The attack made upon our hero was so sudden and so rapidly executed, that there was no opportunity for resistance. Before he well knew what had happened to him he found himself struggling in the ocean. Instinct led him to strike out. In response to his cry the plank was thrown overboard, as we know. He saw it and swam towards it. Fortunately he was an expert swimmer, and had no difficulty in reaching it.
He got upon the plank and supported himself by it. Then, for the first time, he was able to look towards the Sea Eagle. It was speeding away from him, not rapidly, for there was a light wind, but surely.
“Surely they will lower a boat for me,” thought our hero, anxiously.
He had heard Tom Patch’s shout of encouragement,and he knew Tom would not let him perish, if he could help it. He did not suspect that the captain would be inhuman enough to refuse assistance. So he gazed anxiously, but still hopefully, at the receding ship, wondering why there was such a delay in getting out the boat. But when five minutes had elapsed, and, straining his eyes in the uncertain light, he could see no preparations going forward for a rescue, the thought flashed upon him in all its horror that he was to be left to his fate. And what a fate! Thousands of miles from home, adrift on the vast ocean, with only a plank between him and destruction. Could anything be more fearful?
At present the ocean was comparatively calm. There was little breeze, and so no high waves were excited. He could float without any great difficulty in clinging to the plank. But this could not be expected to last. To-morrow the waves might sweep him from his sole refuge, and to certain destruction. Besides, he had neither food nor drink. Even were he able to cling to the plank, hunger and thirst would soon make his condition insupportable. There was still another consideration. It would not do for himto sleep. Should he lose consciousness, his hold of the plank would, of course, relax, and he would be drowned.
All these thoughts crowded upon our young hero, and, hero though we call him, a feeling of bitter despair came to him. Was this to be the end of all his glowing hopes and bright anticipations of future prosperity? Was he never to see his mother and his little sister Katy again? He felt at this terrible moment how he loved them both, and, anxious as he was for himself, with death staring him in the face, he could not help thinking how his death would affect these dear ones, and anxiously considered how they would be able to get along without him. When the property was gone, how would his mother get along?
“Oh, if I could but live for mother and Katy!” thought the poor boy. “I would work for them without a murmur. But it is horrible to die in the wild ocean so for away from home.”
He was not troubled by drowsiness, for in the tumult of his feelings he could not have composed himself to sleep under any circumstances. His mind was preternaturally active. Now he thought of hismother, now of his school-mates, and his happy school-days at the Vernon High School, of the many good times he had enjoyed hunting for nuts, or picking berries, or playing ball with the boys. Then he thought of Squire Turner, and wondered how he would feel when he heard of his death. Would he be glad that there was no more chance of his being exposed as the incendiary of his own building? Harry hardly knew what to think. It never occurred to him to suspect that Squire Turner was responsible for his abduction and for his present condition.
So the night wore slowly away. When the first gray streaks of dawn broke upon the ocean, the Sea Eagle was more than fifty miles away. Harry was still wakeful. His intense mental action had kept sleep at a distance.
As soon as the light had increased a little he began to look about anxiously in every direction. There was one chance of life, and he clung to that. He might be seen from some approaching vessel and picked up. This chance was small enough. The avenues of the ocean are so many and so broad, that no ship can be depended upon to keep the course ofanother. What chance was there, in the brief time Harry could hope to hold out, that any vessel would come near enough for him to be seen and rescued?
But it is said that drowning men will cling to a straw, and Harry was in immediate danger of drowning. His thoughts were fixed in all their intensity upon the remote contingency of a vessel’s passing. He almost forgot that he was hungry. But, as the morning advanced, the craving for food made itself unpleasantly felt. There was a gnawing at his stomach (for he had eaten but lightly the evening before), which there was no chance of appeasing. Harry knew well that this feeling would grow stronger and stronger, until it became so agonizing as to make life a burden. But there was always one relief, though a desperate one. He could release his hold of the plank, and sink down into the deep waves, which, merciless as they were, were more merciful than hunger and thirst, for while the first brings protracted agony, the last affords a speedy relief for all trouble.
After a while, thirst as well as hunger began to torment him. The salt meat, which affords thestaple of a sailor’s diet, induces thirst more rapidly than ordinary food. So by noon his throat was parched with thirst. He felt the tantalizing character of his situation; “Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.” He was half tempted to taste of the water in which he was immersed; but he knew that, so far from affording relief, it would only entail additional suffering, and, strong though the temptation was, he had the prudence and self-denial to forbear.
Then, besides, partly owing to his sleeplessness, his head began to throb with pain, and, altogether, the poor boy’s situation was becoming desperate. It seemed as if his career was likely to terminate very speedily.
While our hero is in this precarious condition, we must, for a brief time, change the scene.
Sailing steadily towards him, though he knew it not, was the Australian packet-ship Rubicon, bound from Liverpool to Melbourne.
It was a pleasant day, and most of the passengers were on deck, enjoying the calm weather. Some had been sea-sick; but even those who were most inclinedto be disturbed by this most disagreeable of maladies, could find no good cause for keeping below on so pleasant a day. The sea was tranquil, the movement of the vessel calm and steady, and as such days are not often to be reckoned upon, the passengers determined to make the most of this.
Among the passengers were David Lindsay, a gentleman of middle age, and his daughter Maud, a bright, handsome girl of thirteen. Mr. Lindsay was a London merchant, who, partly for the benefit of his health, which had been affected by too great devotion to business, partly because he had business interests in Australia, had decided to go out to Melbourne on a visit. He had not at first proposed to take his daughter, considering her too young; but she was an only child, and, as her mother was dead, had been treated by her father more as a companion than is usual with girls of her age. So, when her father mentioned his plan, Maud at once said confidently, “Oh, that will be charming, papa! How much I shall enjoy it!”
“How much you will enjoy it,” repeated herfather. “Well, Maud, I can’t say that your remark is particularly complimentary to me.”
“Why not?” asked Maud, innocently.
“I tell you that I am going to Australia,—a journey likely to keep me away from home a year at least, and you are so ready to part with me that you say at once that it is charming.”
“But, papa,” said Maud, “we shall not be separated at all.”
“How do you make that out?”
“Of courseyou are going to take me with you!” and Maud put a strong emphasis on the first two words.
“You seem to be pretty confident, considering that such an idea never entered my head,” said her father.
“What, papa! You don’t mean to say that you thought of leaving me here in England?”
“Certainly, my child.”
“But you know, papa, I can’t stay away from you so long. I’m sure you’re going to take me with you.” And she put her arms coaxingly around his neck.
“But what is to become of your education in the mean time, Maud?”
“Oh, that can wait.”
“You dispose of that difficulty very easily,” said her father, amused.
“Why, you see, papa, I am not so terribly old I’ve got plenty of time before me, so that I can spare a year well enough. Besides, I shall be learning something from observation. My governess says that there are two great sources of instruction: one of these is the study of books; and the other, and perhaps the more valuable of the two, is the right use of the faculty of observation.”
In saying this she imitated the prim, methodical tone of her governess, an elderly spinster, at whose little peculiarities Mr. Lindsay had often been secretly amused.
He laughed outright at the excellent imitation given of Miss Pendleton’s manner, and Maud saw that her suit was half won.
“You ought to be a lawyer, Maud,” he said, “you are so good at special pleading.”
“That means that I am going, I suppose, papa?” said Maud, promptly.
“Not so fast. I have got to think it over. I must ask Miss Pendleton what she thinks of it.”
“If you do, papa, will you be kind enough to repeat that remark I made about the two sources of knowledge?”
“No, Maud, I don’t think I shall venture upon such a thing. However, I will take your request into consideration.”
“Into afavorableconsideration, papa.”
“As to that, I cannot promise.”
Maud, however, felt tolerably assured that she had gained her point, as indeed she had. Mr. Lindsay had been dreading his Australian trip mainly because it would separate him from his daughter. Now he began to look forward to it with interest and pleasure. Strange to say, the thought of taking his daughter had never before occurred to him. Yet there seemed no good reason for not doing it. She was young, and there was plenty of time to obtain an education, as she had herself said. Besides, the remark of her governess had considerable truth in it.Observation would be a valuable source of information.
He consulted Miss Pendleton, offering her a year’s vacation on half salary, and found her very ready to accept it. It was many years that she had been teaching in different families, and the prospect of a year’s respite, with such pecuniary inducements as would relieve her from loss or anxiety, was a pleasant one. It would enable her to visit the family of a married sister, and renew the familiar intercourse which her mode of life for many years had rendered impracticable.
So it happened that when the packet Rubicon sailed, in the list of passengers were Mr. David Lindsay and daughter.
Mr. Lindsay was sea-sick a fortnight, Maud scarcely at all. The dismal hours in which he was a victim to this disagreeable complaint were made much less intolerable by the services and bright, cheerful companionship of his daughter, so that the merchant more than once felt thankful that he had yielded to her entreaties, and made her the companion of his trip.
Maud and her father were standing by the side of the vessel, looking out at the broad waste of waters, without any definite object in view. Suddenly Maud exclaimed, “Papa, look there, and tell me what you see!”
She pointed to the east. He shook his head. “Your eyes are better than mine, Maud,” he said. “I can see nothing.”
“Papa,” she said, energetically, “I am sure I can see a boy in the water supported by a plank.”
The captain was on deck with his spy-glass. Mr. Lindsay went up to him and told him what Maud had said. He turned his glass in the direction indicated.
“The young lady is right,” he said. “It is a boy adrift upon a plank.”
“A boy adrift!” repeated Mr. Lindsay. “How could he get into such a situation?”
“There may have been a wreck,” said the captain; “though I can see no other indications of it,” as through his glass he scanned the sea in the neighborhood of Harry.
“You’ll go after him, won’t you, Captain Scott?” asked Maud, anxiously.
“Certainly, my dear young lady; I will save him if I can.”
“It must be so terrible to be out in the sea with nothing but a plank to hold on to,” said Maud, sympathetically. “I hope he’ll hold on till we get there.”
“He lies nearly in our course. In twenty minutes we shall reach him.”
Meanwhile Harry, scanning the sea anxiously, hadcaught sight of the Rubicon. A wild thrill of hope stirred his heart. Here, at last, was a chance of life. But would they see him? That was the momentous question. Had he anything by which he might attract attention?
He felt in his pocket, and drew out his handkerchief. Had it been dry, he could have waved it aloft. But it was dripping wet, and there was no wave to it. His spirits began to sink. But there was one encouragement: the packet was heading for him. Though he might not be seen now, he would perhaps be able to attract attention when the ship drew near.
Fifteen minutes passed in the most anxious suspense. How much depended on the next quarter of an hour! In that time it would be decided whether he should live or die. Already he could discern the figures of the passengers. Was it a delusion? No, a little girl was waving her handkerchief to him. He was seen,—he would be rescued! He became so weak, in the tumult of his sudden joy, that he released his hold of the plank which had been his safeguard, and, as it proved, his deliverance. But he recovered fromhis weakness, and with renewed energy clung to the plank.
Nearer and nearer came the Rubicon. He saw preparations for lowering a boat. The boat was in the water, and four sturdy sailors impelled it towards him with vigorous strokes. Five minutes later he was helped into the boat, and a little later still he clambered on board the Rubicon,—a silent prayer of thanksgiving in his heart to the Almighty Father for his providential rescue.
“Well, my lad,” said Captain Scott, advancing towards him, “you’ve had a pretty narrow escape. We don’t generally stop here to take in passengers.”
“Captain,” said Harry, earnestly, “I thank you for saving my life. I couldn’t have held out much longer.”
“No, I should think not. How came you in such a pickle? But I won’t ask you to tell the story now. You’re wet, and I suppose hungry.”
Our hero admitted that he was both hungry and thirsty, having been without food or drink for nearly twenty-four hours.
Luckily there was a boy on board, of about Harry’ssize. Our hero was supplied with a suit of his clothes, which he found considerably more comfortable than the one he had on, which, having been subjected to the action of the sea-water for twenty hours, was about as thoroughly drenched as it was possible for clothes to be. After being provided with dry clothing, Harry’s other wants were attended to. A bowl of hot coffee and a plentiful supply of hearty food made him feel very much more at his ease.
He was now called upon for his story. This he told frankly and without reservation to the captain and the passengers who had gathered about him. His manner was so modest, manly, and self-possessed, that no one for a moment questioned the truth of what he said, and all were prepossessed at once in his favor.
“Well, youngster,” said Captain Scott, “it appears that you’ve had rather a rough experience. I’ll try to treat you a little better than did Captain Brandon. We sea-captains are not all black sheep. There are some of us, I hope, that have common humanity.”
Captain Scott was a bluff, hearty sailor, witha large heart, full of kindly impulses. In times of danger he was rough and dictatorial, as was perhaps necessary, but at other times he followed the dictates of a kind heart and generous nature, treating the sailors under his command so well that no one would leave him unless obliged to do so.
Among those who listened with the greatest interest to Harry’s story was Maud Lindsay. When it was over she called her father aside.
“Papa,” she said, “I have a favor to ask.”
“Well, puss?”
“I want you to be kind to this boy,—Harry Raymond.”
“How do you want me to be kind to him?”
“I want you to pay his passage to Melbourne, and help him after he gets there.”
“Whew, Maud! You seem to have taken a sudden interest in the young man. I suppose you will be wanting to marry him when we get to Melbourne.”
“Nonsense, papa!” said Maud, blushing.
“Tell me, then, why I should spend so much money on a stranger.”
“You know you’ve got plenty of money, papa, andhe has been very unfortunate. He’s such a nice-looking boy too.”
“I suppose if he were only unfortunate, and not nice-looking,—if he had red hair, and a face marked with the small-pox,—you would not be so anxious to have me help him along?”
“No, I don’t suppose I should feel quite so much interest in him,” Maud admitted. “Do you like homely persons as well as handsome ones, papa?”
“Why, that is rather a delicate question to ask. All I can say is, that I love you just as much as if you were good-looking.”
“That’s as much as to say I am not,” returned Maud.
“I didn’t say so.”
“But you meant so. However, everybody says I look like you; so, if I am homely, you are also.”
“You’ve got me there, Maud,” said Mr. Lindsay, laughing. “After this I shall never dare to question your good looks.”
“You’ll do as I want you to, then, papa?” said Maud, laying her hand with a coaxing gesture on her father’s arm.
“I suppose I shall have to,” said her father, smiling.
“That’s a good papa. I’ll kiss you now.”
“I will submit to the infliction with as good a grace as possible,” said Mr. Lindsay, with a comic look of resignation.
It will be perceived that the relations between Mr. Lindsay and his daughter were more cordial and affectionate than is sometimes the case. He had a warm, kindly nature, and the death of his wife had led him to centre all his love and all his hopes upon his daughter, who, we must acknowledge, was attractive and lovable enough to justify any father’s love and pride. Warm-hearted and impulsive, she won the affection of all who surrounded her, and had even made a considerable impression upon the not very susceptible heart of her strait-laced and prim governess, Miss Pendleton.
Though he had made a playful opposition to the request of his daughter, Mr. Lindsay was from the first favorably disposed towards granting it. He, too, had been pleased with the frank, manly bearing of Harry Raymond, and had been interested in the historyof his life. He felt impelled to help him, as he could well afford to do, and to make up to him for the frowning of fortune by securing to him a more prosperous future.
Accordingly he sought Captain Scott immediately after his interview with Maud.
“I want to speak to you about this boy you have picked up, Captain Scott,” he commenced.
“I was just thinking about him myself. If I had anything for him to do, I would let him work his passage. As it is, I suppose I shall have to give it to him. But that won’t set him right entirely. He’ll land at Melbourne without a penny, with no means of reaching home.”
“I’ll relieve you from all anxiety on that point, captain. I’ve taken a fancy to the boy. You may charge me the amount of his passage-money, and I’ll take care of him when we get to Melbourne.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lindsay; but if you’ll do the last, I’ll give him a free passage. I like the youngster myself, and am willing to do that much for him.”
“Then suppose we call him and let him know whatwe propose to do? No doubt he is feeling somewhat anxious about his future.”
Harry, being summoned, presented himself. He had meanwhile learned the destination of the Rubicon, and had hardly made up his mind how to feel about it. With a boy’s love of adventure and strange lands, he was fascinated by the thought of seeing Australia, of which he had heard so much. Still he could not help reflecting that he would land penniless, separated by half the earth’s circumference from his home and mother and sister that he loved. Could he make a living in this strange land, of which he knew nothing, and could he ever earn money enough in addition to pay for his homeward passage? These were questions which it was very easy to ask, but not quite so easy to answer. Still, in spite of his doubts on this point, his situation was so much better than it had been, and he was so thankful for his deliverance from a terrible death, that he was disposed to regard the future hopefully.
“Well, youngster,” said the captain, as our hero made his appearance, “I suppose you are ready to settle for your passage.”
Harry smiled.
“I should like to,” he said, “but I haven’t got a cent.”
“Then I don’t see but I shall have to throw you overboard again, eh, Mr. Lindsay?”
“Can’t I work my passage?” suggested our hero.
“No, we are full-handed. However, as you can’t pay, I’ve about made up my mind to give you your passage free.”
“You are very kind, Captain Scott,” said Harry.
“Quite welcome, my lad. Here’s a gentleman who will do more for you than I can.”
“I suppose you have felt some anxiety about how you will get along when you arrive at Melbourne?” said Mr. Lindsay.
Harry admitted his anxiety.
“You may lay aside all apprehensions, then. I will take care that you suffer for nothing, and will see what I can do to put you in a way of earning your living.”
“You are kinder to me than I deserve,” said our hero, surprised and grateful.
“I do this at my daughter’s request,” said Mr.Lindsay. “She was the first to see you from the deck, and now she has asked me to interest myself in your favor.”
Harry heard this with pleasure. He had noticed Maud Lindsay, and had been quite charmed by her bright, attractive face, and it was pleasant to him to learn that she felt an interest in him. He expressed his gratitude to her.
“Come with me,” said Mr. Lindsay, “and you shall thank her in person.”
Harry accompanied his new friend with a degree of bashfulness, for he was not much accustomed to young ladies’ society. But he soon found himself at ease with Maud. She had numberless questions to ask, which he took pleasure in answering. Then he, too, asked questions about London, where she had hitherto lived. So they got on excellently together, and for the remainder of the voyage were almost inseparable. But upon the details of their growing friendship, however interesting to the parties themselves, I have no room to speak. Sea-life is monotonous, and it may be as well passed over briefly. Enough to say that the weeks sped on, and at lengthone pleasant morning the Rubicon ascended the Yarra Yarra River, and the impatient voyagers gazed with eager interest at the principal city in Australia, which, with its handsome buildings and wide, straight streets, now lay stretched out before them.
It will readily be believed that our hero surveyed with eager interest the city which lay before him. Melbourne was not so large and populous as at present, but it presented an unusually lively and animated appearance. It was in the height of the gold excitement, and multitudes had flocked thither from all parts of the world, so that representatives of every nationality might be found in the streets of Australia’s capital. But we are anticipating a little.
Mr. Lindsay, Maud, and Harry stood on the deck of the vessel, waiting for the ship to be secured, that they might go on shore. Mr. Lindsay’s mind was quite at ease, for he had money, and money would provide him with all the comforts and luxuries which he could desire. But with Harry it was different. He realized the helplessness of the situation, and, despite his pluck, it made him feel a littleuneasy. He knew that Mr. Lindsay had an interest in him, but he did not like to presume upon that interest.
“Well, my boy,” said Mr. Lindsay, “are you ready to go on shore?”
Harry hesitated.
“I should like to go,” he said.
“I have just ordered my trunks brought on deck,” said the merchant. “In half an hour I think we may be on shore.”
“Then I will bid you good-by, sir,” said Harry.
“Good-by! What for?”
“Yes, Harry, what for?” echoed Maud.
“Because we are going to part.”
“No, we are not. You are going with us.”
“But,” said Harry, hesitating, “I could not afford to stop where you do.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about that,” said Mr. Lindsay, kindly. “I feel an interest in you, and so does Maud.”
“Of course I do,” said Maud, so decidedly that Harry blushed, not being accustomed to hear himselfspoken of in such such complimentary terms by a young lady.
“Therefore,” proceeded Mr. Lindsay, “I mean to take you on shore with me, and I will afterwards give you time to form your plans, in which I shall give you such assistance as I can.”
“You are very kind, sir,” said Harry, gratefully.
“Then you will go with us, Harry,” said Maud, “won’t you?”
“I shall be very glad to do so,” said Harry. “You are very kind to me, Miss Lindsay.”
“Miss Lindsay!” repeated the young lady, impatiently. “What makes you call me that?”
“Isn’t it your name?” asked Harry, smiling.
“No, it isn’t. At any rate you are not to call me so. Call me Maud.”
“Well, Maud, I will, if you want me to.”
“Certainly I do. I wish we could go on shore; I am tired of staying here.”
They had not long to stop, however. They were soon on the pier, where a number of carriages were waiting to convey passengers to the various hotels. Mr. Lindsay had previously inquired which was thebest hotel in the city, and gave directions to the driver to convey him thither. As I do not wish to discriminate in favor of any particular hotel, I shall call it by an assumed name, “The Tasmania Hotel.”
It had a handsome appearance, being located on Collins Street, which is the principal business street in Melbourne. This street is about one third wider than Broadway, and had, even in the days of which I am writing, many handsome shops and imposing buildings.
“I didn’t know Melbourne was such a nice place,” said Maud, looking about with satisfaction. “Why, they’ve got as nice shops here as they have in London.”
“Yes, Melbourne is quite an enterprising city,” said Mr. Lindsay.
“I like it better than London for one reason,” continued Maud.
“What is that?”
“It is brighter and more cheerful. In London it is almost always foggy.”
“I should like to deny that, being a true Briton,”said Mr. Lindsay; “but I am afraid I must admit that London is open to that objection.”
“I’ll tell you what I am going to do this afternoon papa.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I’m going out shopping.”
“I am afraid I can’t go with you this afternoon, Maud. I shall be occupied with business.”
“There is no need of your going with me, papa.”
“But I should not be willing to have you go alone, Maud,” said her father.
“I don’t mean to go alone. Harry’ll go with me, and protect me, only I don’t think I shall need any protection; but it’ll be pleasant to have him go.”
“If he is willing to go, I have no objection.”
“You’ll come with me, Harry, won’t you?” asked Maud.
“I shall be very happy to accompany you, Miss—”
Here Maud held up her finger warningly.
“I mean Maud,” said our hero.
“Then that’s settled. We’ll have lots of fun.”
“I am afraid that is not quite the way youngladies ought to talk,” said her father. “What would your governess say?”
“Poor, dear old lady! she’d be shocked, I know she would. She wanted me to be as prim and stupid as herself. But I can’t be, papa. It is not in me.”
“No, I don’t think it is,” said her father, smiling.
They were assigned pleasant rooms in the hotel; in fact, the best in the house. Mr. Lindsay, though not an extravagant man, was always liberal in all his arrangements when travelling; and now especially, when he had his daughter with him, he was resolved to spare no expense to secure such comforts as could be procured. Harry also was provided with a pleasant apartment on the same floor. Mr. Lindsay might easily have secured for him a cheaper one on an upper floor; but he was apparently resolved to treat Harry as if he were a member of his own family.
They ordered an early dinner, being tired of ship fare, and anxious for the fresher vegetables and meat which could be obtained on shore. According to the English system, they took their meal privately in Mr. Lindsay’s apartment. It proved to be well cooked,and of good quality, and each of the three did full justice to it.
When the meal was over, Mr. Lindsay said:—
“I must go out now and make a business call, leaving you young people to your own devices.”
“We’ll go out shopping and sight-seeing, papa, as I told you.”
“Don’t go too far, or you might get lost.”
“Never fear that. But there’s one thing you mustn’t forget, papa.”
“What is that?”
“What does a young lady always want when she goes out shopping?”
“Some money?”
“You’ve guessed right the first time.”
“You won’t want much. What do you wish to buy?”
“I can’t tell, papa, till I see what they have got to sell.”
“Here, then,” said Mr. Lindsay, placing two gold sovereigns in his daughter’s hand. “Mind and don’t spend it foolishly.”
“Did you ever know me spend money foolishly, papa?”
“Well, perhaps I had better not express myself on that point. Good-by for a few hours.”
Mr. Lindsay went out, and Maud and Harry soon followed. They walked along Collins Street, looking about them with eager interest. They met German, English, French, Chinese; in fact, types of nearly all nationalities. This seemed more strange to Maud than to Harry, for in New York the latter had been accustomed to see a mingling scarcely less great of heterogeneous elements. But in London, or, at any rate, in those parts with which Maud was familiar, there was far less diversity.
“I like this,” said Maud, with satisfaction. “Everything looks so new and strange. It’s ever so much better fun than being in London. Besides, if I were in London, instead of having you to walk about with me, I should have a stiff old governess calling out every moment, ‘You should be more particular about your deportment, Miss Maud.’ Now I know you won’t say anything about my deportment.”
“No, I think not,” said Harry. “I don’t know what a young lady’s deportment ought to be.”
“I’m glad of that, for you won’t be turning up the whites of your eyes at me in horror at anything I say or do. Oh, there’s some ribbon I want! Do you see it in that window? Come in with me, Harry.”
They went in, and Maud made a purchase of some ribbon, which she declared to be of a lovely shade.
Now it must be confessed that Maud sometimes allowed her high spirits to carry her too far. She was of an excitable, impulsive temperament. Still her impulses were generous and kindly, and in spite of her faults she was unusually attractive, and it was difficult not to be won over by her frank, affectionate manner. So Harry, who was not much used to the society of young ladies, and, as he said, did not very well know what deportment was proper for them, considered Maud to be very agreeable, and felt grateful for her kindness to himself.
After buying the ribbon, Maud walked on for some little distance till she came to a gentleman’s furnishing store.
“I want to go in here, Harry,” she said.
“They only sell articles for gentlemen in there,” said Harry.
“Never mind,” said Maud. “I know what I want. Come in.”
Entering the shop, Maud took the lead, and, advancing to the counter, asked the shopman:—
“Will you show me some of your cravats?”
“For yourself, miss?” asked the shopman, surprised. “We don’t keep ladies’ goods.”
“No, for this young gentleman, my cousin,” she added, looking at Harry.
“But, Maud, you mustn’t buy anything for me,” interposed Harry, in a low voice.
“Yes, I shall,” said Maud. “I don’t like your cravat at all. I’m going to buy you a nice one.”
Harry continued to remonstrate, but he found that opposition only made Maud more determined. So he was obliged to submit, while she purchased for him two handsome neckties.
“There, Harry,” she said, placing them in his hand, as they left the shop, “I expect you to put one of them on as soon as you get home.”
“What will your father say, Maud?” asked Harry. “Perhaps he won’t like it.”
“You don’t know papa,” said Maud. “He will only laugh. Now will you promise?”
“I am sure I am much obliged to you. I wish I could buy you a present. Perhaps I may be able to some time.”
“There, don’t say anything more about it. What a lot of carriages there are in the street!—almost as many as in London.”
The street, in fact, was lively with a continued line of cabs, drays, and vehicles of various kinds, presenting a spectacle more animated than might be expected of a city of the size. But Melbourne, though at this time it contained but a hundred thousand inhabitants, had a very large foreign trade with the principal ports not only of Europe but of the United States. This had been largely increased by the gold discoveries,—those who were lucky at the mines being prodigal in their purchases of articles of luxury as well as necessity. Then there was a large export trade in wool, hides, and country producefrom the interior, especially in the two former, for Australia is a great grazing country.
“I wonder what building that is!” said Harry, soon afterwards.
He pointed to a very handsome structure in the Italian style, on the corner of Bourke and Elizabeth Streets. It was adorned with sculptures, and looked new. In fact, it had just been opened to the public.
“That,” said a gentleman, who overheard him, “is our new post-office.”
“That reminds me,” said Harry, “I must write home to-night, to let my mother know where I am.”
In fact, Harry did write that same evening, and gave the letter to a servant at the hotel to post. The latter carelessly lost the letter, and then, being afraid of blame, falsely assured Harry that he had posted it. So the fates were once more against Mrs. Raymond, and the missive which would have cheered her heart got swept into a waste-basket, and was consumed with other papers of no value.
A week slipped away very pleasantly. Mr. Lindsay was considerably occupied by business, but he seemed satisfied to trust Maud to the companionship of Harry. Together they went about the city sight-seeing. They visited the several pleasure-grounds in the immediate neighborhood of the city, among them the Carlton and Fitzroy Gardens. Maud freely declared that she had never had so good a time in her life. Harry also enjoyed it; but every now and then the thought would force itself upon him that he ought to be doing something. At present he was penniless, and but for the liberality of Mr. Lindsay would have hardly known what to do. Besides this, he felt that he ought to be earning money to get home with. He could not help feeling anxious about his mother and sister.
So one evening, after they had returned from anexcursion to the Yan Yean Water-works, about eighteen miles distant from the city, Harry ventured to ask an interview with Mr. Lindsay.
“Maud, you may go out a few minutes,” said her father, “while Harry speaks with me.”
“He won’t mind me. Will you, Harry?”
“A little,” said our hero.
“I didn’t know you had any secrets from me,” said Maud, reproachfully.
“The secret is not a very great one,” said Harry. “I may tell you afterwards.”
“Now, Harry,” said Mr. Lindsay, after Maud had left the room.
“I wanted to consult you about my plans, Mr. Lindsay,” said Harry. “I think I ought to go to work.”
“Are you discontented?”
“No, sir; you and Maud have been very kind, much kinder than I deserve. I don’t like to feel that you are paying all my expenses.”
“In return, you relieve me of a good deal of care by undertaking the charge of Maud. If I had not agreat deal of confidence in you, I would not be willing to leave you together as much as I have.”
“Thank you for your confidence, Mr. Lindsay,” said Harry. “I hope you will find that I deserve it. I am glad if I have been able to make you any return for your kindness. Still I cannot help feeling, for my mother’s sake, that I ought to find something to do, in order that I may return home as soon as possible.”
“I might offer to pay your passage back to New York,” said Mr. Lindsay; “but if I were in your place, now that you are out here, I should wish to stay a few months. You may never again have a chance to visit Australia, and it is worth exploring. You can write to your mother, so as to relieve her from anxiety.”
“I have done so already,” said Harry.
“That’s well. Now have you any plans of your own? If you have, and will state them, I will give you my advice as to their wisdom.”
“I have been hearing a good deal of the gold mines,” said Harry, “and I think I should like to try my luck in them. Yesterday I saw a miner whohad just returned to Melbourne, after working six months. In that time he made ten thousand dollars, which he brought with him. He is an American, and means to return to New York by the next steamer.”
“Yes, there are such cases of extraordinary luck; but I hope you won’t be too sanguine, or you will, in all probability, be disappointed. It is not every one who earns even a thousand dollars in that time.”
“I know that,” said Harry. “Still, my chance would be as good as any, and I might be lucky. At any rate, I have nothing to lose, and should see something of the country.”
“That is true. Well, when do you want to start?”
“I should like to start as soon as possible.”
“Let it be next Monday morning, then. I will take care that you don’t go empty-handed.”
“I don’t think you ought to give me so much, Mr. Lindsay.”
“Leave me to decide that. Now shall we call in Maud? I suppose she is tormented by curiosity to know what we are talking about.”
“The reason I did not want to speak before herwas, that I was afraid she would urge me not to go away.”
“Yes, she will miss you very much; but we shall expect to hear from you, and to see you again soon, if only on a visit.”
As Harry anticipated, Maud strenuously opposed his plan; but our hero felt that, however pleasant it might be to remain, it was his duty to go. It was of course very agreeable to enjoy the luxurious accommodations of a first-class hotel; but all this was not advancing him in life, and, however kind Mr. Lindsay might be, he felt a degree of delicacy in living at his expense.
Monday morning soon came. Mr. Lindsay called Harry aside, and said:—
“My young friend, you will need some money to start with. In this purse you will find fifty sovereigns (about two hundred and fifty dollars in gold). I think it will support you till you can earn something.”
“But, Mr. Lindsay,” said Harry, quite overwhelmed by this munificent gift, “I ought not to accept so much money.”
“My young friend, when I was a boy, I met a friend who took an interest in me, and helped me on. I will try to do the same by you. I am a rich man and can afford it. Say no more about it, but if you need more, or get into any difficulty, let me know, and I will do what I can to help you.”
Our hero clasped the hand of the generous merchant warmly.
“I wish I knew how to thank you,” he said.
“You can do so, by justifying my good opinion of you, Harry,” said Mr. Lindsay, kindly.
“I will try to do that at least,” said Harry, earnestly. “I will never forget your generous kindness.”
That afternoon Harry started for the gold-diggings. He did not go alone. He was fortunate enough to fall in, at one of the hotels, with a man of middle age, a rough-looking man to appearance, but, as Harry afterwards discovered, a man of warm heart and much kindness. This was the way the acquaintance was made.
Harry overheard him speaking of the mines, fromwhich he said he had only recently returned. When he had finished speaking, Harry said:—
“May I speak to you a minute, sir?”
“An hour if you like,” said the other, kindly.
“I wanted to ask you something about the mines.”
“Are you thinking of going there?” asked the stranger, surveying him attentively.
“Yes,” said Harry.
“It is a rough sort of life you will have to lead there, my boy.”
“I expect so, but I think I can rough it, for a time at least.”
“Well, if you have good pluck I have nothing to say. But it aint everybody that succeeds.”
“No, sir, I suppose not; but I have a chance.”
“At any rate I have no right to dissuade you, for I was successful.”
“Are you willing to tell me about it?”
“No objection at all. I was there four months. In the first three I didn’t pay expenses, but in the fourth month I more than made up for all my ill luck. How much do you think I’ve got lodged with my bankers here?”
“A thousand dollars?”
“A thousand dollars seven times over. Eight thousand dollars I cleared in that last month, and seven of it I have salted down.”
Harry’s eyes sparkled.
“I only wish I could be as fortunate,” he said, earnestly.
“What would you do with your money then?” asked the other.
“I would take care of my mother, and make her comfortable.”
“Tell me about your mother, that is, if you don’t mind. I’ve got nobody belonging to me, more’s the pity, and perhaps that’s the reason why I like to hear about other people’s relations.”
Harry thereupon began to relate his story, and, assured by the stranger’s manner that he was interested, kept on to the end.
“You’ve had bad luck, boy,” he said, at the end; “but maybe it’ll turn out for the best. Perhaps you have been sent to this out-of-the-way part of the world on purpose to make your fortune. Who knows?”
“I wish it might turn out so.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the stranger. “I didn’t mean to go back to the mines. Seven thousand dollars was enough for me; but I’ve a great mind to go back with you.”
“I wish you would,” said Harry. “I’d like to go with somebody that knows the mines, and can help me with his advice.”
“I will go then,” said the other, emphatically. “Now tell me when you want to go.”
“Next Monday.”
“That will suit me as well as any time. I’m beginning to get tired of the city. There is nothing to do here. There’s something in the wild, free life of the mines that I like. It’s agreed then; we’ll go together.”
“Yes,” said Harry, “and I am very glad that I have secured company.”
“So am I. There’s no one out there that I cared to make a friend of. It’s ‘every man for himself, and devil take your neighbor.’ Perhaps I was as bad as the rest. But I feel an interest in you, and whether you find any gold or don’t find any, you’ll need afriend. Perhaps you’ll need one more if you are successful than if you fail. What is your name?”
“Harry Raymond.”
“And mine is John Bush. I would give you my card if I had any, but they don’t care about such things at the mines. Will you take supper with me?”
“No, thank you; I shall be expected back.”
“Have a cigar, then?”
“I never smoke, Mr. Bush.”
“So much the better, Harry. But it’s second nature to me, and I can’t leave off. Let me see, what day is it?”
“Friday.”
“Then Monday we will start. Call and see me before that time.”
“I’ll call to-morrow afternoon.”
“Very good. We’ll arrange then all that needs arranging.”
So they parted.
Bush, as Harry saw, was rather rough in his manners, but he seemed kindly. He felt fortunate in meeting him, for his advice would be valuable,especially as he had been successful. Besides, as he began to understand, the undertaking upon which he was about to enter was one of difficulty and perhaps danger, especially for one so young, and he would be the better for a friend like Bush. He saw him again, as promised, on Saturday, and got a list of things which the miner informed him would be necessary.
Four weeks had passed. The scene has changed for Harry. He is no longer living in a first-class city hotel on the fat of the land, but is “roughing it” at the Victoria mines, seventy miles north-west of Melbourne.
These diggings were of limited extent, occupying not above a square mile; but this square mile was a scene of extraordinary animation and activity. Scattered over it were hundreds of miners, rough-bearded, and clothed with little regard to taste or elegance. They represented many countries, differing widely except in being all occupied by one engrossing passion, the love of gold. Some, rough as they now look, had been gentlemen at home, fastidious in their dress and personal appearance, but not to be recognized now, so much were they changed. Others had always been roughs, and this life which they were now leadingwas little adapted to improve them. But it is not necessary to speak of the mines in general. Our interest is confined to two, and these two are of course Harry and his adviser and friend John Bush.
At the moment of my introducing them once more to the reader, Bush was seated upon the ground smoking a pipe, while Harry was carefully inspecting the back of a shovel, from which he had just been washing some earth, in search of particles of gold.
“Do you find anything, boy?” asked Bush, taking his pipe from his mouth.
Harry came nearer, that Bush might examine for himself.
“Yes,” he said, “there is a little.”
“It’s the only gold I have found to-day.”
“Yes, lad, we are not growing rich very fast, that’s a fact. We’ve been at work more than three weeks, and I don’t think we have netted five ounces.”
“No,” said Harry.
I may remark here that an ounce is worth not far from twenty dollars. It follows accordingly that the amount referred to represented less than a hundred dollars.
“I’ll tell you what I have been thinking of, Harry,” said Bush.
“What is it?”
“I think our chances will be better further up the hill. Here we may, if we are lucky, get three ounces a week,—probably not as much. What I want is a nugget.”
“But that isn’t so easy to find,” said Harry.
“No, that’s true; but they are found, for all that. Shall I tell you what has made me think of it most?”
“Yes, if you will.”
Bush lowered his voice.
“Do you see that spot, about half a mile away, where that rough, gray rock stands?”
“Yes.”
“Three nights ago I dreamed that I found a big nugget within a yard of that rock. Now, I never put much faith in dreams; but I’ve had that same one twice since.”
“You have?” said Harry, interested.
“Yes, and you know what they say, ‘the third time never fails.’ I’m not over-superstitious, Harry, butit’s my idea that dream means something. What do you say?”
“It is very singular, at any rate,” said Harry.
“At any rate, I’ve a mind to see what it means, if it means anything. So I’m going to leave you here, and go up there. If I find nothing, well and good, I’ll come back. If I’m lucky, we’ll share the good luck. What do you say?”
“That you are very generous, Bush.” Harry had come to call him so, for they are not very ceremonious at the mines.
“Wait till you have something to thank me for.”
The next morning, accordingly, Harry was left alone. He worked all day without meeting with much success. All the gold he found probably would not have amounted to fifty cents, and that was not a very liberal compensation for the long and tiresome labor needed.
At nightfall Bush came back.
“Well, Bush,” said Harry, “have you met with any success?”
“No,” said Bush; “and I didn’t expect any, not to-day.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s only the first day.”
“Still you might find something the first day. Did you find nothing?”
“Yes, a few grains of gold; but that I did not care for. I’m after a nugget. You don’t understand what I mean by the first day.”
“No.”
“I had that dream three times, you know, Harry,” said the miner, lowering his voice. “It’s impressed on my mind that if I find anything it’ll be on the third day.”
“Perhaps you will,” said our hero, who was impressed by the evident earnestness of his companion. “At any rate, I hope so.”
The next morning Bush left Harry, and returned to the rock.
While Harry was at work, meeting with a little more success than the day before, a rough fellow, Henderson by name, lounged up to him.
“What luck, comrade?” he asked.
“Not much,” said Harry. “I haven’t made my fortune yet.”
“Nor I,” said Henderson, emphasizing the declaration with an oath. “I’ve had cursed bad luck all along.”
This was not surprising, for Henderson was a lazy, shiftless fellow, whose main idea was to make a living without earning it. He had come from London, where his reputation was none of the best, and had haunted the mines for a considerable time. He worked at mining by fits and starts, but never long enough to gain anything. At one time, indeed, he appeared to have considerable money, with which he returned to Melbourne, where he soon got rid of it. Where he got this money was a mystery. But it happened, by an unfortunate coincidence, that just at that time a poor fellow who, by hard labor, had managed to collect about fifty ounces of the precious metal, suddenly found himself stripped of everything. There were some who suspected Henderson of knowing something of this gold, and where it went to; but nothing could be proved, and so of course nothing was done. Harry had seen him more than once, and he understood very well what sort of a character hewas; so, at present, he hoped that the fellow would soon leave him.
“Where’s your pal?” asked Henderson.
“You mean Bush?”
“Who else should I mean?”
“He’s trying another place.”
“Whereabouts?”
Harry pointed out Bush further up the hill. The distance being but quarter of a mile, it was possible to distinguish him.
“What sent the fool up there?”
“He is not a fool,” said Harry, shortly.
“Call him what you like; he’s a fool if he expects to find anything up there.”
“He has his reasons,” said Harry.
“What are they?” inquired Henderson, growing attentive.
“You must ask him if you want to know,” said Harry.
Henderson went off whistling, and our hero, on thinking the matter over, was rather sorry that he had hinted as much about his friend’s reasons for going up the hill. Having a very poor opinion ofHenderson, he feared that the latter would watch and find out if anything of importance were discovered, and this was hardly desirable in a district where the ordinary restraints of law were relaxed, and cupidity often led to violence. At any rate, Harry determined to put Bush on his guard.
“Bush,” he said, when the latter returned, “Henderson has been asking about you to-day. He thought you were a fool to go up there after gold.”
“Let him think so if he likes.”
“But I am afraid you will think that I am the fool.”
“Why so?”
“Because I told him you had reasons for going there.”
“Just as well not said, my lad: but no harm’s done.”
“Have you found anything yet?”
“No; but it’s only the second day, you remember.”
“You still think that the third day will be the lucky one?”
“Yes, if any.”
“That is to-morrow.”
“Yes, to-morrow will decide. If I don’t find any thing to-morrow, I shall give it up for a bad job, and come back.”
They had a tent just off the grounds. Here they slept and lived, cooking their food, and keeping house, if it may be called so. When the day’s work was over, Bush generally sat down at the door of the tent, and smoked a pipe. He tried to induce Harry to do the same; but our hero had never touched tobacco, and had no cravings for it. So he always declined.
When the pipe was smoked, Bush, if he happened to feel in a communicative mood, often related incidents from his life, which had been an adventurous one. To these narrations Harry always listened with interest.
“I’ve been a rolling stone, Harry,” said his companion. “It might have been different; but all that belong to me are dead. There’s nobody I feel an interest in except you. I’m going to keep track of you, and when I die, if I leave anything, you shall have it.”
“Don’t talk about dying,” said Harry. “Perhaps you’ll live longer than I.”
“Perhaps so; but I’m a deal older, my lad. There’s more chance for you.”
Bush was a man in the prime of life, and Harry built no hopes on this promise. He only thought that it was very kind, and, it being his nature to repay kindness with kindness, he felt drawn to his rough companion more closely on learning of his intention.
The next morning Bush returned to his digging on the hill-side, and Harry continued at the same place, meeting with a little success, but not much. However, there were some who worked for months with less encouragement, and finally met with a streak of luck. So Harry did not lose hope, though he felt that it was tantalizing and trying to the patience.
At nightfall Bush came back. Before he had come up to him, Harry read in his excited look that something had happened.
“What luck?” he asked.
Bush looked about him cautiously. There were two men within hearing distance, so he lowered histone. He only uttered five words, but they were of such a character that Harry became no less excited than he.
“The dream has come true!”
This was what he said, and Harry understood at once.
“Let us go and take a walk, my lad.”
Harry eagerly complied with his invitation, and they wandered away till they were out of earshot of any one.
“Now tell me all about it,” said he.
“It was about the middle of the afternoon,” said Bush; “the day was nearly gone, and I began to think what a fool I was to place such dependence upon a dream, even if it were three times repeated. However, it was only the loss of three days, and that wasn’t much; so little harm was done, if all came to nothing. Of course I wasn’t going to give up till the day was over. Just as I was thinking this, suddenly I struck against something hard. I kept on, not hoping much, till I brought out a nugget,—a stunner, I tell you.”
“How much would it weigh?” asked Harry.
“I hefted it,” said Bush, “and it doesn’t weigh an ounce less than twenty-five pounds.”
Twenty-five pounds! Harry held his breath in astonishment and delight. He performed a rough calculation hastily in his head, and it dawned upon him that the nugget must be worth at least five thousand dollars!
That was pretty good for one day’s work.