"Pray if you knowWhere in the purlieus of this forest standsA sheep cote?"As You Like It,Act4,Sc.3.
That portion of the year to which we now bring our narrative is, without exception, the finest period of Australian seasons; when the temperature is theacmeof salubrity, and the climate, generally, as delightful as can be imagined. We speak of the spring when merging into the early summer, and when the cool freshness of the morning breeze tempers the genial warmth of the mid-day sun; which had acquired just sufficient strength in his rays to impart a pleasant heat without oppressiveness.On such a morning, then, when the vast concave of the heavens, expanded in a perfectly spotless azure sky (such as in our foggy isle is never seen); and with the freshness of the bush developing its verdure in the odorous exudations of floriferous plants, and the blithesome exuberance of the songless denizens of nature's nemoral aviary; William took his departure on the mission we have detailed in the last chapter.
He journeyed on for days, singly but not lonely; for his heart was inspired by the lambent fragrance of nature's smile; and he felt not the solitude of the road, as he travelled over the vast expanse of the Darling Downs. He had traversed this vast table-land, and was approaching its eastern margin, where the descent was to be made to the coast country, when he began to experience an oppressiveness in the atmosphere, which he knew portended a storm. He, however, continued his course, though, indeed, he had no option, until, as the sun was approaching themeridian, he entered the deep gorge called Cunningham's Gap, through which the road passed to the low country, and looked anxiously at the lowering aspect of the sky. He felt he might make up his mind for a drenching in the approaching storm, which he perceived would soon burst over his head; and only exerted himself to get through "the Gap" into open land, before it commenced.
Cunningham's Gap, or, as for the sake of brevity it is generally called, "the Gap," is situated between fifty and sixty miles from the coast; and is, as its name would imply, a defile in the mountains, affording a convenient passage through the "main range;" or more properly speaking, a descent from the table-land of the Darling Downs to the country below. The descent effected by this pass is between two and three thousand feet; and the view obtained in the passage of the low lying country is beautiful in the extreme. The gorge itself is one of those combinations of the picturesque and sublime with the useful; andviewed as a specimen of scenery, it is surpassingly grand. Looking at it in its ascent, where its two stupendous sides raise their gigantic masses in rocky precipices, upwards of two thousand feet high; which seem to frown upon the bold traveller who ventures within their cavernous precincts; one cannot contemplate the vast fissure other than as the work of a beneficent providence, as a gateway in the otherwise insurmountable "range."
William Ferguson had entered the "Gap," and was riding down the declivity at a rapid rate, when the sky became still more overcast, and the clouds gathered in quick succession; while the low fulminating of the distant thunder, and the death-like stillness of the defile, indicated the speedy approach of the storm, and imparted a solemnity to the scene. The thunder became more distinct. The lightning flashed in vivid darts, which seemed to play along the sides of the pass, until the attractive adamant deviated the refrangible fluid; which then buried itself in some deep crevice of the pendent rocks. A few heavy drops of rain then fell to the earth, and were speedily succeeded by a deluge, which was driven on the face of a tempest almost irresistible. Still on sped the rider almost carried on the wings of the storm; until he was relieved from any pressing anxiety by emerging on the plain; while the elemental warfare raged with unabated fury.
William, now relieved from apprehension, proceeded leisurely on the road, which he had to travel for some miles until he reached an inn; but, as he began to feel extremely uncomfortable, to sooner reach the shelter of a roof, he determined to accelerate his speed. With this intention, he clapped spurs to his horse and went off at a sharp pace, until he came to a track that emerged at an acute angle from the road. At this spot he hesitated for a moment; but, believing it to be the road leading to Rosehall, the station of a gentleman with whom he was distantly acquainted; and as night would be shortlyclosing in, while he had a long distance to go before he reached the inn; he decided upon intruding on the hospitality of his friend. He therefore turned his horse's head into the path, and rode off again at a brisk pace. As he proceeded, however, the road became somewhat indistinct; and at last all appearance of a track vanished; leaving our friend involved in the bush without the semblance of a path, or appearance of any habitation in the vicinity. By this time William discovered his mistake in taking this path (which appeared only to be a bullock track) for the road to Rosehall; and his only alternative was to find his way back again to the road he had left. To do this, however, he did not fancy retracing his steps; and, there being very little time for speculation, he determined to make a short cut through the bush in the direction he knew the main road must run.
His resolution was soon formed, and as speedily acted upon; for the idea no sooner entered his mind than he plunged into thebush without any further consideration; and continued his course until his progress was stopped by the intervention of a seemingly impenetrable scrub. The sight of this impediment by no means tended to animate him with pleasant or amiable feelings; for he knew, if he was compelled to deviate from his course, his chance of reaching the road before night would be very remote; and, if he did not succeed in doing that, he saw no option but to make a nocturnal sojourn in the bush; the idea of which, all things considered, he did not much like. To extricate himself from this difficulty, he skirted the scrub, both up and down, for an opening through which to penetrate; until at last he perceived an aperture, into which he darted, though only to find after a short progress, a still further stoppage; and this time one of a more unpleasant nature.
At his feet ran a creek, swollen by the rains into a deep and rapid stream. To skirt its banks, to ascertain the direction in which itflowed, was impossible; for, with the exception of the spot on which he stood (and where it seemed broader and shallower than elsewhere), it was lined by the scrub. Beyond the stream was the direction he wished to go to reach the road, but this fluvial barrier stopped his progress; and he saw no other course, if he wished to attain his goal, than to swim the flood. For a few moments he gazed upon the dark waters of the creek, as they hurried on their turbid volume sullenly and quietly; and knew that to cross them, he had to swim a current that might prove too strong for him to stem; besides the numerous eddies and hidden dangers that they might contain. His heart had some misgivings at the venture; nevertheless, he was aware, if he was to reach shelter that night, the passage of the creek had to be effected. The momentary sensation of fear gave place to the excitement of braving hazard; and its danger was speedily forgotten in the contemplation of a night's bivouac under a tree; and with the consciousness ofbeing a good swimmer, and a familiarity with such predicaments, he rode his horse to the edge of the stream, and urged him into it.
Often do the instincts of the lower animals prompt them to an avoidance of danger, where the rasher nature of man impels him towards his doom. For some time the animal which William rode—standing on the margin of the water, with his nose close to it, seemingly to ascertain the nature of the element into which his master wished him to plunge—snorted and paced the ground with a degree of impatience, that plainly showed he did not like the task required of him. He was not long, however, permitted to hesitate; there was no escape from the passage; the creek had to be crossed, while no other way presented itself but to swim; so, upon a fresh admonition from his rider, the animal entered the water, and gallantly breasted the stream.
As the horse took the flood, William quietly slid off the saddle into the water, and keeping a hold of one of the stirrups, easily swam by hisside. The noble animal, in a case like this, required no guiding hand to direct him; his instinct told him, his master's object was to reach the other bank; and he, therefore, swam direct for the point desired. For a few seconds the quadruped and his owner kept on "the even tenor of their way," and William congratulated himself on the favourable prospect of his crossing; until they got more into the force of the current, when he found it almost overwhelming. He, however, struggled hard; while, alternately, he was almost swept from his hold by the force of the stream, and nearly separated from his trusty steed by the vortex of an eddy. But these difficulties were trifling compared to the one that awaited him.
He had reached about the middle of the creek, when he perceived, with consternation, the immense trunk of a tree floating down the stream, with all the fearful velocity of the current; and in an instant his mind comprehended the danger of his perilous position.The tree was one, evidently, which had been long lying on the bank of the creek; and had been dislodged, and carried off, as the water had risen in the present flood. From its long recubation, it had become divested of its bark, foliage, and smaller branches; leaving only its knarled trunk and concomitant adjuncts, its crural like limbs. As it approached the swimmers, it presented nothing to view, but the long surface of its trunk, which floated supinely in the water; at the same time rushing on with irresistible force, and having its branches concealed beneath the surface of the flood. The stout heart of young Ferguson almost sickened at the sight; however, he braced his nerves for a struggle, and urged his faithful horse to its utmost, to escape the proximity of their dangerous neighbour.
On it came, closer and closer, still watched by the anxious eye of William; until he thought (as it almost reached him, angrily muttering, with the subdued murmur of the flood, its disappointed expectations of a victim)that he was safe. But his self-gratulation, at this moment, was very inopportune; for, just as he uttered an exclamation of thankfulness at his supposed escape, the tree approached the broad and shallower part of the creek; when, suddenly throwing its upper end into the air with a convulsive leap, it threatened utter destruction to the two devoted and struggling objects in the water. For a moment it seemed poised; but, losing its equilibrium, it fell obliquely into the stream, covering William and his horse with the blinding spray; and before they could regain their sight, the huge mass swang round with the current, and entirely submerging them, swept them off with the flood, as they were almost reaching the bank.
The cause of this grotesque manœuvre on the part of the tree, we will here explain. In approaching the broader and, consequently, shallower part of the stream, its course had been arrested, by one of its sunken branches coming in contact, and burying itself, in thesoft bed of the creek. The log, therefore, with the impetus it had gained in its transit, thus suddenly brought to a stand, momentarily reared its head; but almost instantly losing its equipoise, fell again sideways into the stream; while the branch being still imbedded in the soft mud of the bottom, the trunk naturally described a circle; and to all appearances annihilated William and his horse.
Some time after this, how long he had not a remote idea, William, upon returning to consciousness, found himself stretched upon the bank of the creek; while the shades of night were fast closing in around him. What he had experienced he shuddered to think of; though every circumstance attending his late danger, and providential escape, segregated itself from the chaotic mass in his brain, and laid before him a panorama of his ordeal. In his mind, he had distinct visions, of having been, as it were, grasped with a rough hand by the watery element, and drawn by the demon of the flood to the depths of hiscavernous home; while the hissing of the water, which seemed to him at the time to rush into his very soul, still sounded in his ears. To the fearful sensation of oppression and smothering that first weighed in his heart, succeeded a calm and tranquil sleep; from which he was aroused, by a repetition of the noises of rushing waters in his ears; and the sensation of the horrors of a mundane dissolution filled his mind. At that moment, his head came in violent contact with some object; which, on the impulse of the moment, he clutched with a drowning grasp; while with the friendly aid of the pendent branch of a tree, he had an indistinct recollection of drawing himself from the water, and alighting on the ground; where he sank in a state of utter insensibility. How long he remained in that state, he was unable to conjecture; but he awoke with a feeling of sickness, which weighed heavily on his heart; and with his limbs perfectly benumbed and almost paralysed (thankful for the manifest interpositionof providence), with a painful effort he arose. He then went to search for his horse, to see if the faithful animal had been as fortunate as himself; and had not proceeded far ere he espied him, still standing trembling from the fear, from which he had hardly recovered.
To reach the inn that night was hopeless; in fact, to proceed at all, William felt was almost impossible, for both he and his horse were perfectly knocked up; while he was so unnerved and dispirited, that he hardly knew which way to turn. To remain where he was, however, was not to be thought of; for setting aside the discomfort of his position, the danger was imminent. The rain continued to fall in a deluge, and the land on which he stood being low, if the creek rose much more (which was very probable), the flat would be soon covered with water. He had no alternative, then, but to drag on his weary limbs, and lead his worn-out horse, to either some hospitable shelter, or a more auspicious locality to camp in. Before resuming his journey,he gave two or three vociferous "cooeys," but without hearing any answering sound, save the echo of his own voice. He then crawled along, in the direction which he imagined the road must be in, in the hope of falling in with some cheering prospect; but after toiling for about half an hour, the consternation with which he witnessed the effectual stoppage of his further progress, by another stream, fairly overcame him; and he sank exhausted to the ground.
The sagacious animal, that had borne the young man through many a difficulty, and who stood over the prostrate body of his master, showed his concern for him by many little signs of emotion, and at last brought William to an application of his energies, by causing him to notice his movements. William then raised his languid frame; and with drooping spirits, gazed on the fresh obstacle before him. He perceived it had a current, running opposite to that which he had lately crossed; and then the truth flashedacross his mind, that it must be another bend of the same creek, forming a pocket of the land on which he was standing. He now perceived that, by a slight deviation from his course, he might have avoided the crossing which had nearly cost him his life; though now it was evident, to reach his destination, he would have to cross it again. Not wishing, however, to risk his life a second time in so short an interval; and feeling himself perfectly inadequate to the task, even if he desired it; he determined to follow the creek up its course, in the hope of meeting with shelter of some sort. He therefore resumed his weary travelling, skirting the bank of the stream; and occasionally "cooeying," to ascertain if any human being was within hearing.
Thus he had proceeded for some time, perfectly disheartened and almost desponding, when he espied on a little knoll, a short distance from the creek, a small slab hut. Humble and untenable as the refuge appeared, no shipwrecked mariner, with the prospect ofbeing rescued from a watery grave, by the opportune assistance of some life-boat, did ever hail his deliverance with greater joy and gratitude, than did William the sight of this "humpie." It looked uninhabited and perfectly deserted; but still, wretched as it appeared, it promised shelter for himself and his beast; and would enable him in all probability to make a fire and refresh his weary limbs. At the same time he knew that, even if the place were deserted, there would be sure to be some signs of settlement near, and possibly a track to the head station of the run on which it was situated.
"Methinks it were a happy life,To be no better than a homely swain;
* * * *
See how the morning opes her golden gates,And takes her farewell of the glorious sun."Henry VI.,Act2of Part3.
It was then with a gladdened heart that William approached the hut, which was of dimensions little larger than a good-sized dog kennel; and when he reached the aperture that served for an entrance, and gazed at the interior, he was not a little surprised to find that it was habited, though the inhabitant was not visible. The interior was as miserable looking as could be imagined; the floor, or rather the ground on which it stood, was covered withas much water as the earth outside; and the slabs, which formed its walls, had shrunk with their exposure to the sun and weather since they had been first put together, and left long and narrow interstices between each, through which the rain driven by the wind, and the water on the ground in perfect streams, were permitted,ad libitum, to make their ingress. In the centre of the domicile, and seemingly firmly fixed into the ground, were four sticks, so placed as to form the four corners of a parallelogram; their ends were forked, and held two other sticks about six feet long, resting longitudinally in their supports. To each of these side poles were affixed, with small skewer-like twigs, the sides of a sack which had been cut open lengthways; and formed in all, an impromptu bedstead or stretcher, on which, by a bundle of blankets that there appeared, it was evident the occupier of the establisment was wont to court repose, free from the moisture of his mother earth. Under this rural bed, was a box of that descriptiongenerally brought to the country by emigrants, and at once proclaimed its owner, to the practised eye of William, to be a "new chum;" for he well knew that after a very short residence in the country such cumbrous attendants were usually dispensed with—shepherds who had gained much experience usually carrying their extensive wardrobes on their backs, and their blankets and pots rolled up in their "swags."
As we have said, William at once knew the rural swain, whose habitation this was, to be one new to the colony; and he readily conjectured his absence from his abode was occasioned by some detention incidental to the storm, and which his experience had not taught him to avoid. Before the door of the hut lay a few sticks and logs charred by fire, the relics of a conflagration; ignited, probably, for culinary purposes, as well as to impart caloric to the person of the shepherd. Knowing these to be less pervious to the wet than unburnt wood, Williamlaid them in order for burning, in a position as free from water as he could find; and after stripping the flakey bark off some tea trees (the inner part of which is generally dry and exceedingly inflammable), he speedily managed, as only bushmen can, to ignite a fire; and had it in a cheerful blaze, as the rain subsided and the occupant of the hut made his appearance. Somewhat refreshed by the genial warmth of the fire, and the prospect of having some tea and something to eat, William soon forgot his fatigue and late dangers; and when the man reached his place, rather surprised at the appearance of a stranger, our friend had taken the bridle and saddle from his horse, hobbled him, and turned him out too feed; and was comfortably seated at the fire, watching the water boil in the shepherd's tin pot, preparatory to infusing his tea.
The circumstances of the intrusion were soon explained by young Ferguson; and in a few minutes he and the shepherd weresocially seated at the fire, discussing their evening meal of salt meat, tea, and "damper;" and were pleasantly conversing together, as if they had been boon companions from their youth. From this man William learnt that he had entirely gone out of his way; and that in the morning his best plan would be not to attempt to regain the road in the way he had lost it, but to take the track that led from the stock-yard in the vicinity to the head station; whence he would find a well-beaten line to the main road. His informant said he believed the road lay not far off; but he could not say how far, nor in what precise direction; and should, therefore, recommend him, for greater certainty and security, to go by the more circuitous way of the head station. William admired this cautionary advice, and determined on the following morning to act upon it in preference to submitting himself to the ordeal of another swimming; more especially as the station on which he then was, was Rosehall, the place he had desired to find.
In the course of their conversation, William had elicited from the shepherd some little information respecting himself; which we may be pardoned, for the sake of information, for inserting here. He had only been in the colony about six months; and had been hired by his present employer direct from the ship in which he had emigrated, and brought at once up to the station; where for some time he felt acutely the hardships of his situation; though he had gradually become inured to them, and was then perfectly contented. When he arrived on the station the weather was fearfully wet; and he had been put into the hut he then occupied, and given the charge of a flock of sheep, which he was left to tend in perfect solitude. Added to this, the discomfort of his home (if he could have called it by such a term), perfectly sickened him of the country, and he heartily wished himself back again in England; regretting the day he had ever been induced to leave it. Rolled in his blankets, he used at night to laydown on the damp ground, to contract rheumatisms and numerous other ailments; while his rations and everything about him were continually saturated; and to make up the catalogue of his troubles, he, on more than one occasion, lost himself in the bush. Now, however, he said, he had got used to all these inconveniences; which, after all (from the rarity of their occurrence), he considered slight; and as to the wet, since he had been put up to the dodge of keeping his bed dry, it did not concern him in the least. He liked the independence of his life, though it was a little dull; and his wages being good, he was enabled to save plenty of money; while he intended to be removed to the head station, when, he said, he would be perfectly contented with his lot.
The morning following the storm broke calm and beautiful; the air was clear and fresh, and a serenity was diffused abroad, perfectly enchanting; while the exhilarating buoyancy of the atmosphere, and its refreshing temperature, fully compensated for the previous visitation.William, as we would say here, rose with the lark; and having brought in his horse, saddled and mounted him, and after bidding adieu to his rustic entertainer, from whom he received directions about the road to the station, "he went him on his winding way."
After following the directions of the shepherd, in about an hour or so he approached Rosehall, and presented himself to the inmates as they were about sitting down to breakfast. Upon the relation to them of his adventure, he had the satisfaction to learn, that if he had skirted the scrub for a short distance, until he came to the bend of the creek that formed the pocket, in which he found himself after swimming it, he would have been able to have struck the road in a few minutes. However, by the time he received this information, it was of little use to him; and having entirely lost all thought of his past danger, he could laugh with his friends at the absurdity of losing himself in the bush. He remained at Rosehall a few hours longer than he intended,at the solicitation of his friend Mr Lauray; who was deeply interested in a question that was then agitating the whole population of Moreton Bay; and which we will take the liberty of explaining.
Some few years previous to the date of this incident, a small party, feeling the injustice and neglect under which the district had so long suffered, introduced the idea of applying to the Crown for the separation of the northern portion of New South Wales from the parent colony; and its erection into a separate state, with the free exercise of its own legislation. The movement at first gained little favour; as in the infant state of the district, it was thought premature, if not preposterous. But that immortal colonial agitator, the Rev. Dr. Lang, declaring himself an advocate for separation; and forcibly aiding the scheme with his pen, and indefatigable exertions, the party continued to gather strength until it had assumed a bold attitude, reiterating its demands to the throne. To give the reader some notion ofthe subject, we will endeavour to transcribe such of the conversation at Rosehall as will serve to enlighten him.
"I shall want you, Mr. Ferguson, now you are here," said the proprietor of the place, "to affix your signature to a petition to the Queen, praying for the separation of these districts from New South Wales."
"I am not yet convinced," replied William, "that the district will be benefited by being separated."
"I don't think," replied the other, "it will take much argument to convince you, or any other rational being, that separation would not only be beneficial, but is absolutely necessary for the welfare of Moreton Bay. In the first place, we are not adequately represented in the Assembly; and, in the next, five to six hundred miles is too great a distance to be removed from the seat of government. Even if the ministry had the desire to do us justice, their unacquaintance with our wants would prevent their inclinations from being of anyservice to us; though I am not disposed to think, from our past experience, that any Sydney batch of legislators, would be at all inclined to give us any consideration. The revenue derivable from the districts, is annually swept into the Sydney treasury; and I would ask, with what return? Why absolutely nothing! They amount in this district alone, I have no hesitation in saying, to considerably over £150,000; while, with the exception of a few salaries, paid to some almost useless officials, and a few hundreds voted occasionally for our roads, just to remind us that we are not entirely forgotten, we get no return. Look at our towns in the country; whenever the exchequer is in need of a little ready money, they put up sufficient land in our district to replenish their coffers, and to make the inhabitants feel the desire and necessity for more. It has always been the policy of our rulers to keep the demand for land in excess of the supply, by which means they create a spirited competition, and establisha fictitious value. Hence, these towns are each drained of some thousands of pounds annually; while the streets are permitted, by the powers that be, to remain in their primeval state, either to become impassable, or dangerous to the limbs and lives of the inhabitants."
"There certainly may be some little neglect on the part of the government," replied William; "but surely a district, with so limited a population as this, will with difficulty bear the expense of a separate executive?"
"Not at all," said Mr. Lauray, "our income is perfectly adequate; in fact it exceeds that of many an older state: besides we should have the satisfaction of expending it ourselves, and should not require to be continually demanding (but rarely receiving) money from the government for such necessary works as bridges and roads. The present state of our main lines of traffic is perfectly scandalous; and if we should remain a portion of New South Wales until doomsday, I believe they wouldn't be put into an efficient state."
"Well, but," replied William, "I imagine we can only expect the expenditure of our share of public money; and if all the districts get their proportions, what more can we desire?"
"But I deny," replied the other, "that we are getting anything like our proportion, or any proportion at all. The public revenue is mainly swallowed up in works that do not at all affect the country districts; such as the public buildings in Sydney, and the harbour improvements there. Notice the colonial debt of between two and three millions, and say how was it contracted? Was it not in the construction of Sydney sewers, Sydney water-works, and the Sydney railway? And for these, from which we shall never receive the slightest benefit, we have not only had our revenue appropriated for years, but have to sustain the impost of higher duties, to provide for the interest of this fund."
"Still," replied William, "I think it is only just, we should contribute our share of the public expenditure in the machinery of government."
"Granted!" said Lauray, "but city improvements do not in any way come under that head. The improvement of the district is much, if not altogether retarded, by the continual neglect at head quarters. There are certain public works, the necessity for which is severely felt, and even acknowledged by the government itself to be highly desirable; but to every application of ours for the necessary money, we are met by the cool assertion, that they have none to give us. Can you imagine anything more unjust than this; after the application of our own funds to purposes foreign to our interests, when we demand the expenditure of a small sum upon our own districts, to be informed that the money has been expended? We do not desire separation for the mere pleasure of being our own masters; but for the purpose of having, more effectually, a voice in the distribution of our revenue. If we had received more attention and justice from the government in past years, we should never have agitatedseparation; but now we feel it essentially indispensable, and separation we must have. You are no doubt aware the Queen in council has reserved to herself the right of dismemberment of these districts, whenever the wishes of the inhabitants should render it necessary; and now we do not intend letting the question rest, until we have attained our object. We have already forwarded many prayers to the throne; and at this moment petitions are travelling the length and breadth of the country to obtain signatures. The opposition we shall receive from New South Wales, I believe, will be strenuous; but the present size of that colony, nearly half that of Europe, is perfectly preposterous, and renders the equitable administration of the laws, in so vast a territory and with the seat of government so isolated, perfectly impossible. I am aware, that the revenue of the parent colony will be very much crippled by the separate erection of her offshoot; and her burdens will be consequently heavier on her inhabitants. Butbecause her legislators have, through a reckless system of extravagance, impoverished and run their country into debt, that is no reason why we should also be bound down to her in her depression. I know many condemn the desire of the Moreton Bay people to relieve themselves from the embarrassment of New South Wales; and state it is selfish and derogatory in us attempting to repudiate our share of the debt, and after being benefited by her prosperity in past years, to desire separation now, when her resources are more circumscribed. But I believe the obligation is the other way: Sydney has been drawing her prosperity in a great measure from these districts; for the trade that has existed between us has been of greater benefit and more advantageous to her people than to us; and as for their debt, we are in no way liable for any portion of it."
It is needless for us to trace this conversation any further; as doubtless, by this time, our reader will have formed some conceptionof the "separation question." Suffice it to say, that though William, owing to his having been living on the New South Wales side of the proposed boundary, had heard very little of it, and that only to its prejudice, it was a subject which absorbed the general attention of the Moreton Bay community; and he, becoming impregnated with the same feeling, left Rosehall a convert to the popular cry.
Soon after his arrival in town, he selected the furniture and other things required on the station; and making arrangement with his agent for their despatch by the return of the dray which was bringing down the wool, he turned his face to his father's house, and in due time reached New England, without the occurrence of any fresh adventure.
"I am so pleased that you have come, dear Willie," cried the blooming and cheerful Kate, as she threw herself into William's arms when he alighted from his horse at the door; "we have been expecting you for some days, and began to think you had taken flight in someother direction. I am so anxious to hear all about your doings, and to know all those kind people, whose acquaintance you have made; particularly those near you, whom John says I am to stay with. Are they nice people, Willie? but I am sure they must be, or you wouldn't like them; but do tell me what sort of a girl Miss Rainsfield is? John says so many fine things about her; that she is a perfect angel, and all that sort of thing; and that he has no doubt that, if I only have sufficient good sense as to take her as my pattern, I will derive much benefit from my visit. The impudent fellow, what does he mean by that, Will?"
"I don't know his precise motives, my little seraph," replied William; "probably he thinks her quiet and serious manner would well accord with his own little sister's nature; in preference to her volatile and spirited character; and that her calm and dignified manner, would suit you well in your new capacity of housekeeper. But I can support his opinionthat she is an amiable and charming creature; and I strongly suspect that he is somewhat smitten with her."
"Well, then, I'll tease him dreadfully for giving me such a horrid lesson," exclaimed Kate; "I can't be always serious like his Dulciana; besides I don't think it so nice, do you, Will?"
"I don't indeed, my dear, in your case at least," replied he; "for I think it would spoil you to try and check your spirits; but there is one thing I must entreat of you to remember, you foolish little thing. Although John has said nothing to me about his feelings towards Miss Rainsfield; as I have already told you, I strongly suspect he is over head and ears in love with her; but for his sake you must not lightly mention her name, or the subject of his feelings; for, if he is enamoured of her, I fear he is doomed to disappointment. I understand she is already engaged; though her cousin tells me, he does not think she cares much for her betrothed; and thathe intends attempting to prevent her from throwing herself away in the manner she contemplates. Still, I fancy any mention of the subject to John would pain him, so we must be silent. Now tell me, my pet, what I have done to be left standing outside my father's house? may I not be permitted to walk in."
"Oh, dear me," exclaimed the girl, "I never thought I was keeping you on the verandah; but, come along, mamma will be so glad to see you; I don't think she knows you've come, for I was the only one who caught sight of you. But, Willie, do you know Mr. Wigton is stopping with us just now, and he has been kind enough to promise to accompany us?" saying which, without waiting for any further remark from her brother, she tripped lightly into the house; followed by William, after he had delivered his horse to one of the men.
As we have already, in our opening chapter, introduced the reader to the Ferguson family at Acacia Creek, we may be pardoned for omitting a similar ceremony now; but of Mr.Wigton, who was at the time a visitor in the house, it may be necessary to say a few words.
He was a clergyman of the Wesleyan persuasion; one of the old Methodist leaven; an earnest and devout man, and a conscientious Christian: one who was kind and benevolent in his disposition, and without that bigotry and uncharitableness so prevalent among some of the rigid bodies of religionists. His piety was such, as to induce him, in the work of his Master, to forget all private interests, endure privation and fatigue, and to carry the consolations of religion into the remotest corner of the bush. He fulfilled, to the extent of his power, the injunctions of his Saviour, when He said, "Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature;" and while he received disappointments and misfortunes with exemplary patience and unflinching courage, he persevered in his course, with an energy worthy of the cause. In his corporeal capacity, to judge from his appearance, he was ill calculated to sustain the continual exertions incumbent on his vocation; and yet he performed them with an alacrity truly surprising. He was of the middle height; rather slim in figure, apparently delicate in his constitution, fair complexioned; and a bachelor of about thirty-five years of age. He had refused various solicitations from congregations, to accept of a residentiary charge, and had devoted himself to the missionary's work, where the presence of a spiritual teacher was much wanted.
He had perceived that hundreds upon hundreds of square miles in the bush, in fact almost all the country districts, were destitute of a ministry of any creed or denomination; and he had, with an earnest zeal and devoted piety, undertaken the task of administering to the spiritual wants of the bushmen. Never since the days of the old apostles, had a work of such magnitude been attempted by a single-handed man; and any heart less stout, or enthusiasm less genuine, than that of the Rev. Mr. Wigton, would havespeedily sank under a load of mortification, at the difficulties that beset his path. In a country where the Sabbath is almost entirely forgotten; where on that sacred day the country stores exhibit their wares for sale, and the public-houses resound with the shouts of drunken revelry; where the servant is frequently punished, for refusing to obey his master's commands to its desecration; where blasphemy and sacrilege, in which master vies with man, is constantly heard; and where ignorance and vice stalk triumphant through the land,—some conception may be formed of the stupendous nature of the reform to be effected.
Thanks to such as this messenger of peace, much good has now been accomplished. Bad as it is, the Sabbath is better observed than formerly, not only in the townships but on the stations; and depravity is on the wane. But, at the time of which we write, the state of moral darkness was as great asany heathenism extant. To the work of enlightenment, had Mr. Wigton sanctified himself; and his name had already become revered, in many places in the solitude of the bush, where he had been the instrument of bringing grace to his benighted countrymen. At the same time, he had not neglected the case of the black. He had with considerable difficulty, acquired a pretty accurate knowledge of their language and customs; and he preached the glad tidings to them, whenever an opportunity presented itself. His present intention was to accompany William with his sister, on their journey to Fern Vale; and, while spending some little time with them there, endeavour to do some good with the aborigines in that neighbourhood.
"Ah, what is love? It is a pretty thing,As sweet unto a shepherd as a king."Greene.
"Cease, cease these jars, and rest your mind in peace."Henry VI.,Part1,Act1,Sc.1.
When we left John Ferguson after his departure from Strawberry Hill, we attempted to depict his feelings; as well as the motives which influenced the minds of the Rainsfield ladies. In the resumption of our narrative, we will follow our hero in the continuance of his mental aberration. His misery and dejection were intense; and such were his sufferings, that he moved about his station a mere shadow of his former self, and kept himself exclusively to his own place; attempting to relieve his feelings by engrossing his mind on his avocation. Tom Rainsfield, in the meantime, had learnt from his sister-in-law the cause of John's estrangement; and deeply sympathising with his friend, he made his visits to Fern Vale as frequent as possible, to cheer and enliven him in his dullness. Tom imagined if he could but induce him to banish his despondency, he would be enabled to make him feel there was a chance of his succeeding in overcoming Eleanor's scruples in breaking faith with Smithers; by inducing her to look favourably upon his addresses. At the same time, he felt the delicacy of his task; for he had no warrant, on which to ground his assumption of his friend's attachment; though (notwithstanding that John Ferguson had not breathed to a creature his love for Eleanor) he was perfectly convinced, he was irretrievably lost in the passion. Whether or not Tom had been enlisted into the services of his sister-in-law, we will not stop to consider; orin fact can we pretend to say; though, from the earnestness with which he proceeded with his scheme, we are led to imagine that, possibly stimulated by his own inclinations, he was, nevertheless, acting under the guidance of that astute and pertinent directress. He had laid down certain plans for operation; and had so far succeeded in their execution, as to induce John Ferguson to lend the aid he had on a former occasion promised to Mr. Rainsfield, in the erection of a bridge over the Wombi; and to proceed himself to the river, and assist in its construction.
The house at Fern Vale was by this time finished, and the carpenters who had been employed in its erection were consequently disengaged. This was considered a good opportunity by Tom Rainsfield; and the men were forthwith despatched to the Wombi, to assist in the construction of the bridge. On the appointed day, John met Mr. Rainsfield and Tom at the scene of action, and work was at once commenced.
They first selected the two largest trees on the bank of the river; and after attaching strong ropes to their trunks, to guard against their falling into the stream, and thus elude their destiny, they felled them. Their next arrangement, after clearing the stems of their branches, was to make them span the creek; which being accomplished they left the carpenters to do the rest. This was to strengthen and support the beams, by erecting upright pieces as buttresses at the edge of the stream, so as, not only to keep the fallen trees firmly fixed, but to give them additional power to sustain weight. After this the men were to make a flooring, by firmly fixing across the main trunks some stout saplings, and cover it with earth, which would complete, what our friends considered would be, a very serviceable structure.
The young men, after they had accomplished the task of getting the logs to span the creek, as we have said, left the carpenters to complete the work; while they took their departure from the spot, and turned home. Here John Ferguson essayed to leave his friends; but that they would not hear of. Tom, especially, was loud in declaiming against such a course; declaring that the ladies would be justly offended when they knew that he had been at Strawberry Hill without calling upon them. "You may just as well drop in," he said, "and dine with us, and I will ride over to Fern Vale with you in the evening."
To this invitation John could offer no reasonable objection; and not wishing it to be imagined that he entertained any disrespect for Mrs. Rainsfield, he wavered in his rigid determination to absent himself; while his friends were the more pressing for him to accompany them; and at last all further parley was ended by Tom turning the heads of the horses towards the house, and constraining his companion to follow him.
When the party rode up to the station, they left their horses at the stable, and walked into the house, at the entrance of which they weremet by Mrs. Rainsfield. John she at once attacked for his past coolness and unneighbourly conduct in abstaining from ever calling upon her; and he, when he had entered the parlour, and was met by Eleanor with just sufficient confusion and reserve to make her more than ever interesting, and with a warmth that quite overcame him, felt the old fire in his heart burning with redoubled fury. But when she exclaimed, "Really, Mr. Ferguson we had quite relinquished the idea of ever seeing you again, you have so long estranged yourself from our society;" and continued, "I can't think you could have taken any offence at anything we may have done or said; but if so, upon your mentioning it, we will endeavour to make theamende honorable,"—he was perfectly reclaimed from his "slough of despond." At the same time he knew he could make no explanation, and therefore kept silent. What was he to do? he was again enslaved as hopelessly as ever; for the charm of Eleanor's presence he could not resist. Howcould he act a part of coldness or indifference, when she enchanted him with her kindest manner, and gladdened his heart with her sweetest smile? At that moment he made a determination which seemed to alter his whole manner, and infuse new life into his spirits; what that determination was, gentle reader, thou shalt shortly know by his actions. The thought passed through his mind, as the transient cloud flits across the face of the sun; it thawed the ice-bound ligaments of his heart, and gave him utterance in the following remark:
"I am afraid I am indeed a truant, Miss Rainsfield, and ought therefore to make my apologies due on my neglect; but it would be useless in my attempting to exonerate, or even excuse myself; so I will throw myself on your clemency, and crave your interpretation of my abandonment, in the most charitable light."
This speech of John's, if it were uttered designedly, was a masterpiece. To Mr. Rainsfield it had an air of flippancy that indicatedto him a total suppression of any tender feeling; and he congratulated himself that his young friend had had sufficient good sense to see the justice of his remarks to him with respect to Eleanor. To Mrs. Rainsfield it appeared in a different light; she detected in it a warmth that sprung spontaneously from the heart; and from it she argued favourably of the success of her schemes, and the happiness of her friends. To Eleanor it was mysterious; whether it was that it was the first time John had attempted anything in the shape of flattery to her, and that she felt surprised; or that her vanity was pleased with the flattery, we cannot say. Bear with us, gentle reader, when we make the allusion, for how perfect soever a woman may be, she is not completely devoid of vanity; and chaste and innocent as was our Eleanor, it was possible for her to receive a thrill of pleasure, at hearing a well-directed compliment from one whom she respected; believing it to be uttered with an expression ofsomething more than mere idle coquetry. Or, it may be, a certain truth flashed across her mind; but certain it is that, when she heard it, the blush mantled her fair cheek, and she turned away her head. To Tom it was the source of rejoicing; for he did not consider whether the speech was expressive of genuine or assumed sentiment, but simply noticed in it a return of his friend to his former self.
Such, then, were the mutual feelings of the party assembled at the Rainsfield's table, as they sat down, with all restraint and formality dissipated from their circle. Mrs. Rainsfield, who was bent upon acoup de main, now proposed to John Ferguson, that he should stop the night at Strawberry Hill; and she would make up a little pic-nic, for the following day, to the falls of the Wombi; which she had heard the people talk a good deal about, and had often desired to see. She said she had contemplated the party for some time, and wished to have had it organized while William was at home; but John had kept himself somuch aloof from them, that she had not had the opportunity. She appealed to her husband to head the party, but he excused himself on the grounds of employment, and proposed that Tom should act as their guide instead; while he stated, if they wanted any of the men to carry their things out in the morning, he would spare them two. This arrangement they all seemed delighted with; and it was finally settled that Mrs. Rainsfield, Eleanor, Tom, and John Ferguson, should start about eleven o'clock on the following morning, and that the ladies should prepare a cold collation, which was to precede them.
The falls of the Wombi were insignificant, compared with what we are used to witness in the romantic scenery of Scotland, or the lake district of England; though in themselves, and for the Australian bush, they were at times anything but contemptible. After heavy rains, when the river was swollen into a large body of water, they were certainly grand. During the early part of the summer,when the stream was lower, they might be designated pretty; but towards the close of the dry season, when the rivers ceased to flow, and their courses become divided into endless chains of pools, preserving in their concatenation an independent existence, the "falls" were either extremely mean, or entirely evanescent. For the present, however, we will refrain from making any further description, until we visit them with our friends on the morrow; merely premising that the summer was about half spent, that it was in fact about Christmas time, and the water in the creek rather low.
On the following day, as had been previously arranged, the party, having been preceded by the provender carriers, mounted their horses and moved off from the house under the guidance of Tom Rainsfield. The shortest route to the falls lay through the bush, in a direct line of about seven miles; but the equestrians preferred following up the course of the river; as, though longer by somethree miles, it was pleasanter and more picturesque. At the same time they had no desire to hurry themselves; but determined to spend the greater portion of the day in the excursion, and therefore rode on at their leisure, in couples; how arranged, we need not say.
After nearly two hours riding, upon their arrival at the desired goal, the scene that presented itself to their view, was pleasing and charmingly picturesque. Facing the party, and extending in either direction for a considerable distance, was a ridge or range forming a natural terrace, rising from eighty to a hundred feet almost perpendicularly. It was literally covered with bush of various descriptions, from the dwarfish wattle to the lofty gum, and iron bark; presenting to each other, in their various tints of foliage, a relieving contrast of colour. From the very midst of this, the fall emerged; and after tumbling over a few impediments in its way, through which it seemed vainly endeavouring to forcea passage, it made a leap of about sixty feet; and formed as pretty a little cascade as could be imagined.
The party stopped at the head of the creek, where they obtained a good view of the falls; and were perfectly enraptured with the scene, which, though in itself was but ordinary, had an influence, in the circumstances under which they were assembled, in directing their minds into a pleased and contented channel. Besides, there was a novelty in such scenery in Australia; and humble as the pretensions of the falls might have been to the picturesque, in the eyes of an English tourist, John Ferguson, who had rarely, and Eleanor Rainsfield, who had never seen anything like it, could not help admiring the beauty of the landscape. Our friends soon selected a spot for their camp; in fact, the spot had already been chosen by their harbingers, who had fixed upon a little rising knoll on the bank of the creek, a short distance below the falls; of which they commanded an excellent view.Here the party dismounted, and leaving the horses to the care of the men, they discussed the nature of their further proceedings; while the ladies arranged their equestrian habiliments, so as not to incommode them in their walking. Then putting all things in order for their luncheon, and requesting the men to boil some water (on a fire the fellows had kindled), for the purpose of making that universal beverage in the bush, without which no meal would be considered complete; Mrs. Rainsfield proposed to the gentlemen that they should take a walk up to the falls, and see if the ascent of the range was practicable, and if so, what sort of a prospect there was from the summit.
The suggestion was instantly acted upon; and after thoroughly surveying the falls, from every point of view at its foot, Tom was despatched to attempt the ascent; while the rest in the meantime sat down on the grass, to await his return. This, however, was not until some time had elapsed; and when he did make hisappearance, he stated that the range could be mounted; but he would not advise them to try it, as the hill abounded with snakes. He then hurriedly informed them, that he had come down for a gun, which he had noticed one of the men had brought with him; and was going to return to shoot a reptile that had impeded his progress. Mrs. Rainsfield desired him to stay, saying she was sure the snake would not have waited for his return; but he only laughed and assured her that he would certainly find it upon his return, and bring it to her as a trophy. He then dashed away, and was seen in a few minutes, posting up the acclivity with the gun in his hand ready for execution.
"What a stupid fellow that is," remarked Mrs. Rainsfield, "to be running away from us to kill a snake, and perhaps incur the risk of getting bitten by another. While he was here, and it was not safe for us to go up, he might as well have remained."
We will not follow the conversation thatensued; but merely state that after some minutes had elapsed, as the party began to expect the return of Tom disappointed of his game, a shot was heard, and after a few moments another; upon which Mrs. Rainsfield remarked, "I suppose we shall soon see our snake-hunter now, and see what sport he has had. If he does not produce some trophy, we must give him no peace; but here he comes." At which moment Tom Rainsfield presented himself, and threw down before his friends the bodies of two green snakes; which we may here remark are a kind extremely dangerous, from the difficulty of detecting them, owing to their colour so much resembling that of the foliage of the trees or grass. The ladies instantly jumped up from their sitting posture with a scream; but perceiving that the snakes were no longer dangerous, they were speedily reassured, and demanded to hear the adventure which had resulted in their destruction. This Tom promised to tell them, after he had submitted his hands to aslight ablution in the creek; and accordingly did so as they retraced their steps to the camp; and we, to enlighten the reader on the subject, will follow him succinctly in his own words.
"I managed," said he, "to get up the face of the range with some difficulty, for it was awfully steep; but though I succeeded in reaching the top, I had little or nothing for my trouble; for beyond an expanse of bush, there was absolutely no view. It is true I could just obtain a glimpse of 'the hill,' and the windings of the river at various bends, but that was all; and the prospect was certainly not worth the trouble of reaching the elevation to obtain. I was soon satisfied with its contemplation; and turned to come down, which, if not convenient or safe, was certainly easy and expeditious; for I had continually to hold on by one of the overhanging branches of the smaller trees, and either slide, jump, or precipitate myself down steeps and over perpendicular rocks. In making one ofthese little exploits, I lost my footing by dislodging a large stone; which, but for the grasp I had of the stout bough of a tree, I should certainly have followed. However, I saved myself; and watching the stone in its downward progress, as it went bounding along, taking others with it in its descent, and crushing the small bushes in its passage; I saw, or fancied I saw, a large green snake suddenly dart out of its way, and up into a tree. I kept my eye on the tree until I got down to it; and then minutely inspected every branch, as well as I could with my simple vision, but could see nothing. I then thought I might have been mistaken, but at the same time, could hardly believe my eyes had been deceived. The tree was only a young sapling, and could be bent with ease; so to satisfy myself, I determined to try if my friend was a myth, or a genuine snake, which had really taken up his quarters in the sheltering boughs above my head. With this intent I took its stem in my double grasp, andgave it a shake, the like of which I am certain it never had since it became a tree; it was enough to shake the very ghost out of it, and had the effect of displacing my verdant friend, who dropt at my very feet. He did not exactly know what to make of it, though he did not wait long to consider, for he soon twisted off, and darted into another tree rather larger than the first."
"I then looked out for a good-sized-stick, to touch him up with when he next visitedterra firma; and for the purpose of discovering his position, and compelling his immediate capitulation, I besieged the tree with stones. He was not long in giving me indication of hislocale, for I soon distinguished him, coiled round a branch almost at its extreme end; with his head and about a foot of his body protruding. I continued to pelt him; and he to dart his head at me, thrusting out his tongue and hissing fearfully, as much as to say, 'If I only could, wouldn't I, hat's all.' I twice or thrice shook him in hisposition, but could not dislodge him; for he had got himself too firmly coiled round the bough: then I thought of our fellow's gun. I knew the snake was too frightened to leave his place for some time; so I discontinued the discharge of my missiles, took my note of the tree, came down for the fowling-piece, returned to the scene of battle; and then commenced another pelting, to ascertain if the reptile had retained his post. Sure enough it was there, for the head soon made itself visible; but strange to say from quite a different part of the tree. I imagined from this, that the beast must have removed in my absence; but I was mistaken, for I soon detected my friend in his old place, and perceived that I had got a pair of beauties to deal with. I was aware that the snakes usually go in pairs; but having seen the first one mount the tree alone, I never dreamt of his having a mate, which I suppose must have joined him while I was away. However,I soon made short work of the two; for I shot them one after the other, and they dropt down as quietly as possible; while I gave them each a crack on the head, to knock out any sense that might have remained, and then laid them, like a dutiful gallant, at your feet."
"You were certainly very gracious, but we could have well dispensed with that piece of gallantry," replied his sister-in-law; "however, we forgive you: and now for our repast."
The repast was soon spread on a cloth on the grass; and the party sat down to its discussion in the highest glee, which was maintained during the meal'scontinuance. Theirs was the cup "which cheers, but not inebriates;" and they indulged in their merriments and pleasantries, without the aid of those stimulants which create an excitement at the expense of health, both corporeal and mental. After the conclusion of their tiffin, Mrs. Rainsfield proposed a walk down thebank of the creek, to collect a few of the wild flowers she had noticed when coming up; and leaving the man in attendance to pack up the things, and have their horses ready for them in about half an hour or so, they sauntered along the stream.