK
AUTHOR OF “THE MAN WHO WINS,” “LITERARY LOVE LETTERS, AND
OTHER STORIES”
.nf-
.ti 2
DAILY MAIL.—“Distinctly enjoyable and suggestive of much
profitable thought.”
.ti 2
SCOTSMAN.—“The book has a deal of literary merit, and is well
furnished with clever phrases.”
.ti 2
ATHENÆUM.—“Remarkably clever.... The writing throughout
is clear, and the story is well constructed.”
.ti 2
W.D. Howells in LITERATURE.—“A very clever new novel.”
.ti 2
GUARDIAN.—“The novel is well written, and full of complex
interests and personalities. It touches on many questions and problems
clearly and skilfully.”
.ti 2
DAILY CHRONICLE.—“A book which entirely interested us for
the whole of a blazing afternoon. He writes uncommonly well.”
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100,000 copies of this work have been sold
THE CHOIR INVISIBLE
By JAMES LANE ALLEN
AUTHOR OF “SUMMER IN ARCADY,” “A KENTUCKY CARDINAL,” ETC.
.nf-
.ti 2
ACADEMY.—“A book to read, and a book to keep after reading.
Mr. Allen’s gifts are many—a style pellucid and picturesque, a vivid and
disciplined power of characterization, and an intimate knowledge of a
striking epoch and an alluring country.... So magical is the wilderness
environment, so fresh the characters, so buoyant the life they lead,
so companionable, so well balanced, and so touched with humanity, the
author’s personality, that I hereby send him greeting and thanks for
a brave book.... The Choir Invisible is a fine achievement.”
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—“Mr. Allen’s power of character drawing
invests the old, old story with renewed and absorbing interest....
The fascination of the story lies in great part in Mr. Allen’s graceful
and vivid style.”
.sp 2
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A DRAMA IN SUNSHINE
By HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL
.nf-
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CONTENTS
.in 4
.ti -4
The Prologue
.ti -4
Chapter I. Sausages and Palaver—II. Illumination—III.
William Chillingworth—IV. Calamity Cañon—V.
Speculations—VI. Which contains a Moral—VII.
Of Blood and Water—VIII. Which ends in Flames—IX.
“Is Writ in Moods and Frowns and Wrinkles
Strange”—X. The Daughters of Themis
.ti 2
LITERATURE.—“It has the joy of life in it, sparkle, humour,
charm.... All the characters, in their contrasts and developments,
are drawn with fine delicacy; and the book is one of those few which one
reads again with increased pleasure.”
.ti 2
DAILY TELEGRAPH.—“A story of extraordinary interest.... Mr.
Vachell’s enthralling story, the dénouement of which worthily crowns
a literary achievement of no little merit.”
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HUGH GWYETH
A ROUNDHEAD CAVALIER
By BEULAH MARIE DIX
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.ti 2
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—“A thoroughly interesting story....
We hope it will not be the last of its kind from the author.”
.ti 2
SATURDAY REVIEW.—“We found it difficult to tear ourselves
away from the fascinating narrative.”
.ti 2
SPECTATOR.—“There is no gainsaying the spirit and fluency of
the narrative.”
.ti 2
LEEDS MERCURY.—“The boy hero is admirably drawn, and his
stirring adventures are told with uncommon vivacity.”
.sp 2
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BISMILLAH
By A.J. DAWSON
AUTHOR OF “MERE SENTIMENT,” “GOD’S FOUNDLING,” ETC.
.nf-
A romantic story of Moorish life in the Riff Country and in Tangier
by Mr. A.J. Dawson, whose last novel, God’s Foundling, was well
received in the beginning of the year, and whose West African and
Australian Bush stories will be familiar to most readers of fiction.
Bismillah is the title chosen for Mr. Dawson’s new book, which may
be regarded as the outcome of his somewhat adventurous experiences
in Morocco last year.
.ti 2
ACADEMY.—“Romantic and dramatic, and full of colour.”
.ti 2
GUARDIAN.—“Decidedly clever and original.... Its excellent
local colouring, and its story, as a whole interesting and often dramatic,
make it a book more worth reading and enjoyable than is at all
common.”
.ti 2
SPEAKER.—“A stirring tale of love and adventure.... There is
enough of exciting incident, of fighting, intrigue, and love-making in
Bismillah to satisfy the most exacting reader.”
.ti 2
MANCHESTER GUARDIAN.—“An interesting and pleasing tale.”
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RUPERT, by the GRACE of GOD—
By DORA GREENWELL McCHESNEY
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.ti 2
DAILY TELEGRAPH.—“Miss McChesney shows that she
possesses both graphic powers and imagination in the course of her
story, and those parts of it which are historical are told with a due
regard for truth as well as picturesqueness.”
.ti 2
ATHENÆUM.—“A singular successful specimen of the ‘historical’
fiction of the day.”
.ti 2
WORLD.—“The reader will rapidly find his attention absorbed by
a really stirring picture of stirring times.”
.ti 2
OBSERVER.—“Miss McChesney has mastered her period
thoroughly, and tells an attractive story in a very winning fashion.”
.ti 2
GUARDIAN.—“The description of the flight from Naseby is one of
real eloquence, and profoundly moving. There is brilliancy, insight,
and feeling in the story.”
.sp 2
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THE DAY’S WORK
By RUDYARD KIPLING
.nf-
.ce 2
CONTENTS
.in 4
.ti -4
The Bridgebuilders—A Walking Delegate—The Ship
that Found Herself—The Tomb of his Ancestors—The
Devil and the Deep Sea—William the Conqueror—·007—The
Maltese Cat—Bread upon the Waters—An
Error of the Fourth Dimension—My Sunday at
Home—The Brushwood Boy
.in -4
.ti 2
ST. JAMES’S GAZETTE.—“This new batch of Mr. Kipling’s short
stories is splendid work. Among the thirteen there are included at least
five of his very finest.... Speaking for ourselves, we have read
The Day’s Work with more pleasure than we have derived from anything
of Mr. Kipling’s since The Jungle Book.... It is in the Findlaysons,
and the Scotts, and the Cottars, and the ‘Williams,’ that Mr. Kipling’s
true greatness lies. These are creations that make one feel pleased and
proud that we are also English. What greater honour could there be
to an English writer?”
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MEN’S TRAGEDIES
By R.V. RISLEY
.nf-
.in 4
.ti -4
Containing:—The Man who Loved, The Man who Hated,
The Man who Bore, The Man who Cared, The Man
who Fell, The Man who Sneered, The Man who
Killed, The Man who Died, The Man who was Himself.
.in -4
.ti 2
OUTLOOK.—“Mr. R.V. Risley may be congratulated on having
produced a set of really moving studies.”
.ti 2
SCOTSMAN.—“The stories are powerful studies of human nature,
which show considerable art in presenting the stronger passions.”
.ti 2
GLASGOW HERALD.—“Clever, striking, and impressionist sort
of stories.”
.sp 2
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THE SHORT-LINE WAR
By MERWIN-WEBSTER
.nf-
.ti 2
LITERATURE.—“The story is well written, and full of exciting
intrigue.”
.ti 2
SPECTATOR.—“The story is well put together, well told, and
exciting.”
.ti 2
SPEAKER.—“Short, exciting, well composed.”
.ti 2
ACADEMY.—“Told with much spirit.”
.ti 2
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—“The book is briskly written by a man
who is interested in his subject.”
.ti 2
SCOTSMAN.—“The story is told with capital spirit, and the reader
is not given time to feel dull.”
.ti 2
GLASGOW HERALD.—“Vivid and interesting.”
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THE
TRAIL OF THE GOLDSEEKERS
A RECORD OF TRAVEL IN PROSE
AND VERSE
By HAMLIN GARLAND
.nf-
.ti 2
SPEAKER.—“It consists of vivid prose pictures of adventure in the
wild North West, interspersed with unconventional and often extremely
beautiful snatches of verse. The book reflects better than anything
else we have seen the pitiless majesty of the scenery and the tragic
conditions of the quest.”
.ti 2
OBSERVER.—“Racy, invigorating, and informing.... Interspersed
with some admirable verses.”
.ti 2
BOOKMAN.—“To read the volume is to make the overland journey
to the Yukon River. We have enjoyed the book most thoroughly.”
.sp 2
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THE LOVES
OF THE
LADY ARABELLA
By M.E. SEAWELL
.nf-
.ti 2
SPEAKER.—“A story told with so much spirit that the reader
tingles with suspense until the end is reached.... A very pleasant tale
of more than common merit.”
.ti 2
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—“It is short and excellent reading....
Old Peter Hawkshaw, the Admiral, is a valuable creation, sometimes
quite ‘My Uncle Toby’.... The scene, when the narrator dines with
him in the cabin for the first time, is one of the most humorous in the
language, and stamps Lady Hawkshaw—albeit, she is not there—as one
of the wives of fiction in the category of Mrs. Proudie herself.... The
interest is thoroughly sustained to the end.... Thoroughly healthy
and amusing.”
.ti 2
WORLD.—“Brisk and amusing throughout.”
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MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd., LONDON
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Transcriber’s Note
The following issues should be noted. There were a number of confusions
about nested quotation marks, which have been addressed to ease the reading
experience. Where the author’s intent is unclear, the text is retained.
Errors of punctuation in the advertisement section at the end of the
text were corrected, silently, in the interest of consistency.
.ta l:10 l:40 l:15
p. 5 | intercour[es/se] | Transposed.
p. 41 | [‘]Well, I don’t deny | Added.
p. 74 | [‘]Quite right, Dick; | Added.
p. 94 | and considerable[./,] Mick and his sons | Corrected.
p. 99 | ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ he shouted[.] | Added.
p. 109 | the English thoroughbred.[’] | Added.
p. 116 | labouring up and [and] glanced | Removed.
p. 118 | Dick [road/rode] up straight | Corrected.
p. 147 | about one another,[’] | Added.
p. 178 | licks [’]im | Added.
p. 206 | Fred Churbett out of [of] his bed | Removed.
p. 224 | villians | sic.
p. 225 | [“]if we meet any | Added.
| back you go to the barracks[’/”] | Corrected.
| [‘]They’d take me ... and free from trouble,”[’] | Added.
p. 227 | 'What a tragedy!['] | Added.
p. 232 | any other[ other] part | Removed.
p. 252 | [‘]I like forest | Added.
p. 269 | compressd | sic.
p. 275 | I see it in your face[.] | Added.
p. 287 | wild-f[l]owl | Removed.
p. 298 | he became a finder of continents.[’] | Added.
p. 310 | [‘]You will enjoy | Added.
| Hu[r]bert | Removed.
p. 313 | Gera[r/l]d | Corrected.
p. 315 | my dear boy[,/.] | Corrected.
p. 318 | but the old who die![’] | Removed.
p. 367 | home at last——[”/’] | Corrected.
| Hu[r]bert | Removed.
p. 373 | well-featured, manly[.] | Added.
p. 419 | But some[w]how | Removed.
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