Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Eleven.Cabby at Christmas.Rather cold outside here, sir; but of course, if you like riding on the box best, why it’s nothing to me, and I’m glad of your company. Come on. “Ony a bob’s worth, Tommy,” says that chap as drove Mr Pickwick, him as set the old gent and his friends down as spies. The poor chap must have had a bad day, you see, and got a bit raspy; and I’ve known the time as I’ve felt raspy, too, and ready to say, “Ony a bob’s worth, Tommy.” You see ours is a trade as flucterates a wonderful sight, and the public’s got it into their heads as we’re always a-going to take ’em in somehow or other; so jest like that American gal in the story, “Don’t,” says Public. “Don’t what?” says we. “Don’t overcharge,” says Public. “Well, we wasn’t a-over-charging,” says we. “No, but aint you going to?” says Public. Puts it into our heads, and makes us charge extra through being so suspicious. You see we’re poor men, but not such a bad sort, considering. Public servants we are, badged and numbered, bound to do work by fixed rule and charge, so what I say is that you should treat us accordingly. “Civil and pleasant,” says you—“Civil and pleasant,” says we. “Drawn swords,” says you—“Drawn swords,” says we. Peace or war, which you likes, and the Beak for umpire. There’s a werry good sorter clay underneath some of our weskets, if you only takes and moulds it the right way, when you’ll find all go as easy as can be; but make us ill-tempered and hot, why of course we turns brittle and cracks; while, you know, if you goes the other way too far, and moistens our clay too much, why—Well, human natur’s only human natur, is it? and of course the clay gets soft and sticky, and a nuisance. Keep half-way, you know, and then you’re all right, and will find us decent working, when you moulds us up and brings out a model cabby.You see you calls them black fellows men and brothers, but I’m blest if I think some people thinks as we are; for, instead of brothers, they treat us as if we was werry distant relations indeed, and then sets to and fights it out with us for every sixpence we earns. Don’t believe a word we say, they don’t, and as to thinking we’re honest—bless your heart no, not they! “Oh, they’re a bad lot, kebmen,” says Mrs John Bull, and she says as the straw’s musty, the lining fusty, and the seat’s dusty, and then grumbles at the horse, and blows up the driver and flings dirt at him.“You rascal—you scoundrel! I’ll summons you; I’ll put you on the treadmill; I’ll have the distance measured; I’ll—I’ll write to theTimesand have your rascality exposed. Drive me to Bow Street—no to Great Marlbro’ Street—or—there—no, take your fare, but mind I’ve taken your number, and I’ll introduce the subject in the House this very night.”“I’ll—I’ll—I’ll,” I says to myself. “Nice ile yours ’ud be to grease the wheels of Life with.” And that was Mr MP, that was; for it was over a mile as he rode. And only think of wanting to put a Hansom driver off with sixpence. Then, again, I drives a gent to the rail, and his missus with him, and when he gets out he sorter sneaks a shillin’ into my hand, and then’s going to shuffle off, when “Wot’s this here for?” I says.“Your fare, my man,” he says, werry mildly.“Hayten-pence more,” I says.“Sixpence a mile, my good man,” he says, “and Mogg’s guide says that—”“Mogg’s guide doesn’t say that kebs is to be made carriers’ waggons on for nothing,” I says; and then the porters laughed, and he gives me the difference of the half-crown; and only nat’ral, for I’ll tell you what there was. First there was three boxes—heavy ones—on the roof; two carpet-bags and a portmanty on the seat aside me; a parrot’s cage, a cap-box, a gun-case, and a whole bundle o’ fishing-rods, and umbrellys, and things on the front seat; and him and his missus on the back. And arter the loading up and loading down, and what not, I don’t think as it was so werry dear. I sarved him out, though, for I took and bit every blessed bit o’ silver, making believe as I didn’t think ’em good, and stood grumbling there till the porters had got all the things in, and Master Generous had put hisself outer sight.You see, sir, it ain’t us as has all the queer pints; there’s some as I knows on, if they was brought down to kebbing, ’stead of being swells, they’d be a jolly sight worse than we.Didn’t know Tom Sizer, I s’pose? No, you wouldn’t know him, I dare say. Out an out driver, he was, poor chap. But what was the use on it to him? Just because he was clever with the reins, and could do a’most anything with any old knacker of a ’oss, the guv’nor sets him up the shabbiest of any man as went outer the yard. There he was, poor chap, with the wust ’oss and the wust keb, and then being only a seedy-looking cove hisself, why he turned out werry rough. But that didn’t matter; Tom allus managed to keep upsides with the guv’nor, and was never behind. Being a quiet sorter driver, yer see, he’d got some old ladies as was regular customers, and one way and another he made it up. And it was always the guv’nor’s artfulness, you know: he had old ’osses and a old keb or two, and if he’d sent some men out with ’em they’d ha’ brought back a’most nothing.A regular sharp, teasing winter came on; rain, and freeze, and blow; and then our pore old Tom he got dreadful shaky at last, and his cough teased him awful, so none of us was surprised when we found one day as he warn’t come to the yard; nor we warn’t surprised next day when he didn’t come; nor yet when a whole week passed away and his keb stood under the shed, and his ’oss kep in the stable, for they was such bad ’uns none of our chaps’d have anything to do with ’em; and more’n once I see the guv’nor stand with his hat half-raised in one hand, and scratting his head with t’other, as he looked at the old worn keb, as much as to say, “I shall never make anything outer that any more.”Christmas arternoon comes, and I thinks as I’ll go and have a look at Tom. So I tidies up a bit, puts on a white choker, and ties it coachman’s fashion, and fixes it with a horse-shoe pin, as my missus give me when we was courting. Then I brushes my hat up, and was just going off, when the missus says, “Wot d’yer want yer whip for?” she says. “Wot do I want my whip for?” I says, and then I stops short, and goes and stands it up in the corner by the drawers, for it didn’t seem nat’ral to go out without one’s whip, and it ain’t often as we goes out walking, I can tell you.Well, I toddles along, and gets to the place at last, where Tommy held out: tall house it was, just aside Awery Row, and opposite to a mews; werry pleasant lookout in summer-time, for the coachmen’s wives as lived over the stables was fond of their flowers and birds; but even in winter time there was allus a bit o’ life going on: chaps cleaning first-class ’osses, or washing carriages, or starting off fresh and smart to drive out shopping or in the park. Fine, clean-legged, stepping ’osses, and bright warnished carriages and coachmen in livery; and all right up to the mark, you knew.So I goes on upstairs, for I knowed the way to his room, along of having had supper with him one night—mussels and a pot of stout we had—so I didn’t ring three times like a stranger, but walks up one pair, two pair, three pair stairs, and then I stops short, for the door was ajar, and I could see a gentleman’s back, and hear talking; so I says to myself, “That’s the doctor,” I says, and I sets down on the top stair to get my wind, and then I turns quite chilly to hear poor old Tom’s voice, so altered and pipy I didn’t know what to make of it, as he says.“There, sir, don’t stand no more; set down. Not that chair, ’cos the leg’s broke. Try t’other one. Well,” he says, “I takes this as werry kind of you to come and see a poor fellow as is outer sorts and laid up—laid up! Ah! it’s pretty well knacker’s cart and Jack Straw’s castle with me. The missus there’s been cleaning and a-tidying up, and doing the best she could; but, in course, with me in it, the bed can’t be turned up, and so the place can’t look werry decent. I do take it as werry kind of a gent like you climbing up three pairs o’ stairs o’ purpose to come and see me—it quite cheers me up. Not as I wants for visitors, for I has the ’spensary doctor, and there’s four sorter journeymen preachers comes a-wherretin’ me; till, as soon as I sees one on ’em coming in all in black, I thinks it’s the undertaker hisself. The doctor came half an hour ago—two hours, was it? ah, well, I’ve been asleep, I s’pose; and then time goes. He’s left me a lot more physic and stuff, but I ain’t taken it, and I ain’t a-going to; for what’s the use o’ greasing the keb wheels when the tires is off and the spokes is all loose and rattling, and a’most ready to tumble out. ’Tain’t no use whatsomever, whether they’ve been good ones or bad ones. It’s all up; and you may wheel the keb werry gently through the yard under the shed, and leave it there, and wot odds; there’s fresh ’uns a-coming out every day with all the noo improvements, so what’s the use o’ troubling about one as is worn out and out. There ain’t no use in trying to patch when all the woodwork’s worm-eaten, while the lining’s clean gone; what with bad usage and bad weather; and, as to the windys, they ain’t broke, but they’re grown heavy and dull, and I can’t see through ’em; and you’ll soon see the blinds pulled down over ’em, never to come up no more—never no more!”Then there come a stoppage, for the pore chap’s cough give it him awful, so as it was terrible to listen, and I’d ha’ slipped away, ony I felt as I should like to have just a word with my poor old mate again.“There,” he says, “I’ve got my wind again; you see it’s up hill, and this cough shakes a fellow awful. Never mind, though; I hope there’s rest up a-top for even a poor fellow like me; and, do you know,” he says, quite softly, “I begins to want to get there, though it does grit me to think as I can’t take Polly on the box with me; but that’s a hard thing to understand—that about life, and death, and ’ternity—for ever, and ever, and ever. That’s what the youngest parson as comes talks to me about. Nice fellow he is; I like him, for he seems to want to light one’s lamps up a bit and clear the road—seems fond of one like, and eager to give one a shove outer the block. But there; I ain’t lived to six-and-sixty year without having my own thoughts about religion and that sort of thing. I know as we’re all bad enough, and I s’pose a-top of the hill there it will all be reckoned against one, and kep’ account on, good and bad. As I sez to Polly, after that chap had been here as is so fond of hearing hisself speak, and allus calls me ‘my friend;’ ‘Polly,’ I sez, ‘it’s no manner of use; I ain’t a-going to turn king’s evidence and try to shirk out of it that way: what I’ve done wrong will go to the bad, and what I’ve done right I hope will go to the good, while I’m sure no poor fellow could be more sorry than me for what’s amiss.’ When we goes afore Him as judges up there, sir, it will all be made light, and there won’t be no feeling as justice ain’t done. There won’t be no big fellows in gowns and wigs a-trying to swear a chap’s soul away—making a whole sarmon out of a word, and finding out things as was never before thought on at all. I’ve been before ’em, and examined and cross-examined, and twisted about till you don’t know what your a-saying of. And so, when I thinks of all this lying still in the night, listening to the rumbling of the kebs—kebs as I shall never drive no more; why, I feels comfortable and better like; don’t seem to see as it’s so werry serious, as my number’s been took, and I’m summoned; ‘Done my dooty,’ I says, ‘and kep’ home together as well as I could; and it would ha’ been all the same if I’d ha’ been born a dook, I must ha’ come to it same as I’m a-coming now.’ Of course I should ha’ had a finer funeral; but there, lots of fellows as I knows on the rank, chaps as is Foresters, they’ll drive behind me with their windy-blines down, and a little bit o’ crape bow on the ends o’ their whips; they’ll smoke it at night in their pipes, and take it werry much to ’art when they thinks on it, and puts their blines right again—but mine won’t open no more now.”“Nigher I gets to the top of the hill,” he says, “slower I goes; but slow and sure I’m a-making way, and shall be there some time: not to-day, p’raps, nor yet to-morrow, but some time afore long, for I knows well enough how my number’s been took, and my license is about gone. Well, sir, I drove a cab thirty year, and it was never took away afore; and so I ain’t a-going to complain.”“Going, sir?” he says: “Then I’ll take it as a favour, sir, if you’ll just see that young genelman—the parson as I likes, and ast him to come. He left his card on the chimbley there for me to send for him when I felt to want him, and he seems to be the real doctor for my complaint. I was to send if I wanted him before he came again, and I’d rather not see them others too. That first one helps me on a bit, and somehow, I seem to want to be a-top of the hill now, and he’s first-class company for a pore chap on a dark road. Nothing like a real friend when you’re in trouble, and he seems one as will help.”“Good bye, sir,” he says, werry softly. “The warnish is all rubbed off, and the paint chipped and showing white and worn; the bottom’s a-falling out, and the head’s going fast; so once more, sir, good bye, for the old keb’ll be broke up afore you comes again. Good bye, sir; you’ll tell him to come here, as told of mercy and hope.”And then some one stepped softly by me, and went down the creaking stairs, and I got ready to go in; but, not feeling in a bit of a hurry, for there was something seemed to stick in my throat, and I knew I shouldn’t be able to speak like a man when I got into the room, so I stops outside a bit longer; and then, when I made sure as it was all right with me once more, I steps softly in, and then stops short, when I turned worse than ever; for there, kneeling down by his bed, was poor Mrs Sizer sobbing, oh, so bitterly! and then I thought of how he said he’d like to take her on the box with him. And there, you’ll laugh, I know, at calling it a beautiful sight to see them pore, plain, weather-and-time-worn people taking like a last farewell of one another; and it was no good; I daren’t speak, but slowly and softly backed out, thinking about the years them two had been together working up hill, up hill always; and then it didn’t seem so strange that, when one of these old folks dies, the other goes into the long, deep sleep, to be with him. And then a-going down the stairs softly and slowly, I says to myself, “there’s a deal o’ rough crust and hard stuff caked over us, but a pore man’s heart’s made of the real same material as God made those of better folks of;” and Lord bless you, sir! use him well, and you’ll find the way to the heart of a cabby.Poor Tom! he was a-top of the hill nex’ day, and I never saw him again. But he was a good sort, was Tom. Thanky sir, much obliged; merry Christmas to you!

Rather cold outside here, sir; but of course, if you like riding on the box best, why it’s nothing to me, and I’m glad of your company. Come on. “Ony a bob’s worth, Tommy,” says that chap as drove Mr Pickwick, him as set the old gent and his friends down as spies. The poor chap must have had a bad day, you see, and got a bit raspy; and I’ve known the time as I’ve felt raspy, too, and ready to say, “Ony a bob’s worth, Tommy.” You see ours is a trade as flucterates a wonderful sight, and the public’s got it into their heads as we’re always a-going to take ’em in somehow or other; so jest like that American gal in the story, “Don’t,” says Public. “Don’t what?” says we. “Don’t overcharge,” says Public. “Well, we wasn’t a-over-charging,” says we. “No, but aint you going to?” says Public. Puts it into our heads, and makes us charge extra through being so suspicious. You see we’re poor men, but not such a bad sort, considering. Public servants we are, badged and numbered, bound to do work by fixed rule and charge, so what I say is that you should treat us accordingly. “Civil and pleasant,” says you—“Civil and pleasant,” says we. “Drawn swords,” says you—“Drawn swords,” says we. Peace or war, which you likes, and the Beak for umpire. There’s a werry good sorter clay underneath some of our weskets, if you only takes and moulds it the right way, when you’ll find all go as easy as can be; but make us ill-tempered and hot, why of course we turns brittle and cracks; while, you know, if you goes the other way too far, and moistens our clay too much, why—Well, human natur’s only human natur, is it? and of course the clay gets soft and sticky, and a nuisance. Keep half-way, you know, and then you’re all right, and will find us decent working, when you moulds us up and brings out a model cabby.

You see you calls them black fellows men and brothers, but I’m blest if I think some people thinks as we are; for, instead of brothers, they treat us as if we was werry distant relations indeed, and then sets to and fights it out with us for every sixpence we earns. Don’t believe a word we say, they don’t, and as to thinking we’re honest—bless your heart no, not they! “Oh, they’re a bad lot, kebmen,” says Mrs John Bull, and she says as the straw’s musty, the lining fusty, and the seat’s dusty, and then grumbles at the horse, and blows up the driver and flings dirt at him.

“You rascal—you scoundrel! I’ll summons you; I’ll put you on the treadmill; I’ll have the distance measured; I’ll—I’ll write to theTimesand have your rascality exposed. Drive me to Bow Street—no to Great Marlbro’ Street—or—there—no, take your fare, but mind I’ve taken your number, and I’ll introduce the subject in the House this very night.”

“I’ll—I’ll—I’ll,” I says to myself. “Nice ile yours ’ud be to grease the wheels of Life with.” And that was Mr MP, that was; for it was over a mile as he rode. And only think of wanting to put a Hansom driver off with sixpence. Then, again, I drives a gent to the rail, and his missus with him, and when he gets out he sorter sneaks a shillin’ into my hand, and then’s going to shuffle off, when “Wot’s this here for?” I says.

“Your fare, my man,” he says, werry mildly.

“Hayten-pence more,” I says.

“Sixpence a mile, my good man,” he says, “and Mogg’s guide says that—”

“Mogg’s guide doesn’t say that kebs is to be made carriers’ waggons on for nothing,” I says; and then the porters laughed, and he gives me the difference of the half-crown; and only nat’ral, for I’ll tell you what there was. First there was three boxes—heavy ones—on the roof; two carpet-bags and a portmanty on the seat aside me; a parrot’s cage, a cap-box, a gun-case, and a whole bundle o’ fishing-rods, and umbrellys, and things on the front seat; and him and his missus on the back. And arter the loading up and loading down, and what not, I don’t think as it was so werry dear. I sarved him out, though, for I took and bit every blessed bit o’ silver, making believe as I didn’t think ’em good, and stood grumbling there till the porters had got all the things in, and Master Generous had put hisself outer sight.

You see, sir, it ain’t us as has all the queer pints; there’s some as I knows on, if they was brought down to kebbing, ’stead of being swells, they’d be a jolly sight worse than we.

Didn’t know Tom Sizer, I s’pose? No, you wouldn’t know him, I dare say. Out an out driver, he was, poor chap. But what was the use on it to him? Just because he was clever with the reins, and could do a’most anything with any old knacker of a ’oss, the guv’nor sets him up the shabbiest of any man as went outer the yard. There he was, poor chap, with the wust ’oss and the wust keb, and then being only a seedy-looking cove hisself, why he turned out werry rough. But that didn’t matter; Tom allus managed to keep upsides with the guv’nor, and was never behind. Being a quiet sorter driver, yer see, he’d got some old ladies as was regular customers, and one way and another he made it up. And it was always the guv’nor’s artfulness, you know: he had old ’osses and a old keb or two, and if he’d sent some men out with ’em they’d ha’ brought back a’most nothing.

A regular sharp, teasing winter came on; rain, and freeze, and blow; and then our pore old Tom he got dreadful shaky at last, and his cough teased him awful, so none of us was surprised when we found one day as he warn’t come to the yard; nor we warn’t surprised next day when he didn’t come; nor yet when a whole week passed away and his keb stood under the shed, and his ’oss kep in the stable, for they was such bad ’uns none of our chaps’d have anything to do with ’em; and more’n once I see the guv’nor stand with his hat half-raised in one hand, and scratting his head with t’other, as he looked at the old worn keb, as much as to say, “I shall never make anything outer that any more.”

Christmas arternoon comes, and I thinks as I’ll go and have a look at Tom. So I tidies up a bit, puts on a white choker, and ties it coachman’s fashion, and fixes it with a horse-shoe pin, as my missus give me when we was courting. Then I brushes my hat up, and was just going off, when the missus says, “Wot d’yer want yer whip for?” she says. “Wot do I want my whip for?” I says, and then I stops short, and goes and stands it up in the corner by the drawers, for it didn’t seem nat’ral to go out without one’s whip, and it ain’t often as we goes out walking, I can tell you.

Well, I toddles along, and gets to the place at last, where Tommy held out: tall house it was, just aside Awery Row, and opposite to a mews; werry pleasant lookout in summer-time, for the coachmen’s wives as lived over the stables was fond of their flowers and birds; but even in winter time there was allus a bit o’ life going on: chaps cleaning first-class ’osses, or washing carriages, or starting off fresh and smart to drive out shopping or in the park. Fine, clean-legged, stepping ’osses, and bright warnished carriages and coachmen in livery; and all right up to the mark, you knew.

So I goes on upstairs, for I knowed the way to his room, along of having had supper with him one night—mussels and a pot of stout we had—so I didn’t ring three times like a stranger, but walks up one pair, two pair, three pair stairs, and then I stops short, for the door was ajar, and I could see a gentleman’s back, and hear talking; so I says to myself, “That’s the doctor,” I says, and I sets down on the top stair to get my wind, and then I turns quite chilly to hear poor old Tom’s voice, so altered and pipy I didn’t know what to make of it, as he says.

“There, sir, don’t stand no more; set down. Not that chair, ’cos the leg’s broke. Try t’other one. Well,” he says, “I takes this as werry kind of you to come and see a poor fellow as is outer sorts and laid up—laid up! Ah! it’s pretty well knacker’s cart and Jack Straw’s castle with me. The missus there’s been cleaning and a-tidying up, and doing the best she could; but, in course, with me in it, the bed can’t be turned up, and so the place can’t look werry decent. I do take it as werry kind of a gent like you climbing up three pairs o’ stairs o’ purpose to come and see me—it quite cheers me up. Not as I wants for visitors, for I has the ’spensary doctor, and there’s four sorter journeymen preachers comes a-wherretin’ me; till, as soon as I sees one on ’em coming in all in black, I thinks it’s the undertaker hisself. The doctor came half an hour ago—two hours, was it? ah, well, I’ve been asleep, I s’pose; and then time goes. He’s left me a lot more physic and stuff, but I ain’t taken it, and I ain’t a-going to; for what’s the use o’ greasing the keb wheels when the tires is off and the spokes is all loose and rattling, and a’most ready to tumble out. ’Tain’t no use whatsomever, whether they’ve been good ones or bad ones. It’s all up; and you may wheel the keb werry gently through the yard under the shed, and leave it there, and wot odds; there’s fresh ’uns a-coming out every day with all the noo improvements, so what’s the use o’ troubling about one as is worn out and out. There ain’t no use in trying to patch when all the woodwork’s worm-eaten, while the lining’s clean gone; what with bad usage and bad weather; and, as to the windys, they ain’t broke, but they’re grown heavy and dull, and I can’t see through ’em; and you’ll soon see the blinds pulled down over ’em, never to come up no more—never no more!”

Then there come a stoppage, for the pore chap’s cough give it him awful, so as it was terrible to listen, and I’d ha’ slipped away, ony I felt as I should like to have just a word with my poor old mate again.

“There,” he says, “I’ve got my wind again; you see it’s up hill, and this cough shakes a fellow awful. Never mind, though; I hope there’s rest up a-top for even a poor fellow like me; and, do you know,” he says, quite softly, “I begins to want to get there, though it does grit me to think as I can’t take Polly on the box with me; but that’s a hard thing to understand—that about life, and death, and ’ternity—for ever, and ever, and ever. That’s what the youngest parson as comes talks to me about. Nice fellow he is; I like him, for he seems to want to light one’s lamps up a bit and clear the road—seems fond of one like, and eager to give one a shove outer the block. But there; I ain’t lived to six-and-sixty year without having my own thoughts about religion and that sort of thing. I know as we’re all bad enough, and I s’pose a-top of the hill there it will all be reckoned against one, and kep’ account on, good and bad. As I sez to Polly, after that chap had been here as is so fond of hearing hisself speak, and allus calls me ‘my friend;’ ‘Polly,’ I sez, ‘it’s no manner of use; I ain’t a-going to turn king’s evidence and try to shirk out of it that way: what I’ve done wrong will go to the bad, and what I’ve done right I hope will go to the good, while I’m sure no poor fellow could be more sorry than me for what’s amiss.’ When we goes afore Him as judges up there, sir, it will all be made light, and there won’t be no feeling as justice ain’t done. There won’t be no big fellows in gowns and wigs a-trying to swear a chap’s soul away—making a whole sarmon out of a word, and finding out things as was never before thought on at all. I’ve been before ’em, and examined and cross-examined, and twisted about till you don’t know what your a-saying of. And so, when I thinks of all this lying still in the night, listening to the rumbling of the kebs—kebs as I shall never drive no more; why, I feels comfortable and better like; don’t seem to see as it’s so werry serious, as my number’s been took, and I’m summoned; ‘Done my dooty,’ I says, ‘and kep’ home together as well as I could; and it would ha’ been all the same if I’d ha’ been born a dook, I must ha’ come to it same as I’m a-coming now.’ Of course I should ha’ had a finer funeral; but there, lots of fellows as I knows on the rank, chaps as is Foresters, they’ll drive behind me with their windy-blines down, and a little bit o’ crape bow on the ends o’ their whips; they’ll smoke it at night in their pipes, and take it werry much to ’art when they thinks on it, and puts their blines right again—but mine won’t open no more now.”

“Nigher I gets to the top of the hill,” he says, “slower I goes; but slow and sure I’m a-making way, and shall be there some time: not to-day, p’raps, nor yet to-morrow, but some time afore long, for I knows well enough how my number’s been took, and my license is about gone. Well, sir, I drove a cab thirty year, and it was never took away afore; and so I ain’t a-going to complain.”

“Going, sir?” he says: “Then I’ll take it as a favour, sir, if you’ll just see that young genelman—the parson as I likes, and ast him to come. He left his card on the chimbley there for me to send for him when I felt to want him, and he seems to be the real doctor for my complaint. I was to send if I wanted him before he came again, and I’d rather not see them others too. That first one helps me on a bit, and somehow, I seem to want to be a-top of the hill now, and he’s first-class company for a pore chap on a dark road. Nothing like a real friend when you’re in trouble, and he seems one as will help.”

“Good bye, sir,” he says, werry softly. “The warnish is all rubbed off, and the paint chipped and showing white and worn; the bottom’s a-falling out, and the head’s going fast; so once more, sir, good bye, for the old keb’ll be broke up afore you comes again. Good bye, sir; you’ll tell him to come here, as told of mercy and hope.”

And then some one stepped softly by me, and went down the creaking stairs, and I got ready to go in; but, not feeling in a bit of a hurry, for there was something seemed to stick in my throat, and I knew I shouldn’t be able to speak like a man when I got into the room, so I stops outside a bit longer; and then, when I made sure as it was all right with me once more, I steps softly in, and then stops short, when I turned worse than ever; for there, kneeling down by his bed, was poor Mrs Sizer sobbing, oh, so bitterly! and then I thought of how he said he’d like to take her on the box with him. And there, you’ll laugh, I know, at calling it a beautiful sight to see them pore, plain, weather-and-time-worn people taking like a last farewell of one another; and it was no good; I daren’t speak, but slowly and softly backed out, thinking about the years them two had been together working up hill, up hill always; and then it didn’t seem so strange that, when one of these old folks dies, the other goes into the long, deep sleep, to be with him. And then a-going down the stairs softly and slowly, I says to myself, “there’s a deal o’ rough crust and hard stuff caked over us, but a pore man’s heart’s made of the real same material as God made those of better folks of;” and Lord bless you, sir! use him well, and you’ll find the way to the heart of a cabby.

Poor Tom! he was a-top of the hill nex’ day, and I never saw him again. But he was a good sort, was Tom. Thanky sir, much obliged; merry Christmas to you!

Chapter Twelve.Drat the Cats.Dumb animals would be all very well, no doubt, and I don’t suppose I should have much objection to keeping one, but then where are you going to get ’em? That’s what I want to know; I never come across anything dumber yet than old Job Cross’s donkey, while that would shout sometimes awful, and rouse up the whole neighbourhood. No; I’ve got no faith in keeping dogs and cats, and birds and things in a house, and sets them all down as nuisances—sets my face against ’em regular, and so would any man who had been bothered as I have with cats.Pussy—pussy—pussy—pussy; puss—puss—puss. Oh, yes, it’s all very fine. They’re pretty creatures, ain’t they? sleek and smooth, and furry and clean, and they’ll come and rub up against you, and all so affectionate. Bother! why, they never do it unless they want to be fed, or rubbed, or warmed in the nice warm glow of the fire, or in somebody’s lap. Why, see what savage little brutes they are to one another, and how they can spit and claw, and swear and growl, while their fur’s all set up, their tail swelled out like a fox’s, and their eyes round and bright enough to frighten you. No; I know what cats are—pretty dears. Who licks the top of the butter all over, and laps up the milk—eats my bloaters, steals mutton bones off the table, pretending to be asleep till you leave the room for a moment, when she’s up on the table and tearing away like a savage at your dinner or supper?“Poor thing; it was only because it was hungry,” says my wife. Perhaps it was, but then I didn’t approve of it: so I gave the poor thing away.Now, I daresay, most men’s wives have got some failings in them. I mean—ain’t quite perfect. You see mine ain’t, and though, I daresay, she’s no worse than other women, yet, she has got one of the most tiresome, aggravating, worrying ways with her that any one could come across. I don’t care whether its spring, summer, autumn, or winter, or whether it’s all on ’em, or none on ’em, it’s allus the same, and she’s no sooner got her head on the pillow, than she’s off like a top—sound as can be. ’Taint no good to speak—not a bit—you may just as well spare your breath, and almost the worst of it is, she mends wrong way, and gets sleepier and sleepier the longer she lives. But that’s only “almost the worst” on it; nottheworst of it, for the worst of it is, that she will be so aggravating, and won’t own to it. Say she can’t help it; well, then, why don’t she own it, and tell me so—not go sticking out, as she’d only jest shet her eyes, and was as wide awake as I was.Now, I’ll jest give you a sample. We live in a part where there’s cats enough to make the fortunes of five hundred millions o’ Dick Whittingtons. The place is alive with ’em; scratching up your bits of gardens; sneaking in at your back doors, and stealing; making Hyde Parks and Kensington Gardens of the tops o’ your wash-houses and tiles of your roof; and howling—howling—why, no mortal pusson would believe how them cats can howl. They seem to give the whole o’ their minds to it, and try it one against another, to see who’s got the loudest voice, and setting up such a concert as makes the old women cry, “Drat the cats.” But that ain’t no good: they don’t mind being dratted, not a bit of it; and if you go out into the back garden, and shy bricks, why, they only swear at you—awful.Well, you see, we live in a very catty part, and it seems to me as if the beasts warn’t fed enough, and do it out of spite, for no sooner does it get dark, than out they come, tunes their pipes, and then you can hear ’em. No matter where you are, back or front, there they are, a-going it, like hooroar, till I’m blest if it ain’t half enough to drive you mad. Why, there’s one old black Tom, as you can hear a mile off, and I wouldn’t bet as you couldn’t hear him two, for he’s got a werry peculiar voice of his own. I think it’s what musical people calls a tenner, though it might be a hundreder for the noise it makes.He’s an artful old brute, though, is that Tom; and I’ve tried to come round him scores of times, but it ain’t no use, for he won’t believe in me. I’ve taken out saucers of milk and bits of fish, all got ready on purpose for my gentleman, but do you think he’d come? No, thank you. And as soon as ever he ketches sight of me, he shunts, he does, and goes off like an express train in front of a runaway engine.But I was going to tell you about my wife. Now, nex’ Monday’s a fortni’t since I come home werry tired and worn out—for porter’s work at a big terminus at Christmas ain’t easy, I can tell you; while, when we are off night dootey, it’s only natural as one should like a quiet night’s rest, which ain’t much to ask for, now is it, even if a man does only get a pound a week, and a sixpence now and then, as swells make a mistake, and give you through not having read the notice up on the walls about instant dismissal, and all that? Well, tired out regularly, and ready to sleep through anything a’most, I goes to bed, and as I lays down I thinks to myself—You may howl away, my beauties, to-night, for I can sleep through anything.And really I thought I could, but I suppose it was through having a hyster barrel on my mind, that I couldn’t go off directly—for there was one missing, and a fish hamper, both on ’em. No doubt, having been stolen by some one in the crowd on the platform; while I got the blame; and I put it to you, now, could a railway porter, having a pound a week, and Sunday dooty in his turn, have his eyes every wheres at once?So I didn’t go to sleep right off, but some one else did, and there, just outside the window, if one o’ them cats didn’t begin.“Wow-w-w, wow-w-w, wow-w-w, meyow-w-w,” and all such a pretty tune, finished off with a long low swear at the end.I stood it for ten minutes good, turning first one side, and then another, pulling the clothes over my ear, and at last ramming my head right under, with my fingers stuck in my ears, but there, Lor’ bless you, that was no good, for I’ll warrant the song of one of them pretty, soft, furry nightingales to go through anything, and at last I finds that I was only smothering myself for nowt, and I puts my head out of the clothes again, and give a great sigh.“Me-ow-ow-ow,” says my friend on the tiles.“Hear that, Polly?” I says.No answer.“Me-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow,” says my friend outside.“Hear that, Polly?” I says, for there warn’t no fun in putting up with all the noise yourself, when there was some one else in the room to take half share. “Polly,” I says, giving her a nudge, “hear that?”“Eh!” she says; “what say?”“Hear that?” I says.“Yes,” she says; “what?”“Why, you were asleep,” I says.“That I’m sure I warn’t,” she says.“Well, then, did you hear that?” I says.“Yes; what was it?” she says.“What was it?” I says. “There; go to sleep again,” I says; for I felt quite rusty to think anybody else could sleep through such a row, while I couldn’t.“Meyow—meyow—wow—wow-w-w-w,” goes the music again.“Two on ’em,” I says, as I lay listening, and there it went on getting louder and louder every moment, both sides and over the way, and up and down the street, till I’m blest if I could stand it any longer.“Oh, you beauties,” I says; “if I only had a gun.” And then I lay there, listening and wondering whether I mightn’t just as well get up and have a pipe; and at last of all, because I couldn’t stand it any longer, I gets up, goes to the window, opens it softly, and says—“Ssh!”Lor’ bless you! you might just as well have said nothing, for there they were a-going it all round to that degree, that it was something awful, and I stood there half dressed, and leaning out of the window, wondering what was best to be done. There was no mistake about it; there they were, cats of all sorts and sizes, and of all kinds of voices—some was very shrill, some very hoarse, and some round and deep-toned, and meller. Now and then some one would open a winder, and cry, “Ssh,” same as I did, but as soon as they smelt what a sharp frost it was, they shut them down again, and at last I did the same, and made up my mind as I crept into bed again, as I’d go where there was no cats.Yes, that was a capital idea, that was—to move to a place where there was no cats, and on the strength of that determination, I went off fast asleep.Next morning over my breakfast, I got thinking, and come to the conclusion, that I’d cut myself out a bit of a job. Where was I to get a little house or lodgings where there was no cats, for were not the happy, domestic creatures everywhere? No; that was of no use, but I warn’t going to stand having my rest broken night after night in that way; so I mounted a trap, for I’d made up my mind, that out of revenge, I’d have a full-sized railway rug lined with scarlet cloth, while the rug itself should be offur.First night I sets my trap, I baited it with a bit of herring. Goes next morning and found the herring had been dragged out at the side, and the trap warn’t sprung. Sets it next night, baited with two sprats; goes next morning to find ’em gone, but no pussy. And so I went on, week after week, till I got tired out, and tried poison, which hit the wrong game, and killed our neighbour’s tarrier dog. Then I thought I’d try an air-gun, but somehow or another there was a fault in that gun, for it wouldn’t shoot straight, and I never hit one of the nuisances. A regular powder-and-shot gun I couldn’t try, because it would have spoken so loud, that all the neighbours would have heard and known who was killing the cats.Last of all, one moonlight night I was down at the bottom of our garden, when I happens to look up towards the back door, and see a long-tailed tortoise-shell beauty sneaking into the kitchen.“All right, my pretty one,” I says, quietly. “You’ll do for the middle of the rug,” and then stealing softly up, I got to the door, slips in, and had it to in a moment, and then getting hold of the copper-stick and lid, just like a sword and shield, I goes forward to the attack.No mistake, there was Mrs Puss glaring at me like a small tiger, and as I advanced, she made a rush by me, but there was no escape that way, and then I shut the kitchen-door.Bang—crash went the crockery, for as I made a hit at the brute, she flew on to the dresser, and along one of the shelves, sending jugs and plates down helter-skelter on the floor, where they smashed to bits.“All down to your credit, my beauty,” I says, and I made another hit at her, when “whoosh,” spitting and swearing, she was up on the chimney-piece in a jiffey, and down came the candlesticks, while Polly puts her head in at the door, and then, seeing what was the matter, slips off again in a moment, bangs the door to, and keeps on shouting to me to drive the thing out. But talking was one thing, and acting another, for you never did see such a beast; she was here, there, and everywhere in the same moment; and though I kept hitting at her with the copper-stick, I could hit anything else but her, as you’d have said, if you’d seen me fetch the vegetable-dish and cover off the dresser with a smash, and then seen the copper lid split in two, when I shied it at her.Why, she flew about to that degree, that I got frightened of her, for at last she came at me, tore at my legs, and then was over my shoulder in an instant, while feeling quite scared, I just saw her dash up the chimney, and she was gone.“But you won’t stop there, my lady,” I says, and I was right, for next moment the brute came scrambling down, and we went at it again: she cutting about, and me hitting at her till I got savage, for I never touched her once. Now I hit the table; now it was something off the dresser; now she’d dodge behind the saucepans and kettles, on the black pot-board under the dresser; and now there’d be such a clatter and rattle, that Polly gave quite a scream, for she was wide enough awake then, I can tell you; but the jolly a bit could I touch that precious cat; and at last she stood in one corner of the kitchen, and I stood in the other looking at her, with her tail like a bottle-brush, her fur all up, and her back set up like an arch, and then I thought I’d try coaxing.“Pussy, pussy, pussy,” I says, but she only swore and spit at me.“Poor pussy; come then,” I says; but she wouldn’t come near me, and then I turned so savage that I threw the copper-stick at her, but only hit the tea-tray as stood on a little side-table.“Bang, clang, jangle,” down it come on to the floor, and then there was a rush, and a smash, and a scream from Polly; and I stood skretching my head, and looking at the broken kitchen-window—for the beauty had shot right through it when the tea-tray fell down, and now there was nothing to do but pick up the pieces, and go and ask the glazier to come and put in the broken square.“Oh, what a kitchen,” says Polly, as she came in, and really it did look a bit upset, and then seeing as she was put out, and going to make a fuss, I says—“Bad job; ain’t it, my gal; but it warn’t me;it was the cats!”“Drat the cats!” says Polly; and she looked so scornful and cross, that I give up all thoughts on the instant of ever getting a skin rug; but if there is any one mortal thing as I do hate, it’s a cat.

Dumb animals would be all very well, no doubt, and I don’t suppose I should have much objection to keeping one, but then where are you going to get ’em? That’s what I want to know; I never come across anything dumber yet than old Job Cross’s donkey, while that would shout sometimes awful, and rouse up the whole neighbourhood. No; I’ve got no faith in keeping dogs and cats, and birds and things in a house, and sets them all down as nuisances—sets my face against ’em regular, and so would any man who had been bothered as I have with cats.

Pussy—pussy—pussy—pussy; puss—puss—puss. Oh, yes, it’s all very fine. They’re pretty creatures, ain’t they? sleek and smooth, and furry and clean, and they’ll come and rub up against you, and all so affectionate. Bother! why, they never do it unless they want to be fed, or rubbed, or warmed in the nice warm glow of the fire, or in somebody’s lap. Why, see what savage little brutes they are to one another, and how they can spit and claw, and swear and growl, while their fur’s all set up, their tail swelled out like a fox’s, and their eyes round and bright enough to frighten you. No; I know what cats are—pretty dears. Who licks the top of the butter all over, and laps up the milk—eats my bloaters, steals mutton bones off the table, pretending to be asleep till you leave the room for a moment, when she’s up on the table and tearing away like a savage at your dinner or supper?

“Poor thing; it was only because it was hungry,” says my wife. Perhaps it was, but then I didn’t approve of it: so I gave the poor thing away.

Now, I daresay, most men’s wives have got some failings in them. I mean—ain’t quite perfect. You see mine ain’t, and though, I daresay, she’s no worse than other women, yet, she has got one of the most tiresome, aggravating, worrying ways with her that any one could come across. I don’t care whether its spring, summer, autumn, or winter, or whether it’s all on ’em, or none on ’em, it’s allus the same, and she’s no sooner got her head on the pillow, than she’s off like a top—sound as can be. ’Taint no good to speak—not a bit—you may just as well spare your breath, and almost the worst of it is, she mends wrong way, and gets sleepier and sleepier the longer she lives. But that’s only “almost the worst” on it; nottheworst of it, for the worst of it is, that she will be so aggravating, and won’t own to it. Say she can’t help it; well, then, why don’t she own it, and tell me so—not go sticking out, as she’d only jest shet her eyes, and was as wide awake as I was.

Now, I’ll jest give you a sample. We live in a part where there’s cats enough to make the fortunes of five hundred millions o’ Dick Whittingtons. The place is alive with ’em; scratching up your bits of gardens; sneaking in at your back doors, and stealing; making Hyde Parks and Kensington Gardens of the tops o’ your wash-houses and tiles of your roof; and howling—howling—why, no mortal pusson would believe how them cats can howl. They seem to give the whole o’ their minds to it, and try it one against another, to see who’s got the loudest voice, and setting up such a concert as makes the old women cry, “Drat the cats.” But that ain’t no good: they don’t mind being dratted, not a bit of it; and if you go out into the back garden, and shy bricks, why, they only swear at you—awful.

Well, you see, we live in a very catty part, and it seems to me as if the beasts warn’t fed enough, and do it out of spite, for no sooner does it get dark, than out they come, tunes their pipes, and then you can hear ’em. No matter where you are, back or front, there they are, a-going it, like hooroar, till I’m blest if it ain’t half enough to drive you mad. Why, there’s one old black Tom, as you can hear a mile off, and I wouldn’t bet as you couldn’t hear him two, for he’s got a werry peculiar voice of his own. I think it’s what musical people calls a tenner, though it might be a hundreder for the noise it makes.

He’s an artful old brute, though, is that Tom; and I’ve tried to come round him scores of times, but it ain’t no use, for he won’t believe in me. I’ve taken out saucers of milk and bits of fish, all got ready on purpose for my gentleman, but do you think he’d come? No, thank you. And as soon as ever he ketches sight of me, he shunts, he does, and goes off like an express train in front of a runaway engine.

But I was going to tell you about my wife. Now, nex’ Monday’s a fortni’t since I come home werry tired and worn out—for porter’s work at a big terminus at Christmas ain’t easy, I can tell you; while, when we are off night dootey, it’s only natural as one should like a quiet night’s rest, which ain’t much to ask for, now is it, even if a man does only get a pound a week, and a sixpence now and then, as swells make a mistake, and give you through not having read the notice up on the walls about instant dismissal, and all that? Well, tired out regularly, and ready to sleep through anything a’most, I goes to bed, and as I lays down I thinks to myself—

You may howl away, my beauties, to-night, for I can sleep through anything.

And really I thought I could, but I suppose it was through having a hyster barrel on my mind, that I couldn’t go off directly—for there was one missing, and a fish hamper, both on ’em. No doubt, having been stolen by some one in the crowd on the platform; while I got the blame; and I put it to you, now, could a railway porter, having a pound a week, and Sunday dooty in his turn, have his eyes every wheres at once?

So I didn’t go to sleep right off, but some one else did, and there, just outside the window, if one o’ them cats didn’t begin.

“Wow-w-w, wow-w-w, wow-w-w, meyow-w-w,” and all such a pretty tune, finished off with a long low swear at the end.

I stood it for ten minutes good, turning first one side, and then another, pulling the clothes over my ear, and at last ramming my head right under, with my fingers stuck in my ears, but there, Lor’ bless you, that was no good, for I’ll warrant the song of one of them pretty, soft, furry nightingales to go through anything, and at last I finds that I was only smothering myself for nowt, and I puts my head out of the clothes again, and give a great sigh.

“Me-ow-ow-ow,” says my friend on the tiles.

“Hear that, Polly?” I says.

No answer.

“Me-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow,” says my friend outside.

“Hear that, Polly?” I says, for there warn’t no fun in putting up with all the noise yourself, when there was some one else in the room to take half share. “Polly,” I says, giving her a nudge, “hear that?”

“Eh!” she says; “what say?”

“Hear that?” I says.

“Yes,” she says; “what?”

“Why, you were asleep,” I says.

“That I’m sure I warn’t,” she says.

“Well, then, did you hear that?” I says.

“Yes; what was it?” she says.

“What was it?” I says. “There; go to sleep again,” I says; for I felt quite rusty to think anybody else could sleep through such a row, while I couldn’t.

“Meyow—meyow—wow—wow-w-w-w,” goes the music again.

“Two on ’em,” I says, as I lay listening, and there it went on getting louder and louder every moment, both sides and over the way, and up and down the street, till I’m blest if I could stand it any longer.

“Oh, you beauties,” I says; “if I only had a gun.” And then I lay there, listening and wondering whether I mightn’t just as well get up and have a pipe; and at last of all, because I couldn’t stand it any longer, I gets up, goes to the window, opens it softly, and says—

“Ssh!”

Lor’ bless you! you might just as well have said nothing, for there they were a-going it all round to that degree, that it was something awful, and I stood there half dressed, and leaning out of the window, wondering what was best to be done. There was no mistake about it; there they were, cats of all sorts and sizes, and of all kinds of voices—some was very shrill, some very hoarse, and some round and deep-toned, and meller. Now and then some one would open a winder, and cry, “Ssh,” same as I did, but as soon as they smelt what a sharp frost it was, they shut them down again, and at last I did the same, and made up my mind as I crept into bed again, as I’d go where there was no cats.

Yes, that was a capital idea, that was—to move to a place where there was no cats, and on the strength of that determination, I went off fast asleep.

Next morning over my breakfast, I got thinking, and come to the conclusion, that I’d cut myself out a bit of a job. Where was I to get a little house or lodgings where there was no cats, for were not the happy, domestic creatures everywhere? No; that was of no use, but I warn’t going to stand having my rest broken night after night in that way; so I mounted a trap, for I’d made up my mind, that out of revenge, I’d have a full-sized railway rug lined with scarlet cloth, while the rug itself should be offur.

First night I sets my trap, I baited it with a bit of herring. Goes next morning and found the herring had been dragged out at the side, and the trap warn’t sprung. Sets it next night, baited with two sprats; goes next morning to find ’em gone, but no pussy. And so I went on, week after week, till I got tired out, and tried poison, which hit the wrong game, and killed our neighbour’s tarrier dog. Then I thought I’d try an air-gun, but somehow or another there was a fault in that gun, for it wouldn’t shoot straight, and I never hit one of the nuisances. A regular powder-and-shot gun I couldn’t try, because it would have spoken so loud, that all the neighbours would have heard and known who was killing the cats.

Last of all, one moonlight night I was down at the bottom of our garden, when I happens to look up towards the back door, and see a long-tailed tortoise-shell beauty sneaking into the kitchen.

“All right, my pretty one,” I says, quietly. “You’ll do for the middle of the rug,” and then stealing softly up, I got to the door, slips in, and had it to in a moment, and then getting hold of the copper-stick and lid, just like a sword and shield, I goes forward to the attack.

No mistake, there was Mrs Puss glaring at me like a small tiger, and as I advanced, she made a rush by me, but there was no escape that way, and then I shut the kitchen-door.

Bang—crash went the crockery, for as I made a hit at the brute, she flew on to the dresser, and along one of the shelves, sending jugs and plates down helter-skelter on the floor, where they smashed to bits.

“All down to your credit, my beauty,” I says, and I made another hit at her, when “whoosh,” spitting and swearing, she was up on the chimney-piece in a jiffey, and down came the candlesticks, while Polly puts her head in at the door, and then, seeing what was the matter, slips off again in a moment, bangs the door to, and keeps on shouting to me to drive the thing out. But talking was one thing, and acting another, for you never did see such a beast; she was here, there, and everywhere in the same moment; and though I kept hitting at her with the copper-stick, I could hit anything else but her, as you’d have said, if you’d seen me fetch the vegetable-dish and cover off the dresser with a smash, and then seen the copper lid split in two, when I shied it at her.

Why, she flew about to that degree, that I got frightened of her, for at last she came at me, tore at my legs, and then was over my shoulder in an instant, while feeling quite scared, I just saw her dash up the chimney, and she was gone.

“But you won’t stop there, my lady,” I says, and I was right, for next moment the brute came scrambling down, and we went at it again: she cutting about, and me hitting at her till I got savage, for I never touched her once. Now I hit the table; now it was something off the dresser; now she’d dodge behind the saucepans and kettles, on the black pot-board under the dresser; and now there’d be such a clatter and rattle, that Polly gave quite a scream, for she was wide enough awake then, I can tell you; but the jolly a bit could I touch that precious cat; and at last she stood in one corner of the kitchen, and I stood in the other looking at her, with her tail like a bottle-brush, her fur all up, and her back set up like an arch, and then I thought I’d try coaxing.

“Pussy, pussy, pussy,” I says, but she only swore and spit at me.

“Poor pussy; come then,” I says; but she wouldn’t come near me, and then I turned so savage that I threw the copper-stick at her, but only hit the tea-tray as stood on a little side-table.

“Bang, clang, jangle,” down it come on to the floor, and then there was a rush, and a smash, and a scream from Polly; and I stood skretching my head, and looking at the broken kitchen-window—for the beauty had shot right through it when the tea-tray fell down, and now there was nothing to do but pick up the pieces, and go and ask the glazier to come and put in the broken square.

“Oh, what a kitchen,” says Polly, as she came in, and really it did look a bit upset, and then seeing as she was put out, and going to make a fuss, I says—

“Bad job; ain’t it, my gal; but it warn’t me;it was the cats!”

“Drat the cats!” says Polly; and she looked so scornful and cross, that I give up all thoughts on the instant of ever getting a skin rug; but if there is any one mortal thing as I do hate, it’s a cat.

Chapter Thirteen.An Australian Christmas.No snow, no frosts, no bare trees, but in the daytime glowing, sultry heat, and of a night soft, balmy, dewy, moonlit hours, and yet it was Christmas-time, and the whole of the past day I had been picturing to myself the cold, sharp, bracing weather at home, with the busy shops and the merry Christmas faces, and now on that 24th of December I was dreaming away of the old home, fourteen thousand miles away; going over again the sad hearts with which we come away, and how we gazed till our eyes swam at the fast fading shores; recalling every sigh and sorrowful thought, when all at once there seemed to be a feeling of horror come over me, and I started up on the heath bed and looked about. But all was still; close beside me lay Abel Franks, my mate and companion, sleeping heavily; the moon was shining through the little window right upon the two dogs stretched before the fireplace, and made it light enough for me to see that everything was in its place. There were the skin rugs on the floor, the rough bench, stool, and table; the guns, rods, nets, and oars of our boat; the shelf with its pile of birds’ skins, the brightest hued which fell to our guns; skins of opossum and kangaroo hung against the wall; the burnt-out lamp on the table, with the fragments of our supper, all just as we had left them, while as the surest sign that nothing had disturbed me the dogs were curled up quite motionless, when their quick ears would have heard a step in an instant.I lay down again and listened attentively for a few minutes, and once heard faintly the howl of a wild dog, but that was all, and there in the stillness of night, in that far-off Australian wild, I was slowly dozing off when I again started up and this time Abel was up too staring at me.“What is it, Harry?” he cried, as at the same instant I asked him a similar question, and then up leaped both dogs, set up the rough hair round their necks, and ran to the door growling fiercely. The moment after came the cracking of sticks, a rustling through the bushes, and a heavy body fell up against the door, making the rough woodwork creak.Living as we did in a hut of our own making, furnished by ourselves, our own cooks and managers, we studied dress and toilets but very little; our custom was to throw ourselves down upon our skin-covered bed of heath, so that upon this occasion we were both instantly upon our feet, and, seizing our guns, stood in readiness for action, if defence were needed, for in the days of Australia’s early settlements, before the bursting forth of the gold fever, many were the raids made by the savage, and the worse than savage bushranger, escaped “hand,” or convict, sent over from the mother country as a part of the dregs of her population, to settle in the infant colonies.To open the door seemed the first thing, but we naturally hesitated, for that meant giving perhaps an enemy admission to our fortress, for the noise at the door might have been but a ruse to get the better of our caution. A heavy groan, however, decided us, and as I stood with my double gun ready cocked, and a couple of ready patched bullets rammed hastily down upon the charges of duck-shot, Abel cautiously undid the fastenings, and the two dogs, no mean aids at such a time, stood ready for a spring.There was something startling and oppressive there in the stillness of the great wild, quite two miles as we were from the nearest station, and now roused from slumber in so strange a way; but there was no time for thought, for grasping his long knife in one hand, with the other my companion sharply opened the door, and as he did so a figure fell into his arms. The moonbeams, which streamed in at the open door, gave enough light to show us that we had nothing to fear from the new-comer, who lay before us groaning, while the dogs darted out after a momentary pause by his side, and began scouring about the open.“Shut the door—quick—quick,” groaned the man, “they’re tracking me.”We quickly acted upon his advice, and then, carefully covering the window and door with rugs, obtained a light and began to examine our visitor. And a ghastly spectacle he presented: a gash on his forehead was bleeding profusely, covering his face with blood; his shirt was torn and dragged half off, while one arm lay doubled under him in a strange unnatural position, as if it were broken.“Why it’s Jepson,” cried Abel in a whisper, and as he spoke the wounded man started, opened his eyes and stared wildly, but closed them again, groaning heavily.We lifted the poor fellow on to our bed, all the while listening for the warning we expected momentarily to hear from our dogs, for without explanation we knew well enough what had happened, namely, a night attack upon the little station of our neighbour, Mr Anderson, whose shepherd had made his escape to us.Abel was, like me, all in a tremble, for we knew not yet what was the extent of the disaster, and though we neither of us spoke, we knew each other’s thoughts; and our trembling was not from fear for ourselves, but for what might be the fate of Mary Anderson, the blue-eyed Scottish girl, whose presence lent a charm to this far-off wild.Hastily binding up the poor fellow’s head, I looked at and laid in an easier position his arm, which was also bleeding, having evidently been broken by a ball from gun or revolver. A few drops of rum poured between his teeth revived him, and he was able to answer our questions.“Rangers, sir—six of ’em. They’ve burnt the place down, shot the master and young Harry, and gone off with Miss Mary and the servant gal. I was tracking them, but they were too much for me; two of them hung back and caught me from behind. I did all I could, and then ran on here.”The exertion of saying this was too much for him, and he fainted away, while half mad with grief and horror, Abel and I stood gazing at one another.It was evident that the villains would not molest us, for they probably only followed poor Jepson for a short distance, and then hurried after their companions. If they had been in pursuit we should have known of their presence before this from the dogs, which now came whining and scratching at the door for admittance.We did all we could for the shepherd, and then, following Abel’s example, I drew the shot charge from my gun, replaced the bullets, buckled on an ammunition pouch, and then reloaded and primed my revolver. Seeing these preparations going on, the dogs immediately became uneasy and eager to be off, and though our quarry was to be far different to any to which they were accustomed, it would have been a strong, daring man that could have successfully combatted our four-footed allies.Our preparations were soon made, and then, after placing the spirit and water beside the wounded man, we started off for Anderson’s Creek through the dense tea-scrub, for in our then excited state we made for the shortest cut. The moon was fast sinking towards a heavy bank of clouds, but she gave us light for best part of our journey, while the remainder was made plain for us by the glowing house and farm buildings in our front.I couldn’t help it—when I saw the wreck of that house where I had spent so many happy hours, and shudderingly thought of poor Mary, dragged off by the bloodthirsty villains, I stopped short and gave vent to a bitter groan.This roused Abel, who cried savagely to me to come on; for, faithful and true friends in everything else, there was one rock upon which we split, and that was our admiration for Mary Anderson. He was maddened himself, and scarcely knew how to contain his feelings, but the idea of me grieving for her at such a time seemed to exasperate him, and he almost yelled out—“Don’t be a woman, Fred; come on, or we shall be too late.”“Too late!” Too late for what? A shudder ran through me as I asked myself the question, and taking no notice of Abel’s angry manner, I was at his side in an instant, and we dashed on though the bushes.Just as we got up to the rough fence Abel stumbled and fell over something, and on recovering himself he stooped and raised the head of a man. The ruddy flames shone full upon his countenance, and we saw that it was Harry, one of Mr Anderson’s men. He was quite dead, for the side of his head was battered in. Abel softly laid down the poor fellow’s head, and then we went cautiously round the building, with guns cocked and ready, in case the villains might be lurking about, though we knew enough of such catastrophes to feel assured that directly they had secured all the plunder and ammunition they could carry off they would decamp.The greater part of the buildings were blazing. The house was nearly level with the ground, but the men’s shed and the wool store still blazed furiously, and on getting round to the back we both raised our pieces to fire, but dropped them again directly, for just in front, squatting round some glowing embers, were a party of black fellows, whom we might have taken for the perpetrators of this foul outrage, had we not known of their peaceable, inoffensive conduct.In another instant they were running up to us, and a tall fellow, evidently their leader, suddenly threw himself into position, with his long, slender spear held horizontally, as if for throwing, and with the point aimed directly at my breast. Even in the midst of my trouble and anxiety I could not help thinking what an effect such a salute would have upon a stranger, for the unerring aim with which these untutored men can throw a spear is something surprising. But in another instant the spear end touched the ground, and the party closed round us, chattering and begging, and earnest in their efforts to make us aware that they had not been the guilty parties.“Mine no fire,” said the leader. “No black fellow kill.”“No, no,” I said; “but who was it?”“Dat Sam, Sooty Sam,” said the savage, holding up six fingers, and pointing towards the bush.I nodded, and shuddered, for I knew but too well the character of the mulatto convict known as Sooty Sam.“You give me tickpence, mine shar,” cried the fellow.Money was an article I seldom carried then, unless bound for the nearest settlement for stores, but I happened to have a fourpenny piece in my tobacco pouch, and I gave it to him.“Dat not tickpence, dat fourpenny,” shouted the fellow, indignantly, for constant communion with the settlers had induced a strong desire for the coins that would procure rum or whisky.A display of my empty pocket, however, satisfied my black ally, and leading us towards one of the sheep pens, he coolly pointed out the body of Mr Anderson, shot through the head, and lying just as he had fallen.We soon learned from the blacks which way the men had fled, and tried to induce them to go with us to track the marauders, but without avail, night work being their special abomination, and nothing short of a fire like the present sufficing to draw them from their resting-place. We knew that our proper course was to rouse the neighbours at the nearest stations, but in our impatience to pursue the scoundrels prudence and management were forgotten. Unable to gain the assistance of the blacks, we determined to commence the pursuit alone with our dogs, after promising the fellows “much rum” if they would rouse the neighbouring settlers, who, we knew, would soon be on our trail; but in spite of the direction being pointed out, we found, to our disappointment, that the darkness would prove an enemy, and that we must wait for daylight, and reluctantly turned back.All at once a ray of hope shot through my breast; just before me was old Gyp, my favourite dog, a great half-bred sheep and wolf hound, who was growling and snarling over a heap of what looked like sail cloth, but which inspection showed to be a tattered duck frock, filthily dirty, and stained with blood, evidently having been cut off by some wounded man.Old Gyp was licking the bloody part, and growling angrily, and on my speaking to him, and encouraging him, he yelped and whined; and then, setting his nose to the ground, ran a few yards, looked back, yelped again, and then would have set off full speed along the trail, had I not called him back and tied a piece of tar band to his neck, holding the other end in my hand.Abel’s eyes glittered as he saw the great powerful beast strain to be off, and then, without a word, we set off at a trot, and leaving the glowing fire behind, plunged into the darkness before us.We reckoned that the villains had about two hours start, but encumbered, as we knew they must be, with booty, and the two women, we felt sure that, even with the horses they had doubtless taken, they could not have retreated at a very great rate; why, though we both felt that it was like plunging into the lion’s jaws, and that most likely one, if not both of us, would lose our lives in the impending struggle, there was not a thought in either of our breasts that savoured of fear, for the desire to overtake the villains was intense.But it was a fearful task. The darkness was now terrible, and the eager beast struggled on, irrespective of bush or thorn, while every now and then some thick tuft in the track would trip me up. Abel had a hard task to keep up with me. But before daylight matters grew better, for we were in the wood, where there was scarcely any undergrowth, and when day broke we were threading our way through the sombre forest, where the tree trunks were all around, apparently endless, and so similar that only the sagacious beast before us, or a native, could have found a way through.Now and then we could catch a glimpse of a star or two, but directly after the clouds seemed to close up again, and we stumbled on till a faint light announced the coming day, which found us blackened, torn, and bleeding, but as feverishly eager for the fray as ever.As for track, that was invisible to us, excepting now and then, where the print of a horse’s hoof showed in a moist place, and told us that the faithful beast with us was worthy of the trust placed in him. Now we were out in the open, then making our way again through the tea-scrub, and then skirting a ravine beside the range of rugged, bleak rocks, standing out bold and barren, while the ravine, now here and there green, where a pool of water remained, or a tiny rivulet trickled along where we saw a rushing river in the rainy season.If one’s heart could have been at rest how beautiful was the scene around, tree, bush, flower, and rugged mossy stone, where the track wound in and out, now down into the deep ravine, now crossing the little bright rill which sometimes trickled beneath the grass, and again appeared, leaping from rock to rock. Birds everywhere flitting and climbing about the trees, or hanging in places, like flowers of gorgeous hues.But there was no peace for us, and we strode on till from the early freshness of the morning we were panting through the heat of the day, heat so oppressive that it grew unbearable, and but for the errand of life and death upon which we were engaged, we should have rested until the sun was again low down in the horizon.Sooner or later we felt sure that we should come upon some traces of the marauders, and we were not disappointed, for, all at once, the dog gave a whining bark, and began snuffing about in the grass, where lay a bottle evidently but lately cast aside. Then on again, panting, with parched lips and tongue: any doubts that we had formerly had respecting the dog’s ability to trace the marauders being now fully put to flight.And now the track led us right down into the deep ravine, where the sides rose seventy or eighty feet high on either side, at times almost perpendicular; but in spite of the roughness of the path, the coolness was most grateful as we struggled on beneath the shade.I was at times so faint that I could gladly have rested, but the thought of those on before acted as a spur to my flagging energies, and I pressed on. Abel seemed to know no fatigue, and when he was in front, holding the dog, I had hard work to keep up with him, while I could hear him muttering to himself angrily as he pressed on.All at once we pulled short up, startled by the threatening aspect that had come over the heavens. It was evident that a storm was coming on; and knowing, as we did, the character of the rain in the region we were in, the thought crossed both our minds, what would the ravine be if a storm came. But the dragging of the dog roused us, and again we pressed on, feeling convinced that we must be close upon the scoundrels; and indeed we were so close that, at the next turning, we came in sight of them—six, with two horses, two of the fellows being mounted, and with one of the women before him.No sooner were we in sight than the dog bayed loudly; the two mounted men dashed on, while the other four posted themselves to oppose our further passage. There was no turning to the right or left, for the rugged banks effectually opposed all exit, in some parts completely overhanging the glen, and, outnumbered as we were, ours was but an awkward position. However, in the excitement of the moment, fear seemed to have fled, and holding the dog back, we hurried forward to where the fellows stood, taking advantage of every screen which presented itself as we advanced, for we knew how much mercy we had to expect as soon as we came within shot.Fortunately for us, the huge blocks of quartz lying about afforded ample shelter, and we darted from place to place, each minute getting nearer and nearer. All at once, as I made a run forward to a mass in my front, there was a sharp reverberating crack, and I heard a bullet whistle by my ears, but the next moment I was in safety, and then Abel rushed to my side, but he was not so fortunate, for, as he crossed the open, two shots were fired, one of which grazed his shoulder and just drew blood.It was now a matter of regular Indian warfare, and we knew well enough that if we dashed forward we must be shot down before we could get hand-to-hand with the ruffians, so Abel took one side of the rock, and I the other, to try and get a return shot at our enemies. It was a mass some fifty feet in length, and when I reached the end I heard Abel fire, and directly after, he fired again, emptying his second barrel, when there was a reply of three shots.I was hopeful that, hearing two shots, the fellows would think we were both together, and taking advantage of some low bushes, I crawled right to the side of the ravine, and then screening myself behind a buttress, found that I could climb up a few feet to where there was a ledge, which I soon reached, and was then some twenty feet above the bottom, well screened by some bushes; and, to my intense satisfaction, I found, upon creeping to the edge and thrusting my double-barrel between the leaves, I had a good sight at two of the miscreants, whose heads and shoulders were just visible.As I looked, Abel gave two more shots from his gun, and I saw the chips fly from the rock a little farther off, and then the two men I had not seen before rose up and delivered their fire—dropping down again directly—and evidently with some effect, for I heard a dismal howl, which told of the dog being struck. Directly after, one of the fellows in sight began to crawl forward, evidently intending to take us in the flank; but he had been outwitted, and with the barrel of my gun trembling as I took aim, I fired, and he lay motionless.In an instant his companion turned in my direction, evidently saw the puff of smoke, and raised his gun towards where I was; but he was too late, I already had him well covered, and I fired again, when the poor wretch gave a wild shriek, sprang into the air, and then fell out of sight amongst the bushes.I was so horrified that I lay there trembling, so that I could scarcely reload. The perspiration ran off my forehead, and my teeth quite chattered, but it was but for a few moments, for I recalled the scene of the past night, and then remembered what must be the fate of the prisoners were they not rescued. I felt that it was but life for life, and with another shot I might myself be weltering in my blood. The next moment I was cautiously peering out again to get another aim, and now my hand was quite steady. I could see the place where one of the men had shown to get a shot at Abel, but nothing of him was visible, so I crawled a little more forward, when in a moment there was a sharp pang in my left arm, so acute that I could not refrain from crying out, as I started up on one knee; and then I fell again, for, as I heard a second shot, my cap was struck from my head, and I saw that one of the men had changed his position, and was a little higher up the valley, leaning forward to see the result of his aim. But he was too eager, for the next moment there was a shot from Abel and the fellow rolled over, and lay full in my view, quivering and clutching at the ground, tearing up tufts of grass, and gnashing his teeth frightfully. Then came a run and a rush, and I saw the last of the four rush up the ravine, running zigzag, but I got a sight at him, in spite of my pain, and Abel fired too, though apparently without effect; and then the sky seemed to turn black, and the rocks around to swim, and I saw no more till I found Abel leaning over me, dropping some spirit between my lips from his flask.“There, old fellow,” he said, grimly, as he bound up my arm. “Can you walk?”I nodded; and seeming to gather strength each moment, I followed him down into the ravine, where we found that two of the men were quite dead, while the other was in a dying state, but he struck at us savagely with his knife whenever we tried to approach.I saw Abel’s hand playing angrily with the butt of his revolver, and but for me I believe he would have shot the fellow as he lay, but I hurried him on, and we cautiously proceeded for about a hundred yards, but this time without our dog to track, for the poor brute was lying bleeding to death, shot through the lungs.All at once there was a shot from a little gully on our right, when Abel threw up his arms and let fell his gun, which exploded as it fell, and then the poor fellow staggered, and went down upon his face.I did not stop to think that the next bullet might find its billet in my heart, but dashed forward towards the spot from whence the shot had been fired, and directly after I was face to face with an enemy. He was sitting with his back supported by a block of stone, and his gun across his knees, glaring at me with a look of the bitterest hate, and a moment’s reflection would have told me that he was wounded unto the death, but in the anger and heat of the moment there was no pausing for thought, and the next moment both barrels of my gun, held pistol-wise, were discharged into his breast.I ran back to Abel, and raised his head, but with a sickening, deathly feeling, I again let it fall, for the expression of his wild and staring eyes told too well how true had been the aim—the last sting of the dying viper; and when I somewhat recovered, it was to cover the body with fragments of stone, to keep off the birds, and then, weak and faint, I struggled on after the two mounted men.But a change had now come over the scene; the wind tore furiously overhead, while where I was toiling along it was a perfect calm. Then came the rain—a few big drops, then a cessation; then again a loud and furious howling of the wind; then a calm; while, piled up in huge, lurid, black masses, the clouds seemed to shut out the light of day, save when they were rent asunder by some jagged flash of lightning of a vivid violet hue. Ever and anon there was a glare of light playing behind the clouds, lighting them up in the most glorious way, so that the rolling massy-looking vapours were displayed in all their grandeur, while along the edges, quivering and darting, there was an incessant tremulous light of every brilliant sunset hue. Now came the thunder in a mighty diapason, rolling along the ravine, and seeming as if the sound split and crumbled upon the bare summits of the range of mountains, while fragments of the giant peal were scattered, and came hurrying along the ravine. Then, again, burst after burst of huge, bellowing, metallic peals rumbling hollow and deafening as though discharged from some vast cannon mouth. Blackness again, as if it were night; till in a few seconds came again a blinding flash, displaying the wild aspect of the glen, but only to leave it darker than before; and now again a few drops of rain, pattering upon the dry ground, and splashing from the surface of the lichen-covered rocks, then a sharp fall as of a thunder shower, and I crept beneath the shelter of an overhanging rock, while I hastily covered the lock of my gun, and tried to load it with my one uninjured hand, when again came the lightning playing down the ravine, then black darkness and bellowing, deafening thunder, and then down came the rain—not pouring—not streaming, but in one huge cataract of hissing and foaming waters, as though, indeed, the heavens were opened and the fountains of the great deep broken up. It was as though to have stood beneath it for a moment would have been to be beaten down and swept helplessly away by the waters bubbling and foaming at my feet.But how refreshing and cooling it seemed as I bathed my fevered brow and moistened the handkerchief hastily bound round my bleeding arm; while, though stopped from continuing my pursuit, I knew that it was impossible for the fugitives to proceed, and I waited anxiously for the cessation of the storm.Once there came a lull, but only for a few moments, while the brilliant rose-coloured and violet lightning played around, when down came the rain again, more violently than ever, as though it would never cease. The ravine had been turned into a little river, once again towards which, winding in and out amidst the huge blocks of rock, hundreds of watercourses were hurrying. Now it was black darkness, and nothing visible, and the next moment again flaming swords appeared to cut through the rain, and light up the ravine with every rainbow tint; and still came that deafening mighty rushing sound of the waters, as though I were standing upon the spray-wet rock beneath Niagara.I was standing where a weather-stained mass jutted out from the rocky side and protected me from the heavy fall, but from every jagged and time-worn point around the water streamed down as it leaped and plunged from the mountain side into the ravine. At some early epoch in the world’s history, the earth must have divided in some awful internal throe, and then imperfectly closing, have left this long rift forming a watercourse in the rainy season, but in the dry-time merely a stony bed, with here and there a pool. Save where the rains had washed away, and masses of rock had fallen, the sides showed how once they had been torn asunder, and displayed prominence and indentation at every bend.All at once the rain ceased, as if in obedience to an omnipotent command, the black clouds passed over, and the sun shone down into the ravine. But what a sight met my gaze. Already up to my knees, and teeming along with awful velocity, was a mighty clay-stoned river, eddying, foaming, and sweeping round the rock-strewn bed, and bearing with it leaf, branch, and trunk; bushes and masses of grass torn from the gully sides; while large pieces of rock were being moved from their places, or tottered where they stood.I stood waiting for the waters to subside, for where I stood it was impossible to scale the rocks, even for an active man, while in my crippled state, I could not have climbed a foot. But they did not seem to subside at first; and I fancied that they perceptibly rose, till I called to mind that I had altered my position a little. But now there was no doubt about it; the waters were rising fast, and I trembled as I thought of being swept away, and my helplessness to cope with the rushing stream; while, again, it was horrid to be prisoned there, while the poor girl I sought to rescue was perhaps being borne farther and farther away. Then came a grim smile as I thought of the vengeance which had overtaken four of the miscreants, and then I shuddered as I thought of the cost at which it had been purchased—poor Abel now perhaps swept from his stony resting-place and borne far away towards the sea.But now it was time to think of self and life, for the water was rising fast, and as I stood hesitating and watching for a place of safety, and to which I could wade, heard above the present rushing of the waters, came a hideous hollow-sounding roar, and gazing with affrighted eyes, I saw as it were a tall wave rushing down the ravine, making the water in its path foam and roar as, like some large cylinder, it rolled over and over, sweeping all before it, and the next moment I was caught, torn from my feeble hold on the rock, and hurried along, buffeting the strangling waters.Those were horrible moments: now I was beneath, now above, now dashed half-stunned and senseless against some mass of rock, now thrust down and held beneath the rushing stream by the branches of some torn-up tree. It was impossible to swim, while even in the stillest water such an effort would have been hard to a wounded man. A few despairing thoughts crowded through my brain as I feebly buffeted the waves, and struggled for a few more draughts of the fresh air of heaven, and then after grasping and catching at twigs, branches, and masses of floating turf, I was dashed against a mass of rock, to which I tried to cling. There was a cleft in it wherein I thrust my fingers, and then tried to hold on by my teeth on the soft crumbling stone. At first the little projection broke off, filling my mouth with pieces of grit, but despairingly I again hung on by my teeth, and this time hope seemed to dawn again within my breast, for I thought if I could hold on for awhile, the waters must subside. But as the thought animated me, there came a fiercer rush than ever, I felt the mass of rock totter, roll over, and I gave a wild despairing cry, as I was again swept away faster and faster, while the horrid dread of death gave place to a strange lulling sensation as I closed my eyes.Once more I was aroused by a violent blow, and as my arm was raised mechanically to grasp, I passed it over the trunk of a large floating tree, and holding on for dear life, I was hurried down with the foaming waters.The hard battle for breath past, fear came again, and I looked despairingly from left to right for rescue from my perilous position, but everywhere ruin and desolation, while the din of the rushing waters was frightful. Everywhere the sides of the ravine seemed to be crumbling down, and masses of earth and rock were undermined and fell with a terrible splash into the stream, growing more furious every moment, while, wherever the gorge narrowed, the turbulence was awful.Dashed against masses of drift wood, and bruised against the summits of the projecting rocks, I was faint and despairing, when all at once the roots of the tree I was in caught against a massive stone, the trunk swung round, and I found myself brought up by the side of the gorge, where the branches of a tree hung down; and rousing my last strength I clutched them, and drew myself up, till I could rest my knees upon the floating tree; then I nearly over-balanced myself as the trunk rolled about, but getting hold of a stouter branch I again drew myself up, so that I stood, and then as the trunk again broke loose and floated away, I got one foot upon the rocky side, and hung suspended over the stream, whose waves seemed to leap angrily, to beat me down.To an uninjured man a slight effort would have been sufficient to place him in safety, but a strange fear seemed to creep over me, as I felt that in a few moments I must fall from my hold, and be swept away. But once more the desire for life came again to renew my strength, and slowly and painfully I got hold for my other foot, and then crawled to a rift, where a little stream of water was rushing down from the table-land above, when by dint of again battling with the blinding water, falling from weakness again and again, I managed to reach the top, crawl beyond the reach of the stream, and then fell exhausted, where I could gaze down upon the raging torrent.The pain from my wounded arm roused me at last from a half-drowsy, fainting state, and then I eagerly drank from the spirit-flask in my pocket. I then loosened the handkerchief round my wound, and remembering that my task was yet unperformed, I examined my powder, which was fortunately dry, and after carefully wiping, reloaded my revolver, which was safe in my belt, but my gun was lost when I was swept away. The sun was now setting, and I tried to make my plans for the future, but a sense of confusion and dizziness seemed to rob me of all power of action, and at last I threaded my way amongst the trees slowly and painfully, keeping close to the great gully, and listening to the hurrying waters; now shuddering as I thought of the past—now stopping short to think of the possibility of those I was I was in search of being yet in between the walls of the rift, when the storm came, and then I trembled for their fate. But all seemed troubled and confused as I stumbled along, trying to recover my lost ground, for I must have been swept back a mile, though what I could have done to save those I sought from their peril would have been but little. The last I remember then is kneeling down to try and make out some object borne along by the stream, surging along in the darkness below me, for all seemed wild and blank, till I was again hastening with Abel through the wood, guided by the burning farmstead, and watching the black demon-like figures flitting about. Then I could feel the dog tug tug at the string as we tracked the bushrangers, and I listened to his low whimpering cry. Then again came the fight in the gully, and I saw again the agonies of the man I shot, as he griped and clutched with talon-like fingers at the earth; and then came the horrible crashing, rushing voice of the mighty stream, as it raged along, sweeping all before it in its headlong passage. Now, again I was stifling and strangling, grasping and clutching at everything I touched, and then I seemed to be borne under, and all was darkness.The sun was high in the heavens when I awoke from my stupor-like sleep, with my head throbbing, and gazed at the brilliant blue sky above me, trying to recall the past. I was in pain, and could not raise my arm; there was a delicious cool breeze fanning my cheek, while bright, fresh, and pure, all around seemed grateful to the senses; but as I lay there was a strange trembling vibration of the ground beneath me, and I wondered as with it came a tremendous roar—a rushing noise.All at once thought came again with a flash, and I shuddered as I recalled the past, and thought of having slept so many hours. Then I sat up and saw that I had fallen within a few feet of the precipice where the stream rushed along still fiercely and impetuously, but with the swift fierceness of a deep and mighty current.I might well tremble as I gazed upon that huge current—a torrent which had risen fifty feet in a few hours, sweeping all before it, and I trembled again as I thought of those I sought. I rose to my feet and tottered for a few paces, but was soon fain to sit down beneath a tree, and there in the great wild I stayed, faint and weary, hour after hour, listless and but little troubled, as I sat within sound of the rushing waters.It was towards night when all at once I roused up and stared around me, for it seemed that I heard voices. I listened and all was silent; but again the sound came, again heard above the roaring of the torrent, and then I tried to give the well-known call of the Australian woods, when to my inexpressible joy it was answered, and five minutes after I was surrounded by a party, half squatters, half blacks, who had been upon the track for the murderers of Mr Anderson.I learned afterwards that the blacks had followed our trail till the storm was coming, when they immediately hurried back, and the whole party had a very narrow escape, but though they had struck the gully again and again, they had seen no traces of those they sought, and but for my hearing them, they would have passed me on their return.They turned back once more upon learning my history; and, guided by the blacks, kept as close to the brink of the rift as was possible; while, after refreshment and rest, I struggled on with them, hoping against hope that the two poor girls might yet be alive. I knew that if they had escaped they could not be far off; and so the sequel proved.The search was about concluded; and, sick at heart, I listened to the talked-of return.“Poor things! they must have been swept away,” said one of the squatters, when he started, and ran towards the gully edge, for a long, wild cry for help arose apparently from beneath our feet.One of the blacks then let himself over the edge, and climbed down, to return directly after with the announcement that Miss Anderson was below.A rope of handkerchiefs and straps was soon improvised, with which the black again descended; and in a few minutes the poor, fainting girl was drawn up from the shelf of rock upon which she had been for hours resting; and, after regaining her strength somewhat, she related how that, when the storm set in, the men had hurriedly dismounted; and, securing their horses at the bottom, climbed with the two poor girls to the shelf where she was found—a place well sheltered by the overhanging rock; and, of course, at the same time thoroughly hidden from those who passed above.Then came a time of horror, for they could climb no higher; and slowly they had seen the water swell and rise till it came nearer and nearer; and at last, giddy with fright, the poor servant had slipped from her hold into the fierce stream. The men hesitated for a moment, but directly after let themselves down, and swam boldly after her. Soon after there came a shout, and then one or two strange, gurgling cries, which chilled the hearer’s blood, and then all was silent save the rushing of the river, till voices were heard overhead when her cry for help brought salvation.Times have altered since then, and I often look with pride at the wife who shares my home in the wilderness; and now, years after, in spite of the changes that have taken place, and the safety of person and property in the colony, Mary never hears an unusual noise by night without tremblingly grasping my arm, and listening eagerly, while she recalls the horrors of the deep gully.

No snow, no frosts, no bare trees, but in the daytime glowing, sultry heat, and of a night soft, balmy, dewy, moonlit hours, and yet it was Christmas-time, and the whole of the past day I had been picturing to myself the cold, sharp, bracing weather at home, with the busy shops and the merry Christmas faces, and now on that 24th of December I was dreaming away of the old home, fourteen thousand miles away; going over again the sad hearts with which we come away, and how we gazed till our eyes swam at the fast fading shores; recalling every sigh and sorrowful thought, when all at once there seemed to be a feeling of horror come over me, and I started up on the heath bed and looked about. But all was still; close beside me lay Abel Franks, my mate and companion, sleeping heavily; the moon was shining through the little window right upon the two dogs stretched before the fireplace, and made it light enough for me to see that everything was in its place. There were the skin rugs on the floor, the rough bench, stool, and table; the guns, rods, nets, and oars of our boat; the shelf with its pile of birds’ skins, the brightest hued which fell to our guns; skins of opossum and kangaroo hung against the wall; the burnt-out lamp on the table, with the fragments of our supper, all just as we had left them, while as the surest sign that nothing had disturbed me the dogs were curled up quite motionless, when their quick ears would have heard a step in an instant.

I lay down again and listened attentively for a few minutes, and once heard faintly the howl of a wild dog, but that was all, and there in the stillness of night, in that far-off Australian wild, I was slowly dozing off when I again started up and this time Abel was up too staring at me.

“What is it, Harry?” he cried, as at the same instant I asked him a similar question, and then up leaped both dogs, set up the rough hair round their necks, and ran to the door growling fiercely. The moment after came the cracking of sticks, a rustling through the bushes, and a heavy body fell up against the door, making the rough woodwork creak.

Living as we did in a hut of our own making, furnished by ourselves, our own cooks and managers, we studied dress and toilets but very little; our custom was to throw ourselves down upon our skin-covered bed of heath, so that upon this occasion we were both instantly upon our feet, and, seizing our guns, stood in readiness for action, if defence were needed, for in the days of Australia’s early settlements, before the bursting forth of the gold fever, many were the raids made by the savage, and the worse than savage bushranger, escaped “hand,” or convict, sent over from the mother country as a part of the dregs of her population, to settle in the infant colonies.

To open the door seemed the first thing, but we naturally hesitated, for that meant giving perhaps an enemy admission to our fortress, for the noise at the door might have been but a ruse to get the better of our caution. A heavy groan, however, decided us, and as I stood with my double gun ready cocked, and a couple of ready patched bullets rammed hastily down upon the charges of duck-shot, Abel cautiously undid the fastenings, and the two dogs, no mean aids at such a time, stood ready for a spring.

There was something startling and oppressive there in the stillness of the great wild, quite two miles as we were from the nearest station, and now roused from slumber in so strange a way; but there was no time for thought, for grasping his long knife in one hand, with the other my companion sharply opened the door, and as he did so a figure fell into his arms. The moonbeams, which streamed in at the open door, gave enough light to show us that we had nothing to fear from the new-comer, who lay before us groaning, while the dogs darted out after a momentary pause by his side, and began scouring about the open.

“Shut the door—quick—quick,” groaned the man, “they’re tracking me.”

We quickly acted upon his advice, and then, carefully covering the window and door with rugs, obtained a light and began to examine our visitor. And a ghastly spectacle he presented: a gash on his forehead was bleeding profusely, covering his face with blood; his shirt was torn and dragged half off, while one arm lay doubled under him in a strange unnatural position, as if it were broken.

“Why it’s Jepson,” cried Abel in a whisper, and as he spoke the wounded man started, opened his eyes and stared wildly, but closed them again, groaning heavily.

We lifted the poor fellow on to our bed, all the while listening for the warning we expected momentarily to hear from our dogs, for without explanation we knew well enough what had happened, namely, a night attack upon the little station of our neighbour, Mr Anderson, whose shepherd had made his escape to us.

Abel was, like me, all in a tremble, for we knew not yet what was the extent of the disaster, and though we neither of us spoke, we knew each other’s thoughts; and our trembling was not from fear for ourselves, but for what might be the fate of Mary Anderson, the blue-eyed Scottish girl, whose presence lent a charm to this far-off wild.

Hastily binding up the poor fellow’s head, I looked at and laid in an easier position his arm, which was also bleeding, having evidently been broken by a ball from gun or revolver. A few drops of rum poured between his teeth revived him, and he was able to answer our questions.

“Rangers, sir—six of ’em. They’ve burnt the place down, shot the master and young Harry, and gone off with Miss Mary and the servant gal. I was tracking them, but they were too much for me; two of them hung back and caught me from behind. I did all I could, and then ran on here.”

The exertion of saying this was too much for him, and he fainted away, while half mad with grief and horror, Abel and I stood gazing at one another.

It was evident that the villains would not molest us, for they probably only followed poor Jepson for a short distance, and then hurried after their companions. If they had been in pursuit we should have known of their presence before this from the dogs, which now came whining and scratching at the door for admittance.

We did all we could for the shepherd, and then, following Abel’s example, I drew the shot charge from my gun, replaced the bullets, buckled on an ammunition pouch, and then reloaded and primed my revolver. Seeing these preparations going on, the dogs immediately became uneasy and eager to be off, and though our quarry was to be far different to any to which they were accustomed, it would have been a strong, daring man that could have successfully combatted our four-footed allies.

Our preparations were soon made, and then, after placing the spirit and water beside the wounded man, we started off for Anderson’s Creek through the dense tea-scrub, for in our then excited state we made for the shortest cut. The moon was fast sinking towards a heavy bank of clouds, but she gave us light for best part of our journey, while the remainder was made plain for us by the glowing house and farm buildings in our front.

I couldn’t help it—when I saw the wreck of that house where I had spent so many happy hours, and shudderingly thought of poor Mary, dragged off by the bloodthirsty villains, I stopped short and gave vent to a bitter groan.

This roused Abel, who cried savagely to me to come on; for, faithful and true friends in everything else, there was one rock upon which we split, and that was our admiration for Mary Anderson. He was maddened himself, and scarcely knew how to contain his feelings, but the idea of me grieving for her at such a time seemed to exasperate him, and he almost yelled out—

“Don’t be a woman, Fred; come on, or we shall be too late.”

“Too late!” Too late for what? A shudder ran through me as I asked myself the question, and taking no notice of Abel’s angry manner, I was at his side in an instant, and we dashed on though the bushes.

Just as we got up to the rough fence Abel stumbled and fell over something, and on recovering himself he stooped and raised the head of a man. The ruddy flames shone full upon his countenance, and we saw that it was Harry, one of Mr Anderson’s men. He was quite dead, for the side of his head was battered in. Abel softly laid down the poor fellow’s head, and then we went cautiously round the building, with guns cocked and ready, in case the villains might be lurking about, though we knew enough of such catastrophes to feel assured that directly they had secured all the plunder and ammunition they could carry off they would decamp.

The greater part of the buildings were blazing. The house was nearly level with the ground, but the men’s shed and the wool store still blazed furiously, and on getting round to the back we both raised our pieces to fire, but dropped them again directly, for just in front, squatting round some glowing embers, were a party of black fellows, whom we might have taken for the perpetrators of this foul outrage, had we not known of their peaceable, inoffensive conduct.

In another instant they were running up to us, and a tall fellow, evidently their leader, suddenly threw himself into position, with his long, slender spear held horizontally, as if for throwing, and with the point aimed directly at my breast. Even in the midst of my trouble and anxiety I could not help thinking what an effect such a salute would have upon a stranger, for the unerring aim with which these untutored men can throw a spear is something surprising. But in another instant the spear end touched the ground, and the party closed round us, chattering and begging, and earnest in their efforts to make us aware that they had not been the guilty parties.

“Mine no fire,” said the leader. “No black fellow kill.”

“No, no,” I said; “but who was it?”

“Dat Sam, Sooty Sam,” said the savage, holding up six fingers, and pointing towards the bush.

I nodded, and shuddered, for I knew but too well the character of the mulatto convict known as Sooty Sam.

“You give me tickpence, mine shar,” cried the fellow.

Money was an article I seldom carried then, unless bound for the nearest settlement for stores, but I happened to have a fourpenny piece in my tobacco pouch, and I gave it to him.

“Dat not tickpence, dat fourpenny,” shouted the fellow, indignantly, for constant communion with the settlers had induced a strong desire for the coins that would procure rum or whisky.

A display of my empty pocket, however, satisfied my black ally, and leading us towards one of the sheep pens, he coolly pointed out the body of Mr Anderson, shot through the head, and lying just as he had fallen.

We soon learned from the blacks which way the men had fled, and tried to induce them to go with us to track the marauders, but without avail, night work being their special abomination, and nothing short of a fire like the present sufficing to draw them from their resting-place. We knew that our proper course was to rouse the neighbours at the nearest stations, but in our impatience to pursue the scoundrels prudence and management were forgotten. Unable to gain the assistance of the blacks, we determined to commence the pursuit alone with our dogs, after promising the fellows “much rum” if they would rouse the neighbouring settlers, who, we knew, would soon be on our trail; but in spite of the direction being pointed out, we found, to our disappointment, that the darkness would prove an enemy, and that we must wait for daylight, and reluctantly turned back.

All at once a ray of hope shot through my breast; just before me was old Gyp, my favourite dog, a great half-bred sheep and wolf hound, who was growling and snarling over a heap of what looked like sail cloth, but which inspection showed to be a tattered duck frock, filthily dirty, and stained with blood, evidently having been cut off by some wounded man.

Old Gyp was licking the bloody part, and growling angrily, and on my speaking to him, and encouraging him, he yelped and whined; and then, setting his nose to the ground, ran a few yards, looked back, yelped again, and then would have set off full speed along the trail, had I not called him back and tied a piece of tar band to his neck, holding the other end in my hand.

Abel’s eyes glittered as he saw the great powerful beast strain to be off, and then, without a word, we set off at a trot, and leaving the glowing fire behind, plunged into the darkness before us.

We reckoned that the villains had about two hours start, but encumbered, as we knew they must be, with booty, and the two women, we felt sure that, even with the horses they had doubtless taken, they could not have retreated at a very great rate; why, though we both felt that it was like plunging into the lion’s jaws, and that most likely one, if not both of us, would lose our lives in the impending struggle, there was not a thought in either of our breasts that savoured of fear, for the desire to overtake the villains was intense.

But it was a fearful task. The darkness was now terrible, and the eager beast struggled on, irrespective of bush or thorn, while every now and then some thick tuft in the track would trip me up. Abel had a hard task to keep up with me. But before daylight matters grew better, for we were in the wood, where there was scarcely any undergrowth, and when day broke we were threading our way through the sombre forest, where the tree trunks were all around, apparently endless, and so similar that only the sagacious beast before us, or a native, could have found a way through.

Now and then we could catch a glimpse of a star or two, but directly after the clouds seemed to close up again, and we stumbled on till a faint light announced the coming day, which found us blackened, torn, and bleeding, but as feverishly eager for the fray as ever.

As for track, that was invisible to us, excepting now and then, where the print of a horse’s hoof showed in a moist place, and told us that the faithful beast with us was worthy of the trust placed in him. Now we were out in the open, then making our way again through the tea-scrub, and then skirting a ravine beside the range of rugged, bleak rocks, standing out bold and barren, while the ravine, now here and there green, where a pool of water remained, or a tiny rivulet trickled along where we saw a rushing river in the rainy season.

If one’s heart could have been at rest how beautiful was the scene around, tree, bush, flower, and rugged mossy stone, where the track wound in and out, now down into the deep ravine, now crossing the little bright rill which sometimes trickled beneath the grass, and again appeared, leaping from rock to rock. Birds everywhere flitting and climbing about the trees, or hanging in places, like flowers of gorgeous hues.

But there was no peace for us, and we strode on till from the early freshness of the morning we were panting through the heat of the day, heat so oppressive that it grew unbearable, and but for the errand of life and death upon which we were engaged, we should have rested until the sun was again low down in the horizon.

Sooner or later we felt sure that we should come upon some traces of the marauders, and we were not disappointed, for, all at once, the dog gave a whining bark, and began snuffing about in the grass, where lay a bottle evidently but lately cast aside. Then on again, panting, with parched lips and tongue: any doubts that we had formerly had respecting the dog’s ability to trace the marauders being now fully put to flight.

And now the track led us right down into the deep ravine, where the sides rose seventy or eighty feet high on either side, at times almost perpendicular; but in spite of the roughness of the path, the coolness was most grateful as we struggled on beneath the shade.

I was at times so faint that I could gladly have rested, but the thought of those on before acted as a spur to my flagging energies, and I pressed on. Abel seemed to know no fatigue, and when he was in front, holding the dog, I had hard work to keep up with him, while I could hear him muttering to himself angrily as he pressed on.

All at once we pulled short up, startled by the threatening aspect that had come over the heavens. It was evident that a storm was coming on; and knowing, as we did, the character of the rain in the region we were in, the thought crossed both our minds, what would the ravine be if a storm came. But the dragging of the dog roused us, and again we pressed on, feeling convinced that we must be close upon the scoundrels; and indeed we were so close that, at the next turning, we came in sight of them—six, with two horses, two of the fellows being mounted, and with one of the women before him.

No sooner were we in sight than the dog bayed loudly; the two mounted men dashed on, while the other four posted themselves to oppose our further passage. There was no turning to the right or left, for the rugged banks effectually opposed all exit, in some parts completely overhanging the glen, and, outnumbered as we were, ours was but an awkward position. However, in the excitement of the moment, fear seemed to have fled, and holding the dog back, we hurried forward to where the fellows stood, taking advantage of every screen which presented itself as we advanced, for we knew how much mercy we had to expect as soon as we came within shot.

Fortunately for us, the huge blocks of quartz lying about afforded ample shelter, and we darted from place to place, each minute getting nearer and nearer. All at once, as I made a run forward to a mass in my front, there was a sharp reverberating crack, and I heard a bullet whistle by my ears, but the next moment I was in safety, and then Abel rushed to my side, but he was not so fortunate, for, as he crossed the open, two shots were fired, one of which grazed his shoulder and just drew blood.

It was now a matter of regular Indian warfare, and we knew well enough that if we dashed forward we must be shot down before we could get hand-to-hand with the ruffians, so Abel took one side of the rock, and I the other, to try and get a return shot at our enemies. It was a mass some fifty feet in length, and when I reached the end I heard Abel fire, and directly after, he fired again, emptying his second barrel, when there was a reply of three shots.

I was hopeful that, hearing two shots, the fellows would think we were both together, and taking advantage of some low bushes, I crawled right to the side of the ravine, and then screening myself behind a buttress, found that I could climb up a few feet to where there was a ledge, which I soon reached, and was then some twenty feet above the bottom, well screened by some bushes; and, to my intense satisfaction, I found, upon creeping to the edge and thrusting my double-barrel between the leaves, I had a good sight at two of the miscreants, whose heads and shoulders were just visible.

As I looked, Abel gave two more shots from his gun, and I saw the chips fly from the rock a little farther off, and then the two men I had not seen before rose up and delivered their fire—dropping down again directly—and evidently with some effect, for I heard a dismal howl, which told of the dog being struck. Directly after, one of the fellows in sight began to crawl forward, evidently intending to take us in the flank; but he had been outwitted, and with the barrel of my gun trembling as I took aim, I fired, and he lay motionless.

In an instant his companion turned in my direction, evidently saw the puff of smoke, and raised his gun towards where I was; but he was too late, I already had him well covered, and I fired again, when the poor wretch gave a wild shriek, sprang into the air, and then fell out of sight amongst the bushes.

I was so horrified that I lay there trembling, so that I could scarcely reload. The perspiration ran off my forehead, and my teeth quite chattered, but it was but for a few moments, for I recalled the scene of the past night, and then remembered what must be the fate of the prisoners were they not rescued. I felt that it was but life for life, and with another shot I might myself be weltering in my blood. The next moment I was cautiously peering out again to get another aim, and now my hand was quite steady. I could see the place where one of the men had shown to get a shot at Abel, but nothing of him was visible, so I crawled a little more forward, when in a moment there was a sharp pang in my left arm, so acute that I could not refrain from crying out, as I started up on one knee; and then I fell again, for, as I heard a second shot, my cap was struck from my head, and I saw that one of the men had changed his position, and was a little higher up the valley, leaning forward to see the result of his aim. But he was too eager, for the next moment there was a shot from Abel and the fellow rolled over, and lay full in my view, quivering and clutching at the ground, tearing up tufts of grass, and gnashing his teeth frightfully. Then came a run and a rush, and I saw the last of the four rush up the ravine, running zigzag, but I got a sight at him, in spite of my pain, and Abel fired too, though apparently without effect; and then the sky seemed to turn black, and the rocks around to swim, and I saw no more till I found Abel leaning over me, dropping some spirit between my lips from his flask.

“There, old fellow,” he said, grimly, as he bound up my arm. “Can you walk?”

I nodded; and seeming to gather strength each moment, I followed him down into the ravine, where we found that two of the men were quite dead, while the other was in a dying state, but he struck at us savagely with his knife whenever we tried to approach.

I saw Abel’s hand playing angrily with the butt of his revolver, and but for me I believe he would have shot the fellow as he lay, but I hurried him on, and we cautiously proceeded for about a hundred yards, but this time without our dog to track, for the poor brute was lying bleeding to death, shot through the lungs.

All at once there was a shot from a little gully on our right, when Abel threw up his arms and let fell his gun, which exploded as it fell, and then the poor fellow staggered, and went down upon his face.

I did not stop to think that the next bullet might find its billet in my heart, but dashed forward towards the spot from whence the shot had been fired, and directly after I was face to face with an enemy. He was sitting with his back supported by a block of stone, and his gun across his knees, glaring at me with a look of the bitterest hate, and a moment’s reflection would have told me that he was wounded unto the death, but in the anger and heat of the moment there was no pausing for thought, and the next moment both barrels of my gun, held pistol-wise, were discharged into his breast.

I ran back to Abel, and raised his head, but with a sickening, deathly feeling, I again let it fall, for the expression of his wild and staring eyes told too well how true had been the aim—the last sting of the dying viper; and when I somewhat recovered, it was to cover the body with fragments of stone, to keep off the birds, and then, weak and faint, I struggled on after the two mounted men.

But a change had now come over the scene; the wind tore furiously overhead, while where I was toiling along it was a perfect calm. Then came the rain—a few big drops, then a cessation; then again a loud and furious howling of the wind; then a calm; while, piled up in huge, lurid, black masses, the clouds seemed to shut out the light of day, save when they were rent asunder by some jagged flash of lightning of a vivid violet hue. Ever and anon there was a glare of light playing behind the clouds, lighting them up in the most glorious way, so that the rolling massy-looking vapours were displayed in all their grandeur, while along the edges, quivering and darting, there was an incessant tremulous light of every brilliant sunset hue. Now came the thunder in a mighty diapason, rolling along the ravine, and seeming as if the sound split and crumbled upon the bare summits of the range of mountains, while fragments of the giant peal were scattered, and came hurrying along the ravine. Then, again, burst after burst of huge, bellowing, metallic peals rumbling hollow and deafening as though discharged from some vast cannon mouth. Blackness again, as if it were night; till in a few seconds came again a blinding flash, displaying the wild aspect of the glen, but only to leave it darker than before; and now again a few drops of rain, pattering upon the dry ground, and splashing from the surface of the lichen-covered rocks, then a sharp fall as of a thunder shower, and I crept beneath the shelter of an overhanging rock, while I hastily covered the lock of my gun, and tried to load it with my one uninjured hand, when again came the lightning playing down the ravine, then black darkness and bellowing, deafening thunder, and then down came the rain—not pouring—not streaming, but in one huge cataract of hissing and foaming waters, as though, indeed, the heavens were opened and the fountains of the great deep broken up. It was as though to have stood beneath it for a moment would have been to be beaten down and swept helplessly away by the waters bubbling and foaming at my feet.

But how refreshing and cooling it seemed as I bathed my fevered brow and moistened the handkerchief hastily bound round my bleeding arm; while, though stopped from continuing my pursuit, I knew that it was impossible for the fugitives to proceed, and I waited anxiously for the cessation of the storm.

Once there came a lull, but only for a few moments, while the brilliant rose-coloured and violet lightning played around, when down came the rain again, more violently than ever, as though it would never cease. The ravine had been turned into a little river, once again towards which, winding in and out amidst the huge blocks of rock, hundreds of watercourses were hurrying. Now it was black darkness, and nothing visible, and the next moment again flaming swords appeared to cut through the rain, and light up the ravine with every rainbow tint; and still came that deafening mighty rushing sound of the waters, as though I were standing upon the spray-wet rock beneath Niagara.

I was standing where a weather-stained mass jutted out from the rocky side and protected me from the heavy fall, but from every jagged and time-worn point around the water streamed down as it leaped and plunged from the mountain side into the ravine. At some early epoch in the world’s history, the earth must have divided in some awful internal throe, and then imperfectly closing, have left this long rift forming a watercourse in the rainy season, but in the dry-time merely a stony bed, with here and there a pool. Save where the rains had washed away, and masses of rock had fallen, the sides showed how once they had been torn asunder, and displayed prominence and indentation at every bend.

All at once the rain ceased, as if in obedience to an omnipotent command, the black clouds passed over, and the sun shone down into the ravine. But what a sight met my gaze. Already up to my knees, and teeming along with awful velocity, was a mighty clay-stoned river, eddying, foaming, and sweeping round the rock-strewn bed, and bearing with it leaf, branch, and trunk; bushes and masses of grass torn from the gully sides; while large pieces of rock were being moved from their places, or tottered where they stood.

I stood waiting for the waters to subside, for where I stood it was impossible to scale the rocks, even for an active man, while in my crippled state, I could not have climbed a foot. But they did not seem to subside at first; and I fancied that they perceptibly rose, till I called to mind that I had altered my position a little. But now there was no doubt about it; the waters were rising fast, and I trembled as I thought of being swept away, and my helplessness to cope with the rushing stream; while, again, it was horrid to be prisoned there, while the poor girl I sought to rescue was perhaps being borne farther and farther away. Then came a grim smile as I thought of the vengeance which had overtaken four of the miscreants, and then I shuddered as I thought of the cost at which it had been purchased—poor Abel now perhaps swept from his stony resting-place and borne far away towards the sea.

But now it was time to think of self and life, for the water was rising fast, and as I stood hesitating and watching for a place of safety, and to which I could wade, heard above the present rushing of the waters, came a hideous hollow-sounding roar, and gazing with affrighted eyes, I saw as it were a tall wave rushing down the ravine, making the water in its path foam and roar as, like some large cylinder, it rolled over and over, sweeping all before it, and the next moment I was caught, torn from my feeble hold on the rock, and hurried along, buffeting the strangling waters.

Those were horrible moments: now I was beneath, now above, now dashed half-stunned and senseless against some mass of rock, now thrust down and held beneath the rushing stream by the branches of some torn-up tree. It was impossible to swim, while even in the stillest water such an effort would have been hard to a wounded man. A few despairing thoughts crowded through my brain as I feebly buffeted the waves, and struggled for a few more draughts of the fresh air of heaven, and then after grasping and catching at twigs, branches, and masses of floating turf, I was dashed against a mass of rock, to which I tried to cling. There was a cleft in it wherein I thrust my fingers, and then tried to hold on by my teeth on the soft crumbling stone. At first the little projection broke off, filling my mouth with pieces of grit, but despairingly I again hung on by my teeth, and this time hope seemed to dawn again within my breast, for I thought if I could hold on for awhile, the waters must subside. But as the thought animated me, there came a fiercer rush than ever, I felt the mass of rock totter, roll over, and I gave a wild despairing cry, as I was again swept away faster and faster, while the horrid dread of death gave place to a strange lulling sensation as I closed my eyes.

Once more I was aroused by a violent blow, and as my arm was raised mechanically to grasp, I passed it over the trunk of a large floating tree, and holding on for dear life, I was hurried down with the foaming waters.

The hard battle for breath past, fear came again, and I looked despairingly from left to right for rescue from my perilous position, but everywhere ruin and desolation, while the din of the rushing waters was frightful. Everywhere the sides of the ravine seemed to be crumbling down, and masses of earth and rock were undermined and fell with a terrible splash into the stream, growing more furious every moment, while, wherever the gorge narrowed, the turbulence was awful.

Dashed against masses of drift wood, and bruised against the summits of the projecting rocks, I was faint and despairing, when all at once the roots of the tree I was in caught against a massive stone, the trunk swung round, and I found myself brought up by the side of the gorge, where the branches of a tree hung down; and rousing my last strength I clutched them, and drew myself up, till I could rest my knees upon the floating tree; then I nearly over-balanced myself as the trunk rolled about, but getting hold of a stouter branch I again drew myself up, so that I stood, and then as the trunk again broke loose and floated away, I got one foot upon the rocky side, and hung suspended over the stream, whose waves seemed to leap angrily, to beat me down.

To an uninjured man a slight effort would have been sufficient to place him in safety, but a strange fear seemed to creep over me, as I felt that in a few moments I must fall from my hold, and be swept away. But once more the desire for life came again to renew my strength, and slowly and painfully I got hold for my other foot, and then crawled to a rift, where a little stream of water was rushing down from the table-land above, when by dint of again battling with the blinding water, falling from weakness again and again, I managed to reach the top, crawl beyond the reach of the stream, and then fell exhausted, where I could gaze down upon the raging torrent.

The pain from my wounded arm roused me at last from a half-drowsy, fainting state, and then I eagerly drank from the spirit-flask in my pocket. I then loosened the handkerchief round my wound, and remembering that my task was yet unperformed, I examined my powder, which was fortunately dry, and after carefully wiping, reloaded my revolver, which was safe in my belt, but my gun was lost when I was swept away. The sun was now setting, and I tried to make my plans for the future, but a sense of confusion and dizziness seemed to rob me of all power of action, and at last I threaded my way amongst the trees slowly and painfully, keeping close to the great gully, and listening to the hurrying waters; now shuddering as I thought of the past—now stopping short to think of the possibility of those I was I was in search of being yet in between the walls of the rift, when the storm came, and then I trembled for their fate. But all seemed troubled and confused as I stumbled along, trying to recover my lost ground, for I must have been swept back a mile, though what I could have done to save those I sought from their peril would have been but little. The last I remember then is kneeling down to try and make out some object borne along by the stream, surging along in the darkness below me, for all seemed wild and blank, till I was again hastening with Abel through the wood, guided by the burning farmstead, and watching the black demon-like figures flitting about. Then I could feel the dog tug tug at the string as we tracked the bushrangers, and I listened to his low whimpering cry. Then again came the fight in the gully, and I saw again the agonies of the man I shot, as he griped and clutched with talon-like fingers at the earth; and then came the horrible crashing, rushing voice of the mighty stream, as it raged along, sweeping all before it in its headlong passage. Now, again I was stifling and strangling, grasping and clutching at everything I touched, and then I seemed to be borne under, and all was darkness.

The sun was high in the heavens when I awoke from my stupor-like sleep, with my head throbbing, and gazed at the brilliant blue sky above me, trying to recall the past. I was in pain, and could not raise my arm; there was a delicious cool breeze fanning my cheek, while bright, fresh, and pure, all around seemed grateful to the senses; but as I lay there was a strange trembling vibration of the ground beneath me, and I wondered as with it came a tremendous roar—a rushing noise.

All at once thought came again with a flash, and I shuddered as I recalled the past, and thought of having slept so many hours. Then I sat up and saw that I had fallen within a few feet of the precipice where the stream rushed along still fiercely and impetuously, but with the swift fierceness of a deep and mighty current.

I might well tremble as I gazed upon that huge current—a torrent which had risen fifty feet in a few hours, sweeping all before it, and I trembled again as I thought of those I sought. I rose to my feet and tottered for a few paces, but was soon fain to sit down beneath a tree, and there in the great wild I stayed, faint and weary, hour after hour, listless and but little troubled, as I sat within sound of the rushing waters.

It was towards night when all at once I roused up and stared around me, for it seemed that I heard voices. I listened and all was silent; but again the sound came, again heard above the roaring of the torrent, and then I tried to give the well-known call of the Australian woods, when to my inexpressible joy it was answered, and five minutes after I was surrounded by a party, half squatters, half blacks, who had been upon the track for the murderers of Mr Anderson.

I learned afterwards that the blacks had followed our trail till the storm was coming, when they immediately hurried back, and the whole party had a very narrow escape, but though they had struck the gully again and again, they had seen no traces of those they sought, and but for my hearing them, they would have passed me on their return.

They turned back once more upon learning my history; and, guided by the blacks, kept as close to the brink of the rift as was possible; while, after refreshment and rest, I struggled on with them, hoping against hope that the two poor girls might yet be alive. I knew that if they had escaped they could not be far off; and so the sequel proved.

The search was about concluded; and, sick at heart, I listened to the talked-of return.

“Poor things! they must have been swept away,” said one of the squatters, when he started, and ran towards the gully edge, for a long, wild cry for help arose apparently from beneath our feet.

One of the blacks then let himself over the edge, and climbed down, to return directly after with the announcement that Miss Anderson was below.

A rope of handkerchiefs and straps was soon improvised, with which the black again descended; and in a few minutes the poor, fainting girl was drawn up from the shelf of rock upon which she had been for hours resting; and, after regaining her strength somewhat, she related how that, when the storm set in, the men had hurriedly dismounted; and, securing their horses at the bottom, climbed with the two poor girls to the shelf where she was found—a place well sheltered by the overhanging rock; and, of course, at the same time thoroughly hidden from those who passed above.

Then came a time of horror, for they could climb no higher; and slowly they had seen the water swell and rise till it came nearer and nearer; and at last, giddy with fright, the poor servant had slipped from her hold into the fierce stream. The men hesitated for a moment, but directly after let themselves down, and swam boldly after her. Soon after there came a shout, and then one or two strange, gurgling cries, which chilled the hearer’s blood, and then all was silent save the rushing of the river, till voices were heard overhead when her cry for help brought salvation.

Times have altered since then, and I often look with pride at the wife who shares my home in the wilderness; and now, years after, in spite of the changes that have taken place, and the safety of person and property in the colony, Mary never hears an unusual noise by night without tremblingly grasping my arm, and listening eagerly, while she recalls the horrors of the deep gully.

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